Lustrum

Cicero had told me he was not going to intervene ('I'll let Cato and the others make hay if they want to; I'm going to keep out of it; it's more dignified'). However, when it came to the point, he could not resist the opportunity. Rising gravely to his feet, he looked directly at Caesar. 'As the alleged outrage occurred under the chief priest's own roof, perhaps he could save us all the trouble of waiting for the outcome of an inquiry and tell us now whether or not an offence was committed.'
    Caesar's face was so clenched that even from my old position by the door – to which I had been obliged to return now that Cicero was no longer consul – I could see the muscle twitching in his jaw as he got up to reply. 'The rites of the Good Goddess are not a matter for the chief priest, as he is not even allowed to be present at the time they are celebrated.' He sat down.
    Cicero put on a puzzled expression and rose again. 'But surely the chief priest's own wife was presiding over the ceremony? He must have at least some knowledge of what occurred.' He lapsed back into his seat.
    Caesar hesitated for a fraction, then got up and said calmly, 'That woman is no longer my wife.'
    An excited whisper went around the chamber. Cicero got up again. Now he sounded genuinely puzzled. 'So we may take it, therefore, that an outrage
did
occur.'
    'Not necessarily,' replied Caesar, and once again sat down.
    Cicero stood. 'But if an outrage did not occur, then why is the chief priest divorcing his wife?'
    'Because the wife of the chief priest must be above suspicion.'
    There was a good deal of amusement at the coolness of this reply. Cicero did not rise again, but signalled to Murena that he no longer wished to pursue the matter. Afterwards, as we were walking home, he said to me, not without a hint of admiration, 'That was the most ruthless thing I ever saw in the senate. How long would you say Caesar and Pompeia have been married?'
    'It must be six or seven years.'
    'And yet I'm certain he only made up his mind to divorce her when I asked him that question. He realised it was the best way to get himself out of a tight corner. You have to hand it to him – most men wouldn't abandon their dog so casually.'
    I thought sadly of the beautiful Pompeia and wondered if she was aware yet that her husband had just publicly ended their marriage. Knowing how swiftly Caesar liked to act, I suspected she would be out of his house by nightfall.
    When we got home, Cicero went at once to his library to avoid running into Terentia, and lay down on a couch. 'I need to hear some pure Greek to wash away the dirt of politics,' he said. Sositheus, who normally read to him, was ill, so he asked if I would do the honours, and at his request I fetched a copy of Euripides from its compartment, and unrolled it beside the lamp. It was
The Suppliant Women
he asked to hear, I supposebecause on that day the execution of the conspirators was uppermost in his mind, and he hoped that at least in yielding up the bodies of his enemies for an honourable burial he had played the part of Theseus. I had just got to his favourite lines –
Rashness in a leader causes failure; the sailor of a ship is calm, wise at the proper time. Yes, and forethought: this too is bravery
– when a slave came in and said that Clodius was in the atrium.
    Cicero swore. 'Go and tell him to get out of my house. I can't be seen to have anything more to do with him.'
    This was not a job I relished, but I laid aside Euripides and went out into the atrium. I had expected to find Clodius in a state of some distress. Instead he wore a rueful smile. 'Good day, Tiro. I thought I had better come and see my teacher straight away and get my punishment over and done with.'
    'I'm afraid my master is not in.'
    Clodius's smile faltered a little, because of course he guessed that I was lying. 'But I have worked the whole thing up for him into the most wonderful story. He simply has to hear it. No, this is ridiculous. I won't be sent away.'
    He pushed past me and walked across the wide hall and into the library. I followed, wringing my hands. But to his surprise and mine the room was empty. There was a small door in the opposite corner for the slaves to come and go, and even as we looked, it closed gently. The Euripides lay where I had left it. 'Well,' said Clodius, sounding suddenly uneasy, 'make sure you tell him I called.'
    'I certainly shall,' I replied.

XIII
    Around this time, exactly as Clodius had predicted,