Lustrum c-2

by Robert Harris

  Cicero glanced at the Sextus brothers. Titus shrugged. 'If he's on his own, Consul, we can handle him.'

  'Fetch him in then, Celer,' said Cicero, 'and I'll hear what he has to say. But I promise you, we're wasting our time.'

  I was horrified that Cicero would take such a risk, and while Celer went off to get Catilina, I actually dared to remonstrate with him. But he cut me off. 'It will show good faith on my part if I can announce in the senate that at least I was willing to receive the villain. Who knows, anyway? Perhaps he's come to apologise.'

  He forced a smile, but I could tell that this unexpected development had strained his nerves. As for me, I felt like one of the condemned men in the Games, when the tiger is let into the arena, for that was how Catilina came prowling into that room – wild and wary, full of barely suppressed fury: I half expected him to spring at Cicero's throat. The Sextus brothers stepped in close behind him as he came to a halt a couple of paces in front of Cicero. He raised his hand in mock salute. 'Consul.'

  'Say your piece, Senator, and then get out.'

  'I hear you've been spreading lies about me again.'

  'You see?' said Cicero, turning to Celer. 'What did I tell you? This is pointless.'

  'Just hear him out,' said Celer.

  'Lies,' repeated Catilina. 'I don't know a damned thing about these letters people are saying I sent last night. I'd have to be a rare fool to dispatch such messages all across the city.'

  'I'm willing to believe that you personally didn't send them,' replied Cicero, 'but there are plenty of men around you stupid enough to do such a thing.'

  'Balls! They're blatant forgeries. D'you know what I think? I think you wrote them yourself.'

  'You'd do better to direct your suspicions towards Crassus – he's the one who's used them as an excuse to turn his back on you.'

  'Old Baldhead is playing his own game, the same as he always does.'

  'And the rebels in Etruria? Are they nothing to do with you either?'

  'They're poor and starving wretches, driven to desperate lengths by the moneylenders – they have my sympathy, but I'm not their leader. I'll make the same offer to you I've made to Celer. I'll surrender myself into your custody and live in this house where you and your guards can keep an eye on me, and then you can see how innocent I am.'

  'That is not an offer but a joke! If I don't feel safe living in the same city as you, I'll hardly feel safe under the same roof.'

  'So there's nothing I can do that will satisfy you?'

  'Yes. Remove yourself from Rome and Italy entirely. Go into exile. Never return.'

  Catilina's eyes glittered and his large hands contracted into fists. 'My first ancestor was Sergestus, companion of Aeneas, the founder of our city – and you dare to tell me to leave?'

  'Oh, spare us the family folklore! Mine at least is a serious offer. If you go into exile, I'll see to it that no harm befalls your wife and children. Your sons won't suffer the shame of having a father who is condemned – because you will be condemned, Catilina, be in no doubt about that. You'll also escape your creditors, which I'd have thought was another consideration.'

  'And what about my friends? How long will they be subjected to your dictatorship?'

  'My dictatorship, as you call it, is only in force to protect us all against you. Once you're gone it won't be needed, and I for one would be pleased to start afresh and offer a clean slate to all men. Voluntary exile would be a noble course, Catilina – one worthy of those ancestors you're always talking about.'

  'So now the grandson of a chickpea farmer presumes to lecture a Sergius on what is noble? He'll be telling you next, Celer!' Celer stared stiffly ahead, like a soldier on parade. 'Look at him,' sneered Catilina. 'Typical Metelli – they always prosper whatever happens. But you realise, Cicero, that secretly he despises you? They all do. I at least have the guts to say to your face what they only whisper behind your back. They may use you to protect their precious property. But once you've done their dirty work they'll want nothing more to do with you. Destroy me if you will; in the end you'll only destroy yourself.'

  He turned on his heel, pushed past the Sextus brothers, and strode out of the house. Cicero said, 'Why is it he always seems to leave a smell of sulphur behind him?'

  'Do you think he'll go into exile?' asked Celer.

  'He might. I don't think he knows from one moment to the next what he's going to do. He's like an animal: he'll follow whatever impulse seizes him. The main thing is to maintain our guard and vigilance – I in the city, you in the countryside.'

  'I'll leave at first light.' Celer made a move towards the door, then stopped and turned. 'By the way, all that stuff about us despising you – there's not a word of truth in it, you know.'

  'I know that, Celer, thank you.' Cicero smiled at him, and maintained the smile until he heard the door close, at which point it slowly faded from his face. He sank back on to the nearest chair and held out his hands, palms upward, contemplating them in wonder, as if their violent trembling was the strangest thing he had ever seen.

  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.