Throughout the hearing he sat on the rostra, reading and writing, and only occasionally looking up and pretending to be shocked or amused by what had just been said. I squatted behind him, handing him documents and receiving instructions. Little of this was to do with the case, for as well as having to attend the court each day, Cicero was now in sole charge of Rome, and was sunk up to his ears in administration. From the entire length of Italy came reports of disturbances: in the heel and in the toe, in the knee and in the thigh. Celer had his hands full arresting malcontents in Picenum. There were even rumours that Catilina might be about to take the ultimate step and recruit slaves to the rebel army in return for emancipation if that happened, the whole country would soon be in flames. More troops had to be levied and Cicero persuaded Hybrida to take command of a new army. He did this partly to show a united front, but chiefly to get Hybrida out of the city, for he was still not entirely convinced of his colleague's loyalty and did not want him in Rome if Sura and the other conspirators decided to make their move. It seemed to me madness to give an entire army to a man he did not trust, but Cicero was no fool. He appointed a senator with almost thirty years' military experience, M. Petreius, as Hybrida's second in command, and gave Petreius sealed orders that were only to be opened in the event that the army looked likely to have to fight.
As the winter arrived, the republic seemed to be on the brink of collapse. At a public assembly, Metellus Nepos made a violent attack on Cicero's consulship, accusing him of every possible crime and folly dictatorship, weakness, rashness, cowardice, complacency, incompetence. 'How long,' he demanded, 'must the people of Rome be denied the services of the one man who could deliver them from this miserable situation Gnaeus Pompey, so rightly surnamed the Great?' Cicero did not attend the assembly but was given a full report of what was said.
As the winter arrived, the republic seemed to be on the brink of collapse. At a public assembly, Metellus Nepos made a violent attack on Cicero's consulship, accusing him of every possible crime and folly dictatorship, weakness, rashness, cowardice, complacency, incompetence. 'How long,' he demanded, 'must the people of Rome be denied the services of the one man who could deliver them from this miserable situation Gnaeus Pompey, so rightly surnamed the Great?' Cicero did not attend the assembly but was given a full report of what was said.
Just before the end of Murena's trial I think it must have been the first day of December Cicero received an early-morning visit from Sanga. The senator came in with his little eyes shining, as well they might, because he brought momentous news. The Gauls had done as he had requested and had approached Sura's freedman, Umbrenus, in the forum. Their conversation had been entirely friendly and natural. The Gauls had bemoaned their lot, cursed the senate, and declared that they agreed with the words of Catilina: death was preferable to living in this condition of slavery. Pricking up his ears, Umbrenus had suggested they continue their discussion somewhere more private, and had taken them to the home of Decimus Brutus, which was close by. Brutus himself an aristocrat who had been consul some fourteen years previously had nothing to do with the conspiracy and was away from Rome, but his wife, a clever and sinuous woman, was one of Catilina's many amours, and it was she who suggested they should make common cause. Umbrenus went off to fetch one of the leaders of the plot, and returned with the knight Capito, who swore the Gauls to secrecy and said that the uprising in the city would be starting any day now. As soon as Catilina and the rebels were close to Rome, the newly elected tribune Bestia would call a public assembly and demand that Cicero be arrested. This would be the signal for a general uprising. Capito and a fellow knight, Statilius, at the head of a large body of arsonists, would start fires in twelve locations. In the ensuing panic the young senator Cethegus would lead the death squad that had volunteered to murder Cicero; others would assassinate the various victims allotted to them; many young men would kill their fathers; the senate house would be stormed.
'And how did the Gauls respond?' asked Cicero.
'As instructed, they asked for a list of men who supported the conspiracy,' replied Sanga, 'so they could gauge its chances of success.' He produced a wax tablet, crammed with names written in tiny letters. 'Sura,' he read, 'Longinus, Bestia, Sulla-'
'We know all this,' interrupted Cicero, but Sanga held up his finger.
'-Caesar, Hybrida, Crassus, Nepos-'
'But this is a fantasy, surely?' Cicero took the tablet from Sanga's hand and scanned the list. 'They want to make themselves sound stronger than they are.'
'That I can't judge. I can only tell you that those were the names Capito provided.'
'A consul, the chief priest, a tribune and the richest man in Rome, who has already denounced the conspiracy? I don't believe it.' Nevertheless, Cicero threw the tablet to me. 'Copy them out,' he ordered, and then he shook his head. 'Well, well be careful of what questions you ask, for fear of what answers you may receive.' It was one of his favourite maxims from the law courts.
'What should I tell the Gauls to do next?' asked Sanga.
'If that list is correct, I should advise them to join the conspiracy! When exactly did this meeting take place?'
'Yesterday.'
'And when are they due to meet again?'
'Today.'
'So obviously they are in a hurry.'
'The Gauls got the impression that matters would come to a head in the next few days.'
Cicero fell silent, thinking. 'Tell them they should demand written proof of the involvement of as many of these men as possible: letters, fixed with personal seals, that they can take back and show to their fellow countrymen.'
'And if the conspirators refuse?'
'The Gauls should say it will be impossible for their tribe to take such a hazardous step as going to war with Rome without hard evidence.'
Sanga nodded, and then he said: 'I'm afraid that after this my involvement in this affair will have to end.'
'Why?'
'Because it's becoming far too dangerous to remain in Rome.' As a final favour he agreed to return with the conspirators' answer as soon as the Gauls had received it; then he would leave. In the meantime, Cicero had no alternative but to go down to Murena's trial. Sitting on the bench next to Hortensius, he put on an outward show of calm, but from time to time I would catch his gaze drifting around the court, resting occasionally on Caesar who was one of the jurors on Sura, who was sitting with the praetors, and finally and most often on Crassus, who was only two places further along the bench. He must have felt extremely lonely, and I noticed for the first time that his hair was flecked with grey, and that there were ridges of dark skin under his eyes. The crisis was ageing him. At the seventh hour, Cato finished his summing-up of the prosecution case, and the judge, whose name was Cosconius, asked Cicero if he would like to conclude for the defence. The question seemed to catch him by surprise, and after a moment or two of shifting through his documents he rose and requested an adjournment until the next day, so that he could gather his thoughts. Cosconius looked irritable, but conceded that the hour was getting late. He grudgingly agreed to Cicero's request, and the conclusion of Murena's trial was postponed.
We hurried home in the now-familiar cocoon of guards and lictors, but there was no sign of Sanga, nor any message from him. Cicero went silently into his study and sat with his elbows on his desk, his thumbs pressed hard to his temples, surveying the piles of evidence laid across it, rubbing at his flesh, as if he might somehow drive into his skull the speech he needed to deliver. I had never felt sorrier for him. But when I took a step towards him to offer my help, he flicked his hand at me without looking up, wordlessly dismissing me from his presence. I did not see him again that evening. Instead Terentia drew me to one side to express her worries about the consul's health. He was not eating properly, she said, or sleeping. Even the morning exercises he had practised since he was a young man had been abandoned. I was surprised she should talk to me in this intimate way, as the truth was she had never much liked me, and took out on me much of the frustration she felt with her husband. I was the one who spent the most time sequestered with him, working. I was the one who disturbed their rare moments of leisure together by bringing him piles of letters and news of callers. Nevertheless, for once she spoke to me politely and almost as a friend. 'You must reason with him,' she said. 'I sometimes believe you are the only one he will listen to, while I can only pray for him.'
When the next morning arrived and there was still no word from Sanga, I began to fear that Cicero would be too nervous to make his speech. Remembering Terentia's plea, I even suggested he might ask for a further postponement. 'Are you mad?' he snapped. 'This isn't the time to show weakness. I'll be fine. I always am.' Despite his bravado, I had never seen him shake more at the start of a speech, or begin more inaudibly. The forum was packed and noisy, even though great masses of cloud were rolling over Rome, releasing occasional flurries of rain across the valley. But as it turned out, Cicero put a surprising amount of humour into that speech, memorably contrasting the claims of Servius and Murena for the consulship.
'You are up before dawn to rally your clients,' he said to Servius, 'he to rally his army. You are woken by the call of cocks, he by the call of trumpets. You draw up a form of proceedings, he a line of battle. He understands how to keep off the enemy's forces, you rainwater. He has been engaged in extending boundaries, you in defining them.' The jury loved that. And they laughed even longer when he poked fun at Cato and his rigid philosophy. 'Rest assured that the superhuman qualities we have seen in Cato are innate; his failings due not to Nature but to his master. For there was a man of genius called Zeno, and the disciples of his teaching are called stoics. Here are some of his precepts: the wise man is never moved by favour and never forgives anyone's mistakes; only a fool feels pity; all misdeeds are equal, the casual killing of a cock no less a crime than strangling one's father; the wise man never assumes anything, never regrets anything, is never wrong, never changes his mind. Unfortunately Cato has seized on this doctrine not just as a topic for discussion but as a way of life.'