Lustrum

make Rome seem as dark and fathomless as a lake. Only the Temple of Luna, lit up by torches on the slopes of the Palatine, was distinctly visible. It seemed to hover, suspended in the night, like some white-hulled vessel descended from the stars to inspect us. We leaned against the balustrade and vainly contemplated what we could not see.
    Cicero sighed and said, more to himself than to any of us, 'I wonder what men will make of us a thousand years from now. Perhaps Caesar is right – this whole republic needs to be pulled down and built again. I tell you, I have grown to dislike these patricians as much as I dislike the mob – and they haven't the excuse of poverty or ignorance.' And then again, a few moments later: 'We have so much – our arts and learning, laws, treasure, slaves, the beauty of Italy, dominion over the entire earth – and yet why is it that some ineradicable impulse of the human mind always impels us to foul our own nest?' I surreptitiously made a note of both remarks.
    That night I slept very badly, in a cubicle adjoining Cicero's room. The tramp of the sentries' boots as they patrolled the garden and their whispered voices intermingled with my dreams.Seeing Lucullus had stirred a remembrance of Agathe, and I had a nightmare in which I asked him about her and he told me he had no idea whom I meant but that all his slaves in Misenum were dead. When I woke exhausted to the grey dawn, I had a heavy feeling of dread, as if a rock had been laid on my chest. I looked into Cicero's room, but his bed was empty. I found him sitting motionless in the library, with the shutters closed and only a small lamp beside him. He asked if it was dawn yet. He wanted to go home to speak with Terentia.
    We left soon afterwards, escorted by a new detachment of bodyguards under the command of Clodius. Ever since the crisis began, this notorious reprobate had regularly volunteered to accompany the consul, and these demonstrations of his loyalty, matched by Cicero's stout defence of Murena, had strengthened the bond between them. I guess what drew Clodius to Cicero was the opportunity to learn the art of politics from a master – he intended to stand for the senate himself the following year – while Cicero was amused by Clodius's youthful indiscretions. At any rate, much as I distrusted him, I was glad to see him on duty that morning, for I knew he would lift the consul's mood with some distracting gossip. Sure enough, he started at once.
    'Have you heard that Murena's getting married again?'
    'Really?' said Cicero in surprise. 'To whom?'
    'Sempronia.'
    'Isn't Sempronia already married?'
    'She's getting divorced. Murena will be her third husband.'
    'Three husbands! What a hussy.'
    They walked on a little further. 'She has a fifteen-year-old daughter from her first marriage,' said Clodius thoughtfully. 'Did you know that?'
    'I did not.'
    'I'm considering marrying the girl. What do you think?'
    'So Murena would become your stepfather-in-law?'
    'That's it.'
    'Not a bad idea. He can help your career a lot.'
    'She's also immensely rich. She's the heiress of the Gracchi estate.'
    'Then what are you waiting for?' asked Cicero, and Clodius laughed.
    By the time we reached Cicero's house, the female worshippers were emerging blearily into the cold morning, led by the Vestal Virgins. A crowd of bystanders had gathered to watch them go. Some, like Caesar's wife, Pompeia, looked very unsteady, and had to be supported by their maids. Others, including Caesar's mother, Aurelia, seemed entirely unmoved by whatever it was they had experienced. She swept past Cicero, stone-faced, without a glance in his direction, which suggested to me that she knew what had happened in the senate the previous afternoon. In fact an amazing number of the women coming out of the house had some connection with Caesar. In all I counted at least three of his former mistresses – Mucia, the wife of Pompey the Great; Postumia, the wife of Servius; and Lollia, who was married to Aulus Gabinius. Clodius looked on agog at this perfumed parade. Finally, Caesar's current and greatest amour, Servilia, the wife of the consul-elect, Silanus, stepped over the doorstep and into the street. She was not especially beautiful: her face was handsome – mannish, I suppose one would call it – but full of intelligence and strength of character. And it was typical of her that she, alone of all the wives of the senior magistrates, actually stopped to ask Cicero what he