Lustrum

face was one of total surprise and horror. 'I may have been born a patrician,' he protested, 'but I do not wish to die one.'

'You most assuredly will die a patrician,' retorted Celer, 'and if you continue on your present course, I tell you frankly, that inevitability will befall you sooner rather than later.'

The senate murmured with astonishment at this threat, and although Clodius tried to brush it off, he must have known that his chances of becoming a pleb, and thus a tribune, lay at that moment in ruins.

Cicero was delighted. He lost all fear of Clodius and from then on foolishly took every opportunity to taunt him and jeer at him. I remember in particular an occasion not long after this when he and Clodius found themselves walking together into the forum to introduce candidates at election time. Unwisely, for plenty around them were listening, Clodius took the opportunity to boast that he had now taken over from Cicero as the patron of the Sicilians, and henceforth would be providing them with seats at the Games. 'I don't believe you were ever in a position to do that,' he sneered.

'I was not,' conceded Cicero.

'Mind you, space is hard to come by. Even my sister, as consul's wife, says she can only give me one foot.'

'Well, I wouldn't grumble about one foot in your sister's case,' replied Cicero. 'You can always hoist the other.'

I had never before heard Cicero make a dirty joke, and afterwards he rather regretted it as being 'unconsular'. Still, it was worth it at the time for the roars of laughter it elicited from everyone standing around, and also for the effect it had on Clodius, who turned a fine shade of senatorial purple. The remark became famous and was repeated all over the city, although mercifully no one had the courage to relay it back to Celer.

And then, in an instant, everything changed, and as usual the man responsible was Caesar – who, although he had been away from Rome for almost exactly a year, had never been far from Cicero's thoughts.

One afternoon towards the end of May, Cicero was sitting on the front bench in the senate house next to Pompey. He had arrived late for some reason, otherwise I am sure he would have got wind of what was coming. As it was, he heard it at the same time as everyone else. After the auguries had been taken, Celer got to his feet to declare that a dispatch had just arrived from Caesar in Further Spain, which he now proposed to read.

' To the senate and people of Rome, from Gaius Julius Caesar, imperator -'

At the word 'imperator', a stir of excitement went around the chamber, and I saw Cicero abruptly sit up and exchange looks with Pompey.

' From Gaius Julius Caesar, imperator,' repeated Celer, with greater emphasis, ' greetings. The army is well. I have taken a legion and three cohorts across the mountains called Herminius and pacified the lands on either side of the river Durius. I have dispatched a flotilla from Gades seven hundred miles north and captured Brigantium. I have subdued the tribes of Callaecia and Lusitania and been saluted imperator in the field by the army. I have concluded treaties that will yield annual revenues of twenty million sesterces to the treasury. The rule of Rome now extends to the furthermost shores of the Atlantic sea. Long live our republic.'

Caesar's language was always terse, and it took a moment for the senate to grasp the momentous nature of what they had just been told. Caesar had been sent out merely to govern Further Spain, a province thought to be more or less pacified, but had somehow contrived to conquer the neighbouring country! His financial backer Crassus immediately jumped to his feet and proposed that Caesar's achievement be rewarded with three days of national thanksgiving. For once, even Cato was too dazed to object, and the motion was carried unanimously. Afterwards, the senators spilled out into the bright sunshine. Most were talking excitedly about this brilliant feat. Not so Cicero: in the midst of that animated throng, he walked with the slow tread and downcast eyes of a man at a funeral. 'After all his scandals and near-bankruptcies, I thought he was finished,' he muttered to me as he reached the door, 'at least for a year or two.'

He beckoned me to follow, and we went and stood in a shady spot in the senaculum, where presently we were joined by Hortensius, Lucullus and Cato; all three looked equally mournful.

'So, what is next for Caesar?' asked Hortensius gloomily. 'Will he try for the consulship?'

'I should say it's certain, wouldn't you?' replied Cicero. 'He can easily afford the campaign – if he's giving twenty million to the treasury, you can be sure he's keeping much more for himself.'

At that moment Pompey walked past, looking thoughtful, and the group fell silent until he was far enough away not to be able to hear them.

Cicero said quietly, 'There goes The Pharaoh. I expect that great ponderous mind of his will be grinding like a mill-wheel. I certainly know what conclusion I'd come to in his place.'

'What's that?' asked Cato.

'I'd make a deal with Caesar.'

The others all shook their heads in disagreement. 'That will never happen,' said Hortensius. 'Pompey can't abide to see another man getting a share of the glory.'

'He'll put up with it this time, though,' said Cicero. 'You gentlemen won't help him get his laws through, but Caesar will promise him the earth – anything in return for Pompey's support in the elections.'

'Not this summer, at least,' said Lucullus firmly. 'There are too many mountains and rivers between here and the Atlantic. Caesar can't get back in time to put his name on the ballot.'

'And there's another thing,' added Cato. 'Caesar will want to triumph, and he'll have to stay outside the city until he does.'

'And we can hold him up for years,' said Lucullus, 'just as he made me wait for half a decade. My revenge for that insult is going to taste better than any meal.'

Cicero however did not look convinced. 'Well, maybe, but I have learned by hard experience never to underestimate our friend Gaius.'

It was a wise remark, because about a week later a second dispatch reached the senate from Further Spain. Again, Celer read it aloud to the assembled senators: in view of the fact that his newly conquered territory was entirely subdued, Caesar announced that he was returning to Rome.

Cato got up to object. 'Provincial governors should remain at their posts until this house gives them permission to do otherwise,' he said. 'I move that we tell Caesar to stay where he is.'

'It's a bit late for that!' someone next to me shouted from the doorway. 'I've just seen him on the Field of Mars!'

'That is impossible,' insisted Cato, looking flustered. 'The last time we heard from him, he was boasting that he was on the Atlantic coast.'

Nevertheless, Celer took the precaution of sending a slave out on to the Field of Mars to check the rumour, and he returned an hour later to announce that it was true: Caesar had overtaken his own messenger and was staying at the home of a friend outside the city.

The news threw Rome into a frenzy of hero-worship. The next day Caesar sent an emissary to the senate to ask that he be granted his triumph in September, and that in the interim he be permitted to stand for the consulship in absentia. There were plenty in the senate willing to grant him his wish, for they recognised that Caesar's renown, combined with his new wealth, had made his candidacy well-nigh unstoppable. If a vote had been called, his supporters would probably have won it. Accordingly, day after day, whenever the motion was brought before the house, Cato rose and talked it out. He droned on about the overthrow of the kings of Rome. He bored away about the ancient laws. He wearied everyone with the importance of asserting senatorial control over the legions. He repeatedly warned of the dangerous precedent it would set if a candidate were allowed to seek office at election time whilst still holding military imperium: 'Today Caesar asks for the consulship, tomorrow he may demand it.'

Cicero did not take part himself, but signalled his support for Cato by coming into the chamber whenever he spoke and sitting on the front bench nearest to him. Time was running out for Caesar, and it looked certain that he would miss the deadline for submitting his nomination. Naturally everyone expected that he would choose to triumph rather than become a candidate: Pompey had done that; every victorious general in Rome's history had done it; there was surely nothing to equal the glory of a triumph. But Caesar was never a man to mistake power's show for its substance. Late one afternoon on the fourth day of Cato's filibuster, when the chamber was almost empty and the long green summer shadows were creeping over the deserted benches, into the senate house strolled Caesar. The twenty or so senators who were present could not believe their eyes. He had taken off his uniform and put on a toga.