Lustrum

XIV

Around the middle of March, Hortensius came to see Cicero. He trailed Catulus after him, and when the old patrician shuffled in, he looked more than ever like a tortoise without its shell. Catulus had recently had the last of his teeth removed, and the trauma of the extraction, the long months of agony that had preceded it and the distortion of his mouth that had resulted all combined to make him look every one of his sixty years. He seemed unable to stop drooling and carried a large handkerchief that was sodden and yellowish. He reminded me of someone: I could not think who at first, and then I remembered – Rabirius. Cicero sprang up to help him to a chair, but Catulus waved him away, mumbling that he was perfectly all right.

'This wretched affair with Clodius cannot be allowed to drag on any longer,' Hortensius began.

'I agree with you,' said Cicero, who privately, I knew, was beginning to feel uncomfortable about the damaging war of words he was locked in with Clodius. 'The government is at a standstill. Our enemies are laughing at us.'

'We need to bring it to trial as soon as possible. I propose we should give up our insistence that the jury be selected by the urban praetor.'

'So how would it be selected?'

'In the usual way, by lot.'

'But might we not then find ourselves with quite a few dubious characters on the jury? We don't want the rascal to be acquitted. That really would be a disaster.'

'Acquittal is utterly impossible. Once any jury sees the weight of the evidence against him, he's bound to be convicted. All we need is a bare majority. We must have some faith in the good sense of the Roman people.'

'He must be crushed by the facts,' put in Catulus, holding his stained handkerchief to his mouth, 'and the sooner the better.'

'Will Fufius agree to drop his veto if we give up the clause about the jury?'

'He assures me he will, on condition we also reduce the penalty from death to exile.'

'What does Lucullus say?'

'He just wants a trial on any terms. You know he's been preparing for this day for years. He has all manner of witnesses lined up ready to testify to Clodius's immorality – even the slave girls who changed the sheets on his bed in Misenum after he had intercourse with his sisters.'

'Dear gods! Is it wise to have that kind of detail aired in public?'

'I never heard of such disgusting behaviour,' drooled Catulus. 'The whole Augean stable needs cleaning out, or it will be the ruin of us.'

'Even so…' Cicero frowned and did not complete the sentence. I could see he was not convinced, and for the first time I believe he sniffed danger to himself. Exactly what it was he could not say, simply that something about it smelled ominous. He continued to raise objections for a little longer – 'Wouldn't it be better just to drop the whole bill? Haven't we made our point? Don't we risk making a martyr of the young fool?' – before reluctantly giving Hortensius his assent. 'Well, I suppose you will have to do whatever you think is right. You've taken the lead in this thing from the start. However, I must make one thing clear – I want no part in it.'

I was vastly relieved to hear him utter those words: it seemed to me almost the first sensible decision he had made since leaving the consulship. Hortensius looked disappointed, having doubtless hoped that Cicero would lead for the prosecution, but he did not try to argue the matter, and duly went off to make the deal with Fufius. Thus the bill was passed and the people of Rome licked their lips and prepared for what promised to be the most scandalous trial in the republic's history.

The normal business of government was now able to resume, beginning with the drawing of lots by the praetors for their provinces. A few days before the ceremony, Cicero went out to the Alban Hills to see Pompey, and asked him as a favour not to press for the recall of Hybrida.

'But the man is a disgrace to our empire,' objected Pompey. 'I have never heard of such thievery and incompetence.'

'I am sure he is not as bad as all that.'

'Are you doubting my word?'

'No. But I would be grateful if you could oblige me in this matter. I gave him my assurance that I'd support him.'

'Ah, so I assume he's cutting you in?' Pompey winked and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

'Certainly not. I simply feel honour-bound to protect him, in return for all the help he gave me in saving the republic.'

Pompey looked unconvinced. But then he grinned and clapped Cicero on the shoulder. What was Macedonia after all? A mere vegetable plot to the Warden of Land and Sea! 'All right, let him have another year. But in return I expect you to do everything in your power to get my three bills through the senate.'

Cicero agreed, and thus when the lot drawing took place in the chamber of the senate, Macedonia, the most valuable prize, was not on the table. Instead there were just five provinces to be divided among the eight former praetors. The rivals all sat in a row on the front bench, Caesar at the end furthest from Quintus. Vergilius went first, if I remember rightly, and drew Sicily, and Caesar was the next to step up to try his luck. This was an important moment for him. Because of his divorce he had been obliged to hand back Pompeia's dowry and was being hard-pressed by his creditors: there was talk he was no longer solvent and might even be forced to leave the senate. He put his hand into the urn and gave the token to the consul. When the result was read out – 'Caesar draws Further Spain!' – he grimaced. Unfortunately for him, there was no war to be had in that distant land; he would much have preferred Africa or even Asia, where there was a greater chance of making money. Cicero managed to suppress a smile of triumph, but only for a moment or two, because shortly afterwards Asia went to Quintus, and Cicero was the first on his feet to congratulate his brother. Once again he let his tears flow freely. There seemed every possibility that Quintus might return from his province and become consul in his turn. Theirs was a dynasty in the making, and joyous was the family celebration that evening, to which I was once again invited. Cicero and Caesar were now on opposite sides of Fortune's wheel, with Cicero at the top and Caesar very firmly at the bottom.

Normally the new governors would have set off for their provinces immediately: in fact they should have left months earlier. But on this occasion the senate refused to allow them to leave Rome until the trial of Clodius had been concluded, in case they might be needed to restore public order.

The court duly convened in May, the prosecution being mounted by three young members of the Cornelius Lentulus family – Crus, Marcellinus and Niger, the latter being also the chief priest of Mars. They were great rivals of the Claudian clan, and had a particular grudge against Clodius, who had seduced several of their womenfolk. As his chief defender Clodius relied upon a former consul, Scribonius Curio, who was the father of one of his closest friends. Curio had made his fortune in the East as a soldier under Sulla, but was rather slow-witted, with a poor memory. As an orator he was known as 'The Fly-Swatter' because of his habit of throwing his arms around when he spoke. To weigh the evidence was a jury of fifty-six citizens, drawn by lot. They were of all types and conditions, from patrician senators down to such notorious low-life figures as Talna and Spongia. Originally eighty jurors had been empanelled, but the defence and prosecution each had twelve challenges, which they quickly used up, the defence rejecting the respectable and the prosecution the rough. Those who had survived this winnowing sat uneasily together.

A sex scandal will always draw a crowd, but a sex scandal involving the ruling classes is titillating beyond measure. To accommodate the numbers who wished to watch, it was necessary to hold the trial in front of the Temple of Castor. A special section of seats was set aside for the senate, and that was where Cicero took his place on the opening day, on the bench next to Hortensius. Caesar's ex-wife had prudently withdrawn from Rome to avoid giving evidence, but the chief priest's mother, Aurelia, and his sister, Julia, both came forward to act as witnesses, and identified Clodius as the man who had invaded the sacred rites. Aurelia made an especially strong impression, as she pointed her talon-like finger at the accused, sitting no more than ten feet from her, and insisted in her hard voice that the Good Goddess must be placated by his exile or disaster would descend on Rome. That was the first day.

On the second, Caesar followed her on to the witness stand, and I was struck again by the similarities between mother and son – tough and sinewy, and confident beyond mere arrogance, to a point where all men, aristocrat or plebeian, were deemed equally beneath them in their gaze. (This, I think, was why he was always so popular with the people: he was far too superior to be a snob.) Under cross-examination he responded that he could not say what had happened that night, as he had not been present. He added, very coldly, that he bore no particular ill will towards Clodius – in whose direction, however, he did not once look – because he had no idea whether he was guilty or not; clearly, he loathed him. As to his divorce, he could only repeat the answer he had given Cicero in the senate: he had set Pompeia aside not necessarily because she was guilty but because, as the chief priest's wife, she could not be tainted by suspicion. As everyone in Rome knew of Caesar's own reputation, not least his conquest of Pompey's wife, this fine piece of casuistry provoked long and mocking laughter, which he had to endure behind his habitual mask of supreme indifference.

He finished giving evidence and stepped down from the tribunal, coincidentally at exactly the same moment as Cicero rose to leave the audience. They almost walked into one another, and there was no chance of avoiding at least a brief exchange.

'Well, Caesar, you must be glad your testimony is over.'

'Why do you say that?'

'I presume it must have been awkward for you.'

'I never feel awkward. But yes, you're right, I am delighted to put this absurd affair behind me, because now I can set off for Spain.'

'When are you planning to leave?'

'Tonight.'

'But I thought the senate had forbidden the new governors to leave for their provinces until the trial was over?'

'True, but I haven't a moment to lose. The moneylenders are after me. Apparently I somehow have to make twenty-five million sesterces just to own nothing.' He gave a shrug – a gambler's shrug: I remember he seemed quite unconcerned – and sauntered off towards his official residence. Within the hour, accompanied by a small entourage, he was gone, and it was left to Crassus to stand surety for his debts.

Caesar's evidence was entertaining enough. But the real highlight of the proceedings came on the third day of Clodius's trial with the appearance of Lucullus. It is said that at the entrance to Apollo's shrine at Delphi three things are written: 'Know thyself'; 'Desire nothing too much' and 'Never go to law'. Did ever a man so wilfully ignore these precepts as Lucullus in this affair? Forgetting that he was supposed to be a military hero, he ascended the platform trembling with his desire to ruin Clodius, and very soon began to describe how he had surprised his wife in bed with her brother during a vacation when Clodius had been a guest in his house on the Bay of Naples more than a decade earlier. By then he had been watching them together for many weeks, said Lucullus – oh yes, the way they touched one another, and whispered when they thought his back was turned: they took him for a fool – and he had ordered his wife's maids to bring her sheets to him each morning for his inspection and report to him everything he saw. These female slaves, six in all, were summoned into court, and as they filed in, clearly nervous and with their eyes lowered, I saw among them my beloved Agathe, whose image had rarely left my mind in the two years since we were together.

They stood meekly as their depositions were produced, and I willed her to look up and glance in my direction. I waved. I even whistled. The people standing around me must have thought I had gone mad. Finally I cupped my hands to my mouth and yelled her name. She did raise her eyes at that, but there were so many thousands of spectators crammed into the forum, and the noise was so intense, and the glaring sunshine so bright, there can have been little chance of her seeing me. I tried to struggle forward through the packed crowd, but the people in front of me had queued for hours for their places, and they refused to let me pass. In an agony I heard Clodius's counsel announce that they did not wish to challenge these witnesses, as their testimony was not relevant to the case, and the maids were ordered to leave the platform. I watched Agathe turn with the others and descend out of sight.

Lucullus resumed giving evidence and I felt a great hatred well up in me at the sight of this decaying plutocrat who unthinkingly possessed a treasure for which, at that moment, I would have given my life. I was so preoccupied that I briefly lost track of what he was saying, and it was only when I realised that the crowd had started to gasp and laugh with delight that I took notice of his evidence. He was describing how he had concealed himself in his wife's bedchamber and observed her and her brother in the act of fornication: 'dog on bitch', as he put it. Nor, continued Lucullus, ignoring the noise of the crowd, did Clodius confine his base appetites to one sister, but boasted of his conquests of the other two. Bearing in mind that Clodia's husband Celer had just returned from Nearer Gaul to stand for the consulship, this allegation caused a particular sensation. Clodius sat through it all smiling broadly at his former brother-in-law, clearly aware that whatever damage Lucullus imagined he was doing to him, he was actually inflicting far more harm on his own reputation. That was the third day, and at the end of it the prosecution rested its case. I lingered after the court had been adjourned in the hope of seeing Agathe again, but she had been taken away.

On the fourth day, the defence began the job of trying to extricate Clodius from this morass of filth. It seemed a hopeless task, for no one, not even Curio, was in serious doubt of his client's guilt of the actual offence. Nevertheless, he did his best. The core of his case was that the whole episode had been a simple matter of mistaken identity. The lights had been dim, the women hysterical, the intruder disguised – how could anyone be sure it was Clodius? It was hardly a convincing line. But then, just as the morning was nearing its end, Clodius's side produced a surprise witness. A man named C. Causinius Schola, a seemingly respectable citizen from the town of Interamna, some ninety miles from Rome, came forward to say that on the night in question, Clodius had actually been with him in his home. Even under cross-examination he was quite unshakeable on this point, and although his was only one voice set against a dozen on the other side, including the firm testimony of Caesar's own mother, he cut a strangely believable figure.

Cicero, who was watching from the senators' benches, beckoned me over to him. 'This fellow is either lying or insane,' he whispered. 'On the day of the Good Goddess ceremony, surely Clodius came to see me? I recall having an argument with Terentia about his visit.'

Now that he mentioned the occasion, I remembered it as well, and I confirmed he was correct.

'What's all this?' asked Hortensius, who was, as usual, sitting next to Cicero and had been trying to listen to our conversation.

Cicero turned to him. 'I was saying that Clodius was in my house that day, so how could he possibly have reached Interamna by nightfall? His alibi is preposterous.' He spoke entirely without premeditation; had he thought about the implications of what he was saying, he would have been more cautious.

'Then you must testify,' responded Hortensius at once. 'This witness needs to be destroyed.'

'Oh no,' said Cicero quickly, 'I told you at the start, I want no part of it,' and beckoning to me to follow, he got up at once and left the forum, accompanied by the two well-muscled slaves who these days acted as his guard. 'That was stupid of me,' he said as we climbed the hill to his house. 'I must be getting old.' Behind us I could hear the crowd laughing at some point made by one of Clodius's supporters: the weight of evidence might be against him, but the mob was all on his side. I sensed that Cicero was uneasy with the day's proceedings. Quite unexpectedly, the defence seemed to be taking charge.

Once the trial had adjourned for the day, all three of the prosecutors came to see Cicero, along with Hortensius. The instant I saw them I knew what they wanted, and I secretly cursed Hortensius for putting Cicero in this position. I showed them into the garden, where he was sitting with Terentia, watching little Marcus play with a ball. It was a perfect late afternoon in early summer. The air was fragrant with blossom and the sounds rising from the forum were as drowsy and indistinct as insects humming in a meadow.

'We need you to testify,' began Crus, who was the lead counsel.

'I suspected you were going to say that,' replied Cicero, with an angry look at Hortensius. 'And I think you can guess my reply. There must be a hundred people apart from me who saw Clodius in Rome earlier that day.'

'None that we can find,' said Crus. 'At least none that is willing to testify.'

'Clodius has frightened them off,' said Hortensius.

'And certainly none that has your authority,' added Marcellinus, who had always been a supporter of Cicero, right back to the days of the Verres prosecution. 'If you can do this favour for us tomorrow, and confirm that Clodius was with you, the jury will have no choice except to convict him. That alibi is the only thing standing between him and exile.'

Cicero looked at them in disbelief. 'Just a moment, gentlemen. Are you telling me that without my testimony you think he might walk free ?' They hung their heads. 'How has this happened? Never has a more guilty man been set before a court.' He rounded on Hortensius. 'You said that acquittal was “utterly impossible”. “Have some faith in the good sense of the Roman people” – wasn't that what you told me?'

'He has become very popular. And those who don't actually love the man at the very least fear his supporters.'

'We were also damaged by Lucullus,' said Crus. 'All that business about sheets and hiding behind screens has turned us into a laughing stock. Even some of the jury are saying that Clodius is no more perverted than the men prosecuting him.'

'So now it is my responsibility to make good your damage?' Cicero threw up his hands in exasperation.

Terentia had been nursing Marcus on her lap. Suddenly she set him down and told him to go indoors. Turning to her husband she said, 'You may not like it but you must do it – if not for the republic's sake, then for your own.'

'I said before: I want no part of it.'

'But nobody stands to gain more from sending Clodius into exile than you. He has become your greatest enemy.'

'Yes he has – indeed he has! – and whose fault is that?'

'Yours – for encouraging his career in the first place!'

They argued back and forth for a while longer as the senators watched, bemused. It was already widely known in Rome that Terentia was not the usual humble, obedient kind of wife and this scene was bound to be widely reported. But although Cicero must have resented her for contradicting him in front of his colleagues, I knew that he would have to agree with her in the end. His anger stemmed from his recognition that he had no choice: he was trapped. 'Very well,' he said finally. 'I'll do my duty for Rome, as always, although it may be at some cost to my personal safety. But then I suppose I should be used to that. I shall see you in the morning, gentlemen,' and with an irritated wave of his hand he dismissed them.

After they had gone, he sat brooding. 'You realise that this is a trap?'

'A trap for whom?' I asked.

'For me, of course.' He turned to Terentia. 'Consider it: out of the whole of Italy, it finally turns out that only one man is in a position to challenge Clodius's alibi – and that man is Cicero. Do you think that is a coincidence?' Terentia did not respond; nor had it occurred to me until he mentioned it. He said to me, 'This witness of theirs from Interamna – this Causinius Schola, or whatever his name is – we ought to find out more about him. Who do we know from Interamna?'

I thought for a moment, and then with a sick feeling in my heart I said, 'Caelius Rufus.'

'Caelius Rufus,' repeated Cicero, striking the side of his chair, 'of course.'

'Another man you should never have brought into our house,' said Terentia.

'When was the last time we saw him?'

'Months ago,' I answered.

'Caelius Rufus! He was a drinking and whoring companion of Clodius back when he first became my pupil.' The longer Cicero pondered it, the more certain he became. 'First he runs with Catilina and then he takes up with Clodius. What a snake that boy has been to me! This wretched witness from Interamna will turn out to be a client of his father's, you can rely upon it.'

'So you think Rufus and Clodius have plotted between them to entrap you?'

'Do you doubt they're capable of it?'

'No. But I wonder why they would go to all the trouble of creating a false alibi purely in order to lure you on to the witness stand to destroy it. Clodius wants his alibi to go unchallenged, surely?'

'So you think that someone else is behind it?'

I hesitated.

'Who?' demanded Terentia.

'Crassus.'

'But Crassus and I are entirely reconciled,' said Cicero. 'You heard the way he praised me to the skies in front of Pompey. And then he let me have this house so cheaply-' He was going to say something else, but then he stopped.

Terentia turned the full force of her scrutiny on to me. 'Why would Crassus go to such lengths to cause your master trouble?'

'I don't know,' I lied. I could feel my face turning red.

Cicero said quietly, 'You might as well ask, why does the scorpion sting? Because that is what scorpions do.'

The conversation broke up soon afterwards. Terentia went off to attend to Marcus. I retired to the library to attend to the senator's correspondence. Only Cicero remained on the terrace, staring thoughtfully across the forum to the Capitol as the shades of evening began to spread.

The following morning, pale and silent with nerves – for he knew full well what kind of reception he was likely to receive – Cicero went down into the forum, escorted by the same number of bodyguards he used to have around him in the days of Catilina. Word had got out that the prosecution was unexpectedly calling him as a witness, and the moment Clodius's supporters saw him pushing his way towards the platform they set up a gale of booing and catcalling. As he climbed the temple steps towards the tribunal, some eggs and dung were thrown, which provoked the most remarkable counter-demonstration. Almost the whole of the jury got to their feet and formed a cordon to protect Cicero from the missiles. Some even turned to the crowd, pulled down their collars and pointed to their bare throats, as if to say to Clodius's lynch mob, 'You will have to kill us before you can kill him.'

Cicero was well used to giving evidence on the witness stand. He had done it in at least a dozen cases against Catilina's co-conspirators in the last year alone. But never had he faced a cockpit such as this, and the urban praetor had to suspend the court until order could be restored. Clodius sat looking at Cicero with his arms folded and a grim expression on his face: the behaviour of the jury must have been deeply troubling to him. Sitting by Clodius's side for the first time in the trial was his wife, Fulvia. It was a cunning move on the defence's part to produce her, for she was only sixteen and looked more like his daughter than a married woman – exactly the sort of vulnerable young girl guaranteed to melt a jury's heart. She was also a descendant of the Gracchi family, who were immensely popular with the people. She had a hard, mean face, but then being married to Clodius would surely have been enough to curdle even the sweetest nature.

When at last the chief prosecutor, Lentulus Crus, was called on to examine the witness, an anticipatory silence fell. He crossed the court to Cicero. 'Although the whole world knows who you are, would you please state your name?'

'Marcus Tullius Cicero.'

'Do you swear by all the gods to tell the truth?'

'I swear.'

'You are familiar with the accused?'

'I am.'

'Where was he between the sixth and seventh hours on the day of the ritual of the Good Goddess last year? Can you give the court that information?'

'I can. I remember it very well.' Cicero turned from his questioner to the jury. 'He was in my house.'

An excited murmur ran around the spectators and the jury. Clodius said very loudly, 'Liar!' and his claque set up a fresh chorus of jeering. The praetor, whose name was Voconius, called for order. He gestured to the prosecutor to continue.

'There is no doubt about this?' asked Crus.

'None whatever. Others in my household saw him, as well as I.'

'What was the purpose of the visit?'

'It was a social call.'

'Would it have been possible, in your opinion, for the accused to have left your house and been in Interamna by nightfall?'

'Not unless he put on wings as well as women's clothes.'

There was much laughter at this. Even Clodius smiled.

'Fulvia, the wife of the accused, who is also sitting there, claims to have been with her husband in Interamna that same evening. What do you say to that?'

'I would say that the delights of married life have obviously so affected her judgement that she no longer knows what day of the week it is.'

The laughter was even more prolonged, and again Clodius joined in, but Fulvia stared ahead of her with a face that was like a child's fist, small and white and clenched: she was a terror even then.

Crus had no further questions and returned to the prosecutors' bench, yielding the floor to Clodius's advocate, Curio. He was no doubt a brave man on the battlefield, but the courtroom was not his natural arena, and he approached the great orator in the manner of a nervous schoolboy poking a snake with a stick. 'My client has long been an enemy of yours, I believe?'

'Not at all. Until he committed this act of sacrilege we enjoyed friendly relations.'

'But then he was accused of this crime and you deserted him?'

'No, his senses deserted him, and then he committed the crime.'

Again there was laughter. The defence counsel looked annoyed.

'You say that on the fourth day of December last year my client came to see you?'

'I do.'

'It is suspiciously convenient, is it not, that you should suddenly remember that Clodius came to see you on that date?'

'I should have said that the convenience in the matter of dates was all on his side.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'Well, I doubt he spends many nights of the year in Interamna. But by a remarkable coincidence, the one night he does happen to find himself in that distant spot is also the night a dozen witnesses swear to have seen him cavorting in women's dress in Rome.'

As the amusement spread, Clodius stopped smiling. Clearly he had had enough of watching his advocate being batted around the court, and he gestured to him to come over to his bench for a consultation. But Curio, who was nearing sixty and unused to ridicule, was losing his temper and had started waving his arms around.

'Some fools no doubt will think this is all very witty wordplay, but I put it to you that you have made a mistake, and that my client came to see you on another day entirely.'

'I have no doubt about the date – and for a very good reason. It was the first anniversary of my salvation of the republic. Believe me, I shall always have particular reason for remembering the fourth day of December.'

'And so will the wives and children of the men you had murdered!' shouted Clodius. He leapt to his feet. Voconius at once appealed for order, but Clodius refused to sit and continued yelling insults. 'You behaved as a tyrant then, as you do now!' Turning to his supporters standing in the forum, he gestured to them to join in. They needed little encouragement. Almost to a man they surged forward, jeering. A fresh flight of missiles raked the platform. For the second time that morning, the jury came to Cicero's aid, surrounding him and trying to cover his head. The urban praetor shouted out to Curio, demanding to know if the defence had any further questions for the witness. Curio, who looked utterly dismayed at the way the jury were again protecting Cicero, signalled that he had finished, and the court was hastily adjourned. A combination of jurymen, bodyguards and clients cleared a path for Cicero through the forum and up the Palatine Hill to his home.

I had expected to find Cicero badly shaken by the whole experience, and certainly at first sight he looked it. His hair was standing up in tufts, his toga was streaked with dirt. But otherwise he was unscathed. Indeed, he was exultant, striding around his library, reliving the highlights of his testimony. He felt he had defeated Catilina for a second time. 'Did you see the way that jury closed ranks around me? If ever you wished for a symbol of all that is best about Roman justice, Tiro, you saw it this morning.' Still, he decided against going back to the court to hear the closing speeches, and it was not until two days later, when the verdict was due to be delivered, that he ventured down to the Temple of Castor to see Clodius sentenced.

The jury by this time had requested armed protection from the senate, and a century of troops guarded the steps up to the platform. As Cicero approached the section of seats reserved for senators, he raised his arm to the jury and a few saluted him back, but many glanced nervously in the other direction. 'I suppose they must be afraid of showing their feelings in front of Clodius's mob,' Cicero said to me. 'After they have cast their votes, do you think I should go and stand with them, to show my support? There is bound to be trouble, even with an armed guard.' I was not at all sure this was wise, but there was no time for me to reply, as the praetor was already coming out of the temple. I left Cicero to take his place on the bench and went to join the crowd nearby.

The prosecution and defence having rested their cases, it now remained only for Voconius to sum up their arguments and direct the jury on points of law. Clodius was once again seated beside Fulvia. He turned and whispered to her occasionally, while she stared hard at the men who would shortly decide her husband's fate. Everything in court always takes longer than one expects – questions have to be answered, statutes consulted, documents found – and it must have been at least an hour later that the court officials finally began handing out the wax voting tokens to the jurymen. On one side was scratched an A for acquittal, and on the other a C for condemnation. The system was designed for maximum secrecy: it was the work of a moment to use one's thumb to wipe a letter clear and then drop the vote into the urn as it was handed round. When every token had been collected, the urn was carried over to the table in front of the praetor and emptied out. All around me the crowd stood on tiptoe, straining to see what was happening. For some, the tension of the silence was too much, and they felt compelled to puncture it by shouting out banalities – 'Come on, Clodius!' 'Long live Clodius!' – cries that produced little flurries of applause in the teeming multitude. An awning had been set up above the court to keep off the weather, and I remember how the canvas snapped like a sail in the stiff May breeze. At last the reckoning was done and the tally was handed to the praetor. He stood, and the court all did the same. Fulvia gripped Clodius's arm. I closed my eyes tight shut and prayed. We needed just twenty-nine votes to send Clodius into exile for the rest of his life.

'There voted in favour of condemnation twenty-five, and in favour of acquittal thirty-one. The verdict of this court is therefore that Publius Clodius Pulcher is not guilty of the charges laid against him, and the case-'

The praetor's final words were lost in the roar of approval. For me, the earth seemed to tilt. I felt myself sway, and when I opened my eyes, blinking in the glare, Clodius was making his way around the court, shaking hands with the jurors. The legionaries had linked arms to prevent anyone storming the platform. The mob were cheering and dancing. On either side of me Clodius's supporters insisted on shaking my hand, and I tried to force a smile as I did so, otherwise they might have beaten me up, or worse. In the midst of this noisy jubilation, the senatorial benches sat as white and still as a field of freshly fallen snow. I could make out a few expressions – Hortensius stricken, Lucullus uncomprehending, Catulus slack-mouthed with dismay. Cicero wore his professional mask and gazed statesmanlike into the distance.

After a few moments Clodius came to the front of the platform. He ignored the praetor's shouts that this was a court of law and not a public assembly and held up his hands for quiet. At once the noise fell away.

'My fellow citizens,' he said, 'this is not a victory for me. This is a victory for you, the people.' Another great swell of applause carried forward and broke against the temple, and he turned his face towards it, Narcissus to his mirror. This time he let the adulation go on for a long time. 'I was born a patrician,' he continued eventually, 'but the members of my own class turned against me. It is you who have supported and sustained me. It is to you I owe my life. I am of you. I wish to be among you. And henceforth I shall dedicate myself to you. Let it be known, therefore, on the day of this great victory, that it is my resolve to disavow my inheritance of blood as a patrician, and to seek adoption as a plebeian.' I glanced at Cicero. The statesmanlike look had vanished. He was staring at Clodius in open astonishment. 'And if I am successful, I shall follow a path of ambition not through the senate – filled as it is with the bloated and the corrupt – but as a people's representative – as one of you – as a tribune!' More massive applause followed, which again he quieted with a stroke of his hand. 'And if you, the people, choose me as a tribune, I make you this pledge and this promise, my friends – those who have taken the lives of Roman citizens without trial will very soon know what it is to taste the people's justice!'

Afterwards, Cicero retired to his library to mull over the verdict with Hortensius, Catulus and Lucullus, while Quintus went off to see if he could discover what had happened. As the senators sat in shock, Cicero told me to fetch some wine. 'Four votes,' he murmured. 'Just four votes cast the other way, and that irresponsible reprobate would even now be on his way out of Italy for ever. Four votes! ' He could not stop repeating it.

'Well, this is the end for me, gentlemen,' announced Lucullus. 'I shall retire from public life.' From a distance he seemed still to possess his usual cold demeanour, but when one came close to him, as I did when I handed him a cup of wine, one could see that he was blinking uncontrollably. He had been humiliated. It was intolerable to him. He drank the wine quickly and held out his cup for more.

'Our colleagues will be in a panic,' observed Hortensius.

Catulus said, 'I feel quite faint.'

'Four votes!'

'I shall tend my fish, study philosophy and compose myself for death. This republic holds no place for me any longer.'

Presently, Quintus arrived with news from the court. He had spoken to the prosecutors, he said, and to three of the jurors who had voted to condemn. 'It seems there has never been such bribery in the history of Roman justice. There are rumours that some of the key men were offered four hundred thousand to make sure the verdict went Clodius's way.'

' Four hundred thousand? ' repeated Hortensius in disbelief.

'But where did Clodius get such sums?' demanded Lucullus. 'That little bitch of a wife is rich, but even so…'

Quintus said, 'The rumour is that the money was put up by Crassus.'

For the second time that day, the solid earth seemed to melt beneath my feet. Cicero glanced briefly in my direction.

'I find that hard to believe,' said Hortensius. 'Why would Crassus want to pay out a fortune to rescue Clodius, of all people?'

'Well, I can only report what is being said,' replied Quintus. 'Crassus had twenty of the jury round to his house last night, one after the other, and asked each of them what they wanted. He settled bills for some. To others he gave contracts. The rest took cash.'

'That is still not a majority of the jury,' pointed out Cicero.

'No, the word is that Clodius and Fulvia were also busy,' said Quintus, 'and not just with their gold. Beds were creaking in some noble houses in Rome last night, for those jurors who chose to take their payment in a different coin – male or female. I'm told that Clodia herself worked hard for several votes.'

'Cato has been right all along,' exclaimed Lucullus. 'The core of our republic is utterly rotten. We're finished. And Clodius is the maggot who will destroy us.'

'Can you imagine a patrician transferring to the plebs?' asked Hortensius in a tone of wonder. 'Can you imagine wanting to do such a thing?'

'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' said Cicero, 'we've lost a trial, that's all – don't let's lose our nerve. Clodius isn't the first guilty man to walk free from a court of law.'

'He will come after you, brother,' warned Quintus. 'If he transfers to the plebs, you can be sure he will be elected tribune – he's too popular now to be stopped – and once he has the powers of that office at his disposal, he can cause you a great deal of trouble.'

'It will never happen,' said Cicero. 'The state authorities will never allow him to transfer. And if by some amazing mischance they do, do you really think that I – after all that I've achieved in this city, starting from nothing – do you honestly believe that I can't handle a giggling puerile pervert such as our Little Miss Beauty? I could snap his spine in a single speech!'

'You're right,' said Hortensius, 'and I want you to know that we will never abandon you. If he does dare to attack you, you will always have our complete support. Is that not so, Lucullus?'

'Of course.'

'Don't you agree, Catulus?' But the old patrician did not answer. 'Catulus?' Again there was no reply. Hortensius sighed. 'I'm afraid he's grown very old of late. Wake him, will you, Tiro?'

I put my hand on Catulus's shoulder and shook him gently. His head lolled over on to one side and I had to grab him to stop him sliding to the floor. His head flopped back so that his leathery old face was suddenly staring up into mine. His eyes were open. His mouth hung loose, leaking spit. I snatched away my hand in shock, and it was Quintus who had to step forward to feel his neck and pronounce him dead.

Thus passed from this world Quintus Lutatius Catulus, in the sixty-first year of his life: consul, pontiff, and fierce upholder of the prerogatives of the senate. He was of an earlier, sterner era, and I look back on his death, as I do on that of Metellus Pius, as a milestone in the demise of the republic. Hortensius, who was Catulus's brother-in-law, took a candle from Cicero and held it to the old man's face, and softly tried to call him back to life. Never have I seen the point of the ancient tradition more clearly than at that moment, for it really did seem as if Catulus's spirit had just slipped out of the room and could easily return if properly summoned. We waited to see if he might revive, but of course he did not, and after a while Hortensius kissed his forehead and closed his eyes. He wept a little, and even Cicero looked red-eyed, for although he and Catulus had started out as enemies, they had ended up making common cause, and he had come to respect the old man for his integrity. Only Lucullus appeared unmoved, but by then I believe he had reached a stage where he preferred fish to human beings.

Naturally, all discussion of the trial was ended. Catulus's slaves were summoned to carry their master's corpse the short distance to his house, and once this had been done, Hortensius went off to break the news to his own household, while Lucullus retired to dine alone, no doubt on larks' wings and the tongues of nightingales, in his vast Room of Apollo. As for Quintus, he announced that he was to depart at dawn the next morning on the start of his long journey to Asia. Cicero knew that his brother was under orders to leave as soon as the jury returned its verdict, but even so I could tell that this was the hardest of all the blows he had endured that day. He summoned Terentia and little Marcus to say goodbye, and then abruptly withdrew to his library alone, leaving me to accompany Quintus to the door.

'Goodbye, Tiro,' Quintus said, taking my hand in both of his. He had hard, calloused palms; not like Cicero's soft lawyer's hands. 'I shall miss your counsel. Will you write to me often and tell me how my brother is faring?'

'Gladly.'

He seemed about to step into the street, but then he turned and said, 'He should have given you your freedom when he ceased to be consul. That was his intention. Did you know that?'

I was stunned by this revelation. 'He had stopped talking about it,' I stammered. 'I assumed he had changed his mind.'

'He says he is frightened of how much you know.'

'But I would never utter to anyone a word I had learned in confidence!'

'I know that, and in his heart so does he. Don't be concerned. It's really just an excuse. The truth is he's scared of the thought that you might leave him too, just as Atticus and I are doing. He relies on you more than you know.'

I was too overcome to speak.

'When I return from Asia,' he continued, 'you shall have your freedom, I promise you. You belong to the family, not just to my brother. In the meantime, look out for his safety, Tiro. There's something happening in Rome that I don't like the smell of.'

He raised his hand in farewell and, accompanied by his attendants, set off down the street. I stood on the step and watched his familiar sturdy figure, with its broad shoulders and steady tread, stride down the hill until it was out of sight.