Lustrum

'There is no doubt about this?' asked Crus.

'None whatever. Others in my household saw him, as well as I.'

'What was the purpose of the visit?'

'It was a social call.'

'Would it have been possible, in your opinion, for the accused to have left your house and been in Interamna by nightfall?'

'Not unless he put on wings as well as women's clothes.'

There was much laughter at this. Even Clodius smiled.

'Fulvia, the wife of the accused, who is also sitting there, claims to have been with her husband in Interamna that same evening. What do you say to that?'

'I would say that the delights of married life have obviously so affected her judgement that she no longer knows what day of the week it is.'

The laughter was even more prolonged, and again Clodius joined in, but Fulvia stared ahead of her with a face that was like a child's fist, small and white and clenched: she was a terror even then.

Crus had no further questions and returned to the prosecutors' bench, yielding the floor to Clodius's advocate, Curio. He was no doubt a brave man on the battlefield, but the courtroom was not his natural arena, and he approached the great orator in the manner of a nervous schoolboy poking a snake with a stick. 'My client has long been an enemy of yours, I believe?'

'Not at all. Until he committed this act of sacrilege we enjoyed friendly relations.'

'But then he was accused of this crime and you deserted him?'

'No, his senses deserted him, and then he committed the crime.'

Again there was laughter. The defence counsel looked annoyed.

'You say that on the fourth day of December last year my client came to see you?'

'I do.'

'It is suspiciously convenient, is it not, that you should suddenly remember that Clodius came to see you on that date?'

'I should have said that the convenience in the matter of dates was all on his side.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'Well, I doubt he spends many nights of the year in Interamna. But by a remarkable coincidence, the one night he does happen to find himself in that distant spot is also the night a dozen witnesses swear to have seen him cavorting in women's dress in Rome.'

As the amusement spread, Clodius stopped smiling. Clearly he had had enough of watching his advocate being batted around the court, and he gestured to him to come over to his bench for a consultation. But Curio, who was nearing sixty and unused to ridicule, was losing his temper and had started waving his arms around.

'Some fools no doubt will think this is all very witty wordplay, but I put it to you that you have made a mistake, and that my client came to see you on another day entirely.'

'I have no doubt about the date – and for a very good reason. It was the first anniversary of my salvation of the republic. Believe me, I shall always have particular reason for remembering the fourth day of December.'

'And so will the wives and children of the men you had murdered!' shouted Clodius. He leapt to his feet. Voconius at once appealed for order, but Clodius refused to sit and continued yelling insults. 'You behaved as a tyrant then, as you do now!' Turning to his supporters standing in the forum, he gestured to them to join in. They needed little encouragement. Almost to a man they surged forward, jeering. A fresh flight of missiles raked the platform. For the second time that morning, the jury came to Cicero's aid, surrounding him and trying to cover his head. The urban praetor shouted out to Curio, demanding to know if the defence had any further questions for the witness. Curio, who looked utterly dismayed at the way the jury were again protecting Cicero, signalled that he had finished, and the court was hastily adjourned. A combination of jurymen, bodyguards and clients cleared a path for Cicero through the forum and up the Palatine Hill to his home.

I had expected to find Cicero badly shaken by the whole experience, and certainly at first sight he looked it. His hair was standing up in tufts, his toga was streaked with dirt. But otherwise he was unscathed. Indeed, he was exultant, striding around his library, reliving the highlights of his testimony. He felt he had defeated Catilina for a second time. 'Did you see the way that jury closed ranks around me? If ever you wished for a symbol of all that is best about Roman justice, Tiro, you saw it this morning.' Still, he decided against going back to the court to hear the closing speeches, and it was not until two days later, when the verdict was due to be delivered, that he ventured down to the Temple of Castor to see Clodius sentenced.

The jury by this time had requested armed protection from the senate, and a century of troops guarded the steps up to the platform. As Cicero approached the section of seats reserved for senators, he raised his arm to the jury and a few saluted him back, but many glanced nervously in the other direction. 'I suppose they must be afraid of showing their feelings in front of Clodius's mob,' Cicero said to me. 'After they have cast their votes, do you think I should go and stand with them, to show my support? There is bound to be trouble, even with an armed guard.' I was not at all sure this was wise, but there was no time for me to reply, as the praetor was already coming out of the temple. I left Cicero to take his place on the bench and went to join the crowd nearby.

The prosecution and defence having rested their cases, it now remained only for Voconius to sum up their arguments and direct the jury on points of law. Clodius was once again seated beside Fulvia. He turned and whispered to her occasionally, while she stared hard at the men who would shortly decide her husband's fate. Everything in court always takes longer than one expects – questions have to be answered, statutes consulted, documents found – and it must have been at least an hour later that the court officials finally began handing out the wax voting tokens to the jurymen. On one side was scratched an A for acquittal, and on the other a C for condemnation. The system was designed for maximum secrecy: it was the work of a moment to use one's thumb to wipe a letter clear and then drop the vote into the urn as it was handed round. When every token had been collected, the urn was carried over to the table in front of the praetor and emptied out. All around me the crowd stood on tiptoe, straining to see what was happening. For some, the tension of the silence was too much, and they felt compelled to puncture it by shouting out banalities – 'Come on, Clodius!' 'Long live Clodius!' – cries that produced little flurries of applause in the teeming multitude. An awning had been set up above the court to keep off the weather, and I remember how the canvas snapped like a sail in the stiff May breeze. At last the reckoning was done and the tally was handed to the praetor. He stood, and the court all did the same. Fulvia gripped Clodius's arm. I closed my eyes tight shut and prayed. We needed just twenty-nine votes to send Clodius into exile for the rest of his life.

'There voted in favour of condemnation twenty-five, and in favour of acquittal thirty-one. The verdict of this court is therefore that Publius Clodius Pulcher is not guilty of the charges laid against him, and the case-'

The praetor's final words were lost in the roar of approval. For me, the earth seemed to tilt. I felt myself sway, and when I opened my eyes, blinking in the glare, Clodius was making his way around the court, shaking hands with the jurors. The legionaries had linked arms to prevent anyone storming the platform. The mob were cheering and dancing. On either side of me Clodius's supporters insisted on shaking my hand, and I tried to force a smile as I did so, otherwise they might have beaten me up, or worse. In the midst of this noisy jubilation, the senatorial benches sat as white and still as a field of freshly fallen snow. I could make out a few expressions – Hortensius stricken, Lucullus uncomprehending, Catulus slack-mouthed with dismay. Cicero wore his professional mask and gazed statesmanlike into the distance.

After a few moments Clodius came to the front of the platform. He ignored the praetor's shouts that this was a court of law and not a public assembly and held up his hands for quiet. At once the noise fell away.

'My fellow citizens,' he said, 'this is not a victory for me. This is a victory for you, the people.' Another great swell of applause carried forward and broke against the temple, and he turned his face towards it, Narcissus to his mirror. This time he let the adulation go on for a long time. 'I was born a patrician,' he continued eventually, 'but the members of my own class turned against me. It is you who have supported and sustained me. It is to you I owe my life. I am of you. I wish to be among you. And henceforth I shall dedicate myself to you. Let it be known, therefore, on the day of this great victory, that it is my resolve to disavow my inheritance of blood as a patrician, and to seek adoption as a plebeian.' I glanced at Cicero. The statesmanlike look had vanished. He was staring at Clodius in open astonishment. 'And if I am successful, I shall follow a path of ambition not through the senate – filled as it is with the bloated and the corrupt – but as a people's representative – as one of you – as a tribune!' More massive applause followed, which again he quieted with a stroke of his hand. 'And if you, the people, choose