Dictator

Live the good life, Cicero had said: learn that virtue is the sole prerequisite for happiness. As we sat on a bench in the sunshine, I felt I had proof of that particular piece of his philosophy, at least.

My sojourn on the farm lasted forty days.

On the forty-first, the eve of the Festival of Vulcan, I was working in the vineyard in the late afternoon when one of the slaves called out to me and pointed down the track. A carriage, accompanied by twenty men on horseback, was bouncing over the ruts, throwing up so much dust in the shafts of summer sunshine, it looked as if it was travelling on golden clouds. It drew up outside the villa and from it descended Cicero. I suppose I had always known in my heart that he would come looking for me. I was fated never to escape. As I walked towards him, I snatched off my straw hat and swore to myself that on no account would I be persuaded to return with him to Rome. Beneath my breath I whispered, ‘I will not listen … I will not listen … I will not listen …’

I could see at once from the swing of his shoulders as he wheeled round to greet me that he was in tremendous spirits. Gone was the drooping dejection of recent times. He put his hands on his hips and roared with laughter at my appearance. ‘I leave you alone for a month and see what happens! You have turned into the elder Cato’s ghost!’

I arranged for his entourage to be given refreshment while we went on to the shaded terrace and drank some of last year’s wine, which he pronounced to be not bad at all. ‘What a view!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a place to live out one’s declining years! Your own wine, your own olives …’

‘Yes,’ I replied carefully, ‘it suits me very well. I shan’t be going far. And your plans? What happened to Greece?’

‘Ah well, I got as far as Sicily, whereupon the southerly winds got up and kept blowing us back into harbour and I began to wonder if the gods weren’t trying to tell me something. Then, while we were stuck in Regium waiting for better weather, I heard about this extraordinary attack on Antony made by Piso. You must have heard the commotion even here. After that, letters came from Brutus and Cassius saying that Antony was definitely starting to weaken – they were to be offered provinces after all, and he had written to them saying he hoped they would soon be able to come to Rome. He has summoned the Senate for a meeting on the first of September and Brutus has sent a letter to all former consuls and praetors asking them to attend.

‘So I said to myself: am I really going to run away at this of all moments, while there’s still a chance? Will I go down in history as a coward? I tell you, Tiro, suddenly it was as if a thick mist that had enshrouded me for months had cleared and I saw my duty absolutely. I turned right around and sailed back the way I had come. As it happened, Brutus was at Velia, preparing to set sail, and he practically went down on his knees to thank me. He’s been given Crete as his province; Cassius has Cyrene.’

I could not help pointing out that these were hardly adequate compensation for Macedonia and Syria, which was what they had been allotted.

‘Of course not,’ replied Cicero, ‘which is why they’re resolved to ignore Antony and his wretched illegal edicts and go straight to their original provinces. After all, Brutus has followers in Macedonia, and Cassius was the hero of Syria. They will raise legions and fight for the republic against the usurper. A whole new spirit has infused us – a flame pure white and sublime.’

‘And you will go to Rome?’

‘Yes, for the meeting of the Senate in nine days’ time.’

‘Then it sounds to me as though you have the most dangerous assignment of the three.’

He waved his hand dismissively. ‘So what is the worst that can happen? I’ll die. Very well: I’m past sixty; I’ve run my race. And at least this will be a good death – which as you know is the supreme objective of the good life.’ He leaned forwards. ‘Tell me: do I seem happy to you?’

‘You do,’ I conceded.

‘That’s because I realised when I was stuck in Regium that finally I have conquered my fear of death. Philosophy – our work together – has accomplished that for me. Oh, I know that you and Atticus won’t believe me. You’ll think that underneath I’m still the same timid creature I always was. But it’s true.’

‘And presumably you expect me to come with you?’

‘No, not at all – the opposite! You have your farm and your literary studies. I don’t want you to expose yourself to any more risk. But our earlier parting was not what it should have been, and I couldn’t pass your gate without remedying that.’ He stood and opened his arms wide. ‘Goodbye, my old friend. Words are inadequate to express my gratitude. I hope we meet again.’

He clasped me to him so firmly and for so long that I could feel the strong and steady beating of his heart. Then he pulled away, and with a final wave he walked towards his carriage and his bodyguards.