Imperium

republic; Pompey’s advantage over Crassus was the popularity he enjoyed among the masses on the streets. “They are like two scorpions, circling each other,” said Cicero, leaning back in his chair one morning, after he had dictated his latest dispatch to Pompey. “Neither can win outright, yet each can kill the other.”
    “Then how will victory ever be achieved?”
    He looked at me, then suddenly lunged forward and slammed his palm down on his desk with a speed that made me jump. “By the one which strikes the other by surprise.”
    At the time he made that remark there were only four days left before the lex Gabinia was due to be voted on by the people. He still had not thought of a means of circumventing Crassus’s veto. He was wearied and discouraged, and once again began to talk of our retiring to Athens and studying philosophy. That day passed, and the next, and the next, and still no solution presented itself. On the final day before the vote, I rose as usual at dawn and opened the door to Cicero’s clients. Now that he was known to be so close to Pompey, these morning levees had doubled in size compared to the old days, and the house was crowded with petitioners and well-wishers at all hours, much to Terentia’s annoyance. Some of them had famous names, for example, on this particular morning, Antonius Hybrida, who was the second son of the great orator and consul Marcus Antonius, and who had just finished a term as tribune; he was a fool and a drunk, but protocol dictated he would have to be seen first. Outside it was gray and raining and the callers had brought in with them a wet-dog smell of moist, stale clothes and damp hair. The black and white mosaic floor was streaked with tracks of mud, and I was just contemplating summoning one of the household slaves to mop up when the door opened again and who should step in but Marcus Licinius Crassus himself. I was so startled, I briefly forgot to be alarmed, and gave him as natural a greeting as if he had been a nobody come to request a letter of introduction.
    “And a very good morning to you, Tiro,” he returned. He had only met me once, yet he still remembered my name, which frightened me. “Might it be possible to have a word with your master?” Crassus was not alone but had brought with him Quintus Arrius, a senator who followed him around like a shadow, and whose ridiculously affected speech—always adding an aspirate to a vowel: “Harrius” was how he pronounced his name—was to be so memorably parodied by that cruelest of poets, Catullus. I hurried through into Cicero’s study, where he was doing his usual trick of dictating a letter to Sositheus while signing documents as quickly as Laurea could produce them.
    “You will never guess who is here!” I cried.
    “Crassus,” he replied, without looking up.
    I was immediately deflated. “You are not surprised?”
    “No,” said Cicero, signing another letter. “He has come to make a magnanimous offer, which is not really magnanimous at all, but which will show him in a better light when our refusal to agree to it becomes public. He has every reason to compromise, while we have none. Still, you had better show him in before he bribes all my clients away from me. And stay in the room and take a note, in case he tries to put words into my mouth.”
    So I went out to fetch Crassus—who was indeed glad-handing his away around Cicero’s tablinum, to the awed amazement of all concerned—and showed him into the study. The junior secretaries left, and there were just the four of us—Crassus, Arrius, and Cicero all seated, and myself, standing in the corner and taking notes.
    “You have a very nice house,” said Crassus, in his friendly way. “Small but charming. You must tell me if you think of selling.”
    “If it ever catches fire,” responded Cicero, “you will be the first to know.”
    “Very droll,” said Crassus, clapping his hands and laughing with great good humor. “But I am perfectly serious. An important man such as yourself should have a larger property, in a better neighborhood. The Palatine, of course. I can arrange it. No, please,” he added, as Cicero shook his head, “do not dismiss my offer. We have had our differences, and I should like to make a gesture of reconciliation.”
    “Well, that is handsome of you,” said Cicero, “but alas, I fear the interests of a certain gentleman still stand between us.”
    “They need not. I have watched your career with