Lustrum (14 page)

At the beginning of the second week, Servius Sulpicius came to dine, accompanied by Postumia. He had a villa just around the bay, at Caieta. He had barely spoken to Cicero since the revelation of his wife's dalliance with Caesar, but he turned up looking cheerful for once, whereas she seemed unusually morose. The reason for their contrasting humours became clear just before dinner, when Servius drew Cicero aside for a private word. Fresh from Rome, he had a most delicious morsel of gossip to impart. He could hardly contain his glee. 'Caesar has taken a new mistress: Servilia, the wife of Junius Silanus!'

'So Caesar has a new mistress? You might as well tell me there are fresh leaves on the trees.'

'But don't you see? Not only does it put paid to all those groundless rumours about Postumia and Caesar, it also makes it much harder for Silanus to beat me in the consular election this summer.'

'And why do you think that?'

'Caesar wields a great block of populist votes. He's hardly going to throw them behind his mistress's husband, is he? Some of them might actually come to me. So with the approval of the patricians and with your support as well, I really do believe I'm home and dry.'

'Well then, I congratulate you, and I shall be proud to pronounce you the winner in three months' time. Do we know yet how many candidates there are likely to be?'

'Four are certain.'

'You and Silanus, and who else?'

'Catilina.'

'Catilina's definitely standing, then?'

'Oh yes. No question of it. Caesar's already let it be known he'll be backing him again.'

'And the fourth?'

'Licinius Murena,' said Servius, naming a former legate of Lucullus who was presently the governor of Further Gaul. 'But he's too much of a soldier to have a following in the city.'

They dined that night under the stars. From my quarters I could hear the sighing of the sea against the rocks, and occasionally the voices of the quartet carried to me on the warm salty air, along with the pungent smell of their grilled fish. In the morning, very early, Cicero came himself to wake me. I was startled to find him sitting at the end of my narrow mattress, still wearing his clothes from the previous evening. It was barely light. He did not appear to have slept. 'Get dressed, Tiro. It's time we were moving.'

As I pulled on my shoes, he told me what had happened. At the end of dinner, Postumia had found an excuse to speak with him alone. 'She took my arm and asked me to walk a turn with her along the terrace, and I thought for a moment I was about
to be invited to replace Caesar in her bed, for she was a little drunk and that dress of hers was practically open to her knees. But no: it seems her feelings for Caesar have curdled from lust to the bitterest hatred, and all she wanted to do was betray him. She says Caesar and Servilia are made for one another: “Two colder-hearted creatures there never were created.” She says – and here I quote her ladyship verbatim – “Servilia wants to be a consul's wife, and Caesar likes to fuck consuls' wives, so what union could be more perfect? Don't take any notice of what my husband tells you. Caesar is going to do everything he can to make sure Silanus wins.”'

'Is that such a bad thing?' I asked stupidly, for I was still half asleep. 'I thought you always said Silanus was dull but respectable, and so perfect for high office.'

'I do want him to win, you dunderhead! And so do the patricians, and so it now seems does Caesar. Silanus is therefore unstoppable. The real fight is going to be for the second consulship – and that, unless we are very careful, is going to be won by Catilina.'

'But Servius is so confident—'

'Not confident – complacent, which is exactly what Caesar wants him to be.'

I splashed some cold water on my face. I was at last beginning to wake up. Cicero was already halfway out of the door.

'May I ask where we are going?' I called.

'South,' he replied over his shoulder, 'to the Bay of Naples, to see Lucullus.'

He left a note of explanation for Terentia and we were gone before she woke. We travelled fast in a closed carriage to avoid
being recognised – a necessary precaution since it seemed that half the senate, weary of Rome's unusually long winter, was en route to the warm spas of Campania. We reduced the escort to make better speed and only two men guarded the consul: a great ox of a knight called Titus Sextus and his equally hefty brother, Quintus; they rode on horseback fore and aft of us.

As the sun rose higher, the air became warmer, the sea bluer, and the aromas of mimosa blossom, and of sun-dried herbs and fragrant pines, gradually infiltrated the carriage. From time to time I would part the curtain and gaze out at the landscape, and I vowed to myself that if ever I did get that little farm I so desired, it would be down here in the south. Cicero meanwhile saw nothing. He slept throughout the entire journey and only woke towards the end of the afternoon as we jolted down the narrow lane to Misenum, where Lucullus had his – well, I was going to call it a house, but the word hardly fits that veritable palace of pleasure, the Villa Cornelia, which he had bought and extended on the coast. It stood on the promontory where the herald of the Trojans lies buried, and commanded perhaps the most exquisite view in Italy, from the island of Prochyta all the way across the wondrous blueness of the Bay of Naples to the mountains of Caprae. A gentle breeze rustled the tops of an avenue of cypresses, and we descended from our dusty carriage as if into Paradise.

On hearing who was in his courtyard, Lucullus himself wafted out to greet us. He was in his middle fifties, very languid and affected, and just beginning to run to fat: seeing him in his silken slippers and Greek tunic, you would never have believed he was a great general, the greatest for over a century; he looked more like a retired dancing-master. But the detachment of legionaries guarding his house and the lictors sprawled in the shade of the
plane trees served as a reminder that he had been hailed as imperator in the field by his victorious soldiers and still commanded military imperium. He insisted Cicero must dine with him, and stay the night, but that first he must bathe and rest. Such was either his chilliness or his exquisite manners that he expressed not the slightest curiosity as to why Cicero had turned up on his doorstep uninvited.

The consul and his escort were led away by flunkeys, and I assumed I would be consigned to the slaves' quarters. But not at all: as the consul's private secretary, I too was conducted to a guest room, fresh clothes were fetched for me, and then a most remarkable thing occurred, which I blush to remember but must set down if this is to be an honest account. A young female slave appeared. She was Greek, I discovered, so I was able to converse with her in her own tongue. She was in her twenties, and very charming, in a short-sleeved dress – slender, olive-skinned, with a mass of long black hair all pinned up and waiting to fall in a soft cascade. Her name was Agathe. With much giggling and insistent gesturing she persuaded me to undress and step into a small windowless cubicle, which was entirely covered in mosaics of sea creatures. I stood there for a moment, feeling somewhat foolish, until all at once the ceiling seemed to dissolve and begin pouring forth warm fresh water. This was my first experience of one of Sergius Orata's famous shower baths, and I luxuriated in it for a long while before Agathe returned and led me into the next-door room to be cleansed and massaged – and oh, what sweet delight was that! Her smile revealed teeth as white as ivory and a mischievous pink tongue. When I met up with Cicero on the terrace an hour or so later, I asked if he had tried out one of these extraordinary showers.

'Certainly not! Mine came equipped with a young whore. I
never heard of such degeneracy,' and then he peered at me and said in disbelief, 'Don't tell me you did!' I turned scarlet, at which he started laughing very loudly, and for many months thereafter, whenever he wished to tease me, he would bring up the episode of Lucullus's shower bath.

Before we dined, our host took us on a tour of his palace. The main part of the house was a century old, and had been built by Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi brothers, but Lucullus had tripled it in size, adding wings and terraces and a swimming pool – all of it hewn out of the solid rock. The views on every side were astounding, the rooms sumptuous. We were led into a tunnel lined with torches that cast their light on glisten ing mosaics of Theseus in the labyrinth. Steps took us down to the sea and out on to a platform positioned just above the lapping waves. Here was Lucullus's particular pride – a great expanse of man-made pools, filled with every species of fish you could name, including huge eels decorated with jewellery, which came at the sound of his call. He knelt and a slave handed him a silver bucket full of food, which he gently tipped into the water. Immediately the surface roiled with smooth and powerful bodies. 'They all have names,' he said, and pointed to a particularly fat and repulsive creature with gold rings in its fins. 'I call that one Pompey.'

Cicero laughed politely. 'And whose place is that?' he asked, nodding across the water to another huge villa with a fish farm.

'That belongs to Hortensius. He thinks he can breed better fish than I, but he will never manage it. Good night, Pompey,' he said to the eel in a caressing voice. 'Sleep well.'

I thought we must have seen everything, but Lucullus had saved the climax till last. We ascended by a different route, a wide staircase tunnelled into the bowels of the dripping rock
beneath the house. We passed through several heavy iron gates manned by sentries, until we came at last to a series of chambers, each of which was crammed with the treasure Lucullus had carted back from the Mithradatic war. Attendants passed their torches over glittering heaps of jewel-encrusted armour, shields, dinner plates, beakers, ladles, basins, gold chairs and gold couches. There were heavy silver ingots and chests full of millions of tiny silver coins, and a golden statue of Mithradates more than six feet high. After a while our exclamations of wonder dwindled to silence. The riches were stupefying. Then, as we went back into the tunnel, there came a very faint scuffling noise from somewhere close at hand, which at first I thought was rats, but which Lucullus explained was the noise of the sixty prisoners – friends of Mithradates, and some of his generals – whom he had been keeping down here for the past five years in readiness for his triumphal parade, at the end of which they would be strangled.

Cicero put his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. 'Actually, imperator, it's about your triumph that I've come to see you.'

'I thought it might be,' said Lucullus, and in the torchlight I saw the briefest of smiles pass over his fleshy face. 'Shall we eat?'

Naturally we dined on fish – oysters and sea bass, crab and eel, grey and red mullet. It was all too rich for me: I was accustomed to plainer fare and took little. Nor did I utter a word during dinner, but kept a subtle distance between myself and the other guests, to signify my awareness that my presence was a special favour. The Sextus brothers ate greedily, and from time to time one or the other would rise from the table and go into the garden to vomit noisily, to clear space for the next course. Cicero as
usual was sparing in his consumption, while Lucullus chewed and swallowed steadily but without any apparent pleasure.

I found myself secretly observing him, for he fascinated me, and still does. In truth I believe he was the most melancholy man I ever met. The blight of his life was Pompey, who had replaced him as supreme commander in the East and who had then, through his allies in the senate, blocked Lucullus's hopes of a triumph. Many men would have accepted this, but not Lucullus. He had everything in the world he wanted except the one thing he most desired. So he flatly refused to enter Rome or surrender his command, and instead diverted his talents and ambition into creating ever more elaborate fish ponds. He became bored and listless, his domestic life unhappy. He was married twice, the first time to one of the sisters of Clodius, from whom he separated in scandalous circumstances, alleging that she had committed incest with her brother, who had then encouraged a mutiny against Lucullus in the East. The second marriage, which still endured, was to a sister of Cato, but she was also said to be flighty and unfaithful: I never set eyes on her, so I cannot judge. I did however meet her child, Lucullus's young son, then two years old, who was brought out by his nurse to kiss his father good night. Seeing the way Lucullus treated him, I could tell he loved the lad deeply. But the moment the child had gone away to bed, the veils came down once more over Lucullus's large blue eyes and he resumed his joyless chomping.

'So,' he said eventually, between mouthfuls, 'my triumph?' There was a fragment of fish stuck on his cheek that he didn't know about. It was peculiarly distracting.

'Yes,' repeated Cicero, 'your triumph. I was thinking of laying a motion before the senate straight after the recess.'

'And will it pass?'

'I don't believe in calling votes that I can't win.'

The
chomp, chomp
continued for a while longer.

'Pompey won't be pleased.'

'Pompey will have to accept that others are allowed to triumph in this republic as well as he.'

'And what's in it for you?'

'The honour of proposing your eternal glory.'

'Balls.' Lucullus finally wiped his mouth and the particle of fish disappeared. 'You've really travelled fifty miles in a day just to tell me this? You can't expect me to believe it.'

'Oh dear, you're too shrewd for me, Imperator! Very well, I confess I also wanted to have a political talk with you.'

'Go on.'

'I believe we are drifting towards calamity.' Cicero pushed away his plate and, summoning all his eloquence, proceeded to describe the state of the republic in the starkest terms, dwelling especially on Caesar's support for Catilina, and Catilina's revolutionary programme of cancelling debts and seizing the property of the rich. He did not have to point out what a threat this posed to Lucullus, reclining in his palace amid all his silk and gold: it was perfectly obvious. Our host's face became grimmer and grimmer, and when Cicero had finished, he took his time before replying.