Imperium

briber-in-chief had fallen just short of his target. Cicero had always had the equestrian order firmly behind him, plus the Pompeians and the lower orders. Now that Hortensius, Catulus, Metellus, Isauricus, and the Lucullus brothers were delivering the blocs of voters controlled by the aristocrats, he was winning a vote from every century, either as their first or second preference, and soon the only question was who would be his consular colleague. Throughout the morning, it looked as if it would be Catilina, with my notes (which I found the other day) showing that at noon the voting was:

Cicero
81 centuries
Catilina
34 centuries
Hybrida
29 centuries
Sacerdos
9 centuries
Longinus
5 centuries
Cornificius
2 centuries

    But then came the voting of the six centuries composed exclusively of the aristocrats, the sex suffragia, and they really put the knife into Catilina, so that if I retain one image above all from that memorable day it is of the patricians, having cast their ballots, filing past the candidates. Because the Field of Mars lies outside the city limits, there was nothing to stop Lucius Lucullus, and Quintus Metellus with him, both in their scarlet cloaks and military uniforms, turning out to vote, and their appearance caused a sensation—but nothing as great as the uproar that greeted the announcement that their century had voted Cicero first and then Hybrida. After them came Isauricus, the elder Curio, Aemilius Alba, Claudius Pulcher, Junius Servilius—the husband of Cato’s sister, Servilia—old Metellus Pius, the pontifex maximus, too sick to walk but carried in a litter, followed by his adopted son, Scipio Nasica…. And again and again the announcement was the same: Cicero first, and next Hybrida; Cicero first, and next Hybrida; Cicero first…When, finally, Hortensius and Catulus passed by, it was noticeable that neither man could bring himself to look Catilina in the eye, and once it was declared that their century, too, had voted for Cicero and Hybrida, Catilina must have realized his chances were finished. At that point Cicero had eighty-seven centuries to Hybrida’s thirty-five and Catilina’s thirty-four—for the first time in the day, Hybrida had eased in front of his running mate, but more important, the aristocrats had publicly turned on one of their own, and in the most brutal manner. After that, Catilina’s candidacy was effectively dead, although one had to give him high marks for his conduct. I had anticipated that he would storm off in a rage, or lunge at Cicero and try to murder him with his bare hands. But instead he stood throughout that long, hot day, as the citizens went past him and his hopes of the consulship sank with the sun, and he maintained a look of imperturbable calm, even when Figulus came forward for the final time to read the result of the election:

Cicero
193 centuries
Hybrida
102 centuries
Catilina
65 centuries
Sacerdos
12 centuries
Longinus
9 centuries
Cornificius
5 centuries

    We cheered until our throats ached, although Cicero himself seemed very preoccupied for a man who had just achieved his life’s ambition, and I felt oddly uneasy. He was now permanently wearing what I later came to recognize as his “consular look”: his chin held ever so slightly high, his mouth set in a determined line, and his eyes seemingly directed toward some glorious point in the distance. Hybrida held out his hand to Catilina, but Catilina ignored it and stepped down from the podium like a man in a trance. He was ruined, bankrupt—surely it would be only a year or two before he was thrown out of the Senate altogether. I searched around for Crassus and Caesar, but they had quit the field hours earlier, once Cicero had passed the number of centuries needed for victory. So, too, had the aristocrats. They had gone home for the day the instant Catilina had been safely disposed of, like men who had been required to perform some distasteful duty—put down a favorite hunting dog, say, which had become rabid—and who now wanted nothing more than the quiet comfort of their own hearths.

    THUS DID MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO, at forty-two, the youngest age allowable, achieve the supreme imperium of the Roman consulship—and achieve it, amazingly, by a unanimous vote of the centuries, and as a “new man,” without family, fortune, or force of arms to assist him: a feat never accomplished before or afterwards. We returned that evening to his modest home, and once he had thanked his