Lustrum

tribune Bestia would call a public assembly and demand that Cicero be arrested. This would be the signal for a general uprising. Capito and a fellow knight, Statilius, at the head of a large body of arsonists, would start fires in twelve locations. In the ensuing panic the young senator Cethegus would lead the death squad that had volunteered to murder Cicero; others would assassinate the various victims allotted to them; many young men would kill their fathers; the senate house would be stormed.
    'And how did the Gauls respond?' asked Cicero.
    'As instructed, they asked for a list of men who supported the conspiracy,' replied Sanga, 'so they could gauge its chances of success.' He produced a wax tablet, crammed with names written in tiny letters. 'Sura,' he read, 'Longinus, Bestia, Sulla—'
    'We know all this,' interrupted Cicero, but Sanga held up his finger.
    '—Caesar, Hybrida, Crassus, Nepos—'
    'But this is a fantasy, surely?' Cicero took the tablet from Sanga's hand and scanned the list. 'They want to make themselves sound stronger than they are.'
    'That I can't judge. I can only tell you that those were the names Capito provided.'
    'A consul, the chief priest, a tribune and the richest man in Rome, who has already denounced the conspiracy? I don't believe it.' Nevertheless, Cicero threw the tablet to me. 'Copy them out,' he ordered, and then he shook his head. 'Well, well – be careful of what questions you ask, for fear of what answers you may receive.' It was one of his favourite maxims from the law courts.
    'What should I tell the Gauls to do next?' asked Sanga.
    'If that list is correct, I should advise them to join the conspiracy! When exactly did this meeting take place?'
    'Yesterday.'
    'And when are they due to meet again?'
    'Today.'
    'So obviously they are in a hurry.'
    'The Gauls got the impression that matters would come to a head in the next few days.'
    Cicero fell silent, thinking. 'Tell them they should demand written proof of the involvement of as many of these men as possible: letters, fixed with personal seals, that they can take back and show to their fellow countrymen.'
    'And if the conspirators refuse?'
    'The Gauls should say it will be impossible for their tribe to take such a hazardous step as going to war with Rome without hard evidence.'
    Sanga nodded, and then he said: 'I'm afraid that after this my involvement in this affair will have to end.'
    'Why?'
    'Because it's becoming far too dangerous to remain in Rome.' As a final favour he agreed to return with the conspirators' answer as soon as the Gauls had received it; then he would leave. In the meantime, Cicero had no alternative but to go down to Murena's trial. Sitting on the bench next to Hortensius, he put on an outward show of calm, but from time to time I would catch his gaze drifting around the court, resting occasionally on Caesar – who was one of the jurors – on Sura, who was sitting with the praetors, and finally and most often on Crassus, who was only two places further along the bench. He must have felt extremely lonely, and I noticed for the first time that his hair was flecked with grey, and that there were ridges of dark skin underhis eyes. The crisis was ageing him. At the seventh hour, Cato finished his summing-up of the prosecution case, and the judge, whose name was Cosconius, asked Cicero if he would like to conclude for the defence. The question seemed to catch him by surprise, and after a moment or two of shifting through his documents he rose and requested an adjournment until the next day, so that he could gather his thoughts. Cosconius looked irritable, but conceded that the hour was getting late. He grudgingly agreed to Cicero's request, and the conclusion of Murena's trial was postponed.
    We hurried home in the now-familiar cocoon of guards and lictors, but there was no sign of Sanga, nor any message from him. Cicero went silently into his study and sat with his elbows on his desk, his thumbs pressed hard to his temples, surveying the piles of evidence laid across it, rubbing at his flesh, as if he might somehow drive into his skull the speech he needed to deliver. I had never felt sorrier for him. But when I took a step towards him to offer my help, he flicked his hand at me without looking up, wordlessly dismissing me from his presence. I did not see him again that evening. Instead Terentia drew me to one side to express her worries about the consul's health. He was not eating properly, she said, or