Lustrum

Piso, and Syria (I think it was) to Aulus Gabinius. The other bill was very short, no more than a line: 'It shall be a capital offence to offer fire and water to any person who has put Roman citizens to death without a trial.'
    I stared at it stupidly, not grasping its significance at first. That it was directed against Cicero was obvious enough. But it did not name him. It seemed more designed to frighten and harass his supporters than to threaten him directly. But then, like a great turning inside-out of my heart, I saw the devilish cunning in it, and felt the gorge rise into my mouth, so that I had to swallow the bitter taste to stop myself from vomiting. I stepped back from that wall as if the jaws of Hades had opened before me, and I kept stumbling backwards, unable to take my eyes from the words, increasing the distance and willing them to disappear. When I glanced up, I saw Clodius very plainly looking down atme, a smile on his face, enjoying every moment, and then I turned and hurried back to Cicero.
    He saw at once in my expression that it was bad. 'Well?' he said anxiously. 'What is it?'
    'Clodius has published a bill about Catilina.'
    'Aimed at me?'
    'Yes.'
    'It cannot surely be as bad as your face suggests! What in the name of heaven does it say about me?'
    'It doesn't even mention you.'
    'Then what kind of bill is it?'
    'It makes it a capital offence to offer fire or water to anyone who has put Roman citizens to death without a trial.'
    His mouth dropped open. He was always much quicker on the uptake than I. He understood the implications at once. 'And that is
all
? One line?'
    'That is all.' I bowed my head. 'I am very sorry.'
    Cicero grabbed my arm. 'So the actual crime will be to help keep me alive? They won't even give me a
trial
?'
    Suddenly his gaze flickered past me, over my shoulder, to the disfigured temple. I turned and saw Clodius waving at him – a slow and mocking gesture, as if he were waving goodbye to someone on a ship, leaving for a long journey. At the same time some of the tribune's henchmen started to climb down the ladders. 'I think we should get out of here,' I said. Cicero did not react. His mouth was working, but only a faint croak was emerging. It was as if he was being strangled. I looked back at the temple again. The men were on the ground now and moving towards us. 'Senator,' I said firmly, 'we really must get you out of here.' I gestured to his bodyguard to take his other arm, and together we propelled him out of the forum and back up thesteps towards the Palatine. The gang of ruffians pursued us, and pieces of rubble from the temple started to fly past our ears. A sharp piece of brick caught Cicero on the back of his head, and he gave a cry. The cascade of missiles did not stop until we were halfway up the hill.
    When we reached the safety of the house, we found it full of his morning callers. Not knowing what had happened, they moved at once towards Cicero as they always did, with their wretched letters and their petitions and their humble beseeching faces. Cicero gazed at them, blank with shock, and bleakly told me to send them away – 'all away' – then stumbled upstairs to his bedroom.
    Once the clients had been thrown out, I gave orders for the front entrance to be locked and barred, and then I prowled around the empty public rooms, wondering what I should do. I kept waiting for Cicero to come down and give me orders, but the hours passed and there was no sign of him. Eventually Terentia sought me out. She was twisting a handkerchief between her hands, winding it tightly around her bony ringless fingers. She demanded to know what was going on. I replied that I was not entirely sure.
    'Don't lie to me, slave! Why is your master collapsed on his bed and refusing to move?'
    I quailed before her rage. 'He has – he has – made an error,' I stammered.
    'An error? What manner of error?'
    I hesitated. I did not know where to begin. There were so many errors: they stretched back like islands behind us, an archipelago of folly. Or perhaps 'errors' was the wrong word.Perhaps it was more accurate to call them consequences: the ineluctable consequences of a deed done by a great man for honourable motives – is that not, after all, how the Greeks define tragedy?
    I said, 'He has allowed his enemies to take control of the centre of Rome.'
    'And they are doing what, exactly?'
    'They are preparing legislation that will make him an outlaw.'
    'Well then, he must pull himself