Lustrum

IX

The following day, Quintus came to see Cicero in great excitement, bearing a copy of a letter that had been posted outside the offices of the tribunes. It was addressed to a number of prominent senators, among them Catulus, Caesar and Lepidus, and was signed by Catilina: Unable to withstand that group of enemies who have persecuted me with false charges, I have departed for exile in Massilia. I leave not because I am guilty of the heinous crimes of which I am accused but to preserve the peace of the state and to spare the republic the bloodshed that would ensue if I struggled against my fate. I commend my wife and family to your care and my honour to your memories. Farewell!

'Congratulations, brother,' said Quintus, clapping him on the back. 'You've seen him off.'

'But is this certain?'

'As certain as can be. He was seen early this morning riding out of the city with a few companions. His house is locked and deserted.'

Cicero winced and tugged at his ear lobe. 'Even so, something about it smells wrong to me.'

Quintus, who had hurried up the hill specially to convey the good news, was irritated by his caution. 'Catilina's been obliged to flee. It's tantamount to a confession. You've beaten him.'

And slowly, as the days passed and nothing was heard of Catilina, it did begin to seem that Quintus was right. Nevertheless, Cicero refused to relax the security restrictions in Rome; indeed, he went around with even more protection than before. Accompanied by a dozen men, he ventured outside the city to see Quintus Metellus, who still possessed military imperium, and asked him to go to the heel of Italy and take charge of the region of Apulia. The old man grumbled, but Cicero swore that after this last mission his triumph was assured, and Metellus – secretly glad to have something to occupy him, I suspect – set off at once. Another former consul also hoping for a triumph, Marcius Rex, went north to Faesulae. The praetor Q. Pompeius Rufus, whom Cicero trusted, was ordered to go to Capua to raise troops. Meanwhile Metellus Celer continued recruiting an army in Picenum.

At some point during this time, the rebel leader Manlius sent a message to the senate: We call on gods and men to witness that our object in taking up arms was not to attack our country or endanger others, but to protect ourselves from wrong. We are poor needy wretches; the cruel harshness of moneylenders has robbed most of us of our homes, and all of us have lost reputation and fortune. He demanded that every debt contracted in silver (as most debts were) be repaid in copper: an effective relief of three quarters. Cicero proposed sending a stern reply that there could be no negotiations until the rebels laid down their arms. The motion carried in the senate, but many outside whispered that the rebels' cause was just.

October gave way to November. The days began to be dark and cold; the people of Rome grew weary and depressed. The curfew had put a stop to many of those entertainments with which they normally warded off the encroaching gloom of winter. The taverns and the baths closed early; the shops were bare. Informers, eager for the huge rewards for denouncing traitors, took the opportunity to pay back scores against their neighbours. Everyone suspected everyone else. Matters became so serious that eventually Atticus bravely took it upon himself to talk to Cicero.

'Some citizens are saying you've deliberately exaggerated the threat,' he warned his friend.

'And why would I do that? Do they think it gives me pleasure to turn Rome into a gaol in which I'm the most closely guarded prisoner?'

'No, but they think you're obsessed with Catilina and have lost all sense of proportion; that your fears for your own personal safety are making their lives intolerable.'

'Is that all?'

'They believe you're acting like a dictator.'

'Do they really?'

'They also say you're a coward.'

'Well then, damn the people!' exclaimed Cicero, and for the first time I saw him treat Atticus coldly, refusing to respond to his further attempts at conversation with anything more than monosyllables. Eventually his friend wearied of this frosty atmosphere, rolled his eyes at me and went away.

Late on the evening of the sixth day of November, long after the lictors had gone off for the night, Cicero was reclining in the dining room with Terentia and Quintus. He had been reading dispatches from magistrates all over Italy, and I was just handing him some letters for his signature when Sargon started barking furiously. The noise made us all jump; everyone's nerves were shredded by then. Cicero's three guards all got to their feet. We heard the front door open and the sound of an urgent male voice, and suddenly into the room strode Cicero's former pupil, Caelius Rufus. It was his first appearance on the premises for months, all the more startling because he had gone over to Catilina at the start of the year. Quintus jumped up, ready for a fight.

'Rufus,' said Cicero calmly, 'I thought you were a stranger to us these days.'

'I'll never be a stranger to you.'

He took a step forward, but Quintus put his hand on his chest and stopped him. 'Arms up!' he commanded, and nodded to the guards. Rufus hastily raised both hands, while Titus Sextus searched him. 'I expect he's come to spy on us,' said Quintus, who had never cared much for Rufus, and often asked me why I thought his brother tolerated the presence of such a tearaway.

'I've not come to spy. I've come to warn: Catilina's back.'

Cicero banged his fist on the table. 'I knew it! Put your hands down, Rufus. When did he return?'

'This evening.'

'And where is he now?'

'At the home of Marcus Laeca, on the street of the scythemakers.'

'Who's with him?'

'Sura, Cethegus, Bestia – the whole gang. I've only just got away.'

'And?'

'They're going to kill you at sunrise.'

Terentia put her hand to her mouth.

'How?' demanded Quintus.

'Two men, Vargunteius and Cornelius, will call on you at dawn to pledge their loyalty and claim they've deserted Catilina. They'll be armed. There'll be others at their backs to overpower your guards. You mustn't admit either of them.'

'We won't,' said Quintus.

'But I'd have admitted them,' said Cicero. 'A senator and a knight – of course I would. I'd have offered them the hand of friendship.' He seemed amazed at how close to disaster he had come despite all his precautions.

'How do we know the lad isn't lying?' said Quintus. 'It could be a trick to divert us from the real threat.'

'He has a point, Rufus,' said Cicero. 'Your loyalty is as fixed as a weathercock.'

'It's the truth.'

'Yet you support their cause?'

'Their cause, yes, not their methods – not any longer.'

'What methods are these?'

'They've agreed to carve up Italy into military regions. The moment you're dead, Catilina will go to the rebel army in Etruria. Parts of Rome will be set alight. There'll be a massacre of senators on the Palatine, and then the city gates will be opened to Manlius and his mob.'

'And Caesar? Does he know all this?'

'He wasn't there tonight, but I sense he knows what's planned. Catilina talks to him quite often.'

This was the first time Cicero had received direct intelligence of Catilina's intentions. His expression was appalled. He bent his head and rubbed his temples with his knuckles. 'What to do?' he muttered.

'We need to get you out of this house tonight,' said Quintus, 'and hide you somewhere they can't get at you.'

'You could go to Atticus,' I suggested.

Cicero shook his head. 'That's the first place they'd look. The only safe refuge is out of Rome. Terentia and Marcus at least could go to Tusculum.'

'I'm not going anywhere,' said Terentia, 'and neither should you. The Roman people will respect many kinds of leader, but they'll never respect a coward. This is your home and your father's home before you – stay in it and dare them to do their worst. I know I should if I were a man.'

She glared at Cicero and I feared we were about to be treated to another of their stupendous rows, which had so often split that modest house like claps of thunder. But then Cicero nodded. 'You're right. Tiro, send a message to Atticus telling him we need reinforcements urgently. We'll barricade the doors.'

'And we should get some barrels of water on the roof,' added Quintus, 'in case they try to burn us out.'

'I'll stay and help,' said Rufus.

'No, my young friend,' said Cicero. 'You've done your part, and I'm grateful for it. But you should leave the city at once. Go back to your father's house in Interamna until all this is settled, one way or the other.' Rufus started to protest, but Cicero cut him off. 'If Catilina fails to kill me tomorrow, he may suspect you of betraying him; if he succeeds, you'll be sucked into the whirlpool. Either way, you're better off a long way from Rome.'

Rufus tried to argue, but to no avail. After he had gone, Cicero said, 'He's probably on our side, but who can tell? In the end, the only safe place to put a Trojan horse is outside your walls.'

I dispatched one of the slaves to Atticus with a plea for help. Then we barred the door and dragged a heavy chest and a couch across it. The rear entrance was also locked and bolted; as a second line of defence we wedged an upended table to block the passageway. Together with Sositheus and Laurea I carried up bucket after bucket of water to the roof, along with carpets and blankets to smother any fires. Within this makeshift citadel we had, to protect the consul, a garrison of three bodyguards, Quintus, myself, Sargon and his handler, a gatekeeper, and a few male slaves armed with knives and sticks. And I must not forget Terentia, who carried a heavy iron candle-holder at all times, and who would probably have been more effective than any of us. The maids cowered in the nursery with Marcus, who had a toy sword.

Cicero put on a display of great calmness. He sat at his desk, thinking and making notes and writing out letters in his own hand. From time to time he asked me whether there was any reply yet from Atticus. He wanted to know the moment the extra men appeared, so I armed myself with a kitchen knife, went up on to the roof again, wrapped myself in a blanket, and kept watch on the street. It was dark and silent; nothing moved. As far as I could tell, the whole of Rome was slumbering. I thought back to the night that Cicero won the consulship, and how I had joined the family up here to dine by starlight in celebration. He had realised from the start that his position was weak and that power would be fraught with dangers; he could hardly have imagined such a scene as this.

Several hours passed. I heard dogs bark occasionally but no human voices, apart from the watchman down in the valley calling the divisions of the night. The cocks crowed as usual then fell silent, and the air actually seemed to grow darker and very cold. Laurea called up that the consul wanted to see me. I went downstairs and found him seated in his curule chair in the atrium, with a drawn sword resting across his knees.

'You're sure you definitely requested those extra men from Atticus?'

'Of course.'

'And you stressed the urgency?'

'Yes.'

'And the messenger was trustworthy?'

'Very.'

'Well then,' said Cicero, 'Atticus won't let me down; he never has.' But he sounded as if he was trying to reassure himself, and I am sure that he was remembering the circumstances of their last meeting, and their chilly parting. It was nearly dawn. The dog started barking wildly again. Cicero looked at me with exhausted eyes. His face was very strained. 'Go and see,' he said.

I climbed back up to the roof and peered carefully over the parapet. At first I could make out nothing. But gradually I realised that the shadows on the far side of the street were moving. A line of men was approaching, keeping close to the wall. My first thought was that our reinforcements had arrived. But then Sargon set up his infernal barking again. The shadows halted and a man's voice whispered. I hurried back down to Cicero. Quintus was standing next to him with his sword unsheathed. Terentia clutched her candlestick.

'The attackers are here,' I said.

'How many?' asked Quintus.

'Ten. Perhaps twelve.'

There was a loud knock on the front door. Cicero swore. 'If a dozen men are determined to get into this house, they'll do it.'

'The door will hold them for a while,' said Quintus. 'It's fire that worries me.'

'I'll go back to the roof,' I said.

There was a very faint grey tinge to the sky by this time, and when I looked down into the street I could see the dark shapes of heads huddled around the front of the house. They seemed intent on something. There was a flash, and abruptly they all drew back as a torch flared. Someone must have seen my face looking down, because a man shouted, 'Hey, you up there! Is the consul in?' I pulled back out of sight.

Another man called up, 'This is Senator Lucius Vargunteius, to see the consul! I have urgent information for him!'

Just then I heard a crash and voices from the back of the house. A second group was trying to break in at the rear. I was halfway across the roof when suddenly a torch sailed over the edge of the parapet, twisting and roaring in flight. It buzzed close to my ear and clattered on to the tiles next to me, the burning pitch breaking and scattering into a dozen flaming pieces. I shouted down the stairwell for help, grabbed a heavy carpet and just about managed to throw it over the little fires, stamping out the ones I missed as best I could. Another torch roared through the air, landed with a crash and disintegrated; then another; and another. The roof, which was made of old timber as well as terracotta, glimmered in the darkness like a field of stars, and I saw that Quintus was right: if this went on much longer, they would burn us out and slaughter Cicero in the street.

Filled with a fury born of fear, I seized the handle of the nearest torch, which still had a sizeable piece of burning pitch attached to it, darted to the edge of the roof, took careful aim and hurled it at the men below. It hit one fellow square on the head, setting his hair on fire. While he was screaming, I ran back for another. By now Sositheus and Laurea had come up on to the roof to help stamp out the fires, and they must have thought I was demented as I jumped up on to the parapet, screaming with rage, and threw another burning missile at our attackers. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that more shadowy figures with torches were pouring into the street. I thought we were certain to be overwhelmed. But suddenly from beneath me came the sound of angry cries, the ring of steel on steel, and the echo of running feet. 'Tiro!' shouted a voice, and by the flaring yellow light I recognised the upturned face of Atticus. The street was jammed with his men. 'Tiro! Is your master safe? Let us in!'

I ran downstairs and along the passageway, with the consul and Terentia at my heels, and together with Quintus and the Sextus brothers we dragged away the chest and the couch and unbarred the door. The moment it was open, Cicero and Atticus fell into one another's arms, to the cheers and applause from the street of some thirty members of the Order of Knights.

By the time it was fully light, the approaches to Cicero's house were blocked and guarded. Any visitor wishing to see him, even senior members of the senate, had to wait at one of the armed checkpoints until word had been sent to the consul. Then, if Cicero wanted to meet them, I would go out to confirm their identity and escort them into his presence. Catulus, Isauricus, Hortensius and both of the Lucullus brothers were all admitted in this way, along with the consuls-elect Silanus and Murena. They brought with them the news that throughout Rome Cicero was now regarded as a hero. Sacrifices had been made in his honour and prayers of thanks offered up for his safety, while rocks had been hurled at Catilina's empty house. All morning a steady procession of gifts and goodwill messages was carried up the Esquiline Hill – flowers, wine, cakes, olive oil – until the atrium looked like a market stall. Clodia sent him a basket of luxuriant fruit from her orchard on the Palatine. But this was intercepted by Terentia before it reached her husband, and I watched a look of suspicion darken her face as she read Clodia's note; she ordered the steward to throw the fruit away, 'for fear of poison', she said.

A warrant was issued by Cicero for the arrest of Vargunteius and Cornelius. The leaders of the senate also urged him to order the capture of Catilina, dead or alive. But Cicero hesitated. 'It's all very well for them,' he said to Quintus and Atticus after the deputation had gone, 'their names wouldn't be on the warrant. But if Catilina is killed illegally on my orders, I'll be fighting off prosecutors for the rest of my days. Besides, it would only be a short-term remedy. It would still leave his supporters in the senate.'

'You're not suggesting he should be allowed to carry on living in Rome?' protested Quintus.

'No, I just want him to leave – leave and take his treasonous friends with him, and let them all join the rebel army and be killed on the field of battle, preferably a hundred miles away from me. By heavens, I'd give them a pass of safe conduct and a guard of honour to escort them out of the city if they wanted it – anything they liked so long as they'd just clear out.'

But however much he paced around, he could not see a way of bringing this about, and in the end he decided his only course was to call a meeting of the senate. Quintus and Atticus immediately objected that this would be dangerous: how could they guarantee his safety? Cicero pondered further and then came up with a clever idea. Rather than convene the senate in its usual chamber, he gave orders that the benches should be carried across the forum to the Temple of Jupiter the Protector. This had two advantages. First, because the temple was on the lower slopes of the Palatine, it could more easily be defended against an attack by Catilina's supporters. Second, it would have great symbolic value. According to legend, the temple had been vowed to Jupiter by Romulus himself at a critical juncture in the war against the Sabine tribes. Here was the very spot on which Rome had stood and rallied in her earliest hour of danger: here she would stand and rally in her latest, led by her new Romulus.

By the time Cicero set off for the temple, tightly protected by lictors and bodyguards, an atmosphere of real dread hung over the city, as tangible as the grey November mist rising from the Tiber. The streets were deathly quiet. Nobody applauded or jeered; they simply hid indoors. In the shadows of their windows the citizenry gathered, white-faced and silent, to watch the consul pass.

When we reached the temple, we found it ringed by members of the Order of Knights, some quite elderly, all armed with lances and swords. Within this security perimeter several hundred senators stood around in muted groups. They parted to let us through and a few patted Cicero on the back and whispered their good wishes. Cicero nodded in acknowledgement, took the auspices very quickly, and then he and the lictors led the way into the large building. I had never set foot inside before, and it presented a most sombre scene. Centuries old, every wall and corner was crammed with relics of military glory from the earliest days of the republic – bloodied standards, dented armour, ships' beaks, legionary eagles, and a statue of Scipio Africanus painted up to look so lifelike it actually seemed he stood among us. I was some distance back in Cicero's retinue, the senators pouring in behind me, and because I was so busy craning my neck at all the memorabilia, I must have dawdled a little. At any rate, it wasn't until I had nearly reached the dais that I became aware, to my embarrassment, that the only sound in the building was the click click of my footsteps on the stone floor. The senate, I realised, had fallen entirely still.

Cicero was fiddling with a roll of papyrus. He turned to find out what was happening and I saw his face transfix with astonishment. I spun round in alarm myself – only to see Catilina calmly taking his place on one of the benches. Almost everyone else was still on their feet, watching him. Catilina sat, whereupon all the men nearest to him started edging away, as if he had leprosy. I never saw such a demonstration in my life. Even Caesar wouldn't go near him. Catilina took no notice, but folded his arms and thrust out his chin. The silence lengthened, until eventually I heard Cicero's voice, very calm, behind me.

'How much longer, Catilina, will you try our patience?'

All my life people have asked me about Cicero's speech that day. 'Did he write it out beforehand?' they want to know. 'Surely he must at least have planned what he was going to say?' The answer to both questions is 'no'. It was entirely spontaneous. Fragments of things he had long wanted to say, lines he had practised in his head, thoughts that had come to him in the sleepless nights of the last few months – all of it he wove together while he was on his feet.

'How much longer must we put up with your madness?'

He descended from his dais and started to advance very slowly along the aisle to where Catilina was sitting. As he walked, he extended both his arms and briefly gestured to the senators to take their places, which they did, and somehow that school-masterly gesture, and their instant compliance, established his authority. He was speaking for the republic.

'Is there no end to your arrogance? Don't you understand that we know what you're up to? Don't you appreciate that your conspiracy is uncovered? Do you think there's a man among us who doesn't know what you did last night – where you were, who came to your meeting, and what you agreed?' He stood at last in front of Catilina, his arms akimbo, looked him up and down, and shook his head. 'Oh, what times are these,' he said in a voice of utter disgust, 'and oh, what morals! The senate knows everything, the consul knows everything, and yet – this man is still alive!'

He wheeled around. 'Alive? Not just alive, gentlemen,' he cried, moving on down the aisle from Catilina and addressing the packed benches from the centre of the temple, 'he attends the senate! He takes part in our debates. He listens to us. He watches us – and all the time he's deciding who he's going to kill! Is this how we serve the republic – simply by sitting here, hoping it's not going to be us? How very brave we are! It's been twenty days since we voted ourselves the authority to act. We have the sword – but we keep it sheathed! You ought to have been executed immediately, Catilina. Yet still you live. And as long as you live, you don't give up your plotting – you increase it!'

I suppose by now even Catilina must have realised the size of his mistake in coming into the temple. In terms of physical strength and sheer effrontery he was much more powerful than Cicero. But the senate was not the arena for brute force. The weapons here were words, and no one ever knew how to deploy words as well as Cicero. For twenty years, whenever the courts were in session, scarcely a day had gone by that hadn't seen Cicero practising his craft. In a sense, his whole life had been but a preparation for this moment.

'Let's go over the events of last night. You went to the street of the scythe-makers – I'll be precise – to the house of Marcus Laeca. There you were joined by your criminal accomplices. Well, do you deny it? Why the silence? If you deny it, I'll prove it. In fact, I see some of those who were with you here in the senate. In heaven's name, where in the world are we? What country is this? What city are we living in? Here, gentlemen – here in our very midst, in this, the most sacred and important council in the world, there are men who want to destroy us, destroy our city, and extend that destruction to the entire world!

'You were at the house of Laeca, Catilina. You carved up the regions of Italy. You decided where you wanted each man to go. You said you would go yourself as soon I was dead. You chose parts of the city to be burnt. You sent two men to kill me. So I say to you, why don't you finish the journey you have begun? At long last really leave the city! The gates are open. Be on your way! The rebel army awaits its general. Take all your men with you. Cleanse the city. Put a wall between us. You cannot remain among us any longer – I cannot, I will not, I must not permit it!'

He thumped his right fist against his chest and cast his eyes to the roof of the temple as the senate came to its feet, bellowing its approval. 'Kill him!' someone shouted. 'Kill him! Kill him!' The cry was passed from man to man. Cicero waved them back down on to their benches.

'If I give an order for you to be killed, there will remain in the state the rest of the conspirators. But if, as I have long been urging, you leave the city, you will drain from it that flood of sewage that for you are your accomplices and for the rest of us our deadly enemies. Well, Catilina? What are you waiting for? What's left that can give you any pleasure in this city now? Beyond that conspiracy of ruined men, there isn't a single person who doesn't fear you, not one who doesn't hate you.'

There was much more in this vein, and then Cicero moved into his peroration. 'Let the traitors, then, depart!' he concluded. 'Go forth, Catilina, to your iniquitous and wicked war, and so bring sure salvation to the republic, disaster and ruin on yourself, and destruction to those who have joined you. Jupiter, you will protect us,' he thundered, reaching out his hand to the statue of the deity, 'and visit on these evil men, alive or dead, your punishment eternal!'

He turned away and stalked up the aisle to the dais. Now the chant was 'Go! Go! Go!' In an effort to retrieve the situation, Catilina leapt to his feet and began waving his arms about and shouting at Cicero's back. But it was far too late for him to undo the damage, and he didn't have the skill. He was flayed, humiliated, exposed, finished. I caught the words 'immigrant' and 'exile,' but the din was too great for him to be heard, and in any case his fury rendered him almost incomprehensible. As the cacophony of sound raged around him he fell silent, breathing deeply, and stood there for a short while longer, turning this way and that, like a once great ship lashed by a terrible storm, mastless and twisting at anchor, until something in him seemed to give way. He shuddered and stepped out into the aisle, at which point several senators, including Quintus, jumped across the benches to protect the consul. But even Catilina was not that demented: had he lunged at his enemy he would have been torn to pieces. Instead, with a final contemptuous glance around him – a glance that no doubt took in all those ancient glories in which his ancestors had played their part – he marched out of the senate. Later that same day, accompanied by twelve followers whom he called his lictors, and preceded by the silver eagle that had once belonged to Marius, he left the city and went to Arretium, where he formally proclaimed himself consul.

There are no lasting victories in politics, there is only the remorseless grinding forward of events. If my work has a moral, this is it. Cicero had scored an oratorical triumph over Catilina that would be talked about for years. With the whip of his tongue he had driven the monster from Rome. But the sewage, as he called it, did not, as he had hoped, drain away with him. On the contrary, after their leader had departed, Sura and the others remained calmly in their places, listening to the rest of the debate. They sat together, presumably on the principle of safety in numbers: Sura, Cethegus, Longinus, Annius, Paetus, the tribune-elect Bestia, the Sulla brothers, even Marcus Laeca, from whose house the assassins had been dispatched. I could see Cicero staring at them and I wondered what was going through his mind. Sura actually rose at one point and suggested in his sonorous voice that Catilina's wife and children be placed under the protection of the senate! The discussion meandered on. Then the tribune-elect Metellus Nepos demanded the floor. Now that Catilina had left the city, he said, presumably to lead the insurrection, surely the most prudent course would be to invite Pompey the Great back to Italy to take charge of the senatorial forces? Caesar quickly stood and seconded the proposal. Nimble-witted as ever, Cicero saw a chance to drive a wedge between his opponents, and with an innocent air of genuine interest he asked Crassus, who had been consul alongside Pompey, for his opinion. Crassus got up reluctantly.

'Nobody has a higher opinion of Pompey the Great than I,' he began, and then had to stop for a while, tapping his foot irritably as the temple shook with mocking laughter. 'Nobody has a higher opinion than I,' he repeated, 'but I have to say to the tribune-elect, in case he hasn't noticed, that it's nearly winter, the very worst time to transport troops by sea. How can Pompey possibly be here before the spring?'

'Then let us have Pompey the Great without his army,' countered Nepos. 'Travelling with a light escort he can be with us in a month. His name alone is worth a dozen legions.'

This was too much for Cato. He was on his feet in an instant. 'The enemies we face will not be defeated by names,' he mocked, 'even names that end in “Great”. What we need are armies: armies in the field – armies like the one being raised at this very moment by the tribune-elect's own brother. Besides, if you ask me, Pompey has too much power as it is.'

That drew a loud and shocked 'Oh!' from the assembly.

'If this senate will not vote Pompey the command,' said Nepos, 'then I give you fair warning that I shall lay a bill before the people as soon as I take office as tribune demanding his recall.'

'And I give you fair warning,' retorted Cato, 'that I shall veto your bill.'

'Gentlemen, gentlemen!' cried Cicero, having to shout to make himself heard. 'We shall do neither the state nor ourselves any good by bickering at a time of national emergency! Tomorrow there will be a public assembly. I shall report to the people on our deliberations, and I hope,' he added, staring hard at Sura and his cronies, 'that those senators whose bodies may be with us but whose loyalties lie elsewhere will search their hearts overnight and act accordingly. This house stands adjourned.'

Normally after a session ended Cicero liked to stand outside for a while so that any senator who wished to speak to him could do so. It was one of those tools by which he exerted his control over the chamber, this knowledge he had of every man, however minor – his strengths and weaknesses, what he desired and what he feared, what he would put up with and what he would not stomach under any circumstances. But that afternoon he hurried away, his face rigid with frustration. 'It's like fighting the Hydra!' he complained furiously when we got home. 'No sooner do I lop off one head than another two grow back in its place! So while Catilina storms out, his henchmen all sit there as calm as you please, and now Pompey's faction are starting to stir! I have one month,' he ranted, 'just one month – if I can survive that long – before the new tribunes come into office. Then the agitation for Pompey's recall will really get started. And in the meantime we can't even be sure we'll actually have two new consuls in January because of this fucking lawsuit!' And with that he swept his arm across his desk and sent all the documents relating to Murena's prosecution flying across the floor.

In such a mood he was quite unreasonable, and I had learned from long experience that there was no point in attempting to reply. He waited irritably for me to respond and then, failing to get satisfaction, he stamped out in search of someone else to shout at, while I knelt and calmly gathered up all the rolls of evidence. I knew he would come back sooner or later, in order to prepare his address to the people for the following day, but the hours passed, dusk fell and the lamps and candles were lit, and I began to feel alarmed. Afterwards I discovered he had gone with his guards and lictors to the nearby gardens and spent the time pacing round and round so ceaselessly they thought he would wear a groove in the stones. When at last he came back, his face was very pale and grim. He had devised a plan, he told me, and he did not know which frightened him more: the thought that it might fail or the possibility that it might succeed.

The following morning he invited Q. Fabius Sanga to come and see him. Sanga, you may recall, was the senator to whom he had written on the day the murdered boy's body was discovered, requesting information about human sacrifice and the religion of the Gauls. Sanga was about fifty and immensely rich from his investments in Nearer and Further Gaul. He had never aspired to rise beyond the back benches and treated the senate purely as a place in which he could protect his business interests. He was very respectable and pious, lived modestly and was rumoured to be strict with his wife and children. He only spoke in debates about Gaul, on which he was, to be frank, an immense bore: once he started talking about its geography, climate, tribes, customs and so forth, he could empty the chamber quicker than a shout of 'Fire!'

'Are you a patriot, Sanga?' asked Cicero the moment I showed him in.

'I like to think I am, Consul,' replied Sanga cautiously. 'Why?'

'Because I wish you to play a vital part in the defence of our beloved republic.'

'Me?' Sanga looked very alarmed. 'Oh dear. I am rather afflicted by gout…'

'No, no, nothing like that. I merely want you to ask a man to speak to a man, and then to tell me what he replies.'

Sanga noticeably relaxed. 'Well yes, I believe I could do that. Who are these men?'

'One is Publius Umbrenus, a freedman of Lentulus Sura, who often acts as his secretary. He used to live in Gaul, I believe. Perhaps you know him?'

'I do indeed.'

'The other fellow simply needs to be a Gaul of some sort. I don't mind from what region of Gaul especially. Someone known to you. An emissary of one of the tribes would be ideal. A credible figure here in Rome, and one whom you trust absolutely.'

'And what do you want this Gaul to do?'

'I want him to contact Umbrenus and offer to organise an uprising against Roman rule.'

When Cicero had first explained his plan to me the night before, I had been privately appalled, and I anticipated that the strait-laced Sanga would feel the same way: that he would throw up his hands and perhaps even storm out of the room at hearing such a monstrous suggestion. But businessmen, I have since come to realise, are the least shockable of characters, far less so than soldiers and politicians. You can propose almost anything to a businessman and he will usually be willing at least to think about it. Sanga merely raised his eyebrows. 'You want to lure Sura into an act of treason?'

'Not necessarily treason, but I do want to discover if there are any limits to the wickedness that he and his confederates are willing to envisage. We already know that they cheerfully plot assassination, massacre, arson and armed rebellion. The only heinous crime left that I can think of is collusion with Rome's enemies – not,' he added quickly, 'that I regard the Gauls as enemies, but you understand what I mean.'

'Do you have any particular tribe in mind?'

'No. I'll leave that up to you.'

Sanga was silent, turning the matter over. He had a very crafty face. His thin nose twitched. He tapped at it and pulled at it. You could tell he was smelling money. 'I have many trading interests in Gaul, and trade depends on peaceful relations. The last thing I want is to make my Gallic friends any less popular in Rome than they are already.'

'I can assure you, Sanga, if they help me expose this conspiracy, then by the time I've finished they'll be national heroes.'

'And I suppose there's also the question of my own involvement…'

'Your role will be kept entirely secret, except, of course, with your permission, from the governors of Further and Nearer Gaul. They're both good friends of mine and I'm sure they'll want to recognise your contribution.'

At the prospect of money, Sanga smiled for the first time that morning. 'Well, seeing as you put it like that, there is a tribe that might fit the bill. The Allobroges, who control the Alpine passes, have just sent a delegation to the senate to complain about the level of taxes they have to submit to Rome. They arrived in the city a couple of days ago.'

'Are they warlike?'

'Very. If I could hint to them that their petition might be looked at favourably, I'm sure they'd be willing to do something in return…'

After he had gone, Cicero said to me: 'You disapprove?'

'It's not my place to pass judgement, Consul.'

'Oh, but you do disapprove! I can see it in your face! You think it's somehow dishonourable to lay a trap. But shall I tell you what's dishonourable, Tiro? What's dishonourable is to go on living in a city that you are secretly plotting to destroy! If Sura has no treasonous intentions, he will send those Gauls packing. But if he agrees to consider their proposals, I shall have him, and then I shall take him personally to the gates of the city and fling him out, and let Celer and his armies finish him off. And no one can say there is anything dishonourable about that!'

He spoke with such vehemence he almost convinced me.