Lustrum c-2

by Robert Harris

  Cicero said nothing, but waited patiently for the procession to resume. Later that night, after we had safely reached Tusculum, I asked him what he made of it all. 'Nothing,' he replied, warming his chilled bones at the fire. 'Why should I? The moon went behind a cloud and a star crossed the sky. What else is there to be said?'

  The following morning a message arrived from Quintus, who was looking after Cicero's interests back in Rome. Cicero read the letter and then showed it to me. It reported that a great wooden cross had been erected on the Field of Mars, rising starkly over the snowy plain, and that the plebs were flocking out of the city to look at it. 'Labienus is going around openly saying that the cross is for Rabirius, and that the old man will be hanging from it by the end of the month. You should return as soon as possible.'

  'I will say one thing for Caesar,' said Cicero. 'He doesn't waste much time. His court hasn't even heard any evidence yet, but he wants to keep up the pressure on me.' He stared into the fire. 'Is the messenger still here?'

  'He is.'

  'Send a note ahead to Quintus and tell him we'll be back by nightfall, and another to Hortensius. Say I appreciated his visit the other day. Tell him I have thought the matter over and I shall be delighted to appear beside him in defence of Gaius Rabirius.' He nodded to himself. 'If it's a fight Caesar wants, he shall have one.' When I reached the door he called me back. 'Also, send one of the slaves to find Hybrida, and ask him if he would care to travel back with me in my carriage to Rome, to settle our arrangement. I need to have something in writing before Caesar gets to him and persuades him to change his mind.'

  Thus I found myself later that day seated opposite one consul and next to the other, trying to write down the terms of their agreement as we bounced along the Via Latina. An escort of lictors rode ahead of us. Hybrida brought out a small flask of wine from which he took regular nips, occasionally offering it with a shaky hand to Cicero, who declined politely. I had never seen Hybrida for an extended period at such close quarters before. His once-noble nose was red and squashed – broken in battle he always claimed, but everyone knew he had got it in a tavern brawl – his cheeks were purple and his breath smelt so strongly of drink I felt I should go dizzy from the fumes. Poor Macedonia, I thought, to have such a creature as its governor. Cicero proposed that they should simply swap provinces, which would save having to put the matter to a vote in the senate. ('As you want,' said Hybrida. 'You're the lawyer.') In return for receiving Macedonia, Hybrida undertook to oppose the populists' bill and to support the defence of Rabirius. He also agreed to pay Cicero one quarter of the revenue he derived as governor. Cicero, for his part, promised to do his best to ensure that Hybrida's term was extended to two or three years, and to act as his defence counsel in the event that he was afterwards prosecuted for corruption. He hesitated over this last condition, as the chances of Hybrida being put on trial, given his character, were plainly high, but in the end he gave an undertaking and I wrote it down.

  When the haggling was concluded, Hybrida produced his flask again, and this time Cicero consented to take a sip. I could tell by his expression that the wine was undiluted and not to his taste, but he pretended to find it pleasant, and then the two consuls settled back in their seats, seemingly satisfied at a job well done.

  'I always thought,' said Hybrida, suppressing a burp, 'that you rigged that ballot for our provinces.'

  'How could I have done that?'

  'Oh, there are plenty of ways, as long as the consul's in on it. You can have the winning token hidden in your palm and substitute it for the one you draw. Or the consul can do it for you when he announces what you've got. So you really didn't do that?'

  'No,' said Cicero, slightly affronted. 'Macedonia was mine by right.'

  'Is that a fact?' Hybrida grunted and raised his flask. 'Well, we've fixed it now. Let's drink to fate.'

  We had reached the plain, and the fields beyond the road stretched flat and bare. Hybrida started humming to himself.

  'Tell me, Hybrida,' said Cicero after a while, 'did you lose a boy a few days ago?'

  'A what?'

  'A boy. About twelve years old.'

  'Oh, him,' replied Hybrida, in an offhand way, as if he were in the regular habit of losing boys. 'You heard about that?'

  'I didn't just hear about it, I saw what was done to him.' Cicero was suddenly staring at Hybrida with great intensity. 'As a mark of our new friendship, will you tell me what happened?'

  'I'm not sure I should do that.' Hybrida gave Cicero a crafty look. Drunkard he might have been, but he was not without cunning, even in his cups. 'You've said some hard things about me in the past. I've got to get used to trusting you.'

  'If you mean by that remark, will anything you say privately go beyond the two of us, let me put your mind at ease. We are now bound together, Hybrida, whatever may have happened between us earlier. I shan't do anything to jeopardise our alliance, which is at least as precious to me as it is to you, even if you tell me you killed the boy yourself. But I feel I need to know.'

  'Very prettily put.' Hybrida burped again and nodded to me. 'And the slave?'

  'He is utterly trustworthy.'

  'Then have another drink,' said Hybrida, once more holding out the flask, and when Cicero hesitated he shook it in his face. 'Go on. I can't abide a man who stays sober while others drink.' So Cicero swallowed his distaste and took another gulp of wine, while Hybrida described what had happened to the boy as cheerfully as if he were relating a tale from a hunting trip. 'He was a Smyrnan. Very musical. I forget his name. He used to sing to my guests at dinner. I lent him to Catilina for a party just after Saturnalia.' He took another swig. 'Catilina really hates you, doesn't he?'

  'I expect so.'

  'Me, I'm easier by nature. But Catilina? Oh no! He's a Sergius through and through. Can't bear the thought that he was beaten to the consulship by a common man, and a provincial to boot.' He pursed his lips and shook his head. 'After you won the election, I swear he lost his mind. Anyway, at this party he was pretty wild, and to cut a long tale short, he suggested we should swear an oath, a sacred oath, which required a sacrifice appropriate to the undertaking. He had my boy summoned, and told him to start singing. And then he got behind him and' – Hybrida made a sweeping gesture with his fist – 'bang. That was it. Quick at least. The rest I didn't stay for.'

  'Are you telling me Catilina killed the boy?'

  'He split his skull.'

  'Dear gods! A Roman senator! Who else was present?'

  'Oh, you know – Longinus, Cethegus, Curius. The usual gang.'

  'So four members of the senate – five including you?'

  'You can leave me out of it. I was sickened, I can tell you. That lad cost me thousands.'

  'And what kind of oath “appropriate” to such an abomination did he have you all swear?'

  'Actually, it was to kill you,' said Hybrida cheerfully, and raised his flask. 'Your health.' Then he burst out laughing. He laughed so much, he spluttered the wine. It leaked from his battered nose and trickled down his stubbled chin and stained the front of his toga. He brushed at it ineffectively, and then gradually the motions ceased. His hand dropped, he slowly nodded forwards, and very soon after that he fell asleep.

  This was the first occasion on which Cicero heard of any conspiracy against him, and to begin with he was unsure how to respond. Was it just some piece of drunken, bestial debauchery, or was it to be taken as a serious threat? As Hybrida started snoring, Cicero gave me a look of infinite revulsion and passed the remainder of the journey in silence with his arms folded, a brooding expression on his face. As for Hybrida, he slept all the way to Rome, so deeply that when we reached his house he had to be lifted out of the carriage by the lictors and laid out in the vestibule. His slaves seemed entirely used to receiving their master in this fashion, and as we left, one was tipping a jug of water over the consul's head.

  Quintus and Atticus were waiting when we arrived home, and Cicero quickly told them what he had
heard from Hybrida. Quintus was all for making the story public at once, but Cicero was not convinced. 'And then what?' he asked.

  'The law should be allowed to take its course. The perpetrators must be publicly accused, prosecuted, disgraced and exiled.'

  'No,' said Cicero. 'A prosecution would stand no chance of success. First, who would be mad enough to bring one? And if, by a miracle, some brave and foolhardy soul were willing to take on Catilina, where would he find the evidence for a conviction? Hybrida will refuse to be a witness, even with a promise of immunity – you may be sure of that. He'll simply deny the whole thing ever happened, and break off his alliance with me. And the corpse has gone, remember? Indeed there are witnesses to the fact that I've already made a speech assuring the people there has been no ritual killing!'

  'So we do nothing?'

  'No, we watch, and we wait. We need to get a spy in Catilina's camp. He won't trust Hybrida any more.'

  'We should also take extra precautions,' said Atticus. 'How long do you have the lictors?'

  'Until the end of January, when Hybrida starts his term as president of the senate. They come back to me again in March.'

  'I suggest we ask for volunteers from the Order of Knights to protect you in public while they're not around.'

  'A private bodyguard? People will say I'm putting on airs. It will have to be done discreetly.'

  'It will be, don't worry. I'll arrange it.'

  So it was agreed, and in the meantime Cicero set about trying to find an agent who might gain the confidence of Catilina, and who could then report back in secret on what he was up to. He first broached the matter a couple of days later with young Rufus. He summoned him to the house and began by apologising for his rudeness after dinner. 'You must understand, my dear Rufus,' he explained, walking him around the atrium with his arm across his shoulders, 'that it is one of the failings of the old always to see the young for what they were rather than for what they have become. I treated you as that tearaway who came into my household as a boy three years ago, whereas I now realise you are a man of nearly twenty, making his way in the world and deserving of greater respect. I am truly sorry for any offence, and hope none has been taken.'

  'The fault was mine,' responded Rufus. 'I won't pretend I agree with your policies. But my love and respect for you is unshaken, and I won't allow myself to think ill of you again.'

  'Good lad.' Cicero pinched his cheek. 'Did you hear that, Tiro? He loves me! So you wouldn't want to kill me?'

  'Kill you? Of course not! Whatever made you think I would?'

  'Others who share your views have talked of killing me – Catilina to name but one,' and he described to Rufus the killing of Hybrida's slave and the terrible oath Catilina had made his confederates swear.

  'Are you certain?' asked Rufus. 'I've never heard him mention such a thing.'

  'Well, he has undoubtedly spoken of his desire to murder me – Hybrida assures me of it – and if ever he does again, I'd like to think you'd give me warning.'

  'Oh, I see,' said Rufus, looking at Cicero's hand on his shoulder. 'That's why you've brought me up here – to ask me to be your spy.'

  'Not a spy, a loyal citizen. Or has our republic sunk to such a level that killing a consul comes second to friendship?'

  'I'd neither kill a consul nor betray a friend,' replied Rufus, detaching himself from Cicero's embrace, 'which is why I'm glad that the shadow over our friendship has been lifted.'

  'An excellent lawyer's answer. I taught you better than I realised.'

  After he had gone, Cicero said thoughtfully, 'That young man is on his way to repeat every word I've just said to Catilina' – an observation that may well have been true, for certainly from that day onwards Rufus kept clear of Cicero but was often to be seen in Catilina's company. It was an ill-assorted gang he had joined: high-spirited young bloods like Cornelius Cethegus, out for a fight; ageing and dissolute noblemen like Marcus Laeca and Autronius Paetus, whose public careers had been frustrated by their private vices; mutinous ex-soldiers led by rabble-rousers like Caius Manlius, who had been a centurion under Sulla. What bound them together was loyalty to Catilina – who could be quite charming when he was not trying to kill you – and a desire to see the existing state of affairs in Rome smashed to pieces. Twice when Cicero had to address public assemblies, as part of his opposition to Rullus's bill, they set up a constant racket of jeers and whistles, and I was glad that Atticus had made arrangements to protect him, especially as the Rabirius affair was now catching fire.

  Rullus's bill, Rabirius's prosecution, Catilina's death threat – you must remember that Cicero was having to contend with all these three at once, as well as coping with the general business of running the senate. Historians in my opinion often overlook this aspect of politics. Problems do not queue up outside a statesman's door, waiting to be solved in an orderly fashion, chapter by chapter, as the books would have us believe; instead they crowd in en masse, demanding attention. Hortensius, for example, arrived to discuss tactics for the defence of Rabirius only a few hours after Cicero had been howled down at the public assembly on Rullus's bill. And there was a further consequence of this overwork. Because Cicero was so preoccupied, Hortensius, who had little else to do, had effectively taken control of the case. Settling himself in Cicero's study and looking very pleased with himself, he announced that the matter was solved.

  'Solved?' repeated Cicero. 'How?'

  Hortensius smiled. He had employed a team of scribes, he said, to gather evidence, and they had turned up the intriguing fact that a ruffian named Scaeva, the slave of a senator, Q. Croton, had been given his freedom immediately after Saturninus's murder. The scribes had enquired further in the state archives. According to Scaeva's papers of manumission, he was the one who had 'struck the fatal blow' that killed Saturninus, and for this 'patriotic act' had been rewarded with his liberty by the senate. Both Scaeva and Croton were long since dead, but Catulus, once his memory had been jogged, claimed to remember the incident well enough, and had sworn an affidavit that after Saturninus had been stoned unconscious, he had seen Scaeva climb down to the floor of the senate house and finish him off with a knife.

  'And that,' said Hortensius in conclusion, passing Catulus's affidavit to Cicero, 'I think you will agree, destroys Labienus's case against our client, and with a bit of luck will bring this wretched business to a swift conclusion.' He sat back in his chair and looked about him with an air of great satisfaction. 'Don't tell me you disagree?' he added, noticing Cicero's frown.

  'In principle of course you are right. But I wonder in practice whether this will help us much.'

  'Of course it will! Labienus has no case left. Even Caesar will have to concede that. Really, Cicero,' he said with a smile and the tiniest wag of a manicured finger, 'I could almost believe you're jealous.'

  Cicero remained unconvinced. 'Well, we shall see,' he remarked to me after this conference. 'But I fear Hortensius has no idea of the forces ranged against us. He still imagines Caesar to be just another ambitious young senator on the make. He has not yet glimpsed his depths.'

  Sure enough, on the very day Hortensius submitted his evidence to Caesar's special court, Caesar and his fellow judge – his elder cousin – without even hearing any witnesses, pronounced Rabirius guilty, and sentenced him to death by crucifixion. The news spread through Rome's cramped streets like a firestorm, and it was a very different Hortensius who appeared in Cicero's study the following morning.

  'The man is a monster! A complete and utter swine!'

  'And how has our unfortunate client reacted?'

  'He doesn't yet know what's happened. It seemed kinder not to tell him.'

  'So now what do we do?'

  'We have no alternative. We appeal.'

  Hortensius duly lodged an immediate appeal with the urban praetor, Lentulus Sura, who in turn referred the question to an assembly of the people, summoned for the following week on the Field of Mars. This was ideal terrain from the prosecution's
point of view: not a court with a respectable jury, but a great swirling multitude of citizens. To enable them all to vote on Rabirius's fate, the entire proceedings would have to be crammed into one short winter's day. And as if that wasn't enough, Labienus was also able to use his powers as tribune to stipulate that no defence speech should last for longer than half an hour. On hearing of this restriction, Cicero observed, 'Hortensius needs half an hour merely to clear his throat!' and as the date of the hearing drew closer, he and his fellow counsel bickered more frequently. Hortensius saw the matter in purely legal terms. The main thrust of his speech, he declared, would be to establish that the real killer of Saturninus was Scaeva. Cicero disagreed, seeing the trial as wholly political. 'This isn't a court,' he reminded Hortensius. 'This is the mob. Do you seriously imagine, in all the noise and excitement, with thousands of people milling about, that anybody is going to care a fig that the actual fatal blow was struck by some wretched slave who's been dead for years?'

  'What line would you take, then?'

  'I think we must concede at the outset that Rabirius was the killer, and claim that the action was legally sanctioned.'

  Hortensius threw up his hands. 'Really, Cicero, I know you've a reputation as a tricky fellow and all that, but now you're simply being perverse.'

  'And I'm afraid you spend too much time on the Bay of Naples talking to your fish. You no longer know this city as I do.'

  Since they were unable to reach an agreement, it was decided that Hortensius would speak first and Cicero last, and each would argue as he pleased. I was glad that Rabirius was too feeble-minded to grasp what was going on, because otherwise he would have been in despair, especially as Rome was anticipating his trial as if it were a circus. The cross on the Field of Mars had become a regular meeting place and was festooned with placards demanding justice, land and bread. Labienus also got hold of a bust of Saturninus and set it up on the rostra, garlanded with laurel. It did not help that Rabirius had a reputation as a vicious old skinflint; even his adopted son was a moneylender. Cicero was in no doubt that the verdict would go against him, and decided at least to try to save his life. He therefore laid an emergency resolution before the senate reducing the penalty for perduellio from crucifixion to exile. Thanks to Hybrida's support, this was narrowly passed, despite angry opposition from Caesar and the tribunes. Metellus Celer went out of the city late that night with a party of slaves and tore down the cross, smashed it up and burned it.