Whereupon the men around Catilina began to cheer, and the rest of the House to look relieved. Swallowing his chagrin, the senior consul thanked Quintus Arrius and asked the House again to issue its Senatus Consultum Ultimum, permit him and his government to move against rebellious troops in Etruria.
“I will see a division,” he said. “All those who approve the issuance of a Senatus Consultum Ultimum to deal with rebellion in Etruria please pass to my right. All those opposed, please pass to my left.”
Everyone passed to the right, including Catilina and all his supporters, Catilina with a look which said, Now do your worst, you Arpinate upstart!
“However,” said the praetor Lentulus Sura after everyone had returned to his place, “troop concentrations do not necessarily mean an uprising is seriously intended, at least for the time being. Did you hear a date of any kind, Quintus Arrius—five days before the Kalends of November, for instance, that being the date in those famous letters sent to Marcus Crassus?”
“I heard no date,” said Arrius.
“I ask,” Lentulus Sura went on, “because the Treasury is not in a position at the moment to find large sums of money for massive recruitment campaigns. May I suggest, Marcus Tullius, that for the present moment you exercise your—er—’Senatus Consultum Ultimum’ in a restrained way?’’
The faces staring at him approved, so much was easy to see; Cicero therefore contented himself with a measure expelling every professional gladiator from Rome.
“What, Marcus Tullius, no directive to issue arms to all this city’s citizens registered to bear them in times of emergency?” asked Catilina sweetly.
“No, Lucius Sergius, I do not intend to order that until I have proven you and yours public enemies!” snapped Cicero. “Why should I hand weapons to anyone I think will end in turning those weapons against all loyal citizens?’’
“This person is pernicious!” cried Catilina, hands stretched out. “He has not one iota of proof, yet still he persists in a malicious persecution of me!”
But Catulus was remembering how he and Hortensius had felt the year before, when they had conspired to exclude Catilina from the chair in which they had virtually installed Cicero as the preferable alternative. Was it possible that Catilina was the prime mover? Gaius Manlius was his client. So was one of the other revolutionaries, Publius Furius. Perhaps it might be wise to discover whether Minucius, Publicius and Aulus Fulvius were also clients of his. After all, none of those who sat around Catilina was a pillar of rectitude! Lucius Cassius was a fat fool, and as for Publius Sulla and Publius Autronius—hadn’t they been stripped of office as consuls before they could take office? And had there not been a wild rumor at the time that they were planning to assassinate Lucius Cotta and Torquatus, their replacements? Catulus decided to open his mouth.
“Leave Marcus Tullius alone, Lucius Sergius!” he commanded wearily. “We may be obliged to put up with a little private war between the pair of you, but we need not put up with a privatus trying to tell the legally elected senior consul how to implement his—er—’Senatus Consultum Ultimum.’ I happen to agree with Marcus Tullius. From now on the troop concentrations in Etruria will be monitored closely. Therefore no one in this city needs to be issued arms at the moment.”
“You’re getting there, Cicero,” said Caesar as the House disbanded. “Catulus is having second thoughts about Catilina.”
“And what about you?”
“Oh, I think he’s a genuine bad man. That’s why I asked Quintus Arrius to do a little investigating in Etruria.”
“You put Arrius up to it?”
“Well, you weren’t managing, were you? I picked Arrius because he soldiered with Sulla, and Sulla’s veterans love him dearly. There are few faces from Rome’s upper echelons capable of lulling suspicion in those discontented veteran farmers, but Arrius’s face is one of them,” said Caesar.
“Then I am obliged to you.”
“Think nothing of it. Like all my kind, I am reluctant to abandon a fellow patrician, but I’m not a fool, Cicero. I want no part of insurrection, nor can I afford to be identified with a fellow patrician who does. My star is still rising. A pity that Catilina’s has set, but it has set. Therefore Catilina is a spent force in Roman politics.” Caesar shrugged. “I can have no truck with spent forces. The same might be said for many of us, from Crassus to Catulus. As you now observe.”
“I have men stationed in Etruria. If the uprising does take place five days before the Kalends, Rome will know within a day.”
*
But Rome didn’t know within a day. When the fourth day before the Kalends of November rolled round, nothing whatsoever happened. The consuls and praetors who according to the letters were to be killed went about their business unmolested, and no word of rebellion came from Etruria.
Cicero existed in a frenzy of doubt and expectation, his mood not helped by Catilina’s constant derision, nor by the sudden coolness he felt emanating from Catulus and Crassus. What had happened? Why did no word come?
The Kalends of November arrived; still no word. Not that Cicero had been entirely idle during those awful days when he had to wait upon events. He hedged the city in with detachments of troops from Capua, posted a cohort at Ocriculum, another at Tibur, one at Ostia, one at Praeneste, and two at Veii; more than that he could not do because more troops ready enough to fight were just not available, even at Capua.
Then after noon on the Kalends everything happened at once. A frantic message for help came from Praeneste, which proclaimed itself under attack. And a frantic message finally arrived from Faesulae, also under attack. The uprising had indeed begun five days earlier, exactly as the letters had indicated. As the sun was setting further messages told of restless slaves in Capua and Apulia. Cicero summoned the Senate for dawn on the morrow.
Astonishing how convenient the process of triumphing could be! For fifty years the presence of a triumphator’s army on the Campus Martius during a time of crisis for Rome had managed to extricate the city from peril. This present crisis was no different. Quintus Marcius Rex and Metellus Little Goat Creticus were both on the Campus Martius awaiting their triumphs. Of course neither man had more than a legion with him, but those legions were veteran. With the full agreement of the Senate, Cicero sent orders to the Campus Martius that Metellus Little Goat was to proceed south to Apulia and relieve Praeneste on the way, and that Marcius Rex was to proceed north to Faesulae.
Cicero had eight praetors at his disposal, though within his mind he had excluded Lentulus Sura; he instructed Quintus Pompeius Rufus to go to Capua and commence recruiting troops from among the many veterans settled on land in Campania. Now, who else? Gaius Pomptinus was a Military Man and a good friend besides, which meant he was best retained in Rome for serious duty. Cosconius was the son of a brilliant general, but not adequate in the field at all. Roscius Otho was a great friend of Cicero’s, but more effective as a favor currier than a general or a recruiter. Though Sulpicius was not a patrician, he seemed nonetheless to sympathize a little with Catilina, and the patrician Valerius Flaccus was another Cicero could not quite bring himself to trust. Which left only the praetor urbanus, Metellus Celer. Pompey’s man and utterly loyal.
“Quintus Caecilius Metellus Celer, I order you to go to Picenum and commence recruiting soldiers there,” said Cicero.
Celer rose, frowning. “Naturally I am glad to do so, Marcus Tullius, but there is a problem. As urban praetor I cannot be out of Rome for more than ten days at a time.”
“Under a Senatus Consultum Ultimum, you can do anything the State instructs you to do without breaking law or tradition.”
“I wish I agreed with your interpretation,” Caesar interrupted, “but I do not, Marcus Tullius. The ultimate decree extends only to the crisis, it does not dislocate normal magisterial functions.”
“I need Celer to deal with the crisis!” snapped Cicero.
“You have five other praetors as yet unused,” said Caesar.
“I am the senior
consul, I will send the praetor best suited!”
“Even if you act illegally?”
“I am not acting illegally! The Senatus Consultum Ultimum overrides all other considerations, including ‘normal magisterial functions,’ as you call Celer’s duties!” Face reddening, Cicero had begun to shout. “Would you question the right of a formally appointed dictator to send Celer out of the city for more than ten days at a time?”
“No, I would not,” said Caesar, very cool. “Therefore, Marcus Tullius, why not do this thing the proper way? Rescind the toy you’re playing with and ask this body to appoint a dictator and a master of the horse to go to war against Gaius Manlius.”
“What a brilliant idea!” drawled Catilina, sitting in his customary place and surrounded by all the men who supported him.
“The last time Rome had a dictator, she ended up with his ruling her like a king!” cried Cicero. “The Senatus Consultum Ultimum was devised to deal with civil crises in a way which does not throw one man into absolute control!”
“What, are you not in control, Cicero?” asked Catilina.
“I am the senior consul!”
“And making all the decisions, just as if you were dictator,” gibed Catilina.
“I am the instrument of the Senatus Consultum Ultimum!”
“You’re the instrument of magisterial chaos,” said Caesar. “In not much more than a month, the new tribunes of the plebs take office, and the few days before and after that event require that the urban praetor be present in Rome.”
“There’s no law on the tablets to that effect!”
“But there is a law to say that the urban praetor cannot be absent from Rome for more than ten days at a time.”
“All right, all right!” Cicero yelled. “Have it your own way! Quintus Caecilius Metellus Celer, I order you to Picenum, but require that you return to Rome every eleventh day! You will also return to Rome six days before the new tribunes of the plebs enter office, and remain in Rome until six days after they enter office!”
At which moment a scribe handed the irate senior consul a note. Cicero read it, then laughed. “Well, Lucius Sergius!” he said to Catilina, “another little difficulty seems to be forming for you! Lucius Aemilius Paullus intends to prosecute you under the lex Plautia de vi, so he has just announced from the rostra.” Cicero cleared his throat ostentatiously. “I am sure you know who Lucius Aemilius Paullus is! A fellow patrician, and a fellow revolutionary at that! Back in Rome after some years in exile and well behind his little brother Lepidus in terms of public life, but apparently desirous of showing that he no longer harbors a rebellious bone in his noble body. You would have it that only us jumped-up New Men are against you, but you cannot call an Aemilius jumped up, now can you?”
“Oh, oh, oh!” drawled Catilina, one brow raised. He put out his right hand and made it flutter and tremble. “See how I quake, Marcus Tullius! I am to be prosecuted on a charge of inciting public violence! Yet when have I done that?” He remained seated, but gazed around the tiers looking terribly wounded. “Perhaps I ought to offer myself into some nobleman’s custody, eh, Marcus Tullius? Would that please you?” He stared at Mamercus. “Ho there, Mamercus Aemilius Lepidus Princeps Senatus, will you take me into your house as your prisoner?”
Head of the Aemilii Lepidi and therefore closely related to the returned exile Paullus, Mamercus simply shook his head, grinning. “I don’t want you, Lucius Sergius,” he said.
“Then how about you, senior consul?” Catilina asked Cicero.
“What, admit my potential murderer to my house? No, thank you!” said Cicero.
“What about you, praetor urbanus?”
“Can’t be done,” said Metellus Celer. “I’m off to Picenum in the morning.”
“Then how about a plebeian Claudius? Will you volunteer, Marcus Claudius Marcellus? You were quick enough to follow your master Crassus’s lead a few days ago!”
“I refuse,” said Marcellus.
“I have a better idea, Lucius Sergius,” said Cicero. “Why not take yourself out of Rome and openly join your insurrection?’’
“I will not take myself out of Rome, and it is not my insurrection,” said Catilina.
“In which case, I declare this meeting closed,” said Cicero. “Rome is protected to the best of our abilities. All we can do now is wait and see what happens next. Sooner or later, Catilina, you will betray yourself.”
“Though I do wish,” he said to Terentia later, “that my pleasure-loving colleague Hybrida would return to Rome! Here it is an officially declared state of emergency, and where is Gaius Antonius Hybrida? Still lolling on his private beach at Cumae!”
“Can’t you command him to return under the Senatus Consultum Ultimum?’’ asked Terentia.
“I suppose so.”
“Then do it, Cicero! You may need him.”
“He’s pleading gout.”
“The gout is in his head” was Terentia’s verdict.
*
Some five hours before dawn of the seventh day of November, Tiro again woke Cicero and Terentia from a deep sleep.
“You have a visitor, domina,” said the beloved slave.
Famous for her rheumatism, the wife of the senior consul showed no sign of it as she leaped from her bed (decently clad in a nightgown, of course—no naked sleepers in Cicero’s house!).
“It’s Fulvia Nobilioris,” she said, shaking Cicero. “Wake up, husband, wake up!” Oh, the joy of it! She was in on a war council at last!
“Quintus Curius sent me,” Fulvia Nobilioris announced, her face old and bare because she had not had time to apply makeup.
“He’s come around?” asked Cicero sharply.
“Yes.” The visitor took the cup of unwatered wine Terentia gave her and sipped at it, shuddering. “They met at midnight in the house of Marcus Porcius Laeca.”
“Who met?”
“Catilina, Lucius Cassius, my Quintus Curius, Gaius Cethegus, both the Sulla brothers, Gabinius Capito, Lucius Statilius, Lucius Vargunteius and Gaius Cornelius.”
“Not Lentulus Sura?”
“No.”
“Then it appears I was wrong about him.” Cicero leaned forward. “Go on, woman, go on! What happened?”
“They met to plan the fall of Rome and further the rebellion,” said Fulvia Nobilioris, a little color returning to her cheeks as the wine took effect. “Gaius Cethegus wanted to take Rome at once, but Catilina wants to wait until uprisings are under way in Apulia, Umbria and Bruttium. He suggested the night of the Saturnalia, and gave as his reason that it is the one night of the year when Rome is topsy-turvy, slaves ruling, free households serving, everyone drunk. And he thinks it will take that long to swell the revolt.”
Nodding, Cicero saw the point of this: the Saturnalia was held on the seventeenth day of December, six market intervals from now. By which time all of Italy might be boiling. “So who won, Fulvia?” he asked.
“Catilina, though Cethegus did succeed in one respect.”
“And that is?” the senior consul prompted gently when she stopped, began to shake.
“They agreed that you should be murdered immediately.”
He had known since the letters that he was not intended to live, but to hear it now from the lips of this poor terrified woman gave it an edge and a horror Cicero felt for the first time. He was to be murdered immediately! Immediately! “How and when?” he asked. “Come, Fulvia, tell me! I’m not going to haul you into court, you’ve earned rewards, not punishment! Tell me!”
“Lucius Vargunteius and Gaius Cornelius will present themselves here at dawn with your clients,” she said.
“But they’re not my clients!” said Cicero blankly.
“I know. But it was decided that they would ask to become your clients in the hope that you would support their return to public life. Once inside, they are to ask for a private interview in your study to plead their case. Instead, they are to stab you to death and make their escape before your clients know w
hat has happened,” said Fulvia.
“Then that’s simple,” said Cicero, sighing with relief. “I will bar my doors, set a watch in the peristyle, and refuse to see my clients on grounds of illness. Nor will I stir outside all day. It’s time for councils.” He got up to pat Fulvia Nobilioris on the hand. “I thank you most sincerely, and tell Quintus Curius his intervention has earned him a full pardon. But tell him too that if he will testify to all this in the House the day after tomorrow, he will be a hero. I give him my word that I will not let a thing happen to him.”
“I will tell him.”
“What exactly does Catilina plan for the Saturnalia?”
“They have a large cache of arms somewhere—Quintus Curius does not know the place—and these will be distributed to all the partisans. Twelve separate fires are to be started throughout the city, including one on the Capitol, two on the Palatine, two on the Carinae, and one at either end of the Forum. Certain men are to go to the houses of all the magistrates and kill them.”
“Except for me, dead already.”
“Yes.”
“You’d better go, Fulvia,” said Cicero, nodding to his wife. “Vargunteius and Cornelius may arrive a little early, and we don’t want them to set eyes on you. Did you bring an escort?”
“No,” she whispered, white-faced again.
“Then I will send Tiro and four others with you.”
“A pretty plot!” barked Terentia, marching into Cicero’s study the moment she had organized the flight of Fulvia Nobilioris.
“My dear, without you I would have been dead before now.”
“I am well aware of it,” Terentia said, sitting down. “I have issued orders to the staff, who will bolt and bar everything the moment Tiro and the others return. Now print a notice I can have put on the front door that you are ill and won’t receive.”
Cicero printed obediently, handed it over and let his wife take care of the logistics. What a general of troops she would have made! Nothing forgotten, everything battened down.
“You will need to see Catulus, Crassus, Hortensius if he’s returned from the seaside, Mamercus, and Caesar,” she said after all the preparations were finished.
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