Lustrum

have to write this poem myself.'
    'Is that altogether wise?' I asked.
    'What do you mean?'
    I felt myself beginning to sweat. 'Well, after all, even Achilles needed his Homer. His story might not have had quite the same – what should one say? –
epic resonance
if he had told it from his own point of view.'
    'I solved that problem in bed last night. My plan is to tell my tale in the voices of the gods, each taking it in turn to recount my career to me as they welcome me as an immortal on to Mount Olympus.' He jumped up and cleared his throat. 'I'll show you what I mean.
    Torn from your studies in youth's early dawn, your country recalled you,
    Giving you place in the thick of the struggle for public preferment;
    Yet in seeking release from the worries and cares that oppress you,
    Time that the state leaves free you devote to us and to learning …'
    Dear heavens, it was terrible stuff! The gods must have wept to hear it. But when the mood seized him, Cicero could lay down hexameters as readily as a bricklayer could throw up a wall: three, four, even five hundred lines a day was nothing to him. He paced around the great open space of his library, acting out the roles of Jupiter and Minerva and Urania, the words pouring out of him so freely I had difficulty keeping up, even in shorthand. When eventually Sositheus tiptoed in and announced that Clodius was waiting outside, I must confess I was greatly relieved. By now it was quite late in the morning – the sixth hour at least – and Cicero was so seized by inspiration he almost sent his visitor packing. But he knew that Clodius would probably be bearing some choice morsel of gossip, and curiosity got the better of him. He told Sositheus to show him in, and Clodius duly strolled into the library, his golden curls elegantly coiffed, his goatee trimmed, his bronzed limbs trailing a scent of crocus oil. He was thirty by now, a married man, having wed the fifteen-year-old heiress Fulvia in the summer, at the same time as he was elected a magistrate. Not that married life detained him much. Her dowry had bought them a large house on the Palatine, and there she sat alone most evenings while he continued with his roistering ways in the taverns of Subura.
    'Tasty news,' announced Clodius. He held up a finger with a highly polished nail. 'But you mustn't tell a soul.'
    Cicero gestured to him to take a seat. 'You know how discreet I am.'
    'You will simply adore this,' said Clodius, settling himself down. 'This will make your day.'
    'I hope it lives up to its billing.'
    'It will.' Clodius tugged at his little beard with glee. 'The Warden of Land and Sea is divorcing.'
    Cicero had been lounging back in his chair with a half-smile on his face, his usual posture when gossiping with Clodius. But now he slowly straightened. 'Are you absolutely sure?'
    'I just heard it from your next-door neighbour, my darling sister – who sends her love, by the way – who received the news by special messenger from husband Celer last night. Apparently Pompey has written to Mucia telling her not to be in the house by the time he gets back to Rome.'
    'Which will be when?'
    'In a few weeks. His fleet is off Brundisium. He may even have landed by now.'
    Cicero let out a low whistle. 'So he's coming home at last. After six years I was beginning to think I'd never see him again.'
    'Hoping you'd never see him again, more like.'
    It was an impertinent remark, but Cicero was too preoccupied with Pompey's impending return to notice. 'If he's divorcing, that must mean he's remarrying. Does Clodia know who he has in mind?'
    'No, only that Mucia's out on her pretty little pink ear and the children go with Pompey, even though he hardly knows them. Her brothers are both up in arms, as you can imagine. Celer swears he's been betrayed. Nepos swears it even more. Clodia naturally finds it very funny. But still, what an insult, eh, after all they've done for him – to have their sister publicly cast aside for adultery.'
    'And
was
she an adulteress?'
    '
Was she an adulteress?
' Clodius gave a surprisingly high-pitched giggle. 'My dear Cicero, the bitch has been rolling around on her back waving her legs in the air ever since he left! Don't tell me you haven't had her? If so, you must be the only man in Rome who hasn't!'
    'Are you drunk?' demanded Cicero. He leaned across and sniffed at Clodius, then wrinkled his nose. 'You are, damn you. I suggest you go away and sober up, and mind your manners in future.'
    For a