Lustrum

first I could make out nothing. But gradually I realised that the shadows on the far side of the street were moving. A line of men was approaching, keeping close to the wall. My first thought was that our reinforcements had arrived. But then Sargon set up his infernal barking again. The shadows halted and a man's voice whispered. I hurried back down to Cicero. Quintus was standing next to him with his sword unsheathed. Terentia clutched her candlestick.
    'The attackers are here,' I said.
    'How many?' asked Quintus.
    'Ten. Perhaps twelve.'
    There was a loud knock on the front door. Cicero swore. 'If a dozen men are determined to get into this house, they'll do it.'
    'The door will hold them for a while,' said Quintus. 'It's fire that worries me.'
    'I'll go back to the roof,' I said.
    There was a very faint grey tinge to the sky by this time, and when I looked down into the street I could see the dark shapes of heads huddled around the front of the house. They seemedintent on something. There was a flash, and abruptly they all drew back as a torch flared. Someone must have seen my face looking down, because a man shouted, 'Hey, you up there! Is the consul in?' I pulled back out of sight.
    Another man called up, 'This is Senator Lucius Vargunteius, to see the consul! I have urgent information for him!'
    Just then I heard a crash and voices from the back of the house. A second group was trying to break in at the rear. I was halfway across the roof when suddenly a torch sailed over the edge of the parapet, twisting and roaring in flight. It buzzed close to my ear and clattered on to the tiles next to me, the burning pitch breaking and scattering into a dozen flaming pieces. I shouted down the stairwell for help, grabbed a heavy carpet and just about managed to throw it over the little fires, stamping out the ones I missed as best I could. Another torch roared through the air, landed with a crash and disintegrated; then another; and another. The roof, which was made of old timber as well as terracotta, glimmered in the darkness like a field of stars, and I saw that Quintus was right: if this went on much longer, they would burn us out and slaughter Cicero in the street.
    Filled with a fury born of fear, I seized the handle of the nearest torch, which still had a sizeable piece of burning pitch attached to it, darted to the edge of the roof, took careful aim and hurled it at the men below. It hit one fellow square on the head, setting his hair on fire. While he was screaming, I ran back for another. By now Sositheus and Laurea had come up on to the roof to help stamp out the fires, and they must have thought I was demented as I jumped up on to the parapet, screaming with rage, and threw another burning missile at our attackers. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that more shadowy figures with torches were pouring into the street. I thought we werecertain to be overwhelmed. But suddenly from beneath me came the sound of angry cries, the ring of steel on steel, and the echo of running feet. 'Tiro!' shouted a voice, and by the flaring yellow light I recognised the upturned face of Atticus. The street was jammed with his men. 'Tiro! Is your master safe? Let us in!'
    I ran downstairs and along the passageway, with the consul and Terentia at my heels, and together with Quintus and the Sextus brothers we dragged away the chest and the couch and unbarred the door. The moment it was open, Cicero and Atticus fell into one another's arms, to the cheers and applause from the street of some thirty members of the Order of Knights.
    By the time it was fully light, the approaches to Cicero's house were blocked and guarded. Any visitor wishing to see him, even senior members of the senate, had to wait at one of the armed checkpoints until word had been sent to the consul. Then, if Cicero wanted to meet them, I would go out to confirm their identity and escort them into his presence. Catulus, Isauricus, Hortensius and both of the Lucullus brothers were all admitted in this way, along with the consuls-elect Silanus and Murena. They brought with them the news that throughout Rome Cicero was now regarded as a hero. Sacrifices had been made in his honour and prayers of thanks offered up for his safety, while rocks had been hurled at Catilina's empty house. All morning a steady procession of gifts and goodwill messages was carried up the Esquiline Hill – flowers, wine, cakes, olive oil – until the atrium looked like a market stall. Clodia sent