In the house on the far bank there was a family asleep. At first they refused to let us in, but their door soon flew open when Flaccus threatened to break it down. They had irritated him so he locked them in the cellar. From the upstairs room we had a clear view of the road, and here we settled down to wait. The plan was that all travellers, from whichever direction, would be allowed on to the bridge, but that once they reached the other side they would be challenged and questioned before being allowed off it. Long hours passed and not a soul approached, and the conviction steadily grew in me that we must have been tricked. Either there was no party of Gauls heading out of the city that night, or they had already gone, or they had chosen a different route. I expressed these doubts to Flaccus, but he shook his grizzled head. 'They will come,' he said, and when I asked why he was so certain, he replied: 'Because the gods protect Rome.' Then he folded his large hands over his broad stomach and went to sleep.
I must have drifted off myself. At any rate, the next thing I remember is a hand on my shoulder and a voice hissing in my ear that there were men on the bridge. Straining my eyes into the darkness, I heard the sound of the horses' hoofs before I could make out the shapes of the riders five, ten men or more, crossing at a leisurely pace. 'This is it!' whispered Flaccus, jamming on his helmet, and with surprising speed for a man of his girth, he jumped down the stairs three at a time and ran out on to the road. As I ran after him I heard whistles and a trumpet blaring, and legionaries with drawn swords and some with torches began appearing from all directions and surging on to the bridge. The oncoming horses shied and stopped. A man yelled out that they must fight their way through. He spurred his horse and charged our line, heading straight for the spot where I was standing, slashing right and left with his sword. Someone next to me reached out to grab his reins, and to my amazement I saw the outstretched hand cleanly severed and land almost at my feet. Its owner screamed and the rider, realising there were too many to hack his way past, wheeled around and headed back the way he had come. He shouted to the others to follow, and the entire party now attempted to retreat towards Rome. But Pomptinus's men were flooding on to the bridge from the opposite side. We could see their torches and hear their excited cries. All of us ran in pursuit even I, my fear entirely forgotten in my desire to seize those letters before they could be thrown into the river.
By the time we reached the middle of the bridge, the fighting was almost over. The Gauls, distinctive by their long hair and beards and their wild dress, were throwing down their weapons and dismounting; they must have been expecting an ambush such as this. Soon only the impetuous rider who had tried to break past us was still in his saddle, urging his companions to show some resistance. But it turned out they were slaves, with no stomach for a fight: they knew that even to raise a hand against a Roman citizen would mean crucifixion. One by one they surrendered. Eventually their leader also threw down his bloodied sword, then I saw him bend and hurriedly begin unfastening the straps of his saddlebag, at which I had the rare presence of mind to dart forward and seize the bag. He was young and very strong and almost managed to hurl it into the river, and would have done so had not other willing hands reached up and dragged him off his horse. I guess these men must have been friends of the soldier whose hand he had cut off, for they gave him quite a kicking before Flaccus wearily intervened and told them to stop. He was dragged up by his hair and Pomptinus, who knew him, identified him as Titus Volturcius, a knight from the town of Croton. I meanwhile had his bag in my hand, and I called over a soldier with a torch so that I could search it properly. Inside were six letters, all sealed.
I sent a messenger at once to Cicero to tell him that our mission had borne fruit. Then, once our prisoners had all been bound with their hands behind their backs and roped in a line at the neck all except the Gauls, who were treated with the respect due to ambassadors we started back to Rome.
We entered the city just before dawn. A few people were already up. They stopped and gawped at our sinister little procession as we crossed the forum and headed up the hill to Cicero's house. We left the prisoners outside in the street under close guard. Inside, the consul received us flanked by Quintus and Atticus. He listened to the praetors' accounts, thanked them warmly, and then asked to see Volturcius. He was pushed and dragged in, looking bruised and frightened, and immediately launched into some absurd story about being asked by Umbrenus to convey the Gauls out of the city, and at the last moment being given some letters to carry, and not knowing their contents.
'Then why did you put up such a fight on the bridge?' demanded Pomptinus.
'I thought you were highwaymen.'
'Highwaymen in army uniform? Commanded by praetors?'
'Take the villain away,' ordered Cicero, 'and don't bring him back until he's ready to tell the truth.'
After the prisoner had been dragged out, Flaccus said, 'We need to act quickly, before the news is all over Rome.'
'You're right,' agreed Cicero. He asked to see the letters and we examined them together. Two I easily recognised as belonging to the urban praetor, Lentulus Sura: his seal included a portrait of his grandfather, who had been consul a century earlier. The other four we worked out from the names on our lists as probably having come from the young senator Cornelius Cethegus, and the three knights Capito, Statilius and Caeparius. The praetors watched us impatiently.
'You're right,' agreed Cicero. He asked to see the letters and we examined them together. Two I easily recognised as belonging to the urban praetor, Lentulus Sura: his seal included a portrait of his grandfather, who had been consul a century earlier. The other four we worked out from the names on our lists as probably having come from the young senator Cornelius Cethegus, and the three knights Capito, Statilius and Caeparius. The praetors watched us impatiently.
'Surely there's an easy way to settle this?' said Pomptinus. 'Why don't we just open the letters?'
'That would be tampering with evidence,' replied Cicero, continuing his minute perusal of the letters.
'With respect, Consul,' growled Flaccus, 'we're wasting time.'
I realise now of course that wasting time was precisely Cicero's intention. He knew how awkward his position would be if he had to decide the conspirators' fate. He was giving them a final chance to flee. His preferred solution was still for them to be dealt with by the army in battle. But he could only delay for so long, and eventually he told us to go and fetch them. 'Mind you, I don't want them arrested,' he cautioned. 'Simply tell them the consul would be grateful for an opportunity to clear up a few matters, and ask them to come and see me.'
The praetors clearly thought he was being feeble but they did as they were commanded. I was sent to accompany Flaccus to the homes of Sura and Cethegus, who lived on the Palatine; Pomptinus went off to locate the others. I remember how odd it felt to approach Lentulus Sura's grand ancestral house and discover life there going on entirely as normal. He had not fled; quite the opposite. His clients were waiting patiently in the public rooms to see him. When he heard we were at the door, he sent out his stepson, Mark Antony, to discover what we wanted. Antony was then just twenty, very tall and strong, with a fashionable goatee beard and a face still thickly covered in pimples. It was the first time I had ever met him, and I wish I could remember more about this encounter, but I'm afraid all I can recall are his spots. He went off and gave his stepfather the message, and returned to say that the praetor would call on the consul as soon as he had finished his morning levee.
It was the same story at the home of Caius Cethegus, that fiery young patrician who, like his kinsman Sura, was a member of the Cornelian clan. Petitioners were queuing to talk to him, but he at least paid us the compliment of coming into the atrium himself. He looked Flaccus up and down as if he were a stray dog, heard what he had to say, and replied that it was not his habit to go running to anyone when called, but out of respect for the office, if not the man, he would attend on the consul very shortly.
We went back to Cicero, who was clearly amazed to hear that the two senators were still in Rome. 'What are they thinking of?' he muttered to me.
In fact it turned out that only one of the five Caeparius, a knight from Terracina had actually run away from the city. The rest all arrived separately at Cicero's house over the next hour or so, such was their supreme confidence that they were untouchable. I often wonder when it was they started to realise that they had made an appalling miscalculation. Was it when they reached the street where Cicero lived and discovered it jammed with armed men, prisoners and curious onlookers? Was it when they went inside to find not just Cicero but the two consuls-elect, Silanus and Murena, and the principal leaders of the senate Catulus, Isauricus, Hortensius, Lucullus and several others all of whom Cicero had summoned to witness proceedings? Or was it, perhaps, when they saw their letters laid out on the table, with the seals unbroken? Or noticed the Gauls being treated as honoured guests in an adjoining room? Or was it when Volturcius abruptly changed his mind and decided to save himself by testifying against them, in return for the promise of a pardon? I imagine it might have felt rather like drowning a dawning realisation that they had ventured out of their depth, and were being carried further and further away from the shore with every passing moment. Only when Volturcius accused Cethegus to his face of boasting that he would murder Cicero and then storm the senate house did Cethegus at last jump to his feet and declare he would not stay here and listen to this a moment longer. But he found his exit blocked by two legionaries of the Reate century, who returned him very forcefully to his chair.