Lustrum

above his backside, do you see? Those who dumped the body may have missed it. “C.Ant.M.f.C.n.” Caius Antonius, son of Marcus, grandson of Caius. There's a famous family for you! He was a slave of your consular colleague, Antonius Hybrida.' He stood and wiped his hands on the sailcloth, then casually threw the cover back over the body. 'What do you want to do?'
    Cicero was staring at the pathetic bundle on the floor as if mesmerised. 'Who knows about this?'
    'Nobody.'
    'Hybrida?'
    'No.'
    'What about the crowd outside?'
    'There's a rumour going round that there's been some kind of ritual killing. You above all know what crowds are like. They're saying it's a bad omen on the eve of your consulship.'
    'They may be right.'
    'It's been a hard winter. They could do with calming down. I thought we might send word to the College of Priests and ask them to perform some kind of ceremony of purification—'
    'No, no,' said Cicero quickly, pulling his gaze away from the body. 'No priests. Priests will only make it worse.'
    'So what shall we do?'
    'Tell no one else. Burn the remains as quickly as possible. Don't let anyone see them. Forbid anyone who has seen them from disclosing the details, on pain of imprisonment.'
    'And the crowd?'
    'You deal with the body. I'll deal with the crowd.'
    Octavius shrugged. 'As you wish.' He sounded unconcerned. He had only one day left in office – I should imagine he was glad to be rid of the problem.
    Cicero went over to the door and inhaled a few deep breaths, bringing some colour back to his cheeks. Then I saw him, as I had so often, square his shoulders and clamp a confident expression on his face. He stepped outside and clambered up on to a stack of timber to address the crowd.
    'People of Rome, I have satisfied myself that the dark rumours running through the city are false!' He had to bellow into that biting wind to make himself heard. 'Go home to your families and enjoy the rest of the festival.'
    'But I saw the body!' shouted a man. 'It was a human sacrifice, to call down a curse on the republic.'
    The cry was taken up by others: 'The city is cursed!' 'Your consulship is cursed!' 'Fetch the priests!'
    Cicero raised his hands. 'Yes, the corpse was in a dreadful state. But what do you expect? The poor lad had been in the water a long time. The fish are hungry. They take their food where they can. You really want me to bring a priest? To do what? To curse the fish? To
bless
the fish?' A few people began to laugh. 'Since when did Romans become frightened of
fish
? Go home. Enjoy yourselves. The day after tomorrow there will be a new year, with a new consul – one who you can be sure will always guard your welfare!'
    It was no great oration by his standards but it did what was required. There were even a few cheers. He jumped down. The legionaries cleared a path for us through the mob and we retreated quickly towards the city. As we neared the gate, I glanced back. At the fringes of the crowd people were already beginning to wander away in search of fresh diversions. I turned to Cicero to congratulate him on the effectiveness of his remarks, but he was leaning over the roadside ditch, vomiting.
    Such was the state of the city on the eve of Cicero's consulship – a vortex of hunger, rumour and anxiety; of crippled veterans and bankrupt farmers begging at every corner; of roistering bands of drunken young men terrorising shopkeepers; of women from good families openly prostituting themselves outside the taverns; of sudden conflagrations, violent tempests, moonless nights and scavenging dogs; of fanatics, soothsayers, beggars, fights. Pompey was still away commanding the legions in the East, and in his absence an uneasy, shifting mood swirled around the streets like river fog, giving everyone the jitters. There was a sense that some huge event was impending, but no clear idea what it might be. The new tribunes were said to be working with Caesar andCrassus on a vast and secret scheme for giving away public land to the urban poor. Cicero had tried to find out more about it but had been rebuffed. The patricians were certain to resist it, whatever it was. Goods were scarce, food hoarded, shops empty. Even the moneylenders had stopped making loans.
    As for Cicero's colleague as consul, Antonius Hybrida – Antonius the Half-Breed: Half-Man, Half-Beast – he was both wild and stupid, as befitted a candidate who had run for office on a joint ticket with Cicero's sworn enemy, Catilina.