Robert Harris - Lustrum

'How would this be done?' asked Celer.

'You're the one with an army. How many men do you have?'

'I have two cohorts camped outside the city, preparing to march with me to Gaul.'

'How loyal are they?'

'To me? Absolutely.'

'Would they be willing to seize Caesar from his residence after dark and hold him somewhere?'

'No question, if I gave the order. But surely it would be better just to kill him?'

'No,' said Cicero. 'There would have to be a trial. On that I insist. I want no “accidents”. We would have to put through a bill to set up a special tribunal to try him for his illegal actions. I'd lead for the prosecution. Everything would have to be open and clear.'

Celer looked dubious. 'As long as you agree there could only be one verdict.'

'And Pompey would have to approve – don't imagine for a moment you could go back to your old habit of opposing him on everything he wants. We would have to guarantee that his men could keep their farms, confirm his Eastern settlements – maybe even give him a second consulship.'

'That's a lot to swallow. Wouldn't we just be swapping one tyrant for another?'

'No,' said Cicero with great force. 'Caesar is of a different category of man altogether. Pompey merely wants to rule the world. Caesar longs to smash it to pieces and remake it in his own image. And there's something else.' He paused, searched for the words.

'What? He's cleverer than Pompey, I'll give him that.'

'Oh yes, yes, of course, he's a hundred times cleverer. No, it's not that – it's more – I don't know – there's a kind of divine recklessness about him – a contempt, if you like, for the world itself – as if he thinks it's all a joke. Anyway, this – whatever it is: this quality – it makes him hard to stop.'

'That's all very philosophical, but I'll tell you how we stop him. It's easy. We put a sword through his throat, and you'll find he'll die the same as any man. But we have to do it to him as he would do it to us – fast, and ruthlessly, and when he least expects it.'

'When would you suggest?'

'Tomorrow night.'

'No, that's too soon,' said Cicero. 'We can't do this entirely alone. We shall have to bring in others.'

'Then Caesar is bound to get to hear of it. You know how many informants he has.'

'I'm only talking about half a dozen men, if that. All reliable.'

'Who?'

'Lucullus. Hortensius. Isauricus – he still carries a lot of weight, and he's never forgiven Caesar for becoming chief priest. Possibly Cato.'

'Cato!' scoffed Celer. 'We'll still be discussing the ethics of the matter long after Caesar has died of old age!'

'I'm not so sure. Cato was the loudest in his clamour for action against Catilina's gang. And the people respect him almost as much as they love Caesar.'

A floorboard creaked and Celer put a warning finger to his lips. He called out, 'Who's there?' The door opened. It was Clodia. I wondered how long she had been listening and how much she might have heard. The same thought had obviously occurred to Celer. 'What are you doing?' he demanded.

'I heard voices. I was on my way out.'

'Out?' he said suspiciously. 'At this time? What are you going out for?'

'Why do you think? To see my brother the plebeian. To celebrate!'

Celer cursed and grabbed the wine jug and hurled it at her. But she had already gone and it smashed harmlessly against the wall. I held my breath to see if she would respond, but then I heard the front door open and close.

'How soon can you get the others together?' asked Celer. 'Tomorrow?'

'Better make it the day after,' replied Cicero, who was plainly still marvelling at this exchange, 'otherwise it will seem as if there's some emergency, and Caesar may get wind of it. Let us meet at my house, at close of public business, the day after tomorrow.'

The following morning Cicero wrote out the invitations himself and had me go around the city delivering them in person into the hands of the recipients. All four were mightily intrigued, especially because by then everyone had heard of Clodius's transfer to the plebs. Lucullus actually said to me, with one of his bleak, supercilious smiles, 'What is it your master wishes to plot with me? A murder?' But each agreed to come – even Cato, who was not normally very sociable – for they were all alarmed by what was happening. Vatinius's bill proposing that Caesar be given two provinces and an army for five years had just been posted in the forum. The patricians were enraged, the populists jubilant, the mood in the city was stormy. Hortensius took me aside and told me that if I wanted to know how bad things were becoming, I should go and look at the tomb of the Sergii, which stands at the crossroads just outside the Capena Gate. This was where the head of Catilina had been interred. I went and found it piled high with fresh flowers.

I decided not to tell Cicero about these floral tributes: he was tense enough as it was. On the day of the meeting he shut himself away in his library and did not emerge until the appointed hour approached. Then he bathed, dressed in clean clothes, and fussed about the arrangement of the chairs in the tablinum. 'The truth is, I am too much of a lawyer for this kind of thing,' he confided to me. I murmured my assent, but actually I don't think it was the legality that was troubling him – it was his squeamishness again.

Cato was the first to arrive, in his usual malodorous rig of unwashed toga and bare feet. His nose twitched with distaste at the luxury of the house, but he readily consented to take some wine, for he was a heavy drinker: it was his only vice. Hortensius came next, full of sympathy for Cicero's deepening worries about Clodius; he assumed that this was what the meeting had been called to discuss. Lucullus and Isauricus, the two old generals, arrived together. 'This is quite a conspiracy,' said Isauricus, glancing at the others. 'Is anyone else coming?'

'Metellus Celer,' replied Cicero.

'Good,' said Isauricus. 'I approve of him. I reckon he's our best hope in the times to come. At least the fellow knows how to fight.'

The five sat in a circle. I was the only other person in the room. I went around with a jug of wine, and then retreated to the corner. Cicero had ordered me not to take notes but to try to remember as much as I could and write it up afterwards. I had attended so many meetings with these men over the years that no one any longer even noticed me.

'May we know what this is about?' asked Cato.

'I think we can guess,' said Lucullus.

Cicero said, 'I suggest we wait until Celer arrives. He is the one with most to contribute.'

The group sat in silence, until at last Cicero could stand it no longer and told me to go next door and find out why Celer was delayed.

I do not pretend to possess powers of divination, but even as I approached Celer's house I sensed that something was wrong. The exterior was too quiet; there was none of the normal coming and going. Inside there was that awful hush that always accompanies catastrophe. Celer's steward, whom I knew tolerably well, met me with tears in his eyes and told me that his master had been seized by terrible pains the previous day, and that although the doctors were unable to agree what was wrong with him, they concurred that it could well be fatal. I felt sick myself at the news and begged him to go to Celer and ask if he had any message for Cicero, who was waiting at home to see him. The steward went away and came back with a single word, which apparently was all that Celer had been able to gasp: 'Come!'

I ran back to Cicero's house. When I went into the tablinum, naturally the senators all turned to look at me, assuming I was Celer. There were groans of impatience when I gestured to Cicero that I needed to speak with him in private.