Lustrum

were on display in cabinets – red-glazed pottery from Spain, ebony carvings from Africa, chased silverware fromthe East. Cicero sat on a high-backed couch covered in ivory silk while I stood apart, near to one of the doors, which opened on to a terrace lined with busts of great men from antiquity. Beyond the terrace a gardener pushed a wheelbarrow piled with dead leaves. I could smell the fragrance of a bonfire somewhere, out of sight. It was a scene of such settled order and civilisation – such an oasis in the wilderness of all our terrors – that I have never forgotten it. Presently there was a little patter of footsteps and Pompey's wife appeared, accompanied by her maids, all of whom were older than her. She looked like a doll in her dark ringlets and simple green dress. She had a scarf round her neck. Cicero stood and kissed her hand.
    'I am very sorry,' said Julia, 'but my husband has been called away.' She blushed and glanced at the door. She was obviously not accustomed to lying.
    Cicero's face sagged slightly, but then he rallied. 'That does not matter,' he said. 'I shall wait.'
    Julia looked anxiously at the door again, and I had a sudden instinct that Pompey was just beyond it, signalling to her what she should do. She said, 'I am not sure how long he is going to be.'
    'I am confident he will come,' said Cicero loudly, for the benefit of any eavesdroppers. 'Pompey the Great cannot be seen to go back on his word.' He sat, and after some hesitation she did the same, folding her small white hands neatly in her lap.
    Eventually she said, 'Was your journey comfortable?'
    'Very pleasant, thank you.'
    There was another long silence. Cicero put his hand in the pocket of his tunic, where his little knife was. I could see that he was turning it round in his fingers.
    Julia said, 'Have you seen my father recently?'
    'No. I have not been well.'
    'Oh? I am sorry to hear that. I have not seen him for a while either. He will be leaving for Gaul any day. Then I really don't know when I shall see him again. I am lucky I won't be left on my own. It was horrid when he was in Spain.'
    'And is married life suiting you?'
    'Oh, it is wonderful!' she exclaimed, with genuine delight. 'We stay here all the time. We never go anywhere. It is a world of our own.'
    'That must be pleasant. How charming that is. A carefree existence. I envy you.' There was a slight crack in Cicero's voice. He withdrew his hand from his pocket and raised it to his forehead. He looked down at the carpet. His body began to shake slightly, and I realised to my horror that he was weeping. Julia stood up quickly. 'It's nothing,' he said. 'Really. This damned illness …'
    Julia hesitated, then reached over and touched his shoulder. She said softly, 'I shall tell him again that you are here.'
    She left the room with her maids. After she had gone, Cicero sighed, wiped his nose on his sleeve and stared ahead. The aromatic smoke of the bonfire drifted over the terrace. Time passed. The light began to fade, and Cicero's face, emaciated by his long period of fasting, filled with shadows. Eventually I whispered in his ear that if we did not leave soon, we would never reach Rome by nightfall. He nodded, and I helped him to his feet.
    As we drove away from the villa I glanced back, and to this day I am sure I saw the pale full moon of Pompey's face staring down at us from an upper window.
    Once news of Pompey's betrayal became known, Cicero was seen to be finished, and I discreetly started packing in anticipation ofa rapid exit from Rome. That is not to say that everyone shunned him. Hundreds donned mourning to show their solidarity, and the senate voted narrowly to dress in black to show their sympathy. A great demonstration of knights from all over Italy was organised on the Capitol by Aelius Lamia, and a delegation led by Hortensius went to call on the consuls to urge them to defend Cicero. But Piso and Gabinius both refused. They knew that Clodius had it in his power to determine which, if any, province they would receive, and they were anxious to show him their support. They actually forbade the senate to put on mourning and expelled the gallant Lamia from the city on the grounds that he threatened civic peace.
    Whenever Cicero tried to venture out, he swiftly found himself surrounded by a jeering mob, and despite the protection organised by Atticus and the Sextus brothers, the experience was unpleasant and dangerous. Clodius's followers threw stones and