Dictator

Bestia conferred with his son. ‘We like the sound of it,’ he announced. ‘But can we really make a case against him? Has he actually committed political violence?’

‘Of course,’ said Cicero. ‘Didn’t you hear? He was involved in the murder of several of those Egyptian envoys. Ask around town,’ he continued. ‘You’ll find lots of people willing to tell tales. There’s one man in particular you should go to see, although of course you never heard the name from me: you’ll understand why the moment I say it. You should talk to Clodius, or better still to that sister of his. I hear Rufus used to be her lover, and when his ardour cooled, he tried to get rid of her with poison. You know what that family is like – they love their vengeance. You should offer to let them join your suit. With the Claudii beside you, you’ll be unbeatable. But remember – you never got any of this from me.’

I had worked very closely with Cicero for many years. I had grown used to his clever tricks. I did not think him capable of surprising me any more. That day proved me wrong.

Bestia thanked him profusely, swore to be discreet and went off full of purpose. A few days later, a notice to prosecute was posted in the Forum: he and Clodius had combined forces to charge Rufus with both the attacks on the Alexandrian envoys and the attempted murder of Clodia. The news caused a sensation. Almost everyone believed that Rufus would be found guilty and sentenced to exile for life, and that the career of Rome’s youngest senator was over.

When I showed him the list of charges, Cicero said, ‘Oh dear. Poor Rufus. He must be feeling very wretched. I think we should visit him and cheer him up.’

And so we set off to find the house that Rufus was renting. Cicero, who at the age of fifty was starting to feel stiff in his limbs on cold winter mornings, rode in a litter, while I walked alongside him. Rufus turned out to be lodging on the second floor of an apartment block in the less fashionable part of the Esquiline, not far from the gate where the undertakers ply their trade. The place was gloomy even at midday, and Cicero had to ask the slaves to light candles. In the dim light we discovered their master in a drunken sleep, curled up beneath a pile of blankets on a couch. He groaned and rolled over and begged to be left alone, but Cicero dragged away his covers and told him to get up on his feet.

‘What’s the point? I’m finished!’

‘You’re not finished. Quite the contrary: we have that woman exactly where we want her.’

‘We?’ repeated Rufus, squinting up at Cicero through bloodshot eyes. ‘When you say “we”, does that imply you’re on my side?’

‘Not merely on your side, my dear Rufus. I am going to be your advocate!’

‘Wait,’ said Rufus. He touched his hand gently to his forehead, as if checking it was still intact. ‘Wait a moment – did you plan all this?’

‘Consider yourself to have been given a political education. And now let us agree that the slate is wiped clean between us, and concentrate on beating our common enemy.’ Rufus began to swear. Cicero listened for a while, then interrupted him. ‘Come, Rufus. This is a good bargain for us both. You’ll get that harpy off your back once and for all, and I’ll satisfy the honour of my wife.’

Cicero held out his hand. At first Rufus recoiled. He pouted and shook his head and muttered. But then he must have realised he had no choice. At any rate, eventually he extended his own hand, Cicero shook it warmly, and with that the trap he had laid for Clodia snapped shut.

The trial was scheduled to take place at the start of April, which meant it would coincide with the opening of the Festival of the Great Mother, with its famous parade of castrated holy men. Even so, there was no doubting which would be the greater attraction, especially when Cicero’s name was announced as one of Rufus’s advocates. The others were to be Rufus himself, and Crassus, in whose household Rufus had also served an internship as a young man. I am certain Crassus would have preferred not to have performed this service for his former protégé, especially given the presence of Cicero on the bench beside him, but the rules of patronage placed him under a heavy obligation. On the other side once again were young Atratinus and Herennius Balbus – both furious at Cicero’s duplicity, not that he cared a fig for their opinion – and Clodius, representing the interests of his sister. No doubt he too would have preferred to be at the Great Mother’s festivities, which he, as aedile, was supposed to oversee, but he could hardly have backed out of the trial when his family’s honour was at stake.