Lustrum c-2

by Robert Harris

  If Cicero was dismayed that the vast crowds he had once commanded had dwindled to this small band, he did not show it. 'On this bitter day,' he said, 'I wish to thank all of you who have so bravely struggled to support my cause. Adversity is a part of life – not one I necessarily recommend, you understand' – my notes record laughter – 'but still: at least it shows us men's true natures, and just as I have shown my weakness, so I have seen your strength.' He stopped, and cleared his throat. I thought he was going to break down again. But this time he carried on. 'So the law will take effect at midnight? There is no doubt of that, I take it?' He glanced around. All four shook their head.

  'No,' said Hortensius, 'none whatever.'

  'Then what options are open to me?'

  'It seems to me you have three,' said Hortensius. 'You can ignore the law and remain in Rome, and hope your friends will continue to support you, although from tomorrow that will be even more dangerous than it is now. You can leave the city tonight, while it is still legal for people to help you, and hope to get out of Italy unmolested. Or you could go to Caesar and ask if his offer of a legateship still stands, and claim immunity.'

  Cato said, 'He does have a fourth option, of course.'

  'Yes?'

  'He could kill himself.'

  There was a profound silence, and then Cicero said, 'What would be the benefit of that?'

  'From the stoic point of view, suicide has always been con sidered a logical act of defiance for a wise man. It is also your natural right to put an end to your anguish. And frankly, it would set an example of resistance to tyranny that would stand for all time.'

  'Do you have a particular method in mind?'

  'I do. In my opinion you should brick yourself into this house and starve yourself to death.'

  'I disagree,' said Lucullus. 'If it's martyrdom you seek, Cicero, why bother to do the deed yourself? Why not stay in the city and dare your enemies to do their worst? You have a chance of surviving. And if you don't, at least the opprobrium of murder falls on them.'

  'Being murdered requires no courage,' retorted Cato with contempt, 'whereas suicide is a manly, conscious act.'

  'And what is your own advice, Hortensius?' asked Cicero.

  'Leave the city,' he replied at once. 'Keep yourself alive.' He touched his fingertips briefly to his forehead and felt along the rusty line of dried blood. 'I went to see Piso today. Privately he has some sympathy for the way you have been treated. Allow us the time to work for the repeal of Clodius's law while you are in voluntary exile. I am certain you will come back in triumph one day.'

  'Atticus?'

  'You know my view,' said Atticus. 'You would have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you had accepted Caesar's offer in the first place.'

  'And Terentia? What do you say, my dear?'

  She had put on mourning, like her husband, and in her black weeds, with her deathly pale face, she had become our Electra. She spoke with great force. 'Our present existence is intolerable. Voluntary exile smacks to me of cowardice. And try explaining suicide to your six-year-old son. You have no choice. Go to Caesar.'

  It was late afternoon – a red sun dipping behind the bare trees, a warm spring breeze carrying the incongruous chant of 'Death to the tyrant!' from the forum. The other senators with their attendants left by the front door, serving as decoys to draw the attention of the the mob, while Cicero and I crept out through the back. Cicero had a tattered old brown blanket draped over his head and looked exactly like a beggar. We hurried down the Caci Steps to the Etruscan Road, and then joined the crowds heading out of the city through the river gate. Nobody molested us, or even gave us a second glance.

  I had sent a slave ahead with a message for Caesar that Cicero wished to see him, and one of his officers in a red-plumed helmet was waiting for us at the gate. He was very much taken aback by Cicero's appearance, but managed to recover sufficiently to give him a kind of half-salute, and then escorted us out to the Field of Mars. Here a huge tented city had been pitched to accommodate Caesar's newly mustered Gallic legions, and as we passed through it I noticed everywhere signs that the army was striking camp and preparing to depart: waste pits were being filled in, earth ramparts levelled, wagons loaded with supplies. The officer told Cicero that their orders were to begin marching north before dawn the next day. He led us to a tent much larger than the others and set apart on slightly higher ground, with a legionary eagle planted beside it. He asked us to wait, and then lifted the flap and went inside, leaving Cicero, bearded, and in his old tunic with his blanket draped around his shoulders, to gaze around the camp.

  'This is how it always seems to be with Caesar,' I remarked, trying to lighten the silence. 'He likes to keep his visitors waiting.'

  'We had better get used to it,' replied Cicero in a grim voice. 'Look at that,' he said, nodding beyond the camp towards the river. Rising from the plain in the dusty light was a great rickety edifice of scaffolding. 'That must be the Pharaoh's theatre.' He contemplated it for a long time, chewing the inside of his lip.

  Eventually the flap parted again and we were shown into the tent. The interior was Spartan. A thin straw mattress lay on the ground, with a blanket thrown across it; near to it was a wooden chest on which stood a mirror, a set of hairbrushes, a jug of water and a basin, together with a miniature portrait of a woman in a gold frame (I am almost certain it was Servilia, but I was not close enough to be sure). At a folding table piled with documents sat Caesar. He was signing something. Two secretaries stood motionless behind him. He finished what he was doing, looked up, rose, and advanced towards Cicero with his hand outstretched. It was the first time I had seen him in military uniform. It fitted him as naturally as his skin, and I realised that in all the years I had observed him I had never actually seen him in the arena for which he was best suited. That was a sobering thought.

  'My dear Cicero,' he said, examining his visitor's appearance, 'it truly grieves me to see you reduced to this condition.' With Pompey there was always hugging and back-slapping, but Caesar did not go in for that kind of thing. After the briefest of handshakes he gestured to Cicero to sit. 'How can I help?'

  'I have come to accept the position of your legate,' replied Cicero, perching himself on the edge of the chair, 'if the offer still stands.'

  'Have you indeed!' Caesar's mouth turned down. 'I must say you have left it very late.'

  'I admit I would have preferred not to have come to you in these circumstances.'

  'Clodius's law takes effect at midnight?'

  'It does.'

  'So in the end the choice has come down to me, or death, or exile?'

  Cicero looked uncomfortable. 'You could put it like that.'

  'Well, that's hardly very flattering!' Caesar gave one of his sharp laughs and lolled back in his chair. He studied Cicero. 'When I made the offer to you in the summer, your position was infinitely stronger than it is now.'

  'You said that if Clodius ever became a threat to my safety, I could come to you. He is a threat. Here I am.'

  'Six months ago he was a threat. Now he is your master.'

  'Caesar, if you are asking me to beg…'

  'I am not asking you to beg. Of course I am not asking you to beg. I would merely like to hear from your own lips what benefit you think you can bring to me by serving as my legate.'

  Cicero swallowed hard. I could barely imagine how painful this was for him. 'Well, if you ask me to spell it out, I would say that while you obviously enjoy huge support among the people, you have far less in the senate, whereas my position is the opposite: weak at present with the people but still strong among our colleagues.'

  'So you would guard my interests in the senate?'

  'I would represent your views to them, yes, and perhaps occasionally I could relay their views back to you.'

  'But your loyalty would be exclusively to me?'

  I could almost hear Cicero grinding his teeth. 'I hope that my loyalty, as it has always been, would be to my country, which I wo
uld serve by reconciling your interests with those of the senate.'

  'But I don't care about the interests of the senate!' exclaimed Caesar. He suddenly pitched forward on his chair and in one fluid motion sprang to his feet. 'I'll tell you something, Cicero. Let me explain myself to you. The other year, when I was on my way to Spain, I had to cross the mountains, and I went on ahead with a group of my staff to scout the way, and we came to this very small village. It was raining, and it was the most miserable-looking place you can possibly imagine. Hardly anyone lived there. Really, you had to laugh at such a dump. And one of my officers said to me, as a joke, “Yet, you know, even here there are probably men pushing themselves forward to gain office, and there will be fierce competition and jealous rivalries over who will win first place.” And do you know what I replied?'

  'No.'

  'I said, “As far as I am concerned, I would rather be the first man here than the second in Rome.” And I meant it, Cicero – I really did. Do you understand what I am trying to say?'

  'I believe I do,' said Cicero, nodding slowly.

  'That is a true story. That is who I am.'

  Cicero said, 'Until this conversation, you have always been a puzzle to me, Caesar, but now perhaps I begin to understand you for the first time, and I thank you at least for your honesty.' He started to laugh. 'It really is quite funny.'

  'What is?'

  'That I should be the one being driven from Rome for seeking to be a king!'

  Caesar scowled at him for an instant, and then he grinned. 'You are right,' he said. 'It is amusing.'

  'Well,' said Cicero, getting to his feet, 'there is little point in carrying on with this interview. You have a country to conquer and I have other matters to attend to.'

  'Don't say that!' cried Caesar. 'I was only setting out the facts. We need to know where we both stand. You can have the damned legateship – it's yours. And you can discharge it in whatever fashion you like. It would amuse me to see more of you, Cicero – really.' He held out his hand. 'Come. Most men in public life are so dull. We who are not must stick together.'

  'I thank you for your consideration,' replied Cicero, 'but it would never work.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because in this village of yours, I, too, would aspire to be the first man, but failing that I would at least aspire to be a free man, and what is wicked about you, Caesar – worse than Pompey, worse than Clodius, worse even than Catilina – is that you won't rest until we are all obliged to go down on our knees to you.'

  It was dark by the time we re-entered the city. Cicero did not even bother to put the blanket over his head. The light was too gloomy for him to be recognised, and besides, people were hurrying home with more important things to worry about than the fate of an ex-consul – their dinner, for example, and their leaking roof, and the thieves who were plaguing Rome more and more each day.

  In the atrium Terentia was waiting with Atticus, and when Cicero told her that he had rejected Caesar's offer, she let out a great howl of pain and sank to the floor, squatting on her haunches with her hands covering her head. Cicero knelt next to her and put his arm around her shoulder. 'My dear, you must leave now,' he said. 'Take Marcus with you, and spend the night at Atticus's house.' He glanced up at Atticus, and his old friend nodded. 'It's too dangerous to stay here beyond midnight.'

  She pulled away from him. 'And you?' she said. 'What will you do? Will you kill yourself?'

  'If that is what you want – if that will make it easier.'

  'Of course it is not what I want!' she shouted at him. 'I want my life returned to me!'

  'That, I fear, is what I cannot give you.'

  Once again Cicero reached out to her, but she pushed him away and got to her feet. 'Why?' she demanded, glaring down at him, her hands on her hips. 'Why are you putting your wife and children through this torment, when you could end it tomorrow by allying yourself with Caesar?'

  'Because if I did, I would cease to exist.'

  'What do you mean, you would cease to exist? What stupid, clever nonsense of yours is that?'

  'My body would exist, but I, Cicero, I – whatever I am – would be dead.'

  Terentia turned her back on him in despair and looked at Atticus for support. Atticus said, 'With respect, Marcus, you are starting to sound as inflexible as Cato. What's wrong with making a temporary alliance with Caesar?'

  'There would be nothing temporary about it! Does no one in this city understand? That man won't stop until he is master of the world – he more or less just told me exactly that – and I would either have to go along with him as his junior accomplice or break with him at some later stage, and then I would be absolutely finished.'

  Terentia said coldly, 'You are absolutely finished now.'

  'So, Tiro,' said Cicero, after she had gone to fetch Marcus from the nursery to say goodbye, 'as my last act in this city, I would like to give you your freedom. I really should have done it years ago – at the very least when I left the consulship – and the fact that I didn't was not because I set no value on your services, but on the contrary because I valued them too much, and could not bear to lose you. But now, as I am losing everything else, it's only fair that I should say goodbye to you as well. Congratulations, my friend,' he said, shaking my hands, 'you have earned it.'

  For years I had waited for this moment – I had yearned for it and dreamed of it and planned what I would do – and now it had arrived, almost casually it seemed, out of all this ruin and disaster. I was too overwhelmed with emotion to speak. Cicero smiled at me, and then embraced me as I wept, patting my back as if I was a child that needed comforting, and then Atticus, who was standing watching, took my hand and shook it warmly.

  I managed to say a few words of thanks, and added that of course my first act as a free man would be to dedicate myself to his service, and that I would stay at his side to share his ordeal whatever happened.

  'I am afraid that is impossible,' Cicero responded sadly. 'Slaves can be my only company from now. If a freedman were to help me, he would be guilty under Clodius's law of aiding a murderer. You must stay well clear of me from now on, Tiro, or they will crucify you. Now go and collect your belongings. You should leave with Terentia and Atticus.'

  The intensity of my joy was replaced by an equally sharp stab of grief. 'But how will you cope without me?'

  'Oh, I have other slaves,' he replied, making a feeble effort to sound unconcerned. 'They can accompany me out of the city.'

  'Where will you go?'

  'South. To the coast – Brundisium, perhaps – and find a boat. After that – the winds and currents will decide my fate. Now fetch your things.'

  I went down to my room and gathered together my few possessions into a small bag, and then I pulled out the two loose bricks behind which I had hollowed out a safe. This was where I kept my savings. Sewn into a money belt, I had exactly two hundred and twenty-seven gold pieces, which it had taken me more than a decade to acquire. I put on the belt and went upstairs to the atrium, where Cicero was now saying goodbye to Marcus, watched by Atticus and a raw-eyed Terentia. He loved that boy – his only son, his joy, his hope for the future – and with immense self-discipline he somehow managed to keep their parting casual, so that the lad would not be too upset. He held him in his arms and swung him round, and Marcus begged him to do it again, which he did, and when Marcus begged for a third time, he said no and told him to go to his mother. Then he embraced Terentia and said, 'I am sorry that marriage to me has brought you to such a sad state.'

  'Marriage to you has been the only purpose of my life,' she replied, and with a nod in my direction she walked firmly from the room.

  Cicero next embraced Atticus, and entrusted his wife and son to his care, and then moved to say farewell to me, but I told him there was no need, that I had made my decision, and that I would remain at his side at the cost of my freedom and if necessary of my life. Naturally he expressed his gratitude, but he did not seem surprised, and I realised he had never th
ought seriously for a moment that I would accept his offer. I took off my money belt and gave it to Atticus.

  'I wonder if I might ask you to do something for me,' I said.

  'Of course,' he replied. 'You want me to look after this for you?'

  'No,' I said. 'There is a slave of Lucullus, a young woman named Agathe, who has come to mean a lot to me, and I wonder if you would ask Lucullus, as a favour to you, to free her. I am sure there is more than enough money here to buy her liberty and to provide for her thereafter.'

  Atticus looked surprised, but said that of course he would do as I asked.

  'Well, you certainly kept that secret,' said Cicero, studying me closely. 'Perhaps I don't know you as well as I think I do.'

  After the others had gone, Cicero and I were left alone in the house, together with his guards and a few members of his household. We could no longer hear any chanting; the whole city seemed to have gone very quiet. He went upstairs to rest and put on some stout shoes, and when he came back down he took a candelabrum and moved from room to room – through the empty dining hall with its gilded roof, through the great hall with its marble statues that were too heavy to move, and into the bare library – as if committing the place to memory. He lingered so long I began to wonder if he had decided not to leave after all, but then the watchman in the forum called midnight, and he blew out the candles and said that we should go.

  The night was moonless, and as we reached the top of the steps we could see beneath us at least a dozen torches slowly ascending the hill. Someone in the distance let out a peculiar bird cry, and it was answered by a similar shriek from a spot very close behind us. I felt my heart begin to pound. 'They are on their way,' said Cicero softly. 'He does not mean to miss a moment.' We hurried down the steps, and at the foot of the Palatine turned left into a narrow alley. Keeping close to the walls, we made a careful loop past shuttered shops and slumbering houses until we came out into the main street just by the Capena Gate. The porter was bribed to open up the pedestrian door, and waited impatiently as we exchanged whispered farewells with our protectors. Then Cicero stepped through the narrow portal, followed by me and by three other young slaves, who carried his luggage.