Lustrum (16 page)

Cicero waited a little longer, then stood and announced that he had received a new motion that he would like to place before the house. He called on Lucullus's brother Marcus to speak, who thereupon read out a letter from the great general requesting that the senate grant him a triumph before the consular elections. Cicero declared that Lucullus had waited long enough for his just reward and he would now put the matter to a vote. By this time the patrician benches had filled up again with those who had been lurking nearby, whilst on the populists' side there was hardly anyone to be seen. Messengers ran off to fetch Caesar. Meanwhile, all who favoured a triumph for Lucullus moved to stand around his brother, and after heads had been counted, Cicero duly declared that the motion had been passed by 120 to 16 and that the house should stand adjourned. He hurried down the aisle, preceded by his lictors, just as Caesar and Catilina arrived at the door. They obviously realised that they had been ambushed and had lost something significant, but it would take them an hour or two to work out exactly what. For now they could only stand aside and let the consul's procession pass. It was a delicious moment, and Cicero relived it again and again over dinner that night.

The trouble really started the following day in the senate. Belatedly the populists' benches were packed, and it was a rowdy house. Crassus, Catilina and Caesar had by this time worked out
what Cicero was up to, and one after the other they rose to demand that the vote be taken again. But Cicero would not be intimidated. He ruled that there had been a proper quorum, Lucullus deserved his triumph, and the people were in need of a spectacle to cheer them up: as far as he was concerned, the issue was closed. Catilina, however, refused to sit down, and continued to demand a re-vote. Calmly Cicero tried to move on to the bill about travel expenses. As the uproar continued I thought the session might have to be suspended. But Catilina still had not entirely given up hope of winning power by the ballot box rather than the sword, and he recognised that the consul was right in one respect at least: the urban masses always enjoyed a triumph, and would not understand why they had been promised the pleasure one day only to be deprived of it the next. At the last moment he threw himself heavily back on to the front bench, sweeping his arm dismissively at the chair in a gesture of anger and disgust. Thus it was settled: Lucullus would have his day of glory in Rome.

That night Servius came to see Cicero. He brusquely rejected the offer of a drink and demanded to know if the rumours were true.

'What rumours?'

'The rumours that you've abandoned me and are supporting Murena.'

'Of course they're not true. I'll vote for you, and shall say as much to anyone who asks me.'

'Then why have you arranged to ruin my chances by filling the city with Murena's old legionaries in the week of the poll?'

'The question of when Lucullus holds his triumph is entirely a matter for him' – an answer that, while true in a strictly legal sense, was grossly misleading in every other. 'Are you sure you won't have a drink?'

'Do you really think I'm such a fool as that?' Servius's stooped frame was quivering with emotion. 'It's bribery, plain and simple. And I give you fair warning, Consul: I intend to lay a bill before the senate making it illegal for candidates, or their surrogates, to hold either banquets or games just before an election.'

'Listen, Servius, may I give you some advice? Money, feasting, entertainment – these have always been a part of an election campaign, and always will be. You can't just sit around waiting for the voters to come to you. You need to put on a show. Make sure you go everywhere in a big crowd of supporters. Spread a little money around. You can afford it.'

'That's bribing the voters.'

'No, it's
enthusing
them. Remember, these are poor citizens for the most part. They need to feel their vote has value, and that great men have to pay them some attention, if only once a year. It's all they have.'

'Cicero, you completely amaze me. Never did I think to hear a Roman consul say such a thing. Power has entirely corrupted you. I shall introduce my bill tomorrow. Cato will second the motion and I expect you to support it – otherwise the country will draw its own conclusions.'

'Typical Servius – always the lawyer, never the politician! Don't you understand? If people see you going around not to canvass but to collect evidence for a prosecution, they'll think you've given up hope. And there's nothing more fatal during an election campaign than to appear unconfident.'

'Let them think what they like. The courts will decide. That is what they're there for.'

The two men parted badly. Nevertheless, Servius was right in one respect: Cicero, as consul, could hardly let himself be seen to condone bribery. He was obliged to support the campaign
finance reform bill when Servius and Cato laid it before the senate the next day.

Election canvasses normally lasted four weeks; this one went on for eight. The amount of money expended was amazing. The patricians set up a war chest to fund Silanus into which they all paid. Catilina received financial support from Crassus. Murena was given one million sesterces by Lucullus. Only Servius made a point of spending nothing at all, but went around with a long face, accompanied by Cato and a team of secretaries recording every example of illegal expenditure. Throughout this time Rome slowly filled with Lucullus's veterans, who camped out on the Field of Mars by day and came into the city at night to drink and gamble and whore. Catilina retaliated by bringing in supporters of his own, mostly from the north-west, in particular Etruria. Ragged and desperate, they materialised out of the primeval forests and swamps of that benighted region: ex-legionaries, brigands, herdsmen. Publius Cornelius Sulla, nephew of the former dictator, who supported Catilina, paid for a troop of gladiators, ostensibly to entertain but really to intimidate. At the head of this sinister assembly of professional and amateur fighters was the former centurion Gaius Manlius, who drilled them in the meadows across the river from the Field of Mars. There were terrible running battles between the two sides. Men were clubbed to death; men drowned. When Cato, in the senate, accused Catilina of organising this violence, Catilina slowly got to his feet.

'If a fire is raised to consume my fortunes,' he said very deliberately, turning to look at Cicero, 'then I will put it out – not with water but by demolition.'

There was a silence, and then, as the meaning of his words sank in, a shocked chorus of 'Oh!' rang round the chamber –
'Oh!' – for this was the first time Catilina had hinted publicly that he might be willing to use force. I was taking a shorthand record of the debate, sitting in my usual place, below and to the left of Cicero, who was in his curule chair. He immediately spotted his opportunity. He stood and held up his hand for silence.

'Gentlemen, this is very serious. There should be no mistake as to what we have just heard. Clerk, read back to the chamber the words of Sergius Catilina.'

I had no time to feel nervous as for the first and only time in my life I addressed the senate of the Roman republic: '“If a fire is raised to consume my fortunes,”' I read from my notes, '“then I will put it out – not with water but by demolition.”'

I spoke as loudly as I could and sat down quickly, my heart pounding with such violence it seemed to shake my entire body. Catilina, still on his feet, his head on one side, was looking at Cicero with an expression I find it hard to describe – a sneer of insolence was part of it, and contempt, and blazing hatred obviously, and even perhaps a hint of fear: that twitch of alarm that can drive a desperate man to desperate acts. Cicero, his point made, gestured to Cato to resume his speech, and only I was close enough to see that his hand was shaking. 'Marcus Cato still has the floor,' he said.

That night Cicero asked Terentia to speak to her highly placed informant, the mistress of Curius, to try to find out exactly what Catilina meant. 'Obviously he's realised he's going to lose, which makes this a dangerous moment. He might be planning to disrupt the poll. “Demolition”? See if she knows why he used that particular phrase.'

Lucullus's triumph was to take place the following day, and in this atmosphere Quintus naturally worried about the arrangements for Cicero's security. But nothing could be done. There
was no chance of varying the route, which was fixed by solemn tradition. The crowds would be immense. It was only too easy to imagine a determined assassin darting forwards, thrusting a long blade into the consul, and disappearing into the throng. 'But there it is,' said Cicero. 'If a man is set on killing you, it's hard to stop him, especially if he's willing to die in the attempt. We shall just have to trust to Providence.'

'And the Sextus brothers,' added Quintus.

Early the next morning Cicero led the entire senate out to the Field of Mars, to the Villa Publica, where Lucullus was lodging prior to entering the city, surrounded by the pitched tents of his veterans. With characteristic arrogance, Lucullus kept the delegation waiting for a while, and when he appeared, he presented a gaudy apparition, robed in gold, his face painted in red lead. Cicero recited the official proclamation of the senate, then handed him a laurel wreath, which Lucullus held aloft and showed to his veterans, slowly turning full circle to roars of approval before delicately placing it on his head. Because I was now on the staff of the treasury, I was given a place in the parade, behind the magistrates and senators, but ahead of the war booty and the prisoners, who included a few of Mithradates's relatives, a couple of minor princes, and half a dozen generals. We passed into Rome through the Triumphal Gate, and my chief recollections are of the oppressive heat of that summer day, and the contorted faces of the crowds lining the streets, and the rank smell of the beasts – the oxen and mules, dragging and carrying all that bullion and those works of art – their animal grunts and bellows mingling with the shouts of the spectators, and far behind us, like distant rolling thunder, the tramp of the legionaries' boots. It was quite disgusting, I have to say – the whole city stinking and shrieking like a vivarium – and no more so than
after we had passed through the Circus Maximus and had come back along the Via Sacra to the forum, where we had to wait until the rest of the procession caught up with us. Standing outside the Carcer was the public executioner, surrounded by his assistants. He was a butcher by training, and looked it, squat and broad in his leather apron. This was where the crowd was thickest, drawn as always by the shivering thrill of close proximity to death. The miserable prisoners, yoked at the neck, their faces burned red by this sudden exposure to the sun after years of darkness, were led up one by one to the carnifex, who took them down into the Carcer and strangled them – thankfully out of sight, but still I could see that Cicero was keeping his face averted, and talking fixedly to Hybrida. A few rows back, Catilina watched Cicero with almost lascivious interest.

Such are my principal memories of the triumph, although I must recount one other, which is that when Lucullus drove across the forum in his chariot, he was followed on horseback by Murena, who had finally arrived in Rome for the election, having left his province to the care of his brother. He received a great ovation from the multitudes. The consular candidate looked the very picture of a war hero, in his gleaming breastplate and gorgeous scarlet-plumed helmet, even though he had not fought in the army for years and had grown rather plump in Further Gaul. Both men dismounted and started climbing the steps to the Capitol, where Caesar waited with the College of Priests. Lucullus was ahead, of course, but his legate was only a few paces behind, and I appreciated then Cicero's genius in laying on what was in effect an immense election rally for Murena. Each of the veterans received a bounty of nine hundred and fifty drachmas, which in those days was about four years' pay, and then the entire city and the surrounding neighbourhoods were
treated to a lavish banquet. 'If Murena can't win after this,' Cicero observed to me, as he set off for the official dinner, 'he doesn't deserve to live.'

The next day, the public assembly voted the bill of Servius and Cato into law. When Cicero returned home, he was met by Terentia. Her face was white and trembling but her voice was calm. She had just come from the Temple of the Good Goddess, she said. She had some terrible news. Cicero must brace himself. Her friend, that noble lady who had come to her to warn her of the plot against his life, had that morning been discovered dead in the alley beside her house. Her head had been smashed in from behind by a hammer, her throat cut and her organs removed.

As soon as he had recovered from the shock, Cicero summoned Quintus and Atticus. They came at once and listened, appalled. Their first concern was for the consul's safety. It was agreed that a couple of men would stay in the house overnight and patrol the downstairs rooms. Others would escort him in public during the day. He would vary his route to and from the senate. A fierce dog would be acquired to guard the door.

'And how long must I go on living like a prisoner? Until the end of my life?'

'No,' responded Terentia, displaying her rare gift for getting to the heart of the matter, 'until the end of Catilina's life, because as long as he's in Rome, you'll never be safe.'

He saw the wisdom of this, reluctantly grunted his assent, and Atticus went off to send a message to the Order of Knights. 'But why did he have to
kill
her?' Cicero wondered aloud. 'If he suspected she was my informant, why couldn't he simply have warned Curius not to speak openly in front of her?'

'Because,' said Quintus, 'he likes killing people.'

Cicero thought for a while, then turned to me. 'Send one of the lictors to find Curius, and tell him I want to see him, straight away.'

'You mean to invite into your house someone who is part of a plot to murder you?' exclaimed Quintus. 'You must be mad!'

'I won't be alone. You'll be here. He probably won't come. But if he does, at least we may find out something.' He glanced around at our worried expressions. 'Well? Does anyone have a better idea?'