Masters of Rome Boxset: First Man in Rome, the Grass Crown, Fortune's Favourites, Caesar's Women, Caesar

by Colleen McCullough

  “That would be a help,” said Cicero, a little dryly.

  *

  The seed was sown; Catilina was planning revolution, had to be planning revolution. And though the events of the coming months seemed to confirm this, Cicero was never to know in his heart of hearts whether the concept of revolution occurred to Lucius Sergius Catilina before or after those fateful elections.

  The seed being sown, the senior consul went to work to unearth all the information he could. He sent agents to Etruria, and agents to that other traditional nucleus of revolution, Samnite Apulia. And sure enough, they all reported back that it was indeed being bruited about that if Catilina and Lucius Cassius were elected the consuls, they would bring in a general cancellation of debt. As to more tangible evidence of revolution, like the amassing of arms or the covert recruitment of forces, none was forthcoming. However, Cicero told himself, he had enough to try.

  The curule elections for consuls and praetors were to be held on the tenth day of Quinctilis; on the ninth day Cicero summarily postponed them until the eleventh, and summoned the Senate into session on the tenth.

  The senatorial turnout was splendid, of course; curiosity piqued, all those not prostrated by illness or absent from Rome came early enough to see for themselves that the much-admired Cato really did sit there before a meeting with a bundle of scrolls at his feet and one spread out between his hands, reading slowly and intently.

  “Conscript Fathers,” said the senior consul after the rites were concluded and the rest of the formalities over, “I have summoned you here rather than to elections in the saepta to help me unravel a mystery. I apologize to those of you who are thereby inconvenienced, and can only hope that the result of our session enables the elections to proceed tomorrow.”

  They were avid for an explanation, so much was easy to see, but for once Cicero was in no mood to toy with his audience. What he hoped to do was to air the thing, make Catilina and Lucius Cassius see that their ploy was futile now that it was generally known, and nip in the bud any plans Catilina might be nourishing. Not for one moment did he truly think there was more to Terentia’s vision of revolution than a lot of idle talk over too many flagons of wine, and some economic measures more usually associated with revolution than with law-abiding consuls. After Marius, Cinna, Carbo, Sulla, Sertorius and Lepidus, even Catilina must surely have learned that the Republic was not so easily destroyed. He was a bad man---everyone knew that—but until he was elected consul he held no magistracy, he was possessed neither of imperium nor a ready-made army, and he had nothing like the number of clients in Etruria of a Marius or a Lepidus. Therefore, what Catilina needed was a fright to bring him into line.

  No one, the senior consul thought as his gaze roamed from tier to tier on both sides of the House, no one had any idea what was in the wind. Crassus was sitting impassively, Catulus looked a little old and his brother-in-law Hortensius a little the worse for wear, Cato had his hackles up like an aggressive dog, Caesar was patting the top of his head to make sure his definitely thinning hair did hide his scalp, Murena undoubtedly chafed at the delay, and Silanus was not as fit and spry as his electioneering agents were insisting he was. And there at last among the consulars sat the great Lucius Licinius Lucullus, triumphator. Cicero, Catulus and Hortensius had waxed eloquent enough to persuade the Senate that Lucullus must be allowed his triumph, which meant that the real conqueror of the East was free now to cross the pomerium and take his rightful place in Senate and Comitia.

  “Lucius Sergius Catilina,” said Cicero from the cu-rule dais, “I would appreciate it if you would stand up.”

  At first Cicero had thought to accuse Lucius Cassius as well, but after deliberation he had decided it was better to focus entirely on Catilina. Who stood now looking the picture of bewildered concern. Such a handsome man! Tall and beautifully built, every inch the great patrician aristocrat. How Cicero loathed them, the Catilinas and the Caesars! What was the matter with his own eminently respectable birth, why did they dismiss him as a pernicious growth on the Roman body?

  “I am standing, Marcus Tullius Cicero,” said Catilina gently.

  “Lucius Sergius Catilina, do you know two men named Gaius Manlius and Publius Furius?’’

  “I have two clients by those names.”

  “Do you know where they are at the moment?”

  “In Rome, I hope! They should be on the Campus Martius right now voting for me. Instead, I imagine they’re sitting somewhere in a tavern.”

  “Whereabouts were they recently?”

  Catilina raised both black brows. “Marcus Tullius, I do not require that my clients report their every move to me! I know you’re a nonentity, but do you have so few clients that you have no idea of the protocol governing the client-patron bond?”

  Cicero went red. “Would it surprise you to learn that Manlius and Furius have been seen recently in Faesulae, Volaterrae, Clusium, Saturnia, Larinum and Venusia?”

  A blink from Catilina. “How could it surprise me, Marcus Tullius? They both have land in Etruria, and Furius has land in Apulia as well.”

  “Would it surprise you then to learn that both Manlius and Furius have been telling anyone important enough to have a vote which counts in the Centuriate elections that you and your named colleague, Lucius Cassius, intend legislating a general cancellation of debt once you assume office as consuls?”

  That provoked an amazed laugh. When he sobered, Catilina stared at Cicero as if Cicero had suddenly gone mad. “It does indeed surprise me!” he said.

  Beginning to stir the moment Cicero had pronounced that awful phrase, a general cancellation of debt, the House now broke into audible murmuring. Of course there were those present who desperately needed such a radical measure now that the moneylenders were pressing for full payment—including Caesar, the new Pontifex Maximus—but few who did not appreciate the horrific economic repercussions a general cancellation of debt entailed. Despite their problems generating a constant cash flow, the members of the Senate were innately conservative creatures when it came to radical change of any kind, including how money was structured. And for every financially distressed senator, there were three who stood to lose far more from a general cancellation of debt than they stood to gain, men like Crassus, Lucullus, the absent Pompeius Magnus. Therefore it was not astonishing that both Caesar and Crassus were now leaning forward like leashed hounds.

  “I have been making full enquiries in both Etruria and Apulia, Lucius Sergius Catilina,” said Cicero, “and it grieves me to say that I believe these rumors are true. I believe you do intend to cancel debts.”

  Catilina’s response was to laugh and laugh and laugh. The tears poured down his face; he held his sides; he tried valiantly to control his mirth and lost the battle several times. Seated not far away, Lucius Cassius chose red-faced indignation as his reaction.

  “Rubbish!” Catilina cried when he could, mopping his face with a fold of toga because he couldn’t command himself enough to locate his handkerchief. “Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish!”

  “Will you take an oath to that effect?’’ asked Cicero.

  “No, I will not!” snapped Catilina, drawing himself up. “I, a patrician Sergius, to take an oath on the unfounded and malicious yammerings of an immigrant from Arpinum? Just who do you think you are, Cicero?’’

  “I am the senior consul of the Senate and People of Rome,” said Cicero with painful dignity. “If you remember, I am the man who defeated you in last year’s curule election! And as senior consul, I am the head of this State.”

  Another fit of laughter, then: “They say Rome has two bodies, Cicero! One is feeble and has a moron’s head, the other is strong but has no head at all. What do you think that makes you, O head of this State?’’

  “No moron, Catilina, and that is sure! I am Rome’s father and guardian in this year, and I intend to do my duty, even in situations as bizarre as this one! Do you absolutely deny that you plan to cancel all debts?”

  “Of course
I do!”

  “But you will not take an oath to that effect.”

  “I most definitely will not.” Catilina drew a breath. “No, I will not! However, O head of this State, your despicable conduct and unfounded accusations this morning would tempt many a man in my shoes to say that if Rome’s strong but headless body were to find a head, it could do worse than to pick mine! At least mine is Roman! At least mine has ancestors! You are setting out to ruin me, Cicero, ruin my chances at what was yesterday a fair and unsullied election! I stand here defamed and impugned, the utterly innocent victim of a presumptuous upstart from the hills, neither Roman nor noble!”

  It took a huge effort not to react to these taunts, but Cicero maintained his calm. Did he not, he would lose the encounter. Seeing, as he did from this moment on, that Fulvia Nobilioris was right. That Terentia was right. He could laugh, he could deny it, but Lucius Sergius Catilina was plotting revolution. An advocate who had faced down (and acted for) many a villain could not mistake the face and body language of a man brazening it out, adopting aggression and derision and wounded virtue as the best of all possible defenses. Catilina was guilty, Cicero knew it.

  But did the rest of the House know it?

  “May I have some comments, Conscript Fathers?”

  “No, you may not!” shouted Catilina, leaping up from his place to assume a position in the middle of the black-and-white floor, where he stood and shook his fist at Cicero. Then he strode up the House to the great doors, turned there and faced the ranks of enthralled senators.

  “Lucius Sergius Catilina, you are breaking this body’s standing orders!” Cicero cried, suddenly aware that he was about to lose control of the meeting. “Return to your seat!”

  “I will not! Nor will I remain here one moment longer to listen to this impudent mushroom with no ancestors accuse me of what I interpret to be treason! And, Conscript Fathers, I serve notice on this House that at dawn tomorrow I will be at the saepta to contest the curule election for consul! I sincerely hope that all of you come to your senses and direct the moronic head of this State to do the duty the lots gave him, and hold the elections! For I warn you, if the saepta is empty tomorrow morning, you had better come there with your lictors, Marcus Tullius Cicero, arrest me and charge me with perduellio! Maiestas will not do for one whose forefathers belonged to the hundred men who advised King Tullus Hostilius!”

  Catilina turned to the doors, wrenched them open, disappeared.

  “Well, Marcus Tullius Cicero, what do you intend to do now?” asked Caesar, leaning back with a yawn. “He’s right, you know. On the slenderest of pretexts, you have virtually impeached him.”

  Vision blurred, Cicero sought a face which said its owner was on his side, its owner believed him. Catulus? No. Hortensius? No. Cato? No. Crassus? No. Lucullus? No. Poplicola? No.

  He squared his shoulders; he stood straight. “I will see a division of this House,” he said, voice hard. “All those who think that the curule elections should be held tomorrow and that Lucius Sergius Catilina should be allowed to stand for office as consul, pass to my left. All those who think that the curule elections should be further postponed pending investigation of Lucius Sergius Catilina’s candidacy, pass to my right.”

  It was a forlorn hope, despite Cicero’s cunning in putting his motion with the result he wanted to his right; no senator was happy passing to the left, regarded as un-propitious. But for once prudence outweighed superstition. The House passed without a single exception to the left, thereby allowing the election to take place on the morrow, and Lucius Sergius Catilina to stand for the office of consul.

  Cicero dismissed the meeting, wanting only to reach home before he broke down and wept.

  *

  Pride dictated that Cicero should not back down, so he presided over the curule elections with a cuirass beneath his toga after placing several hundreds of young men conspicuously around the vicinity of the saepta to prevent trouble’s breaking out. Among them was Publius Clodius, whose hatred for Catilina was far stronger than the mild irritation Cicero provoked in him. And where Clodius was, naturally, so too were young Poplicola, young Curio, Decimus Brutus, and Mark Antony—all members of the now-thriving Clodius Club.

  And, Cicero saw with huge relief, what the senators had not chosen to believe, the whole of the Ordo Equester definitely did. Nothing could be more appalling to a knight-businessman than the specter of a general cancellation of debt, even if he was in debt himself. One by one the Centuries voted solidly for Decimus Junius Silanus and Lucius Licinius Murena as consuls for the next year. Catilina lagged behind Servius Sulpicius, though he did get more votes than Lucius Cassius.

  “You malicious slanderer!” snarled one of the present year’s praetors, the patrician Lentulus Sura, as the Centuries broke up after a long day electing two consuls and eight praetors.

  “What?” asked Cicero blankly, oppressed by the weight of that wretched cuirass he had chosen to wear, and dying to release a waist grown too thick for armored comfort.

  “You heard me! It’s your fault Catilina and Cassius didn’t get in, you malicious slanderer! You deliberately frightened the voters away from them with your wild rumors about debt! Oh, very clever! Why prosecute them and thereby give them a chance to answer? You found the perfect weapon in the political arsenal, didn’t you? The irrefutable allegation! Smear, slur, muddy! Catilina was right about you—you’re an impudent mushroom with no ancestors! And it’s high time peasants like you were put in their place!”

  Cicero stood slack-jawed as Lentulus Sura strode away, feeling tears begin to form. He was right about Catilina, he was right! Catilina would end in destroying Rome and the Republic.

  “If it’s any consolation, Cicero,” said a placid voice at his elbow, “I shall keep my eyes open and my nose well primed for the next few months. Upon reflection, I think you may well be correct about Catilina and Cassius. They are not pleased this day!”

  He turned to see Crassus standing there, and lost his temper at last. “You!” he cried in a voice filled with loathing. “It’s you responsible! You got Catilina off at his last trial! Bought the jury and gave him to understand that there are men inside Rome who’d love to see him title himself Dictator!”

  “I didn’t buy the jury,” said Crassus, seeming unoffended.

  “Tchah!” spat Cicero, and stormed off.

  “What was all that about?’’ asked Crassus of Caesar.

  “Oh, he thinks he has a crisis on his hands, and he cannot see why no one in the Senate agrees with him.”

  “But I was telling him I did agree with him!”

  “Leave it, Marcus. Come and help me celebrate my electoral win at the Domus Publica of the Pontifex Maximus. Such a nice address! As for Cicero, the poor fellow has been dying to sit at the center of a sensation, and now that he thinks he’s found one, he can’t flog up a morsel of interest in it. He would adore to save the Republic,” said Caesar, grinning.

  *

  “But I am not giving up!” cried Cicero to his wife. “I am not defeated! Terentia, keep in close touch with Fulvia, and do not let go! Even if she has to listen at doors, I want her to find out everything she can—who Curius sees, where he goes, what he does. And if, as you and I think, revolution is brewing, then she must persuade Curius that the best thing he can do is to work in with me.”

  “I will, never fear,” she said, face quite animated. “The Senate will rue the day it chose to side with Catilina, Marcus. I’ve seen Fulvia, and I know you. In many ways you are an idiot, but not when it comes to sniffing out villains.”

  “How am I an idiot?” he asked indignantly.

  “Writing rubbishy poetry, for one. For another, trying to earn a reputation as a connoisseur of art. Overspending, most especially on a parade of villas you’d never have time to live in even if you traveled constantly, which you don’t. Spoiling Tullia atrociously. Sucking up to the likes of Pompeius Magnus.”

  “Enough!”

  She desisted, watching
him through eyes which never lit up with love. Which was a pity, for the truth was that she loved him very well. But she knew all of his many weaknesses, yet had none of her own. Though she had no ambition to be deemed the new Cornelia the Mother of the Gracchi, she owned all the virtues of the Roman matron, which made her extremely difficult to live with for a man of Cicero’s character. Frugal, industrious, cool, hardheaded, uncompromising, outspoken, afraid of no one, and aware she was any man’s equal in mental sinew. That was Terentia, who suffered no fool gladly, even her husband. She didn’t begin to comprehend his insecurity and sense of inferiority, for her own birth was impeccable and her ancestry Roman through and through. To Terentia, he would do best to relax and ride into the heart of Roman society on her trailing skirts; instead, he kept pushing her into domestic obscurity and flying off at a thousand tangents in search of an aristocracy he just couldn’t claim.

  “You ought to ask Quintus over,” she said.

  But Cicero and his younger brother were as incompatible as Cicero and Terentia, so the senior consul turned down the corners of his mouth and shook his head. “Quintus is as bad as the rest of them, he thinks I’m making a mountain out of a bucket of sand. Though I shall see Atticus tomorrow, he did believe. But then, he’s a knight and has common sense.” He thought for a moment, said, “Lentulus Sura was very rude to me today at the saepta. I cannot begin to understand why. I know a lot of the Senate blames me for ruining Catilina’s chances, but there was something so odd about Lentulus Sura. It seemed to—to matter too much.”

  “Him and his Julia Antonia and those frightful lumps of stepsons!” said Terentia scornfully. “A more shiftless lot one would have to look hard to find. I don’t know which of them annoys me more, Lentulus or Julia Antonia or her awful sons.”

  “Lentulus Sura’s done well enough, considering the censors expelled him seven years ago,” said Cicero, temporizing. “Got back into the Senate through the quaestor-ship and has done it all over again. He was consul before his expulsion, Terentia. It must be a shocking comedown to have to be praetor again at this time of life.”