Rubicon

gang burned down the house and sent me into exile.' He smiled ruefully. 'Now Clodius is dust, but I'm still here- and so are you, Gordianus. But for what? To see it all come to this…'

Cicero paced nervously in a circle around the brazier, casting deep shadows across the walls. Abruptly he stopped his pacing and shot me a quizzical look. 'Can it really have been thirty years since we first met, Gordianus?'

'Thirty-one, actually.'

'The trial of Sextus Roscius.' He shook his head. 'We were all so young then! And brave, the way young men are, because they don't know any better. I, Marcus Tullius Cicero, took on the dictator Sulla in the courts- and bested him! I think back now and wonder how I could ever have been so mad. But it wasn't madness. It was bravery. I saw a terrible wrong and a way to redress it. I knew the danger and went ahead anyway, because I was young and thought I could change the world. Now… now I wonder if I can be that brave again. I fear I'm too old, Gordianus. I've seen too much… suffered too much…'

In my own recollections, Cicero's motives had never been quite as pure as he was painting them, colored as they were by shrewd ambition. Was he brave? Certainly he had taken risks- and been rewarded with fame, honor, and wealth. True, Fortune had not always smiled on him; he had suffered defeats and humiliations, especially in recent years. But he had caused others to suffer much worse. Men had been put to death without trial when he was consul, in the name of preserving the state.

Could any man advance as far in politics as Cicero had, and keep his hands entirely clean? Perhaps not. What rankled me was his insistence in presenting himself as the untarnished champion of virtue and reason. It was not a pose; it was the picture he had of himself. His unflagging self-justification had often exasperated, even infuriated, me. But now, in the darkness that had fallen on Rome, with the choice narrowed between one military leader and another, Cicero began to seem like not such a bad fellow after all.

He shook his head. 'Can you believe it? That it's happening again? That we must go through the same madness all over again? Our lives began with civil war, and now they shall end with it. A generation passes, and people forget. But do they really not remember how it was, in the war between Sulla and his enemies? Rome itself besieged and taken! And the horrors that followed, when Sulla set himself up as dictator! You remember, Gordianus. You were here. You saw the gaping heads mounted on bloody pikes in the Forum- decent, respectable men, hunted down and murdered by bounty hunters, their property seized and auctioned off to Sulla's favorites, their families impoverished and disgraced. Sulla got rid of his enemies- cleansing the state, he called it- made a few reforms, then stepped down and put the Senate back in charge. From that day until this, I have spent every hour of every day doing everything I could to fend off another such catastrophe. And yet- here we are. The Republic is about to come crashing down around us. Was this inevitable? Was there no way this could have been avoided?'

My mouth was dry. I wished that he would offer me some wine. 'Pompey and Caesar may yet patch up their differences.'

'No!' He shook his head and gestured wildly. 'Caesar may send messages of peace and pretend that he's willing to parlay, but that's just for show, so that he can say later on, 'I did my best to keep the peace.' The moment he crossed the Rubicon, any hopes for a peaceful settlement vanished. On the far side of the river, he was a legally commissioned promagistrate in command of Roman legions. Once he crossed the bridge into Italy with armed men, he became an outlaw at the head of an invading army. There's no way to answer him now except with another army.'

'Some people,' I said, speaking slowly and carefully, 'would say that the hope for peace vanished a few days before Caesar crossed the Rubicon, on the day the Senate passed the Ultimate Decree and drove Caesar's friend Marc Antony out of the city. That was as good as declaring Caesar an enemy of the state. You did the same to Catilina, when you were consul. We know how Catilina ended. Can you blame Caesar for mustering his troops and making the first move?'

Cicero looked at me darkly. The old antagonism between us began to stir. 'Spoken like a true Caesarian, Gordianus. Is that the side you've chosen?'

I walked to the brazier and warmed my hands. It was time to speak of something else. 'I was sorry to learn of Tiro's illness. I understand he's still in Greece. Have you heard from him lately? Is he better?'

Cicero seemed disconcerted by the change of subject. 'Tiro? Why-? But of course, you and Tiro have always remained friends, even when you and I have not. Yes, I think he may be somewhat better.'

'What is his malady?'

'Recurring fever, poor digestion, weakness. He can't leave his bed, much less travel.'

'I'm sorry to hear it. You must miss him terribly, under these circumstances.'

'There's no man in the world I trust more than Tiro.' A silence ensued, finally broken by Cicero. 'Is that why you came tonight, Gordianus? To ask after Tiro?'

'No.'

'Why, then? Surely it wasn't concern for your old friend and patron Cicero that drew you out alone on such a night, without even that hulking son-in-law of yours to look after you.'

'Yes, without even my son-in-law,' I said quietly, seeing in my mind the look on Diana's face, and Davus looking over his shoulder as Pompey's men dragged him off. 'I understand that Pompey came to visit you earlier today. And before that, Pompey's kinsman, Numerius.'

Cicero scowled. 'Those damned guards at the door! Their jaws are always flapping.'

'It wasn't the guards who told me. It was Pompey himself. After he left you, he came to my house. So did Numerius, earlier in the day. Numerius came to see you, and then to see me.'

'What of it?'

'Numerius never left my house alive. He was murdered in my garden.'

Cicero looked aghast. His reaction seemed almost too extreme. I reminded myself that he was an orator used to performing to the farthest person in a crowd, and was prone to overact by force of habit. 'But this is terrible! Murdered, you say. But how?'

'Strangled.'

'By whom?'

'That's what Pompey would like to know.'

Cicero tilted his head back and raised his eyebrows. 'I see. The old hound has been put to the scent again.'

'The first place the scent leads is back to this house.'

'If you think there's any connection between Numerius's visit here and… what happened to him later, that's preposterous.'

'Still, you were one of the last people he spoke to. One of the last… besides myself… to see him alive. Did you know him well?'

'Numerius? Well enough.'

'From the tone of your voice, I take it you didn't care for him.'

Cicero shrugged. Once again, the gesture seemed too broad. What was Cicero really thinking? 'He was likable enough. A charming young fellow, most people would say. The apple of Pompey's eye.'

'Why did he come to visit you this morning?'

'He brought news from Pompey. 'The Great One is vacating Rome, heading south. The Great One says that any true friend of the Republic will do the same at once.' That was his message for me.'

'It sounds almost like a threat,' I said. 'An ultimatum.'

Cicero looked at me warily but said nothing.

'And then Numerius left?'

'Not immediately. We… talked a bit, about the state of the city and such. Pompey hasn't called on all his allies to leave immediately. The consuls and some of the magistrates will stay on, a sort of skeleton government, enough to keep the city from falling entirely into chaos. Even so, the treasury will be closed, the bankers will flee, everything will come to a standstill…' He shook his head. 'We talked a bit… and then Numerius left.'

'Was anyone with him?'

'He came alone and he left alone.'

'Odd, that he should go abroad in the city on Pompey's business without even a bodyguard.'

'You've just done the same, Gordianus, and after dark. I suppose Numerius wished to moved as quickly and