Lustrum

There was one important exception, however. On the day before Clodius's bill was due to become law, Crassus came to call, and to my surprise Cicero agreed to receive him. I suppose he was in such a hopeless state by then, he was willing to take help from whatever quarter it was offered. The villain came in full of concerned words. Yet all the time he spoke of his shock at what had happened and of his disgust at Pompey's disloyalty, his eyes were flickering around the bare walls and checking what fixtures were left. 'If there is anything I can do,' he said, 'anything at all…'

'I don't think there is much, thank you,' said Cicero, who plainly regretted ever letting his old enemy through the door. 'We both know how politics is played. Sooner or later failure comes to us all. At least,' he added, ' my conscience is clear. Really, don't let me detain you any longer.'

'What about money? A poor substitute, I know, for the loss of all one holds dear in life, but money would be useful in exile, and I would be willing to advance you a considerable sum.'

'That is very thoughtful of you.'

'I could give you, say, two million. Would that be of any help?'

'Naturally it would. But if I am in exile, what hope would I have of ever paying you back?'

Crassus looked around as if searching for a solution. 'You could give me the deeds to this house, I suppose.'

Cicero stared at him in disbelief. 'You want this house, for which I paid you three and a half million?'

'And a great bargain it was. You can't dispute that.'

'Well then, all the more reason for me not to sell it back to you for two million.'

'I fear property is only worth what someone is willing to pay for it, and this house will be valueless the day after tomorrow.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because Clodius intends to burn it down and build a shrine to the goddess Liberty, and neither you nor anyone else will be able to lift a finger to stop him.'

Cicero paused, and then said quietly, 'Who told you that?'

'I make it my business to know these things.'

'And why would you want to pay two million sesterces for a patch of scorched earth containing a shrine to Liberty?'

'That is the kind of risk one has to take in business.'

'Goodbye, Crassus.'

'Think it over, Cicero. Don't be a stubborn fool. It's two million or nothing.'

'I said goodbye, Crassus.'

'All right, two and a half million?' Cicero did not respond. Crassus shook his head. 'That,' he said, rising to his feet, 'is exactly the sort of arrogant folly that has brought you to this pass. I shall warm my hands at your fire.'

On the next day, a meeting of Cicero's principal supporters was called to decide what he should do. It was to be held in the library, and I had to scour the house for chairs so that everyone should have a place to sit. I put out twenty. Atticus arrived first, then Cato, followed by Lucullus and, after a long interval, Hortensius. They all had to endure a hard passage through the mob that had occupied the neighbouring streets, especially Hortensius, who was roughed up quite badly, his face scratched, his toga splattered with shit. It was unnerving to see a man normally immaculate in his appearance so shaken and despoiled. We waited to see if anyone else would come, but nobody did. Tullia had already left Rome with her husband for the safety of the country, after an emotional scene with Cicero, so the only member of the family present was Terentia. I took notes.

If Cicero was dismayed that the vast crowds he had once commanded had dwindled to this small band, he did not show it. 'On this bitter day,' he said, 'I wish to thank all of you who have so bravely struggled to support my cause. Adversity is a part of life – not one I necessarily recommend, you understand' – my notes record laughter – 'but stilclass="underline" at least it shows us men's true natures, and just as I have shown my weakness, so I have seen your strength.' He stopped, and cleared his throat. I thought he was going to break down again. But this time he carried on. 'So the law will take effect at midnight? There is no doubt of that, I take it?' He glanced around. All four shook their head.

'No,' said Hortensius, 'none whatever.'

'Then what options are open to me?'

'It seems to me you have three,' said Hortensius. 'You can ignore the law and remain in Rome, and hope your friends will continue to support you, although from tomorrow that will be even more dangerous than it is now. You can leave the city tonight, while it is still legal for people to help you, and hope to get out of Italy unmolested. Or you could go to Caesar and ask if his offer of a legateship still stands, and claim immunity.'

Cato said, 'He does have a fourth option, of course.'

'Yes?'

'He could kill himself.'

There was a profound silence, and then Cicero said, 'What would be the benefit of that?'

'From the stoic point of view, suicide has always been con sidered a logical act of defiance for a wise man. It is also your natural right to put an end to your anguish. And frankly, it would set an example of resistance to tyranny that would stand for all time.'

'Do you have a particular method in mind?'

'I do. In my opinion you should brick yourself into this house and starve yourself to death.'

'I disagree,' said Lucullus. 'If it's martyrdom you seek, Cicero, why bother to do the deed yourself? Why not stay in the city and dare your enemies to do their worst? You have a chance of surviving. And if you don't, at least the opprobrium of murder falls on them.'

'Being murdered requires no courage,' retorted Cato with contempt, 'whereas suicide is a manly, conscious act.'

'And what is your own advice, Hortensius?' asked Cicero.

'Leave the city,' he replied at once. 'Keep yourself alive.' He touched his fingertips briefly to his forehead and felt along the rusty line of dried blood. 'I went to see Piso today. Privately he has some sympathy for the way you have been treated. Allow us the time to work for the repeal of Clodius's law while you are in voluntary exile. I am certain you will come back in triumph one day.'

'Atticus?'

'You know my view,' said Atticus. 'You would have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you had accepted Caesar's offer in the first place.'

'And Terentia? What do you say, my dear?'

She had put on mourning, like her husband, and in her black weeds, with her deathly pale face, she had become our Electra. She spoke with great force. 'Our present existence is intolerable. Voluntary exile smacks to me of cowardice. And try explaining suicide to your six-year-old son. You have no choice. Go to Caesar.'

It was late afternoon – a red sun dipping behind the bare trees, a warm spring breeze carrying the incongruous chant of 'Death to the tyrant!' from the forum. The other senators with their attendants left by the front door, serving as decoys to draw the attention of the the mob, while Cicero and I crept out through the back. Cicero had a tattered old brown blanket draped over his head and looked exactly like a beggar. We hurried down the Caci Steps to the Etruscan Road, and then joined the crowds heading out of the city through the river gate. Nobody molested us, or even gave us a second glance.

I had sent a slave ahead with a message for Caesar that Cicero wished to see him, and one of his officers in a red-plumed helmet was waiting for us at the gate. He was very much taken aback by Cicero's appearance, but managed to recover sufficiently to give him a kind of half-salute, and then escorted us out to the Field of Mars. Here a huge tented city had been pitched to accommodate Caesar's newly mustered Gallic legions, and as we passed through it I noticed everywhere signs that the army was striking camp and preparing to depart: waste pits were being filled in, earth ramparts levelled, wagons loaded with supplies. The officer told Cicero that their orders were to begin marching north before dawn the next day. He led us to a tent much larger than the others and set apart on slightly higher ground, with a legionary eagle planted beside it. He asked us to wait, and then lifted the flap and went inside, leaving Cicero, bearded, and in his old tunic with his blanket draped around his shoulders, to gaze around the camp.