Lustrum

We had reached the plain, and the fields beyond the road stretched flat and bare. Hybrida started humming to himself.

'Tell me, Hybrida,' said Cicero after a while, 'did you lose a boy a few days ago?'

'A what?'

'A boy. About twelve years old.'

'Oh, him,' replied Hybrida, in an offhand way, as if he were in the regular habit of losing boys. 'You heard about that?'

'I didn't just hear about it, I saw what was done to him.' Cicero was suddenly staring at Hybrida with great intensity. 'As a mark of our new friendship, will you tell me what happened?'

'I'm not sure I should do that.' Hybrida gave Cicero a crafty look. Drunkard he might have been, but he was not without cunning, even in his cups. 'You've said some hard things about me in the past. I've got to get used to trusting you.'

'If you mean by that remark, will anything you say privately go beyond the two of us, let me put your mind at ease. We are now bound together, Hybrida, whatever may have happened between us earlier. I shan't do anything to jeopardise our alliance, which is at least as precious to me as it is to you, even if you tell me you killed the boy yourself. But I feel I need to know.'

'Very prettily put.' Hybrida burped again and nodded to me. 'And the slave?'

'He is utterly trustworthy.'

'Then have another drink,' said Hybrida, once more holding out the flask, and when Cicero hesitated he shook it in his face. 'Go on. I can't abide a man who stays sober while others drink.' So Cicero swallowed his distaste and took another gulp of wine, while Hybrida described what had happened to the boy as cheerfully as if he were relating a tale from a hunting trip. 'He was a Smyrnan. Very musical. I forget his name. He used to sing to my guests at dinner. I lent him to Catilina for a party just after Saturnalia.' He took another swig. 'Catilina really hates you, doesn't he?'

'I expect so.'

'Me, I'm easier by nature. But Catilina? Oh no! He's a Sergius through and through. Can't bear the thought that he was beaten to the consulship by a common man, and a provincial to boot.' He pursed his lips and shook his head. 'After you won the election, I swear he lost his mind. Anyway, at this party he was pretty wild, and to cut a long tale short, he suggested we should swear an oath, a sacred oath, which required a sacrifice appropriate to the undertaking. He had my boy summoned, and told him to start singing. And then he got behind him and' – Hybrida made a sweeping gesture with his fist – 'bang. That was it. Quick at least. The rest I didn't stay for.'

'Are you telling me Catilina killed the boy?'

'He split his skull.'

'Dear gods! A Roman senator! Who else was present?'

'Oh, you know – Longinus, Cethegus, Curius. The usual gang.'

'So four members of the senate – five including you?'

'You can leave me out of it. I was sickened, I can tell you. That lad cost me thousands.'

'And what kind of oath “appropriate” to such an abomination did he have you all swear?'

'Actually, it was to kill you,' said Hybrida cheerfully, and raised his flask. 'Your health.' Then he burst out laughing. He laughed so much, he spluttered the wine. It leaked from his battered nose and trickled down his stubbled chin and stained the front of his toga. He brushed at it ineffectively, and then gradually the motions ceased. His hand dropped, he slowly nodded forwards, and very soon after that he fell asleep.

This was the first occasion on which Cicero heard of any conspiracy against him, and to begin with he was unsure how to respond. Was it just some piece of drunken, bestial debauchery, or was it to be taken as a serious threat? As Hybrida started snoring, Cicero gave me a look of infinite revulsion and passed the remainder of the journey in silence with his arms folded, a brooding expression on his face. As for Hybrida, he slept all the way to Rome, so deeply that when we reached his house he had to be lifted out of the carriage by the lictors and laid out in the vestibule. His slaves seemed entirely used to receiving their master in this fashion, and as we left, one was tipping a jug of water over the consul's head.

Quintus and Atticus were waiting when we arrived home, and Cicero quickly told them what he had heard from Hybrida. Quintus was all for making the story public at once, but Cicero was not convinced. 'And then what?' he asked.

'The law should be allowed to take its course. The perpetrators must be publicly accused, prosecuted, disgraced and exiled.'

'No,' said Cicero. 'A prosecution would stand no chance of success. First, who would be mad enough to bring one? And if, by a miracle, some brave and foolhardy soul were willing to take on Catilina, where would he find the evidence for a conviction? Hybrida will refuse to be a witness, even with a promise of immunity – you may be sure of that. He'll simply deny the whole thing ever happened, and break off his alliance with me. And the corpse has gone, remember? Indeed there are witnesses to the fact that I've already made a speech assuring the people there has been no ritual killing!'

'So we do nothing?'

'No, we watch, and we wait. We need to get a spy in Catilina's camp. He won't trust Hybrida any more.'

'We should also take extra precautions,' said Atticus. 'How long do you have the lictors?'

'Until the end of January, when Hybrida starts his term as president of the senate. They come back to me again in March.'

'I suggest we ask for volunteers from the Order of Knights to protect you in public while they're not around.'

'A private bodyguard? People will say I'm putting on airs. It will have to be done discreetly.'

'It will be, don't worry. I'll arrange it.'

So it was agreed, and in the meantime Cicero set about trying to find an agent who might gain the confidence of Catilina, and who could then report back in secret on what he was up to. He first broached the matter a couple of days later with young Rufus. He summoned him to the house and began by apologising for his rudeness after dinner. 'You must understand, my dear Rufus,' he explained, walking him around the atrium with his arm across his shoulders, 'that it is one of the failings of the old always to see the young for what they were rather than for what they have become. I treated you as that tearaway who came into my household as a boy three years ago, whereas I now realise you are a man of nearly twenty, making his way in the world and deserving of greater respect. I am truly sorry for any offence, and hope none has been taken.'

'The fault was mine,' responded Rufus. 'I won't pretend I agree with your policies. But my love and respect for you is unshaken, and I won't allow myself to think ill of you again.'

'Good lad.' Cicero pinched his cheek. 'Did you hear that, Tiro? He loves me! So you wouldn't want to kill me?'

'Kill you? Of course not! Whatever made you think I would?'

'Others who share your views have talked of killing me – Catilina to name but one,' and he described to Rufus the killing of Hybrida's slave and the terrible oath Catilina had made his confederates swear.

'Are you certain?' asked Rufus. 'I've never heard him mention such a thing.'

'Well, he has undoubtedly spoken of his desire to murder me – Hybrida assures me of it – and if ever he does again, I'd like to think you'd give me warning.'

'Oh, I see,' said Rufus, looking at Cicero's hand on his shoulder. 'That's why you've brought me up here – to ask me to be your spy.'

'Not a spy, a loyal citizen. Or has our republic sunk to such a level that killing a consul comes second to friendship?'

'I'd neither kill a consul nor betray a friend,' replied Rufus, detaching himself from Cicero's embrace, 'which is why I'm glad that the shadow over our friendship has been lifted.'

'An excellent lawyer's answer. I taught you better than I realised.'

After he had gone, Cicero said thoughtfully, 'That young man is on his way to repeat every word I've just said to Catilina' – an observation that may well have been true, for certainly from that day onwards Rufus kept clear of Cicero but was often to be seen in Catilina's company. It was an ill-assorted gang he had joined: high-spirited young bloods like Cornelius Cethegus, out for a fight; ageing and dissolute noblemen like Marcus Laeca and Autronius Paetus, whose public careers had been frustrated by their private vices; mutinous ex-soldiers led by rabble-rousers