Lustrum

unchallenged, surely?'
    'So you think that someone else is behind it?'
    I hesitated.
    'Who?' demanded Terentia.
    'Crassus.'
    'But Crassus and I are entirely reconciled,' said Cicero. 'You heard the way he praised me to the skies in front of Pompey.And then he let me have this house so cheaply—' He was going to say something else, but then he stopped.
    Terentia turned the full force of her scrutiny on to me. 'Why would Crassus go to such lengths to cause your master trouble?'
    'I don't know,' I lied. I could feel my face turning red.
    Cicero said quietly, 'You might as well ask, why does the scorpion sting? Because that is what scorpions do.'
    The conversation broke up soon afterwards. Terentia went off to attend to Marcus. I retired to the library to attend to the senator's correspondence. Only Cicero remained on the terrace, staring thoughtfully across the forum to the Capitol as the shades of evening began to spread.
    The following morning, pale and silent with nerves – for he knew full well what kind of reception he was likely to receive – Cicero went down into the forum, escorted by the same number of bodyguards he used to have around him in the days of Catilina. Word had got out that the prosecution was unexpectedly calling him as a witness, and the moment Clodius's supporters saw him pushing his way towards the platform they set up a gale of booing and catcalling. As he climbed the temple steps towards the tribunal, some eggs and dung were thrown, which provoked the most remarkable counter-demonstration. Almost the whole of the jury got to their feet and formed a cordon to protect Cicero from the missiles. Some even turned to the crowd, pulled down their collars and pointed to their bare throats, as if to say to Clodius's lynch mob, 'You will have to kill us before you can kill him.'
    Cicero was well used to giving evidence on the witness stand. He had done it in at least a dozen cases against Catilina's co-conspirators in the last year alone. But never had he faced acockpit such as this, and the urban praetor had to suspend the court until order could be restored. Clodius sat looking at Cicero with his arms folded and a grim expression on his face: the behaviour of the jury must have been deeply troubling to him. Sitting by Clodius's side for the first time in the trial was his wife, Fulvia. It was a cunning move on the defence's part to produce her, for she was only sixteen and looked more like his daughter than a married woman – exactly the sort of vulnerable young girl guaranteed to melt a jury's heart. She was also a descendant of the Gracchi family, who were immensely popular with the people. She had a hard, mean face, but then being married to Clodius would surely have been enough to curdle even the sweetest nature.
    When at last the chief prosecutor, Lentulus Crus, was called on to examine the witness, an anticipatory silence fell. He crossed the court to Cicero. 'Although the whole world knows who you are, would you please state your name?'
    'Marcus Tullius Cicero.'
    'Do you swear by all the gods to tell the truth?'
    'I swear.'
    'You are familiar with the accused?'
    'I am.'
    'Where was he between the sixth and seventh hours on the day of the ritual of the Good Goddess last year? Can you give the court that information?'
    'I can. I remember it very well.' Cicero turned from his questioner to the jury. 'He was in my house.'
    An excited murmur ran around the spectators and the jury. Clodius said very loudly, 'Liar!' and his claque set up a fresh chorus of jeering. The praetor, whose name was Voconius, called for order. He gestured to the prosecutor to continue.
    'There is no doubt about this?' asked Crus.
    'None whatever. Others in my household saw him, as well as I.'
    'What was the purpose of the visit?'
    'It was a social call.'
    'Would it have been possible, in your opinion, for the accused to have left your house and been in Interamna by nightfall?'
    'Not unless he put on wings as well as women's clothes.'
    There was much laughter at this. Even Clodius smiled.
    'Fulvia, the wife of the accused, who is also sitting there, claims to have been with her husband in Interamna that same evening. What do you say to that?'
    'I would say that the delights of married life have obviously so affected her judgement that she no longer knows what day of the week it is.'
    The laughter was even more prolonged, and again Clodius joined in, but Fulvia stared ahead of her with a face that was like a child's fist,