Dictator

Vatinius insisted on providing a military escort, even though Cicero said that he would prefer to travel without ostentation: ‘No, I’m afraid that’s out of the question: the countryside is too dangerous. I hope we will meet again soon in happier circumstances. Good luck with Caesar. You will find him gracious, I’m sure.’

Afterwards, as I was showing him out, Vatinius said, ‘He doesn’t seem very happy.’

‘He feels his humiliation keenly. The fact that he will have to bow the knee in his old chief’s former home will only add to his discomfort.’

‘I might let Caesar know that.’

We set off the next morning – ten cavalrymen in the vanguard, followed by the six lictors; Cicero, Tullia and me in a carriage; Marcus on horseback; a baggage train of pack mules and servants; and finally another ten cavalry bringing up the rear. The Calabrian plain was flat and dusty. We saw almost no one apart from the occasional shepherd or olive farmer, and I realised that of course our escort wasn’t for our protection at all, but to make sure Cicero didn’t escape. We stayed overnight at a house reserved for us in Uria and continued the following day until around the middle of the afternoon, when we were only two or three miles from Tarentum, and then we saw a long column of horsemen in the distance, coming towards us.

In the rising heat and dust they seemed mere watery apparitions. It wasn’t until they were only a few hundred paces away that I recognised by the red crests on their helmets and the standards in their midst that they were soldiers. Our column halted, and the officer in charge dismounted and hurried back to tell Cicero that the oncoming cavalry was carrying Caesar’s personal standard. They were his praetorian guard and the Dictator was with them.

Cicero said, ‘Dear gods, is he planning to have me done in by the roadside, do you suppose?’ Then, seeing Tullia’s horrified expression, he added, ‘That was a joke, child. If he’d wanted me dead it would have happened long ago. Well, let’s get it over with. You’d better come, Tiro. It will make a scene in your book.’

He clambered out of the carriage and called to Marcus to join us.

Caesar’s column had drawn up about a hundred paces away and deployed across the road as if for battle. It was huge: there must have been four or five hundred men. We walked towards them. Cicero was between Marcus and me. At first I couldn’t make out which of them was Caesar. But then a tall man swung himself out of his saddle, took off his helmet and gave it to an aide, and began to advance towards us, stroking his thin hair flat across his head.

How unreal it felt to watch the approach of this titan who had so dominated everyone’s thoughts for so many years – who had conquered countries and upended lives and sent thousands of soldiers marching hither and thither and had smashed the ancient republic to fragments as if it were nothing more substantial than a chipped antique vase that had gone out of fashion – to watch him, and to find him, in the end … just an ordinary breathing mortal! He walked in short strides with great rapidity – there was something curiously birdlike about him, I always thought: that narrow avian skull, those glittering watchful dark eyes. He stopped just in front of us. We stopped too. I was close enough to see the red indentations that his helmet had made in his surprisingly soft pale skin.

He looked Cicero up and down and said in his rasping voice, ‘Entirely unscathed, I am glad to see – exactly as I would have expected! I have a bone to pick with you,’ he said, jabbing a finger at me, and for a moment I felt my insides turn to liquid. ‘You assured me ten years ago that your master was at death’s door. I told you then he would outlive me.’

Cicero said, ‘I’m glad to hear of your prediction, Caesar, if only because you are the one man in a position to make sure it comes true.’

Caesar threw back his head and laughed. ‘Ah yes, I’ve missed you! Now look here – do you see how I’ve come out of the town to meet you, to show you my respect? Let’s walk in the direction you’re headed and talk a little.’

And so they strolled on together for perhaps half a mile towards Tarentum, Caesar’s troops parting to allow them through. A few bodyguards walked behind them, one leading Caesar’s horse. Marcus and I followed. I could not hear what was said, but observed that Caesar occasionally took Cicero’s arm while gesturing with his other hand. Afterwards Cicero said that their conversation was friendly enough, and he roughly summarised it for me as follows:

Caesar: ‘So what is it you would like to do?’

Cicero: ‘To return to Rome, if you’ll permit it.’

Caesar: ‘And can you promise you will cause me no trouble?’

Cicero: ‘I swear it.’

Caesar: ‘What will you do there? I’m not sure I want you making speeches in the Senate, and the law courts are all closed.’

Cicero: ‘Oh, I’m finished in politics, I know that. I shall retire from public life.’

Caesar: ‘And do what?’

Cicero: ‘I thought I might write philosophy.’