Lustrum

'This is how it always seems to be with Caesar,' I remarked, trying to lighten the silence. 'He likes to keep his visitors waiting.'

'We had better get used to it,' replied Cicero in a grim voice. 'Look at that,' he said, nodding beyond the camp towards the river. Rising from the plain in the dusty light was a great rickety edifice of scaffolding. 'That must be the Pharaoh's theatre.' He contemplated it for a long time, chewing the inside of his lip.

Eventually the flap parted again and we were shown into the tent. The interior was Spartan. A thin straw mattress lay on the ground, with a blanket thrown across it; near to it was a wooden chest on which stood a mirror, a set of hairbrushes, a jug of water and a basin, together with a miniature portrait of a woman in a gold frame (I am almost certain it was Servilia, but I was not close enough to be sure). At a folding table piled with documents sat Caesar. He was signing something. Two secretaries stood motionless behind him. He finished what he was doing, looked up, rose, and advanced towards Cicero with his hand outstretched. It was the first time I had seen him in military uniform. It fitted him as naturally as his skin, and I realised that in all the years I had observed him I had never actually seen him in the arena for which he was best suited. That was a sobering thought.

'My dear Cicero,' he said, examining his visitor's appearance, 'it truly grieves me to see you reduced to this condition.' With Pompey there was always hugging and back-slapping, but Caesar did not go in for that kind of thing. After the briefest of handshakes he gestured to Cicero to sit. 'How can I help?'

'I have come to accept the position of your legate,' replied Cicero, perching himself on the edge of the chair, 'if the offer still stands.'

'Have you indeed!' Caesar's mouth turned down. 'I must say you have left it very late.'

'I admit I would have preferred not to have come to you in these circumstances.'

'Clodius's law takes effect at midnight?'

'It does.'

'So in the end the choice has come down to me, or death, or exile?'

Cicero looked uncomfortable. 'You could put it like that.'

'Well, that's hardly very flattering!' Caesar gave one of his sharp laughs and lolled back in his chair. He studied Cicero. 'When I made the offer to you in the summer, your position was infinitely stronger than it is now.'

'You said that if Clodius ever became a threat to my safety, I could come to you. He is a threat. Here I am.'

'Six months ago he was a threat. Now he is your master.'

'Caesar, if you are asking me to beg…'

'I am not asking you to beg. Of course I am not asking you to beg. I would merely like to hear from your own lips what benefit you think you can bring to me by serving as my legate.'

Cicero swallowed hard. I could barely imagine how painful this was for him. 'Well, if you ask me to spell it out, I would say that while you obviously enjoy huge support among the people, you have far less in the senate, whereas my position is the opposite: weak at present with the people but still strong among our colleagues.'

'So you would guard my interests in the senate?'

'I would represent your views to them, yes, and perhaps occasionally I could relay their views back to you.'

'But your loyalty would be exclusively to me?'

I could almost hear Cicero grinding his teeth. 'I hope that my loyalty, as it has always been, would be to my country, which I would serve by reconciling your interests with those of the senate.'

'But I don't care about the interests of the senate!' exclaimed Caesar. He suddenly pitched forward on his chair and in one fluid motion sprang to his feet. 'I'll tell you something, Cicero. Let me explain myself to you. The other year, when I was on my way to Spain, I had to cross the mountains, and I went on ahead with a group of my staff to scout the way, and we came to this very small village. It was raining, and it was the most miserable-looking place you can possibly imagine. Hardly anyone lived there. Really, you had to laugh at such a dump. And one of my officers said to me, as a joke, “Yet, you know, even here there are probably men pushing themselves forward to gain office, and there will be fierce competition and jealous rivalries over who will win first place.” And do you know what I replied?'

'No.'

'I said, “As far as I am concerned, I would rather be the first man here than the second in Rome.” And I meant it, Cicero – I really did. Do you understand what I am trying to say?'

'I believe I do,' said Cicero, nodding slowly.

'That is a true story. That is who I am.'

Cicero said, 'Until this conversation, you have always been a puzzle to me, Caesar, but now perhaps I begin to understand you for the first time, and I thank you at least for your honesty.' He started to laugh. 'It really is quite funny.'

'What is?'

'That I should be the one being driven from Rome for seeking to be a king!'

Caesar scowled at him for an instant, and then he grinned. 'You are right,' he said. 'It is amusing.'

'Well,' said Cicero, getting to his feet, 'there is little point in carrying on with this interview. You have a country to conquer and I have other matters to attend to.'

'Don't say that!' cried Caesar. 'I was only setting out the facts. We need to know where we both stand. You can have the damned legateship – it's yours. And you can discharge it in whatever fashion you like. It would amuse me to see more of you, Cicero – really.' He held out his hand. 'Come. Most men in public life are so dull. We who are not must stick together.'

'I thank you for your consideration,' replied Cicero, 'but it would never work.'

'Why not?'

'Because in this village of yours, I, too, would aspire to be the first man, but failing that I would at least aspire to be a free man, and what is wicked about you, Caesar – worse than Pompey, worse than Clodius, worse even than Catilina – is that you won't rest until we are all obliged to go down on our knees to you.'

It was dark by the time we re-entered the city. Cicero did not even bother to put the blanket over his head. The light was too gloomy for him to be recognised, and besides, people were hurrying home with more important things to worry about than the fate of an ex-consul – their dinner, for example, and their leaking roof, and the thieves who were plaguing Rome more and more each day.

In the atrium Terentia was waiting with Atticus, and when Cicero told her that he had rejected Caesar's offer, she let out a great howl of pain and sank to the floor, squatting on her haunches with her hands covering her head. Cicero knelt next to her and put his arm around her shoulder. 'My dear, you must leave now,' he said. 'Take Marcus with you, and spend the night at Atticus's house.' He glanced up at Atticus, and his old friend nodded. 'It's too dangerous to stay here beyond midnight.'

She pulled away from him. 'And you?' she said. 'What will you do? Will you kill yourself?'

'If that is what you want – if that will make it easier.'

'Of course it is not what I want!' she shouted at him. 'I want my life returned to me!'

'That, I fear, is what I cannot give you.'

Once again Cicero reached out to her, but she pushed him away and got to her feet. 'Why?' she demanded, glaring down at him, her hands on her hips. 'Why are you putting your wife and children through this torment, when you could end it tomorrow by allying yourself with Caesar?'