Lustrum

us to a tent much larger than the others and set apart on slightly higher ground, with a legionary eagle planted beside it. He asked us to wait, and then lifted the flap and went inside, leaving Cicero, bearded, and in his old tunic with his blanket draped around his shoulders, to gaze around the camp.
    'This is how it always seems to be with Caesar,' I remarked, trying to lighten the silence. 'He likes to keep his visitors waiting.'
    'We had better get used to it,' replied Cicero in a grim voice. 'Look at that,' he said, nodding beyond the camp towards the river. Rising from the plain in the dusty light was a great rickety edifice of scaffolding. 'That must be the Pharaoh's theatre.' He contemplated it for a long time, chewing the inside of his lip.
    Eventually the flap parted again and we were shown into the tent. The interior was Spartan. A thin straw mattress lay on the ground, with a blanket thrown across it; near to it was a wooden chest on which stood a mirror, a set of hairbrushes, a jug of water and a basin, together with a miniature portrait of a woman in a gold frame (I am almost certain it was Servilia, but I was not close enough to be sure). At a folding table piled with documents sat Caesar. He was signing something. Two secretaries stood motionless behind him. He finished what he was doing, looked up, rose, and advanced towards Cicero with his hand outstretched. It was the first time I had seen him in military uniform. It fitted him as naturally as his skin, and I realised that in all the years I had observed him I had never actually seen him in the arena for which he was best suited. That was a sobering thought.
    'My dear Cicero,' he said, examining his visitor's appearance, 'it truly grieves me to see you reduced to this condition.' With Pompey there was always hugging and back-slapping, but Caesar did not go in for that kind of thing. After the briefest of handshakes he gestured to Cicero to sit. 'How can I help?'
    'I have come to accept the position of your legate,' replied Cicero, perching himself on the edge of the chair, 'if the offer still stands.'
    'Have you indeed!' Caesar's mouth turned down. 'I must say you have left it very late.'
    'I admit I would have preferred not to have come to you in these circumstances.'
    'Clodius's law takes effect at midnight?'
    'It does.'
    'So in the end the choice has come down to me, or death, or exile?'
    Cicero looked uncomfortable. 'You could put it like that.'
    'Well, that's hardly very flattering!' Caesar gave one of his sharp laughs and lolled back in his chair. He studied Cicero. 'When I made the offer to you in the summer, your position was infinitely stronger than it is now.'
    'You said that if Clodius ever became a threat to my safety, I could come to you. He is a threat. Here I am.'
    'Six months ago he was a threat. Now he is your master.'
    'Caesar, if you are asking me to beg …'
    'I am not asking you to beg. Of course I am not asking you to beg. I would merely like to hear from your own lips what benefit you think you can bring to me by serving as my legate.'
    Cicero swallowed hard. I could barely imagine how painful this was for him. 'Well, if you ask me to spell it out, I would say that while you obviously enjoy huge support among the people, you have far less in the senate, whereas my position is the opposite: weak at present with the people but still strong among our colleagues.'
    'So you would guard my interests in the senate?'
    'I would represent your views to them, yes, and perhaps occasionally I could relay their views back to you.'
    'But your loyalty would be exclusively to me?'
    I could almost hear Cicero grinding his teeth. 'I hope that my loyalty, as it has always been, would be to my country, which I would serve by reconciling your interests with those of the senate.'
    'But I don't care about the interests of the senate!' exclaimed Caesar. He suddenly pitched forward on his chair and in one fluid motion sprang to his feet. 'I'll tell you something, Cicero. Let me explain myself to you. The other year, when I was on my way to Spain, I had to cross the mountains, and I went on ahead with a group of my staff to scout the way, and we came to this very small village. It was raining, and it was the most miserable-looking place you can possibly imagine. Hardly anyone lived there. Really, you had to laugh at such a dump. And one of my officers said to me, as a joke, “Yet, you know, even here there are probably men pushing themselves forward