like Caius Manlius, who had been a centurion under Sulla. What bound them together was loyalty to Catilina – who could be quite charming when he was not trying to kill you – and a desire to see the existing state of affairs in Rome smashed to pieces. Twice when Cicero had to address public assemblies, as part of his opposition to Rullus's bill, they set up a constant racket of jeers and whistles, and I was glad that Atticus had made arrangements to protect him, especially as the Rabirius affair was now catching fire.
Rullus's bill, Rabirius's prosecution, Catilina's death threat – you must remember that Cicero was having to contend with all these three at once, as well as coping with the general business of running the senate. Historians in my opinion often overlook this aspect of politics. Problems do not queue up outside a statesman's door, waiting to be solved in an orderly fashion, chapter by chapter, as the books would have us believe; instead they crowd in en masse, demanding attention. Hortensius, for example, arrived to discuss tactics for the defence of Rabirius only a few hours after Cicero had been howled down at the public assembly on Rullus's bill. And there was a further consequence of this overwork. Because Cicero was so preoccupied, Hortensius, who had little else to do, had effectively taken control of the case. Settling himself in Cicero's study and looking very pleased with himself, he announced that the matter was solved.
'Solved?' repeated Cicero. 'How?'
Hortensius smiled. He had employed a team of scribes, he said, to gather evidence, and they had turned up the intriguing fact that a ruffian named Scaeva, the slave of a senator, Q. Croton, had been given his freedom immediately after Saturninus's murder. The scribes had enquired further in the state archives. According to Scaeva's papers of manumission, he was the one who had 'struck the fatal blow' that killed Saturninus, and for this 'patriotic act' had been rewarded with his liberty by the senate. Both Scaeva and Croton were long since dead, but Catulus, once his memory had been jogged, claimed to remember the incident well enough, and had sworn an affidavit that after Saturninus had been stoned unconscious, he had seen Scaeva climb down to the floor of the senate house and finish him off with a knife.
'And that,' said Hortensius in conclusion, passing Catulus's affidavit to Cicero, 'I think you will agree, destroys Labienus's case against our client, and with a bit of luck will bring this wretched business to a swift conclusion.' He sat back in his chair and looked about him with an air of great satisfaction. 'Don't tell me you disagree?' he added, noticing Cicero's frown.
'In principle of course you are right. But I wonder in practice whether this will help us much.'
'Of course it will! Labienus has no case left. Even Caesar will have to concede that. Really, Cicero,' he said with a smile and the tiniest wag of a manicured finger, 'I could almost believe you're jealous.'
Cicero remained unconvinced. 'Well, we shall see,' he remarked to me after this conference. 'But I fear Hortensius has no idea of the forces ranged against us. He still imagines Caesar to be just another ambitious young senator on the make. He has not yet glimpsed his depths.'
Sure enough, on the very day Hortensius submitted his evidence to Caesar's special court, Caesar and his fellow judge – his elder cousin – without even hearing any witnesses, pronounced Rabirius guilty, and sentenced him to death by crucifixion. The news spread through Rome's cramped streets like a firestorm, and it was a very different Hortensius who appeared in Cicero's study the following morning.
'The man is a monster! A complete and utter swine!'
'And how has our unfortunate client reacted?'
'He doesn't yet know what's happened. It seemed kinder not to tell him.'
'So now what do we do?'
'We have no alternative. We appeal.'
Hortensius duly lodged an immediate appeal with the urban praetor, Lentulus Sura, who in turn referred the question to an assembly of the people, summoned for the following week on the Field of Mars. This was ideal terrain from the prosecution's point of view: not a court with a respectable jury, but a great swirling multitude of citizens. To enable them all to vote on Rabirius's fate, the entire proceedings would have to be crammed into one short winter's day. And as if that wasn't enough, Labienus was also able to use his powers as tribune to stipulate that no defence speech should last for longer than half an hour. On hearing of this restriction, Cicero observed, 'Hortensius needs half an hour merely to clear his throat!' and as the date of the hearing drew closer, he and his fellow counsel bickered more frequently. Hortensius saw the matter in purely legal terms. The main thrust of his speech, he declared, would be to establish that the real killer of Saturninus was Scaeva. Cicero disagreed, seeing the trial as wholly political. 'This isn't a court,' he reminded Hortensius. 'This is the mob. Do you seriously imagine, in all the noise and excitement, with thousands of people milling about, that anybody is going to care a fig that the actual fatal blow was struck by some wretched slave who's been dead for years?'
'What line would you take, then?'
'I think we must concede at the outset that Rabirius was the killer, and claim that the action was legally sanctioned.'
Hortensius threw up his hands. 'Really, Cicero, I know you've a reputation as a tricky fellow and all that, but now you're simply being perverse.'
'And I'm afraid you spend too much time on the Bay of Naples talking to your fish. You no longer know this city as I do.'
Since they were unable to reach an agreement, it was decided that Hortensius would speak first and Cicero last, and each would argue as he pleased. I was glad that Rabirius was too feeble-minded to grasp what was going on, because otherwise he would have been in despair, especially as Rome was anticipating his trial as if it were a circus. The cross on the Field of Mars had become a regular meeting place and was festooned with placards demanding justice, land and bread. Labienus also got hold of a bust of Saturninus and set it up on the rostra, garlanded with laurel. It did not help that Rabirius had a reputation as a vicious old skinflint; even his adopted son was a moneylender. Cicero was in no doubt that the verdict would go against him, and decided at least to try to save his life. He therefore laid an emergency resolution before the senate reducing the penalty for perduellio from crucifixion to exile. Thanks to Hybrida's support, this was narrowly passed, despite angry opposition from Caesar and the tribunes. Metellus Celer went out of the city late that night with a party of slaves and tore down the cross, smashed it up and burned it.
This, then, was how matters stood on the morning of the trial. Even as Cicero was checking his speech and dressing to go down to the Field of Mars, Quintus turned up in his chamber and urged his brother to withdraw as defence counsel. He had done all he could, argued Quintus, and would only suffer an unnecessary loss of prestige when Rabirius was found guilty. It might also be physically dangerous for him to confront the populists outside the city walls. I could see that Cicero was tempted by these arguments. But not the least of the reasons why I loved him, despite his faults, was that he possessed that most attractive form of courage: the bravery of a nervous man. After all, any rash fool can be a hero if he sets no value on his life, or hasn't the wit to appreciate danger. But to understand the risks, perhaps even to flinch at first, but then to summon the strength to face them down – that in my opinion is the most commendable form of valour, and that was what Cicero displayed that day.
Labienus was already in place on the platform when we reached the Field of Mars, alongside his precious stage prop, the bust of Saturninus. He was an ambitious soldier, one of Pompey's fellow countrymen from Picenum, and he affected to copy the great general in all things – his girth, his swaggering gait, even his hair, which he wore swept back in a Pompeian wave. When he saw Cicero and his lictors approaching, he put his fingers in his mouth and let out a derisive whistle, and this was taken up by the crowd, which must have numbered about ten thousand. It was an intimidating noise, and it intensified as Hortensius appeared leading Rabirius by the hand. The old fellow did not look frightened so much as bewildered by the racket and the numbers pressing forward to get a glimpse of him. I was pushed and shoved as I struggled to stay close to Cicero. I noticed a line of legionaries, their helmets and breastplates glinting in the bright January light, and behind them, sitting in a stand on a row of seats reserved for distinguished spectators, the military commanders Quintus Metellus, conqueror of Crete, and Licinius Lucullus, Pompey's predecessor in the East. Cicero made a face at me when he saw them, for he had promised both aristocratic generals triumphs in return for their support at election time, and had so far done nothing about it.
'It must be a crisis,' Cicero whispered to me, 'if Lucullus has left his palace on the Bay of Naples to mingle with the common herd!'
He clambered up the ladder on to the platform, along with Hortensius, and finally Rabirius, who had such difficulty mounting the rungs his advocates finally had to reach down and haul him up. All three glistened with the spittle that had been showered on them. Hortensius looked especially appalled, for obviously he had not realised how unpopular the senate had become during that hard winter. The orators sat down on their bench, with Rabirius
