Lustrum

burst into the room and interrupted him.
    'What did you say in court about Caesar this morning?'
    'Good day to you, Celer. I told a few truths, that's all. Will you join us?'
    'Well, they must have been pretty dangerous truths, for Gaius is exacting a mighty revenge.'
    'Is he really?' replied Cicero, with an attempt at sangfroid. 'And what is to be my punishment?'
    'He is in the senate house as we speak, arranging for that swine of a brother-in-law of mine to become a plebeian!'
    Cicero sat up in such alarm he knocked his glass over. 'No, no,' he said, 'that cannot be right. Caesar would never lift a finger to help Clodius – not after what Clodius did to his wife.'
    'You are wrong. He is doing it right now.'
    'How do you know?'
    'My own darling wife just took great pleasure in telling me.'
    'But how is it possible?'
    'You forget Caesar is the chief priest. He has summoned an emergency meeting of the curia to approve an adoption.'
    Terentia said, 'Is that legal?'
    'Since when did legality matter,' asked Cicero bitterly, 'when Caesar is involved?' He started rubbing his forehead very hard, as if he could somehow magic forth a solution. 'What about getting Bibulus to pronounce the auguries unfavourable?'
    'Caesar's thought of that. He has Pompey with him—'
    'Pompey?' Cicero looked stunned. 'This gets worse every moment!'
    'Pompey is an augur. He's observed the skies and declared that all's well.'
    'But you're an augur. Can't you overrule him?'
    'I can try. At the very least we ought to get down there.'
    Cicero needed no further urging. Still wearing his slippers, he hurried out of the house after Celer, while I panted along at their backs with their attendants. The streets were quiet: Caesar had moved so quickly, no word of what was happening had filtered through to the people. Unfortunately, by the time we had sprinted across the forum and thrown open the doors of the senate house, the ceremony was just finishing – and what a shameful scene it was that met our eyes. Caesar was on the dais at the far end of the chamber, dressed in his robes as chief priest and surrounded by his lictors. Pompey was beside him, absurd in his augural cap and carrying a divining wand. Several other pontiffs were also standing around, among them Crassus, who had been co-opted into the college at Caesar's behest to replace Catulus. Clustered together on the wooden benches, like penned sheep, was the curia, the thirty elderly greyheads who were the chiefs of the tribes of Rome. And finally, to complete the picture, the golden-curled Clodius was kneeling in the aisle next to another man. Everyone turned at the noise of our entrance, and never have I forgotten the smirk of triumph on Clodius's face when he realised Cicero was watching – it was a look of almost childish devilment – although it was quickly replaced by an expression of terror as his brother-in-law strode towards him, followed by Cicero.
    'What the fuck is going on here?' shouted Celer.
    'Metellus Celer,' responded Caesar in a firm voice, 'this is a religious ceremony. Do not profane it.'
    'A religious ceremony! With Rome's profaner-in-chief kneeling here – the man who fucked your own wife!' He aimed a kick at Clodius, who scrambled away from him towards Caesar's feet. 'And who is this boy?' he demanded, looming over the other cowering man. 'Let's see who's joined the family!' He hauled him to his feet by the scruff of his neck and turned him round to show us – a shivering, pimply youth of twenty or so.
    'Show some respect to my adopted father,' said Clodius, who, despite his fear, could not stop himself laughing.
    'You disgusting—' Celer dropped the youth and returned his attention to Clodius, drawing back his huge fist to strike him, but Cicero caught his arm. 'No, Celer. Don't give them an excuse to arrest you.'
    'Wise advice,' said Caesar.
    After a moment, Celer reluctantly lowered his hand. 'So your father is younger than you are? What a farce this is!'
    Clodius smirked. 'He was the best that could be found at short notice.'
    Precisely what the tribal elders – none of whom was under fifty – must have made of this spectacle, I cannot imagine. Many were old friends of Cicero. We learned later that they had been turfed from their homes and places of business by Caesar's henchmen, frogmarched to the senate house and more or less ordered to approve Clodius's adoption.
    'Have we finished here yet?' asked Pompey. He not only looked ridiculous in his augural outfit