Lustrum

III

I do not know how the ceremony goes these days, when even the most senior magistrates are merely errand boys, but in Cicero's time the first visitor to call upon the new consul on the day of his swearing-in was always a member of the College of Augurs. Accordingly, just before dawn, Cicero stationed himself in the atrium alongside Terentia and his children to await the augur's arrival. I knew he had not slept well for I had heard him moving about upstairs, pacing up and down, which is what he always did when he was thinking. But his powers of recuperation were miraculous, and he looked fit and keen enough as he stood with his family, like an Olympian who has been training his whole life for one particular race and at last is about to run it.

When all was ready I signalled to the porter and he opened the heavy wooden door to admit the keepers of the sacred chickens, the pularii – half a dozen skinny little fellows, looking a bit like chickens themselves. Behind this escort loomed the augur, tapping the floor with his curved staff: a veritable giant in his full rig of tall conical cap and abundant purple robe. Little Marcus shrieked when he saw him coming down the passageway and hid behind Terentia's skirts. The augur that day was Quintus Caecilius Metellus Celer, and I should say something of him, for he was to be an important figure in Cicero's story. He was just back from fighting in the East – a real soldier, something of a war hero, in fact, after beating off an enemy attack on his winter quarters while greatly outnumbered. He had served under the command of Pompey the Great, who also happened to be married to his sister, which had not exactly hindered his promotion. Not that it mattered. He was a Metellus, and therefore more or less predestined to be consul himself in a couple of years; that day he was due to be sworn in as praetor. His wife was the notorious beauty Clodia, a member of the Claudian family: all in all you could not have got much better connected than Metellus Celer, who was by no means as stupid as he looked.

'Consul-Elect, good morning!' he barked, as if addressing his legionaries at reveille. 'So the great day has come at last. What will it hold, I wonder?'

'You're the augur, Celer. You tell me.'

Celer threw back his head and laughed. I found out later he had no more faith in divination than Cicero had, and was only a member of the College of Augurs out of political expediency. 'Well, I can predict one thing, and that is that there will be trouble. There was a crowd outside the Temple of Saturn when I passed just now. It looks as though Caesar and his friends may have posted their great bill overnight. What an amazing rogue he is!'

I was standing directly behind Cicero so I couldn't see his face, but I could tell by the way his shoulders stiffened that this news immediately set him on his guard.

'Right,' continued Celer, ducking to avoid a low beam, 'which way is your roof?'

Cicero ushered the augur towards the stairs, and as he passed me he whispered urgently, 'Go and find out what's going on, as quickly as you can. Take the boys. I need to know every clause.'

I beckoned to Sositheus and Laurea to join me, and led by a couple of slaves with torches we set off down the hill. It was hard to find our way in the darkness, and the ground was treacherous with snow. But as we came out into the forum I saw a few lights glinting ahead, and we headed for those. Celer was right. A bill had been nailed up in its traditional place outside the Temple of Saturn. Despite the hour and the cold, such was the public excitement a couple of dozen citizens had already gathered to read the text. It was very long, several thousand words, arranged on six large boards, and was proposed in the name of the tribune Rullus, although everyone knew that the authors were really Caesar and Crassus. I set Sositheus on the beginning part, Laurea on the end, while I took the middle.

We worked quickly, ignoring the people behind us complaining that we were blocking their view, and by the time we had it all down, the night was nearly over and the first day of the new year had arrived. Even without studying all the details I could tell it would cause Cicero great trouble. The republic's state land in Campania was to be compulsorily seized and divided into five thousand farms, which would be given away free. An elected commission of ten men would decide who got what, and would have sweeping powers to raise taxes abroad and buy and sell more land in Italy as they saw fit, without reference to the senate. The patricians would be incensed, and the timing of the promul gation – just hours before Cicero had to give his inaugural address – was obviously meant to put the maximum amount of pressure on the incoming consul.

When we got back to the house Cicero was still on the roof, seated for the first time on his ivory curule chair. It was bitterly cold up there, with snow still on the tiles and parapet. He was swaddled in a rug, almost up to his chin, and wore a curious hat made of rabbit fur, with flaps that covered his ears. Celer stood nearby with the pularii clustered around him. He was sectioning the sky with his wand, wearily checking the heavens for birds and lightning. But the air was very still and clear and he was obviously having no success. The instant Cicero saw me he seized the tablets with his mittened hands and began flicking through them rapidly. The hinged wooden frames clattered over, click click click, as he absorbed each page.

'Is it the populists' bill?' asked Celer, alerted by the noise and turning round.

'It is,' replied Cicero, his eyes scanning the writing with great rapidity, 'and they could not have designed a piece of legislation more likely to tear the republic apart.'

'Will you have to respond to it in your inaugural address?' I asked.

'Of course. Why else do you think they've published it now?'

'They've certainly picked their moment well,' said Celer. 'A new consul. His first day in office. No military experience. No great family behind him. They're testing your mettle, Cicero.' A shout came from down in the street. I looked over the parapet. A crowd was forming to escort Cicero to his inauguration. Across the valley, the temples of the Capitol were beginning to stand out sharply against the morning sky. 'Was that lightning?' said Celer to the nearest sacred chicken-keeper. 'I hope to Jupiter it was. My balls are freezing off.'

'If you saw lightning, Augur,' replied the chicken-keeper, 'lightning there must have been.'

'Right then, lightning it was, and on the left side, too. Write it down, boy. Congratulations, Cicero – a propitious omen. We'll be on our way.' But Cicero seemed not to have heard. He was sitting motionless in his chair, staring straight ahead. Celer put his hand on his shoulder as he passed. 'My cousin Quintus Metellus sends his regards, by the way, along with a gentle reminder that he's still outside the city waiting for that triumph you promised him in return for his vote. So is Licinius Lucullus, come to that. Don't forget, they've hundreds of veterans they can call on. If this thing comes to civil war – as it well may – they're the ones who can come in and restore order.'

'Thank you, Celer. Bringing soldiers into Rome – that's certainly the way to avoid civil war.'

The remark was meant to be sarcastic, but sarcasm bounces off the Celers of this world like a child's arrow off armour. He left Cicero's roof with his self-importance quite undented. I asked Cicero if there was anything I could get him. 'Yes,' he said gloomily, 'a new speech. Leave me alone for a while.' I did as he asked and went downstairs, trying not to think about the task that now confronted him: speaking extempore to six hundred senators on a complicated bill he had only just seen, with the certainty that whatever he said was bound to infuriate one faction or the other. It was enough to turn my stomach liquid.

The house was filling quickly, not just with clients of Cicero's but with well-wishers walking in off the street. Cicero had ordered that no expense be spared on his inauguration, and whenever Terentia raised her concerns about the cost, he would always answer with a smile, 'Macedonia will pay.' So everyone who turned up was presented on arrival with a gift of figs and honey. Atticus, who was a leader of the Order of Knights, had brought a large detachment of Cicero's equestrian supporters; these, together with Cicero's closest colleagues in the senate, marshalled by Quintus, were all being given mulled wine in the tablinum. Servius was not among them. I managed to tell both Atticus and Quintus that the populists' bill had been posted, and that it was bad.

Meanwhile the hired flautists were also enjoying the household's food and drink, as were the percussionists and dancers, the agents from the precincts and the tribal headquarters, and of course the officials who came with the consulship: the scribes, summoners, copyists and criers from the treasury, along with the twelve lictors provided by the senate to ensure the consul's protection. All that was missing from the show was its leading actor, and as time went on it became harder and harder for me to explain his absence, for everyone by this time had heard of the bill and wanted to know what Cicero was planning to say about it. I could only reply that he was still taking the auspices and would be down directly. Terentia, decked out in her new jewels, hissed at me that I had better take control of the situation before the house was entirely stripped bare, and so I hit on the ruse of sending two slaves up to the roof to fetch the curule chair, with instructions to tell Cicero that the symbol of his authority was required to lead the procession – an excuse that also had the merit of being true.

This did the trick, and shortly afterwards Cicero descended – divested, I was glad to see, of his rabbit-fur hat. His appearance provoked a raucous cheer from the packed crowd, many of whom were now very merry on his mulled wine. Cicero handed me back the wax tablets on which the bill was written. 'Bring them with you,' he whispered. Then he climbed on to a chair, gave the company a cordial wave and asked all those present who were on the staff of the treasury to raise their hands. About two dozen did so; astonishing as it now seems, this was the total number of men who at that time administered the Roman empire from its centre.

'Gentlemen,' he said, resting his hand on my shoulder, 'this is Tiro, who has been my chief private secretary since before I was a senator. You are to regard an order from him as an order from me, and all business that it is to be discussed with me may also be raised with him. I prefer written to oral reports. I rise early and work late. I won't tolerate bribes, or corruption in any form, or gossip. If you make a mistake, don't be afraid to tell me, but do it quickly. Remember that, and we shall get along well enough. And now: to business!'

After this little speech, which left me blushing, the lictors were handed their new rods along with a purse of money for each man, and finally Cicero's curule chair was brought down from the roof and displayed to the crowd. It drew gasps and a round of applause all to itself, as well it might, for it was carved from Numidian ivory, and had cost over a hundred thousand sesterces ('Macedonia will pay!'). Then everyone drank more wine – even little Marcus took some from an ivory beaker – the flute-players started up, and we went out into the street to begin the long walk across the city.

It was still icy cold, but the sun was coming up, breaking over the rooftops in lines of gold, and the effect of the light on the snow was to give Rome a celestial radiance such as I had never seen before. The lictors led the parade; four of them carried aloft the curule chair on an open litter. Cicero walked beside Terentia. Tullia was behind him, accompanied by her fiance, Frugi. Quintus carried Marcus on his shoulders, while on either side of the consular family marched the knights and the senators in gleaming white. The flutes piped, the drums beat, the dancers leaped. Citizens lined the streets and hung out of their windows to watch. There was much cheering and clapping, but also – to be honest – some booing, especially in the poorer parts of Subura, as we paraded along the Argiletum towards the forum. Cicero nodded from side to side, and occasionally raised his right hand in salute, but his expression was very grave, and I knew he must be turning over in his mind what lay ahead. In the period before a big speech a part of him was always unreachable. Occasionally I saw both Atticus and Quintus try to speak to him, but he shook his head, wishing to be left alone with his thoughts.

When we reached the forum it was packed with crowds. We passed the rostra and the empty senate house and finally began our ascent of the Capitol. The smoke from the altar fires was curling above the temples. I could smell the saffron burning, and hear the lowing of the bulls awaiting sacrifice. As we neared the Arch of Scipio I looked back, and there was Rome – her hills and valleys, towers and temples, porticoes and houses all veiled white and sparkling with snow, like a bride in her gown awaiting her groom.

We entered the Area Capitolina to find the remainder of the senate waiting for us, arrayed before the Temple of Jupiter. I was ushered along with Cicero's family and the rest of the household to the wooden stand that had been erected for spectators. A trumpet blast echoed off the walls, and the senators turned as one to watch as Cicero passed through their ranks – all those crafty faces, reddened by the cold, their covetous eyes studying the consul-elect: the men who had never won the consulship and knew they never would, the men who desired it and feared they might fail, and those who had held it once and still believed it was rightly theirs. Hybrida, Cicero's fellow consul, was already in position at the foot of the temple steps. Above the scene the great bronze roof looked molten in the brilliant winter sunshine. Without acknowledging one another, the two consuls-elect slowly mounted to the altar, where the chief priest, Metellus Pius, lay on a litter, too sick to get to his feet. Surrounding Pius were the six Vestal Virgins and the other fourteen pontiffs of the state religion. I could clearly make out Catulus, who had rebuilt the temple on behalf of the senate, and whose name appeared above the door ('greater than Jove', some wags called him in consequence). Next to him was Isauricus. I recognised also Scipio Nasica, Pius's adopted son; Junius Silanus, who was the husband of Servilia, the cleverest woman in Rome; and finally, standing slightly apart from the rest, incongruous in his priestly garments, I spotted the thin and broad-shouldered figure of Julius Caesar, but unfortunately I was too far away to read his expression.

There was a long silence. The trumpet sounded again. A huge creamy bull with red ribbons tied to its horns was led towards the altar. Cicero pulled up the folds of his toga to shroud his head, and then in a loud voice recited from memory the state prayer. The instant he had finished, the attendant stationed behind the bull felled it with such a hammer blow that the crack echoed round the portico. The creature crashed on to its side and, as the attendants sawed open its stomach, the vision of the dead boy rose disconcertingly before my eyes. They had its entrails on the altar for inspection even before the wretched animal had died. There was a groan from the congregation, who interpreted the bull's thrashings as ill luck, but when the haruspices presented the liver to Cicero for his inspection, they declared it unusually propitious. Pius – who was quite blind in any case – nodded weakly in agreement, the innards were flung on the fire, and the ceremony was over. The trumpet wailed into the cold clear air for a final time, a gust of applause carried across the enclosed space, and Cicero was consul.

The senate's first session of the new year was always held in the Temple of Jupiter, with the consul's chair placed on a dais directly beneath the great bronze statue of the Father of the Gods. No citizen, however eminent, was permitted entry to the senate unless he was a member. But because I had been charged by Cicero with making a shorthand record of proceedings – the first time this had ever been done – I was allowed to sit near him during debates. You may well imagine my feelings as I followed him up the wide aisle between the wooden benches. The white-robed senators poured in behind us, their animated speculation like the roar of an incoming tide. Who had read the populists' bill? Had anyone spoken to Caesar? What would Cicero say?

As the new consul reached the dais, I turned to watch those figures I knew so well coming in to take their seats. To the right of the consular chair flowed the patrician faction – Catulus, Isauricus, Hortensius and the rest – while to the left headed those who supported the populists' cause, notably Caesar and Crassus. I searched for Rullus, in whose name the bill had been laid, and spotted him with the other tribunes. Until very recently he had been just another rich young dandy, but now he had taken to wearing the clothes of a poor man, and had grown a beard, to show his populist sympathies. Further along I saw Catilina fling himself down on one of the front benches reserved for praetorians, his powerful arms spread wide, his long legs outstretched. His expression was heavy with thought; no doubt he was reflecting that but for Cicero it would have been he in the consul's chair that day. His acolytes took their places behind him – men like the bankrupt gambler Curius, and the immensely fat Cassius Longinus, whose flab occupied the space of two normal senators.

I was so interested in noting who was present and how they were behaving that I briefly took my eyes off Cicero, and when I looked around he had disappeared. I wondered if he might have gone outside to throw up, which he often did when he was nervous before a difficult speech. But when I went behind the dais I found him, hidden from view, standing at the back of the statue of Jupiter, engaged in an intense discussion with Hybrida. He was staring deep into Hybrida's bloodshot blue eyes, his right hand gripping his colleague's shoulder, his left making forceful gestures. Hybrida was nodding slowly in response, as if dimly understanding something. Finally a slow smile spread across his face. Cicero released him and the two men shook hands, then they both stepped out from behind the statue. Hybrida went off to take his place, while Cicero brusquely asked if I had remembered the transcription of the bill. I replied that I had. 'Good,' he said. 'Then let us begin.'

I found my place on a stool at the bottom of the dais, opened my tablet, pulled out my stylus, and prepared to take down what would be the first official shorthand record of a senate session. Two other clerks, trained by myself, were in position on either side of the chamber, to transcribe their own versions: afterwards we would compare notes so as to produce a complete summary. I still had no idea how Cicero was planning to handle the occasion. I knew he had been trying for days to craft a speech appealing for consensus, but that it had proved so hopelessly bland he had thrown away draft after draft in disgust. Nobody could be sure how he was going to react. The anticipation in the chamber was intense. When he mounted the dais, the chatter dropped away at once, and one could sense the entire senate leaning forward to hear what he had to say.

'Gentlemen,' he began, in his usual quiet manner of opening a speech, 'it is the custom that magistrates elected to this great office should start with some expression of humility, recalling those ancestors of theirs who have also held the rank, and expressing the hope that they may prove worthy of their example. In my case such humility, I am pleased to say, is not possible.' That drew some laughter. 'I am a new man,' he proclaimed. 'I owe my elevation not to family, or to name, or to wealth, or to military renown, but to the people of Rome, and as long as I hold this office I will be the people's consul.'

It was a wonderful instrument, that voice of Cicero's, with its rich tone and its hint of a stutter – an impediment that somehow made each word seem fought for and more precious – and his words resonated in the hush like a message from Jove. Tradition demanded that he should talk first about the army, and as the great carved eagles looked down from the roof, he lauded the exploits of Pompey and the Eastern legions in the most extravagant terms, knowing his words would be relayed by the fastest means possible to the great general, who would study them with keen interest. The senators stamped their feet and roared in prolonged approval, for every man present knew that Pompey was the most powerful man in the world and no one, not even his jealous enemies among the patricians, wanted to seem reluctant in his praise.

'As Pompey upholds our republic abroad, so we must play our part here at home,' continued Cicero, 'resolute to protect its honour, wise in charting its course, just in pursuit of domestic harmony.' He paused. 'Now, you all know that this morning, before the sun had even risen, the bill of the tribune Servilius Rullus, for which we have been waiting so long, was finally posted in the forum. And the moment I heard of this, by my instructions, a number of copyists came running up all together, to bring an exact transcript of it to me.' He stretched down his arm and I passed him the three wax tablets. My hand was shaking, but his never wavered as he held them aloft. 'Here is the bill, and I earnestly assure you that I have examined it as carefully as is possible in the circumstances of today and in the time allowed me, and that I have reached a firm opinion.'

He waited, and looked across the chamber – to Caesar in his place on the second bench, staring impassively at the consul, and to Catulus and the other patrician ex-consuls on the front bench opposite.

'It is nothing less,' he said, 'than a dagger, pointed towards the body politic, that we are being invited to plunge into our own heart!'

His words produced an immediate eruption – of shouted anger and dismissive gestures from the populists' benches and a low, masculine rumble of approval from the patricians'.

'A dagger,' he repeated, 'with a long blade.' He licked his thumb and flicked open the first notebook. 'Clause one, page one, line one. The election of the ten commissioners…'

In this way he cut straight through the posturing and sentiment to the nub of the issue, which was, as it always is, power. 'Who proposes the commission?' he asked. 'Rullus. Who determines who is to elect the commissioners? Rullus. Who summons the assembly to elect the commissioners? Rullus…' The patrician senators began joining in, chanting the unfortunate tribune's name after every question. 'Who declares the results?'

'Rullus!' boomed the senate.

'Who alone is guaranteed a place as a commissioner?'

'Rullus!'

'Who wrote the bill?'

' Rullus! ' And the house collapsed in tears of laughter at its own wit, while poor Rullus flushed pink and looked this way and that as if seeking somewhere to hide. Cicero must have gone on for half an hour in this fashion, clause by clause, quoting the bill and mocking it and shredding it, in such savage terms that the senators around Caesar and on the tribunes' bench began to look distinctly grim. To think that he had had only an hour or so to collect his thoughts was marvellous. He denounced it as an attack on Pompey – who could not stand for election to the commission in absentia – and as an attempt to re-establish the kings in the guise of commissioners. He quoted freely from the bill – ' The ten commissioners shall settle any colonists they like in whatever towns and districts they choose, and assign them lands wherever they please ' – and made its bland language sound like a call for tyranny.

'What then? What kind of settlement will be made in those lands? What will be the method and arrangement of the whole affair? “Colonies will be settled there,” Rullus says. Where? Of what kind of men? In what places? Did you, Rullus, think that we should hand over to you, and to the real architects of your schemes' – and here he pointed directly at Caesar and Crassus – 'the whole of Italy unarmed, that you might strengthen it with garrisons, occupy it with colonies, and hold it bound and fettered by every kind of chain?'

There were shouts of 'No!' and 'Never!' from the patrician benches. Cicero extended his hand and averted his gaze from it, in the classic gesture of rejection. 'Such things as these I will resist passionately and vigorously. Nor will I, while I am consul, allow men to set forth those plans against the state which they have long had in mind. I have decided to carry on my consulship in the only manner in which it can be conducted with dignity and freedom. I will never seek to obtain a province, any honours, any distinctions or advantage, nor anything that a tribune of the people can prevent me from obtaining.'

He paused to emphasise his meaning. I had my head down, writing, but at that I looked up sharply. I will never seek to obtain a province. Had he really just said that? I could not believe it. As the implications of his words sank in, the senators began to murmur.

'Yes,' said Cicero, over the swelling notes of disbelief, 'your consul, on this first of January, in a crowded senate, declares that, if the republic continues in its present state, and unless some danger arises that he cannot honourably avoid meeting, he will not accept the government of a province.'

I glanced across the aisle to where Quintus was sitting. He looked as if he had just swallowed a wasp. Macedonia – that shimmering prospect of wealth and luxury, of independence from a lifetime of drudgery in the law courts – was gone!

'Our republic has many hidden wounds,' declared Cicero, in the sombre tone he always used in peroration. 'Many wicked designs of evil citizens are being formed. Yet there is no external danger. No king, no people, no nation is to be feared. The evil is confined entirely within our gates. It is internal and domestic. It is the duty of each of us to remedy it to the best of our power. If you promise me your zeal in upholding the common dignity, I will certainly fulfil the most ardent wish of the republic – that the authority of this order, which existed in the time of our ancestors, may now, after a long interval, be seen to be restored to the state.' And with that he sat down.

Well, it certainly was a memorable address, and accorded with Cicero's first law of rhetoric, that a speech must always contain at least one surprise. But the shocks were not over yet. It was the custom when the presiding consul had finished his opening remarks for him to call next upon his colleague to give his opinion. The loud applause of the majority, and the catcalls from the benches around Catilina and Caesar, had barely died away, when Cicero shouted out, 'The house recognises Antonius Hybrida!'

Hybrida, who was sitting on the front bench nearest Cicero, glanced sheepishly across at Caesar, then got to his feet. 'This bill that's been proposed by Rullus – from what I've seen of it – I have to say – in my opinion – given the state of the republic – it's really not such a good idea.' He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. 'So I'm against it,' he said, and sat down abruptly.

After a moment's silence a great noise poured out from the senate, made up of all kinds of emotions – derision, anger, pleasure, shock. It was clear that Cicero had just pulled off a remarkable political coup, for everyone had taken it as certain that Hybrida would support his allies the populists. Now he had reversed himself entirely, and his motivation could not be more obvious – with Cicero ruling himself out of the running for a province, Macedonia would be his after all! The patrician senators on the benches behind Hybrida were leaning forward and clapping him on the back in sarcastic congratulations, and he was squirming at their taunts and looking nervously across the aisle at his erstwhile friends. Catilina seemed stupefied, like a man turned to stone. As for Caesar, he simply leaned back and folded his arms and studied the ceiling of the temple, shaking his head and smiling slightly, while the pandemonium continued.

The rest of the session was an anticlimax. Cicero worked his way down the list of praetors and then began calling the former consuls, asking each his opinion of Rullus's bill. They split exactly along factional lines. Cicero did not even call Caesar: he was still too junior, having not yet held imperium. The only really menacing note was struck by Catilina. 'You have called yourself the people's consul,' he sneered at Cicero, when at long last his turn came to speak. 'Well, we shall see what the people have to say about that!' But the day belonged to the new consul, and when the light began to fade and he declared the session adjourned until after the Latin Festival, the patricians escorted him out of the temple and across the city to his home as if he were one of their own, rather than a despised 'new man'.

Cicero was in a great good humour as he stepped across the threshold, for nothing is more pleasing in politics than to catch your opponents off guard, and the defection of Hybrida was all that anyone could talk about. Quintus, however, was furious, and the moment the house was at last emptied of well-wishers, he turned on his brother with an anger I had never before witnessed. It was all the more embarrassing because Atticus and Terentia were also present.

'Why did you not consult any of us before giving away your province?' he demanded.

'What does it matter? The effect is what counts. You were sitting opposite them. Whom did you think looked sicker – Caesar or Crassus?'

But Quintus was not to be deflected. 'When was this decided?'

'To be honest, I've had it in mind ever since I drew the lot for Macedonia.'

At this, Quintus threw up his hands in exasperation. 'Do you mean to say that when we were talking to you last night, you'd already made up your mind?'

'More or less.'

'But why didn't you tell us?'

'First, because I knew you'd disagree. Second, because I thought there was still just a chance Caesar might produce a bill I could support. And third, because what I choose to do with my province is my business.'

'No, it's not just your business, Marcus, it's our business. How are we to pay off our debts without the income from Macedonia?'

'You mean, how are you to finance your campaign for the praetorship this summer?'

'That's unfair!'

Cicero seized Quintus's hand. 'Brother, listen to me. You will have your praetorship. And you won't acquire it through bribery, but through the good name of the Cicero family, which will make the triumph all the sweeter. You must see I had to separate Hybrida from Caesar and the tribunes? My only hope of piloting the republic through this storm is to keep the senate united. I can't have my colleague plotting behind my back. Macedonia had to go.' He appealed to Atticus and Terentia. 'Who wants to govern a province, in any case? You know I couldn't bear to leave you all behind in Rome.'

'And what's to stop Hybrida simply taking Macedonia off you and supporting the prosecution of Rabirius?' persisted Quintus.

'Why would he bother? His only reason for joining their schemes was money. Now he can pay off his debts without them. Besides, nothing's signed and sealed – I can always change my mind. And meanwhile by this noble gesture I show the people I'm a man of principle who puts the welfare of the republic ahead of his own personal gain.'

Quintus looked at Atticus. Atticus shrugged. 'The logic is sound,' he said.

'And what do you think, Terentia?' asked Quintus.

Cicero's wife had kept very quiet, which was unlike her. Even now she did not say anything, but continued to stare at her husband, who stared back at her impassively. Slowly she reached up to her hair, and from those tight dark curls she plucked the diadem that was fastened there. Still without taking her eyes from Cicero's face she removed the necklace from her throat, unclipped the emerald brooch from her breast, and slid the gold bracelets from each of her wrists. Finally, grimacing with the effort, she pulled the rings off her fingers. When she had finished, she cupped all this newly purchased jewellery in her two hands, and let it fall. The glittering gems and precious metal scattered noisily across the mosaic floor. Then she turned and walked out of the room.