‘I do not say that the younger Caesar is like the elder. But I do say that if we make him consul, and in effect give him control of all our forces, then we will betray the very principle for which we fight: the principle that drew me back to Rome when I was on the point of sailing to Greece – that the Roman Republic, with its division of powers, its annual free elections for every magistracy, its law courts and its juries, its balance between Senate and people, its liberty of speech and thought, is mankind’s noblest creation, and I would sooner lie choking in my own blood upon the ground than betray the principle on which all this stands – that is, first and last and always, the rule of law.’
His remarks elicited warm applause and entirely set the course of the debate – so much so that Isauricus, with icy formality and a glare at Cicero, later withdrew his proposal and it was never voted upon.
I asked Cicero if he intended to write to Octavian to explain his stand. He shook his head. ‘My reasons are in my speech and he will have it in his hands soon enough – my enemies will see to that.’
In the days that followed he was as busy as he had ever been – writing to Brutus and Cassius to urge them to come to the aid of the tottering republic (the commonwealth is in the gravest peril because of the criminal folly of M. Lepidus), overseeing the tax inspectors as they set about raising revenue, touring the blacksmiths’ yards to cajole them into making more weapons, inspecting the newly raised legion with Cornutus, who had been appointed military defender of Rome. But he knew the cause was hopeless, especially when he saw Fulvia being carried openly in a litter across the Forum, accompanied by a large entourage.
‘I thought we were rid of that shrew, at least,’ he complained over dinner, ‘yet here she is, still in Rome and flaunting herself around, even though her husband has at last been declared a public enemy. Is it in any wonder we’re in such desperate straits? How is it possible, when all her property is supposed to have been seized?’
There was a pause and then Atticus said quietly, ‘I lent her some money.’
‘You?’ Cicero leaned across the table and peered at him as if he were some mysterious stranger. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’
‘I felt sorry for her.’
‘No you didn’t. You wanted to put Antony under an obligation to you. It’s insurance. You think we’re going to lose.’
Atticus did not deny it, and Cicero left the table.
At the end of that wretched month, ‘July’, reports reached the Senate that Octavian’s army had struck camp in Nearer Gaul, crossed the Rubicon, and was marching on Rome. Even though he had been half expecting it, the news still struck Cicero as a tremendous blow. He had given his word to the Roman people that if ‘the heaven-sent boy’ was given imperium, he would be a model citizen. Every imaginable evil chance has dogged us in this war, he lamented to Brutus. As I write, I am in great distress, because it hardly looks as though I can make good my promises in respect to the young man, boy almost, for whom I went bail to the republic. It was then he asked me if I thought he was honour-bound to kill himself, and for the first time I saw that he was not saying it for effect. I replied that I did not think it had come to that yet.
‘Perhaps not, but I must be ready. I don’t want these veterans of Caesar’s torturing me to death as they did Trebonius. The question is how to do it. I’m not sure I could face a blade – do you think posterity will reckon the less of me if I choose Socrates’s method and take hemlock instead?’
‘I am sure not.’
He asked me to acquire some of the poison on his behalf and I went to see his doctor that same day, who gave me a small jar. He did not ask why I wanted it; I suppose he knew. Despite the wax seal, I could smell its rank odour, like mouse droppings. ‘It’s made from the seeds,’ he explained, ‘the most poisonous part of the plant, which I have crushed into a powder. The smallest dose, no more than a pinch, swallowed with water, should do the trick.’
‘How long does it take to work?’
‘Three hours or thereabouts.’
‘Is it painful?’
‘It induces slow suffocation – what do you think?’
I put the jar into a box in my room, and placed the box inside a locked chest, as if by hiding it away, death itself could be postponed.
The next day, gangs of Octavian’s legionaries began to appear in the Forum. He had sent four hundred on ahead of his main army, with the aim of intimidating the Senate into granting him the consulship. Whenever they saw a senator, they surrounded him and jostled him and showed him their swords, although they never actually drew their weapons. Cornutus, as an old soldier, refused to be threatened. Determined to visit Cicero on the Palatine, the urban praetor pushed and shoved them back until they let him through. But he advised Cicero that on no account should he venture out himself unless he had a strong escort: ‘They hold you as much responsible for Caesar’s death as they do Decimus or Brutus.’
‘If only I had been responsible! Then we would have taken care of Antony at the same time and we wouldn’t be in the mess we are today.’
‘Well here is some better news for you: the African legions arrived last night, and we didn’t lose a single ship. Eight thousand men and a thousand cavalry are disembarking at Ostia even as I speak. That should be enough to hold off Octavian, at least until Brutus and Cassius send us help.’
‘But are they loyal?’
‘So their commanders assure me.’
‘Then bring them here as quickly as possible.’
The legions were only a day’s march from Rome. As they approached the city, Octavian’s men slipped away into the surrounding countryside. When the vanguard reached the salt warehouses, Cornutus ordered the column to parade through the Trigemina Gate and across the Forum Boarium in full view of the crowds in order to steady civilian morale. Then they took up position on the Janiculum. From these strategic heights they controlled the western approaches to Rome and could deploy rapidly to block any invading force. Cornutus asked Cicero if he would come out and inspire the men with a rousing speech. Cicero agreed, and he was carried out of the city gates in a litter accompanied by fifty legionaries on foot. I rode on a mule.
It was a hot, muggy day without a tremor of wind. We crossed the River Tiber over the Sublician Bridge and traipsed along a road of dried mud through the shanty towns that have for as long as I can remember filled the flat plain of the Vaticanum. It was notoriously malarial in the summer, and swarming with hostile insects. Cicero’s litter had the protection of a mosquito net but I did not, and the insects whined in my ears. The whole place stank of human filth. Children, pot-bellied with hunger watched us listlessly from the doorways of tumbling shacks, while all around them, disregarded and pecking away at the rubbish, were hundreds of the crows that nest in the nearby sacred grove. We passed through the gates of the Janiculum and went up the hill. The place was teeming with soldiers. They had pitched their tents wherever they could find some space.
On the flatter ground at the top of the slope Cornutus had drawn up four cohorts – almost two thousand men. They stood in lines in the heat. The light on their helmets dazzled as brightly as the sun, and I had to shield my eyes. When Cicero stepped out of his litter there was absolute silence. Cornutus conducted him to a low platform beside an altar. A sheep was sacrificed. Its guts were pulled out and examined by the haruspices and declared propitious: ‘There is no doubt of ultimate victory.’ The crows circled overhead. A priest read a prayer. Then Cicero spoke.
I cannot remember exactly what he said. All the usual words were there – liberty, ancestors, hearths and altars, laws and temples – but for once I listened without hearing. I was looking at the faces of the legionaries. They were sunburnt, lean, impassive. Some were chewing mastic. I saw the scene through their eyes. They had been recruited by Caesar to fight against King Juba and the army of Cato. They had slaughtered thousands and had been stuck in Africa ever since. They had travelled hundreds of miles crammed together in boats. They had been force-marched for a day. Now they were lined up in the heat in Rome and an old man was talking at them about liberty, ancestors, hearths and altars – and it meant nothing.