Lustrum

VIII

A terrible melancholy now overcame Cicero, of a depth I had never seen before. Terentia went off with the children to spend the rest of the summer in the higher altitudes and cooler glades of Tusculum, but the consul stayed in Rome, working. The heat was more than usually oppressive, the stink of the great drain beneath the forum rose to envelop the hills, and many hundreds of citizens were carried off by the sweating fever, the stench of their corpses adding to the noisome atmosphere. I have often wondered what history would have found to say about Cicero if he had also succumbed to a fatal illness at that time – and the answer is 'very little'. At the age of forty-three he had won no military victories. He had written no great books. True, he had achieved the consulship, but then so had many nonentities, Hybrida being the most obvious example. The only significant law he had carried on to the statute book was Servius's campaign finance reform act, which he heartily disliked. In the meantime Catilina was still at liberty and Cicero had lost a great deal of prestige by what was seen as his panicky behaviour on the eve of the poll. As the summer turned to autumn, his consulship was almost three quarters done and dribbling away to nothing – a fact he realised more keenly than anybody.

One day in September I left him alone with a pile of legal papers to read. It was almost two months after the elections. Servius had made good his threat to prosecute Murena and was seeking to have his victory declared null and void. Cicero felt he had little choice except to defend the man whom he had done so much to make consul. Once again he would appear alongside Hortensius, and the amount of evidence to be mastered was immense. But when I returned some hours later the documents were still untouched. He had not moved from his couch, and was clutching a cushion to his stomach. I asked if he was ill. 'I have a dryness of the heart,' he said. 'What's the point of going on with all this work and striving? No one will ever remember my name – not even in a year's time, let alone in a thousand. I'm finished – a complete failure.' He sighed and stared at the ceiling, the back of his hand resting on his forehead. 'Such dreams I had, Tiro – such hopes of glory and renown. I meant to be as famous as Alexander. But it's all gone awry somehow. And do you know what most torments me as I lie awake at night? It's that I cannot see what I could have done differently.'

He continued to keep in touch with Curius, whose grief at the death of his mistress had not abated; in fact he had become ever more obsessed. From him Cicero learned that Catilina was continuing to plot against the state, and now much more seriously. There were disturbing reports of covered wagons full of weapons being moved under cover of darkness along the roads outside Rome. Fresh lists of possibly sympathetic senators had been drawn up, and according to Curius these now included two young patrician senators, M. Claudius Marcellus and Q. Scipio Nasica. Another ominous sign was that G. Manlius, Catilina's wild-eyed military lieutenant, had disappeared from his usual haunts in the back streets of Rome and was rumoured to be touring Etruria, recruiting armed bands of supporters. Curius could produce no written evidence for any of this – Catilina was much too cunning for that – and eventually, after asking a few too many questions, he came under suspicion from his fellow conspirators and began to be excluded from their inner circle. Thus Cicero's only first-hand source of information gradually ran dry.

At the end of the month he decided to risk his credibility once again by raising the matter in the senate. It was a disaster. 'I have been informed-' he began, but could proceed no further because of the gusts of merriment that blew around the chamber. 'I have been informed' was exactly the formulation he had used twice before when raising the spectre of Catilina, and it had become a kind of satirical catchphrase. Wags in the street would shout it after him as he went by: 'Oh, look! There goes Cicero! Has he been informed?' His enemies in the senate yelled it out while he was speaking: 'Have you informed yourself yet, Cicero?' And now inadvertently he had said it again. He smiled weakly and affected not to care, but of course he did. Once a leader starts to be laughed at as a matter of routine, he loses authority, and then he is finished. 'Don't go out without your armour!' someone called as he processed from the chamber, and the house was convulsed with mirth. He locked himself away in his study soon after that and I did not see much of him for several days. He spent more time with my junior, Sositheus, than he did with me; I felt oddly jealous.

There was another reason for his gloom, although few would have guessed it, and he would have been embarrassed if they had. In October his daughter was to be married – an occasion, he confided to me, that he was dreading. It was not that he disliked her husband, young Gaius Frugi, of the Piso clan: on the contrary, it was Cicero, after all, who had arranged the betrothal, years earlier, to bring in the votes of the Pisos. It was simply that he loved his little Tulliola so much that he could not bear the thought of their being parted. When, on the eve of the wedding, he saw her packing her childhood toys away as tradition demanded, tears came into his eyes and he had to leave the room. She was just fourteen. The following morning the ceremony took place in Cicero's house, and I was honoured to be asked to attend, along with Atticus and Quintus, and a whole crowd of Pisos (by heavens, what an ugly and lugubrious crowd they were!). I must confess that when Tullia was led down the stairs by her mother, all veiled and dressed in white, with her hair tied up and the sacred belt knotted around her waist, I cried myself; I cry now, remembering her girlishly solemn face as she recited that simple vow, so weighted with meaning: 'Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.' Frugi placed the ring on her finger and kissed her very tenderly. We ate the wedding cake and offered a portion to Jupiter, and then at the wedding breakfast, while little Marcus sat on his sister's knee and tried to steal her fragrant wreath, Cicero proposed the health of the bride and groom.

'I give to you, Frugi, the best that I have to give: no nature kinder, no temper sweeter, no loyalty fiercer, no courage stronger, no-'

He could not go on, and under cover of the loud and sympathetic applause he sat down.

Afterwards, hemmed in as usual by his bodyguards, he joined the procession to Frugi's family home on the Palatine. It was a cold day. Not many people were about; few joined us. When we reached the mansion, Frugi was waiting. He hoisted his bride into his arms and, ignoring Terentia's mock entreaties, carried her over the threshold. I had one last glimpse of Tullia's wide, fearful eyes staring out at us from the interior, and then the door closed. She was gone, and Cicero and Terentia were left to walk slowly home in silence, hand in hand.

That night, sitting at his desk before he went to bed, Cicero remarked for the twentieth time on how empty the place seemed without her. 'Only one small member of the household gone, and yet how diminished it is! Do you remember how she used to play at my feet, Tiro, when I was working? Just here.' He gently tapped his foot against the floor beneath his table. 'How often did she serve as the first audience for my speeches – poor uncomprehending creature! Well, there it is. The years sweep us on like leaves before a gale, and it cannot be helped.'

Those were his last words to me that evening. He went off to his bed and I, after I had blown out the candles in the study, retired to mine. I said good night to the guards in the atrium and carried my lamp to my tiny room. I placed it on the night-stand beside my cot, undressed, and lay awake as usual thinking over the events of the day, until slowly I felt my mind beginning to dissolve into sleep.

It was midnight – very quiet.

I was woken by fists pounding on the front door. I sat up with a start. I could only have been asleep for a few moments. The distant hammering came again, followed by ferocious barking, shouts and running feet. I seized my tunic and pulled it on as I hurried into the atrium. Cicero, fully dressed, was already descending the stairs from his bedroom, preceded by two guards with drawn swords. Behind him, wrapped in a shawl, was Terentia, with her hair in curlers. The banging resumed again, sharper now – sticks or shoes beating against the heavy wood. Little Marcus started howling in the nursery. 'Go and ask who it is,' Cicero told me, 'but don't open the door,' and then, to one of the knights: 'Go with him.'

Cautiously I advanced along the passage. We had a guard dog by this time – a massive black and brown mountain dog named Sargon, after the Assyrian kings. He was snarling and barking and yanking on his chain with such ferocity I thought he would tear it from the wall. I called out, 'Who's there?'

The reply was faint but audible: 'Marcus Licinius Crassus!'

Above the noise of the dog I called to Cicero: 'He says it's Crassus!'

'And is it?'

'It sounds like him.'

Cicero thought about it for a moment. I guessed he was calculating that Crassus would cheerfully see him dead, but also that it was hardly likely that a man of Crassus's eminence would try to murder a serving consul. He drew back his shoulders and smoothed down his hair. 'Well then, if he says it's Crassus, and it sounds like Crassus, you'd better let him in.'

I opened the door a crack to see a group of a dozen men holding torches. The bald head of Crassus shone in the yellow light like a harvest moon. I opened the door wider. Crassus eyed the snarling dog with distaste, then edged past it into the house. He was carrying a scruffy leather document case. Behind him came his usual shadow, the former praetor Quintus Arrius, and two young patricians, friends of Crassus who had only lately taken their seats in the senate – Claudius Marcellus and Scipio Nasica, whose names had featured on the most recent list of Catilina's potential sympathisers. Their escort tried to follow them in but I told them to wait outside: four enemies at one time was quite enough, I decided. I relocked the door.

'So what's all this about, Crassus?' asked Cicero as his old foe stepped into the atrium. 'It's too late for a social call and too early for business.'

'Good evening, Consul.' Crassus nodded coldly. 'And good evening to you, madam,' he said to Terentia. 'Our apologies for disturbing you. Don't let us keep you from your bed.' He turned his back on her and said to Cicero, 'Is there somewhere private we can talk?'

'I'm afraid my friends get nervous if I leave their sight.'

'Are you suggesting we're assassins?'

'No, but you keep company with assassins.'

'Not any longer,' said Crassus with a thin smile, and patted his document case. 'That's why we're here.'

Cicero hesitated. 'All right, in private, then.' Terentia started to protest. 'Don't alarm yourself, my dear. My guards will be right outside the door, and the strong arm of Tiro will be there to protect me.' (This was a joke.)

He ordered some chairs to be taken to his study, and the six of us just about managed to squeeze into it. I could see that Cicero was nervous. There was something about Crassus that always made his flesh crawl. Still, he was polite enough. He asked his visitors if they would like some wine, but they declined. 'Very well,' he said. 'Sober is better than drunk. Out with it.'

'There's trouble brewing in Etruria,' began Crassus.

'I know the reports. But as you saw when I tried to raise the matter, the senate won't take it seriously.'

'Well, they need to wake up quickly.'

'You've certainly changed your tune!'

'That's because I've come into possession of certain facts. Tell him, Arrius.'

'Well,' said Arrius, looking shifty. He was a clever fellow, an old soldier, low-born, and Crassus's creature in all matters. He was much mocked behind his back for his silly way of speaking, adding an 'h' to some of his vowels, presumably because he thought it made him sound educated. 'I was in Hetruria up till yesterday. There are bands of fighters gathering right across the region. I hunderstand they're planning to hadvance on Rome.'

'How do you know that?'

'I served with several of the ringleaders in the legions. They tried to persuade me to join them, and I let them think I might – purely to gather hintelligence, you hunderstand,' he added quickly.

'How many of these fighters are there?'

'I should say five thousand, maybe ten.'

'As many as that?'

'If there aren't that many now, there will be soon enough.'

'Are they armed?'

'Some. Not all. They have a plan, though.'

'And what is this plan?'

'To surprise the garrison at Praeneste, seize the town, fortify it, and use it as a base to rally their forces.'

'Praeneste is almost impregnable,' put in Crassus, 'and less than a day's march from Rome.'

'Manlius has also sent supporters the length and breadth of Hitaly to stir up hunrest.'

'My, my,' said Cicero, looking from one to the other, 'how well informed you are!'

'You and I have had our disagreements, Consul,' said Crassus coldly, 'but I'm a loyal citizen, first and last. I don't want to see a civil war. That's why we're here.' He placed the document case on his lap, opened it and pulled out a bundle of letters. 'These messages were delivered to my house earlier this evening. One was addressed to me; two others were for my friends here, Marcellus and young Scipio, who happened to be dining with me. The rest are addressed to various other members of the senate. As you can see, the seals on those are still unbroken. Here you are. I want there to be no secrets between us. Read the one that came for me.'

Cicero gave him a suspicious look, glanced through the letter quickly and then handed it to me. It was very short: The time for talking is over. The moment for action has arrived. Catilina has drawn up his plans. He wishes to warn you there will be bloodshed in Rome. Spare yourself and leave the city secretly. When it is safe to return, you will be contacted. There was no signature. The handwriting was neat and entirely without character: a child could have done it.

'You see why I felt we had to come straight away,' said Crassus. 'I've always been a supporter of Catilina. But we want no part of this.'

Cicero put his chin in his hand and said nothing for a while. He looked from Marcellus to Scipio. 'And the warnings to you both? Are they exactly the same?' The two young senators nodded. 'Anonymous?' More nods. 'And you've no idea who they're from?' They shook their heads. For two such arrogant young Roman noblemen, they were as docile as lambs.

'The identity of the sender is a mystery,' declared Crassus. 'My doorkeeper brought the letters in to us when we'd finished dinner. He didn't see who delivered them – they were left on the step and whoever was the courier ran away. Naturally Marcellus and Scipio read theirs at the same time as I read mine.'

'Naturally. May I see the other messages?'

Crassus reached into his document case and gave him the unopened letters one at a time. Cicero examined each address in turn and showed it to me. I remember a Claudius, an Aemilius, a Valerius and others of that ilk, including Hybrida: about eight or nine in total; all patricians.

'He seems to be warning his hunting companions,' said Cicero, 'for old times' sake. It's strange, is it not, that they should all be sent to you? Why is that, do you think?'

'I have no idea.'

'It's certainly an odd conspiracy that approaches a man who says he doesn't even belong to it and asks him to act as its messenger.'

'I can't pretend to explain it.'

'Perhaps it's a hoax.'

'Perhaps. But when one considers the alarming developments in Etruria, and then remembers how close Catilina is to Manlius… No, I think one has to take it seriously. I fear I owe you an apology, Consul. It seems Catilina may be a menace to the republic after all.'

'He's a menace to everyone.'

'Anything I can do to help – you have only to ask.'

'Well, for a start, I'll need those letters, all of them.'

Crassus exchanged looks with his companions, but then he stuffed the letters into the document case and gave it to Cicero. 'You'll be producing them in the senate, I assume?'

'I think I must, don't you? I'll also need Arrius to make a statement about what he's discovered in Etruria. Will you do that, Arrius?'

Arrius looked to Crassus for guidance. Crassus gave a slight nod. 'Habsolutely,' he confirmed.

Crassus said, 'And you'll be seeking the senate's authority to raise an army?'

'Rome must be protected.'

'May I just say that if you require a commander for such a force, you need look no further? Don't forget I was the one who put down the revolt of Spartacus. I can put down the revolt of Manlius just as well.'

As Cicero afterwards observed, the brazenness of the man was astonishing. Having helped create the danger in the first place by supporting Catilina, he now hoped to claim the credit for destroying it! Cicero made a non-committal reply, to the effect that it was rather late at night to be imagining armies into being and appointing generals, and that he would like to sleep on matters before deciding how to respond.

'But when you make your statement, you'll give me credit for my patriotism in coming forward, I hope?'

'You may rely on it,' said Cicero, ushering him out of the study and into the atrium, where the guards were waiting.

'If there's anything more I can do…' said Crassus.

'Actually there is one matter I'd appreciate your help on,' said Cicero, who never missed an opportunity to press home an advantage. 'This prosecution of Murena, if it succeeds, would rob us of a consul at a very dangerous moment. Will you join Hortensius and me in defending him?'

Of course this was the last thing Crassus wanted to do, but he made the best of it. 'It would be an honour.'

The two men shook hands. 'I cannot tell you,' said Cicero, 'how pleased I am that any misunderstandings that may have existed between us in the past are now cleared up.'

'I feel exactly the same, my dear Cicero. This has been a good night for both of us – and an ever better night for Rome.'

And with many mutual protestations of friendship, trust and regard, Cicero conducted Crassus and his companions to the door, bowed to him, wished him a sound night's sleep, and promised to talk to him in the morning.

'What a complete and utter lying shit that bastard is!' he exclaimed the moment the door had closed.

'You don't believe him?'

'What? That Arrius just happened to be in Etruria and by chance fell into idle conversation with men who are taking up arms against the state and who then on a whim urged him to join them? No I don't. Do you?'

'Those letters are very odd. Do you think he wrote them himself?'

'Why would he do that?'

'I suppose so that he could come to you in the middle of the night and play the part of the loyal citizen. They do give him the perfect excuse to withdraw his support from Catilina.' Suddenly I became excited, for I thought I saw the truth. 'That's it! He must have sent Arrius out to take a look at what was happening in Etruria, and then when Arrius came back and told him what was going on, he took fright. He's decided Catilina's certain to lose, and wants publicly to distance himself.'

Cicero nodded approvingly. 'That's clever.' He wandered back along the passage and into the atrium, his hands clasped behind his back, his head hunched forward, thinking. Suddenly he stopped. 'I wonder…' he began.

'What?'

'Well, look at it the other way round. Imagine that Catilina's plan works: that Manlius's ragamuffin army does indeed capture Praeneste and then advances on Rome, gathering support in every town and village through which it passes. There's panic and slaughter in the capital. The senate house is stormed. I am killed. Catilina effectively takes control of the republic. It's not impossible – the gods know, we have few enough here to defend us, while Catilina has many supporters living within our walls. Then what would happen?'

'I don't know. It's a nightmare.'

'I can tell you precisely what would happen. The surviving magistrates would have no option except to summon home the one man who could save the nation: Pompey the Great, at the head of his Eastern legions. With his military genius, and with forty thousand trained men under his command, he'd finish off Catilina in no time, and once he'd done that, nothing would stand between him and the dictatorship of the entire world. And which of his rivals does Crassus fear and hate more than any other?'

'Pompey?'

'Pompey. Exactly. That's it. The situation must be much more perilous even than I thought. Crassus came to see me tonight to betray Catilina not because he's worried he might fail but because he's frightened he'll succeed.'

The next morning at first light we left the house accompanied by four knights including the Sextus brothers, who henceforth would seldom leave the consul's side. Cicero kept the hood of his cloak well up and his head well down, while I carried the case of letters. Every few paces I had to take an extra step to keep up with his long stride. When I asked him where we were going, he replied: 'We need to find ourselves a general.'

It seems odd to relate, but overnight all Cicero's recent misery and despair had left him. Faced with this immense crisis he seemed – not happy: that would be absurd to say, but invigorated. He almost bounded up the steps to the Palatine, and when we turned into Victory Rise I realised our destination must be the house of Metellus Celer. We passed the portico of Catulus and drew into the doorway of the next house, which stood vacant, its windows and entrance boarded up. Determined not to be seen, Cicero said that he would wait here while I went next door and announced that the consul wished to see the praetor alone and in the strictest confidence. I did as he asked, and Celer's steward quickly reported back that his master would join us as soon as he could get away from his morning levee. When I returned to fetch Cicero, I found him talking to the watchman of the empty house. 'This place belongs to Crassus,' he told me as we walked away. 'Can you believe it? It's worth a fortune but he's leaving it empty so that he can get a better price next year. No wonder he doesn't want a civil war – it's bad for business!'

Cicero was conducted by a servant down an alleyway between the two houses, through the rear door and directly into the family apartments. There, Celer's wife Clodia, alluring in a silken robe over her nightdress, and with the musky smell of the bedchamber still upon her, waited to greet him. 'When I heard you were coming clandestinely through the back door I hoped it was to see me,' she said reproachfully, fixing him with her sleepy eyes, 'but now I hear it's my husband you want, which really is too boring of you.'

'I fear everyone is a bore,' said Cicero, bowing to kiss her hand, 'compared to she who reduces us all, however eloquent, to stammering wrecks.'

It was a measure of Cicero's revived spirits that he had the energy to flirt, and the contact between his lips and her skin seemed to last far longer than was necessary. What a scene: the great and prudish orator bent over the hand of the most titled trollop in Rome! It actually flashed into my mind – a wild, fantastical notion – that Cicero might one day leave Terentia for this woman, and I was glad when Celer came bustling into the room in his usual hearty military manner and the intimate atmosphere was instantly dissolved.

'Consul! Good morning! What can I do for you?'

'You can raise an army and save your country.'

'An army? That's a good one!' But then he saw that Cicero was serious. 'What are you talking about?'

'The crisis I have for so long predicted is upon us at last. Tiro, show the praetor the letter addressed to Crassus.' I did so, and watched Celer's face grow rigid as he read the words.

'This was sent to Crassus?'

'So he says. And these others were also delivered to him last night for distribution across the city.' Cicero gestured to me and I handed Celer the bundle of letters. He read a couple and compared them. When he had finished, Clodia lifted them from his hands and studied them herself. He made no effort to stop her, and I made a note in my mind to remember that she was privy to all his secrets. 'And that's only the half of it,' continued Cicero. 'According to Quintus Arrius, Etruria is swarming with Catilina's men. Manlius is raising a rebel army equivalent to two legions. They plan to seize Praeneste, and Rome will be next. I want you to take command of our defences. You'll need to move swiftly if we're to stop them.'

'What do you mean by swiftly?'

'You'll leave the city today.'

'But I have no authority-'

'I'll get you the authority.'

'Hold on, Consul. There are things I need to think about before I go off raising troops and rampaging through the countryside.'

'Such as?'

'Well, first I must certainly consult my brother Nepos. And then I have my other brother – my brother by marriage – Pompey the Great, to think about-'

'We haven't the time for all that! If every man starts considering his family's interests ahead of his nation's, we'll never get anywhere. Listen, Celer,' Cicero said, softening his tone in that way I'd heard him do so often, 'your courage and firm action have already saved the republic once when Rabirius was in peril. Ever since then I've known that history has cast you to play the hero's part. There's glory as well as peril in this crisis. Remember Hector: “No sluggard's fate, ingloriously to die/But daring that which men to be shall learn.” Besides, if you don't do it, Crassus will.'

'Crassus? He's no general! All he knows about is money.'

'Maybe, but he's already sniffing round the chance for military glory. Give him a day or two and he'll have bought himself a majority in the senate.'

'If there's military glory to be had, Pompey will want it, and my brother has come back to Rome expressly to ensure he gets it.' Celer gave me back the letters. 'No, Consul – I appreciate your faith in me, but I can't accept without their approval.'

'I'll give you Nearer Gaul.'

'What?'

'Nearer Gaul – I'll give it you.'

'But Nearer Gaul isn't yours to give.'

'Yes it is. It's presently my allotted province, swapped with Hybrida for Macedonia, if you recall. It was always my intention to renounce it. You can have it.'

'But it's not a basket of eggs! There'll have to be a fresh ballot among the praetors.'

'Yes, which you will win.'

'You'll rig the ballot?'

' I shan't rig the ballot. That would be most improper. No, no, I'll leave that side of things to Hybrida. He may not have many talents, but rigging ballots I believe is one of them.'

'What if he refuses?'

'He won't. We have an understanding. Besides,' said Cicero, flourishing the anonymous letter addressed to Hybrida, 'I'm sure he'd prefer it if this wasn't made public.'

'Nearer Gaul,' said Celer, rubbing his broad chin. 'It's better than Further Gaul.'

'Darling,' said Clodia, putting her hand on her husband's arm, 'it really is a very good offer, and I'm sure Nepos and Pompey will understand.'

Celer grunted, and rocked back and forth on his heels a few times. I could see the greed in his face. Eventually he said, 'How soon d'you think I could be given this province?'

'Today,' said Cicero. 'This is a national emergency. I shall argue that there must be no uncertainty about commands anywhere in the empire, and that my place is in Rome, just as yours is in the field, putting down the rebel forces. We'll be partners in defence of the republic. What do you say?'

Celer glanced at Clodia. 'It will put you ahead of all your contemporaries,' she said. 'Your consulship will be guaranteed.'

He grunted again, and turned back to Cicero. 'Very well,' he replied, and extended his massive muscled arm towards the consul. 'For the sake of my country, I say yes.'

From Celer's house, Cicero walked the few hundred paces to Hybrida's, roused the presiding consul from his habitual drunken stupor, sobered him up, told him about the rebel army gathering in Etruria, and gave him his lines for the day. Hybrida baulked at first when told he would have to rig the ballot for Nearer Gaul, but then Cicero showed him the letter from the conspirators with his name written on it. His glassy, red-veined eyes almost popped out of his head and he began to sweat and shake in alarm.

'I swear to you, Cicero, I knew nothing about it!'

'Yes, but unfortunately, my dear Hybrida, as you well know, this city is full of jealous and suspicious minds that might easily be persuaded to believe otherwise. If you really want to prove your loyalty beyond question, I suggest you oblige me in this matter of Nearer Gaul, and you may rely on my absolute support.'

So that took care of Hybrida, and then it was simply a matter of squaring the right senators, which Cicero proceeded to do before the afternoon session while the auspices were being taken. By now the city was awash with rumours about a rebel assault and a plot to murder the leading magistrates. Catulus, Isauricus, Hortensius, the Lucullus brothers, Silanus, Murena, even Cato, who was now a tribune-elect alongside Nepos – each was drawn aside and given a whispered briefing. Cicero at these moments looked like nothing so much as a crafty carpet salesman in a crowded bazaar, glancing furtively over his customer's shoulder and then backwards over his own, his voice low, his hands moving expressively as he sought to close a deal. Caesar watched him from a distance, and I in turn watched Caesar. His expression was unreadable. There was no sign of Catilina.

When the senators all trooped in for the start of the session, Cicero took his place at the end of the front bench nearest to the consular dais, which was where he always sat when he was not presiding; Catulus was on his other side. From this vantage point, by a series of nods and eye gestures at Hybrida and occasional audible whispers, Cicero was normally able to control proceedings even in those months when he did not have the chair. To be fair to him, Hybrida was almost credible when he had a script to read out, as he had that day. With his broad shoulders squared and his noble head thrown back, and in a voice that had been pickled rich in wine, he declared that public events had taken a grave turn overnight, and called upon Quintus Arrius to make a statement.

Arrius was one of those senators who did not speak often but when he did was listened to with respect. I don't know why. Perhaps the absurdity of his voice seemed to lend it a peculiar sincerity. He rose now and delivered a very full report of what he had seen happening in the countryside: that armed bands were congregating in Etruria, recruited by Manlius; that their numbers might soon swell to ten thousand; that he understood their intention was to attack Praeneste; that the security of Rome itself was threatened; and that similar uprisings were planned in Apulia and Capua. By the time he resumed his seat, there was an audible and growing swell of panic. Hybrida thanked him and next called on Crassus, Marcellus and Scipio to read aloud the messages they had received the previous evening. He gave the letters to the clerks, who passed them to their original recipients. Crassus was first on his feet. He described the mysterious arrival of the warnings and how he had gone at once with the others to see Cicero. Then he read his out in a firm, clear voice: ' The time for talking is over. The moment for action has arrived. Catilina has drawn up his plans. He wishes to warn you there will be bloodshed in Rome. Spare yourself and leave the city secretly. When it is safe to return, you will be contacted.'

Can you imagine the cumulative effect of those words, gravely intoned by Crassus and then repeated, more nervously, by Scipio and Marcellus? The shock was all the greater as Crassus was known to have supported Catilina for the consulship not once but twice. There was a profound hush, and then someone shouted, 'Where is he?' The cry was taken up by others. 'Where is he? Where is he?' In the pandemonium, Cicero briefly whispered something to Catulus, and the old patrician took the floor.

'In view of the appalling news this house has just received,' declared Catulus, 'and in accordance with the ancient prerogatives of this order, I propose that the consuls should be empowered to take all necessary measures for the defence of the realm, under the provisions of the Final Act. These powers shall include, but not be limited to, the authority to levy troops and conduct war, to apply unlimited force to allies and citizens alike, and to exercise supreme command and jurisdiction both at home and abroad.'

'Quintus Lutatius Catulus has proposed that we adopt the Final Act,' said Hybrida. 'Does anyone wish to oppose it?'

All heads now turned to Caesar, not least because the legitimacy of the Final Act was the central issue at the heart of the prosecution of Rabirius. But Caesar, for the first time in my experience, looked utterly overwhelmed by events. He noticeably did not exchange a word with his neighbour, Crassus, or even glance at him – a rare occurrence, as normally they were very thick together – and I deduced from this that Crassus's betrayal of Catilina had taken him entirely by surprise. He made no gesture of any sort, but stared straight ahead into the middle distance, thus giving some of us an early preview of those marble busts of him that gaze impassively with sightless eyes across every public building in Italy.

'Then if no one opposes it,' said Hybrida, 'the motion passes, and the chair recognises Marcus Tullius Cicero.'

Only now did Cicero rise, to a deep rumble of acclaim from those selfsame senators who just a few weeks earlier had been mocking him for his alarmism. 'Gentlemen,' he said, 'I wish to congratulate Antonius Hybrida for the very firm manner in which he has handled this crisis today.' The senators murmured in approval; Hybrida beamed. 'For my own part, trusting in the shield provided by my friends and allies, I shall remain in Rome and continue to defy this murderous madman Catilina, as I always have. Because no one can say how long this threat will continue, I hereby ask formally to be relieved of my allotted province, in accordance with the promise I made at the start of my consulship – a promise all the more urgent in this hour of trial for our republic.'

Cicero's patriotic self-sacrifice was warmly approved, and Hybrida at once produced the sacred urn and put into it one marked token representing Nearer Gaul and seven blanks – or so it appeared. In fact, I learned later, he had put in only blanks. The eight praetors then came forward. The first to try his luck was the haughty figure of Lentulus Sura, whom Cicero knew to be deeply involved in Catilina's schemes. Sura, one of the most inbred boobies in the senate, was closely related to Hybrida in all sorts of ways: for one thing, he had married the widow of Hybrida's brother, and was bringing up the son of that union, Mark Antony, as his own; and this same Mark Antony was engaged to Hybrida's daughter, Antonia. So I watched Hybrida closely, to see if he would be able to go through with the deception he had promised. But politics has loyalties all of its own, and they greatly supersede those to in-laws. Sura thrust his arm deep into the urn and handed his token to Hybrida, who announced it blank and showed it to the chamber. Sura shrugged and turned away; it wasn't a province he was after in any case, but Rome itself.

Pomptinus went next, and then Flaccus, with the same result. Celer was fourth to draw a lot. He looked very cool as he made his way to the dais and picked his token. Hybrida took it from him and seemed to turn away, towards the light, to read it carefully, and that is when he must have made the switch, for when he held it up for inspection, everyone nearby could clearly see the cross that was marked upon it.

'Celer draws Nearer Gaul!' he announced. 'May the gods favour his appointment.'

There was applause. Cicero was on his feet at once.

'I propose that Quintus Caecilius Metellus Celer be now invested with full military imperium, and be given the authority to raise an army to defend his province.'

'Does anyone object?' asked Hybrida.

For a moment I thought Crassus was going to get to his feet. He seemed to half lean forwards, hesitate, and then think better of it.

'The motion is passed unanimously.'

After the senate adjourned, Cicero and Hybrida convened a council of war with all the praetors to issue the necessary edicts for the defence of the city. A message was dispatched at once to the commander of the garrison at Praeneste, ordering him to strengthen the guard. A long-standing offer from the prefect of Reate to send a hundred men was accepted. In Rome the gates were to be closed an hour earlier than usual. There would be a curfew at the twelfth hour and street patrols throughout the night. The ancient prohibition on carrying arms within the precincts of the city would be suspended in the case of soldiers loyal to the senate. Wagons would be searched at random. Access to the Palatine would be blocked at sunset. All the gladiator schools in and around the capital would be closed and the fighters dispersed to distant towns and colonies. Huge rewards, of up to one hundred thousand sesterces, were to be offered to anyone – slaves as well as freemen – with information about potential traitors. Celer would leave at first light to begin mustering fresh levies of troops. Finally it was agreed that various reliable men should be approached and asked to bring a prosecution against Catilina for violence against the state, in return for guarantees of their personal protection.

Throughout all this Lentulus Sura sat calmly, with his freedman Publius Umbrenus seated beside him taking notes, and afterwards Cicero complained bitterly to me of this absurdity: that two of the chief plotters should be able to attend the innermost security council of the state and report back on its decisions to their fellow criminals! But what could he do? It was the same old story: he had no evidence.

Cicero's guards were anxious to get him home before darkness fell, and so once the business was concluded we went out cautiously into the thickening twilight and then hurried across the forum, through Subura and up the Esquiline Hill. About an hour later, Cicero was in his study composing dispatches notifying the provincial governors of the senate's decisions when the guard dog set up its infernal barking again. Moments later the porter came in to tell us that Metellus Celer had arrived to see the consul and was waiting in the atrium.

It was obvious straight away that Celer was agitated. He was pacing around the room and cracking his knuckles, while Quintus and Titus Sextus kept a careful watch on him from the passageway.

'Well, Governor,' said Cicero, seeing at once that his visitor needed calming down, 'the afternoon went smoothly enough, I thought.'

'From your point of view, perhaps, but my brother isn't happy. I told you there'd be trouble. Nepos says that if the rebels in Etruria are as serious as we make out, Pompey himself should be brought home to deal with them.'

'But we haven't the time to wait for Pompey and his army to travel a thousand miles back to Rome. We'll all be slaughtered in our beds long before he gets here.'

'So you say, but Catilina swears he means no threat to the state, and insists those letters have nothing to do with him.'

'You've spoken to him?'

'He came to see me just after you left the senate. To prove his peaceful intentions he's offered to surrender himself into my personal custody for as long as I wish.'

'Ha! What a rogue! You sent him away with a flea in his ear, I trust?'

'No, I've brought him here to see you.'

' Here? He's in my house?'

'No, he's waiting in the street. I think you should talk to him. He's alone and unarmed – I'll vouch for him.'

'Even if he is, what possible good can come of talking to him?'

'He's a Sergius, Consul,' said Celer icily, 'descended from the Trojans. He deserves some respect for his blood, if nothing else.'

Cicero glanced at the Sextus brothers. Titus shrugged. 'If he's on his own, Consul, we can handle him.'

'Fetch him in then, Celer,' said Cicero, 'and I'll hear what he has to say. But I promise you, we're wasting our time.'

I was horrified that Cicero would take such a risk, and while Celer went off to get Catilina, I actually dared to remonstrate with him. But he cut me off. 'It will show good faith on my part if I can announce in the senate that at least I was willing to receive the villain. Who knows, anyway? Perhaps he's come to apologise.'

He forced a smile, but I could tell that this unexpected development had strained his nerves. As for me, I felt like one of the condemned men in the Games, when the tiger is let into the arena, for that was how Catilina came prowling into that room – wild and wary, full of barely suppressed fury: I half expected him to spring at Cicero's throat. The Sextus brothers stepped in close behind him as he came to a halt a couple of paces in front of Cicero. He raised his hand in mock salute. 'Consul.'

'Say your piece, Senator, and then get out.'

'I hear you've been spreading lies about me again.'

'You see?' said Cicero, turning to Celer. 'What did I tell you? This is pointless.'

'Just hear him out,' said Celer.

'Lies,' repeated Catilina. 'I don't know a damned thing about these letters people are saying I sent last night. I'd have to be a rare fool to dispatch such messages all across the city.'

'I'm willing to believe that you personally didn't send them,' replied Cicero, 'but there are plenty of men around you stupid enough to do such a thing.'

'Balls! They're blatant forgeries. D'you know what I think? I think you wrote them yourself.'

'You'd do better to direct your suspicions towards Crassus – he's the one who's used them as an excuse to turn his back on you.'

'Old Baldhead is playing his own game, the same as he always does.'

'And the rebels in Etruria? Are they nothing to do with you either?'

'They're poor and starving wretches, driven to desperate lengths by the moneylenders – they have my sympathy, but I'm not their leader. I'll make the same offer to you I've made to Celer. I'll surrender myself into your custody and live in this house where you and your guards can keep an eye on me, and then you can see how innocent I am.'

'That is not an offer but a joke! If I don't feel safe living in the same city as you, I'll hardly feel safe under the same roof.'

'So there's nothing I can do that will satisfy you?'

'Yes. Remove yourself from Rome and Italy entirely. Go into exile. Never return.'

Catilina's eyes glittered and his large hands contracted into fists. 'My first ancestor was Sergestus, companion of Aeneas, the founder of our city – and you dare to tell me to leave?'

'Oh, spare us the family folklore! Mine at least is a serious offer. If you go into exile, I'll see to it that no harm befalls your wife and children. Your sons won't suffer the shame of having a father who is condemned – because you will be condemned, Catilina, be in no doubt about that. You'll also escape your creditors, which I'd have thought was another consideration.'

'And what about my friends? How long will they be subjected to your dictatorship?'

'My dictatorship, as you call it, is only in force to protect us all against you. Once you're gone it won't be needed, and I for one would be pleased to start afresh and offer a clean slate to all men. Voluntary exile would be a noble course, Catilina – one worthy of those ancestors you're always talking about.'

'So now the grandson of a chickpea farmer presumes to lecture a Sergius on what is noble? He'll be telling you next, Celer!' Celer stared stiffly ahead, like a soldier on parade. 'Look at him,' sneered Catilina. 'Typical Metelli – they always prosper whatever happens. But you realise, Cicero, that secretly he despises you? They all do. I at least have the guts to say to your face what they only whisper behind your back. They may use you to protect their precious property. But once you've done their dirty work they'll want nothing more to do with you. Destroy me if you will; in the end you'll only destroy yourself.'

He turned on his heel, pushed past the Sextus brothers, and strode out of the house. Cicero said, 'Why is it he always seems to leave a smell of sulphur behind him?'

'Do you think he'll go into exile?' asked Celer.

'He might. I don't think he knows from one moment to the next what he's going to do. He's like an animal: he'll follow whatever impulse seizes him. The main thing is to maintain our guard and vigilance – I in the city, you in the countryside.'

'I'll leave at first light.' Celer made a move towards the door, then stopped and turned. 'By the way, all that stuff about us despising you – there's not a word of truth in it, you know.'

'I know that, Celer, thank you.' Cicero smiled at him, and maintained the smile until he heard the door close, at which point it slowly faded from his face. He sank back on to the nearest chair and held out his hands, palms upward, contemplating them in wonder, as if their violent trembling was the strangest thing he had ever seen.