Lustrum

thought would happen that day.
    'It will be for the senate to decide,' he replied guardedly.
    'And what do you think their decision will be?'
    'That is up to them.'
    'But you will give them a lead?'
    'If I do – forgive me – I shall announce it in the senate later rather than now on the street.'
    'You don't trust me?'
    'I do indeed, madam. But others may somehow get to hear of our conversation.'
    'I don't know what you mean by that!' Her voice sounded offended but her piercing blue eyes shone with malicious humour.
    'She is by far the cleverest of his women,' observed Cicero once she had moved on, 'even shrewder than his mother, and that's saying something. He'd do well to stick with her.'
    The rooms of Cicero's house were still warm from the women's presence, the air moist with the scent of perfume and incense, of sandalwood and juniper. Female slaves were sweeping the floors and clearing away leftovers; on the altar in the atrium was a pile of white ash. Clodius made no attempt to hide his curiosity. He went round picking up objects and examining them and was obviously bursting to ask all manner of questions, especially when Terentia appeared. She was still wearing the robes of the high priestess, but even these were forbidden to the eyes of men, so she concealed them beneath a cloak that she kept tightly clasped at her throat. Her face was flushed; her voice was high and strange.
    'There was a sign,' she announced, 'not an hour ago, from the Good Goddess herself!' Cicero looked dubious, but she was too enraptured to notice. 'I have received a special dispensation from the Vestal Virgins to inform you of what we saw. There,' she gestured dramatically, 'on the altar, the fire had entirely burned out. The ash was quite cold. But then a great bright flame shot up. It was the most extraordinary portent anyone could ever remember.'
    'And what do they think it means, this portent?' enquired Cicero, clearly interested despite himself.
    'It is a sign of favour, sent directly to your home on a day of great importance, to promise you safety and glory.'
    'Is it indeed?'
    'Be bold,' she said, taking his hand. 'Do the brave thing. You will be honoured for ever. And no harm will come to you. That is the message from the Good Goddess.'
    I have often wondered in the years since whether this affected Cicero's judgement at all. True, he had repeatedly derided auguries and omens to me as childish nonsense. But then I have found that even the greatest sceptics,
in extremis
, will pray to every god in the firmament if they think it might help them. Certainly I could tell that Cicero was pleased. He kissed Terentia's hand and thanked her for her piety and concern for his interests. Then he went upstairs to prepare for the senate as news of the portent was spread, on his instructions, to the crowd in the street. Clodius, meanwhile, had found a woman's shift lying beneath one of the couches, and I watched him put it to his nose and inhale deeply.
    On the orders of the consul, the prisoners were not brought to the senate but were left where they had been confined overnight. Cicero said this was for reasons of security, but in my opinion it was because he could not bear to look at their faces. Once again the session was held in the Temple of Concordia, and all the leading men of the republic attended except for Crassus, who sent word that he was ill. In reality he wished to avoid casting a vote either for or against the death penalty. He may also have been fearful of assault: there were plenty among the patriciansand the Order of Knights who thought he too should have been arrested. Caesar, however, turned up as cool as you please, his sharp wide shoulders pushing past the guards, ignoring their oaths and insults. He squeezed into his seat on the front bench, settled back and thrust out his legs far into the gangway. Cato's narrow skull was directly opposite him: his head was bent reading the treasury accounts as usual. It was very cold. The doors at the far end of the temple had been left wide open for the crowd of spectators, and a veritable gale was blowing down the aisle. Isauricus wore a pair of old grey mittens, there was much coughing and sneezing, and when Cicero stood to call the house to order, his breath billowed out like steam from a cooking pot.
    'Gentlemen,' he declared, 'this is the most solemn assembly of our order that I can ever remember. We meet to determine what should be done with the criminals who have threatened