Imperium

Nobody had been expecting much, or indeed anything at all, for Hybrida was known to have drunk and gambled away all his money. So it was a vast surprise when he staged not only a series of wonderful theatrical productions but also lavish spectacles in the Circus Maximus, with a full program of twelve chariot races, athletic competitions, and a wild-beast hunt involving panthers and all ma

We went together into the study, where I opened the strongbox and pulled out all the papers relating to Cicero’s consular campaign. There were many secret lists in there-lists of backers, of donors, of supporters he had yet to win over, of towns and regions where he was strong and where he was weak. The key list, however, was of the men he had identified as possible rivals, together with a summary of all the information known about them, pro and anti. Galba was at the top of it, with Gallus next to him, and then Cornificius, and finally Palicanus. Now Cicero took my pen and carefully, in his neat and tiny writing, added a fifth, whose name he had never expected to see there: Antonius Hybrida.

AND THEN, a few days later, something happened which was to change Cicero’s fortunes and the future of the state entirely, although he did not realize it at the time. I am reminded of one of those harmless-looking specks which one occasionally hears about, that a man discovers on his skin one morning and thinks little of, only to see it gradually swell over the following months into an enormous tumor. The speck in this instance was a message, received out of the blue, summoning Cicero to see the pontifex maximus, Metellus Pius. Cicero was mightily intrigued by this, since Pius, who was very old (sixty-four, at least) and grand, had never previously deigned even to speak to him, let alone demand his company. Accordingly, we set off at once, with the lictors clearing our way.

In those days, the official residence of the head of the state religion was on the Via Sacra, next to the House of the Vestal Virgins, and I remember that Cicero was pleased to be seen entering the premises, for this really was the sacred heart of Rome, and not many men ever got the chance to cross the threshold. We were shown to a staircase and conducted along a gallery which looked down into the garden of the vestals’ residence. I secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of one of those six mysterious white-clad maidens, but the garden was deserted, and it was not possible to linger, as the bowlegged figure of Pius was already waiting for us impatiently at the end of the gallery, tapping his foot, with a couple of priests on either side of him. He had been a soldier all his life and had the cracked and roughened look of leather that has been left outside for years and only lately brought indoors. There was no handshake for Cicero, no invitation to be seated, no preliminaries of any sort. Without preamble he merely said, in his hoarse voice, “Praetor, I need to talk to you about Sergius Catilina.”

At the mere mention of the name, Cicero stiffened, for Catilina was the man who had tortured to death his distant cousin, the populist politician Gratidianus, by breaking his limbs and gouging out his eyes and tongue. A jagged streak of violent madness ran through Catilina like lightning across his brain. At one moment he could be charming, cultured, friendly; then a man would make some seemingly i

“My family,” continued Pius, “have been the chief patrons of Africa since my father governed the province half a century ago. The people there look to me for protection, and I have to tell you, praetor, I have never seen them more incensed by any man than they have been by Sergius Catilina. He has plundered that province from end to end-taxed them and murdered them, stolen their temple treasures and raped their wives and daughters. The Sergii!” he exclaimed in disgust, retching up a great gob of yellow phlegm into his mouth and spitting it onto the floor. “Descended from the Trojans, or so they boast, and not a decent one among them for two hundred years! And now they tell me you are the praetor responsible for bringing his type to book.” He looked Cicero up and down. “Amazing! I ca

Cicero was always cool when someone tried to insult him. He merely said, “Do the Africans have a case prepared?”

“They do. They already have a delegation in Rome seeking a suitable prosecutor. Who should they go to?”

“That is hardly a matter for me. I must remain the impartial president of the court.”

“Blah-blah. Spare me the lawyer’s talk. Privately. Man to man.” Pius beckoned Cicero to come closer. He had left most of his teeth behind on various battlefields and his breath whistled when he tried to whisper. “You know the courts these days better than I. Who could do it?”

“Frankly, it will not be easy,” said Cicero. “Catilina’s reputation for violence precedes him. It will take a brave man to lay a charge against such a brazen killer. And presumably he will be standing for the consulship next year. There is a powerful enemy in the making.”

“Consul?” Pius suddenly struck himself very hard on the chest. “Sergius Catilina will not be consul-not next year or any year-not as long as this old body has any life left in it! There must be someone in this city who is man enough to bring him to justice. And if not-well, I am not quite such a senile fool that I have forgotten how to fight in Rome. You just make sure, praetor,” he concluded, “that you leave enough time in your calendar to hear the case,” and he shuffled off down the corridor, grumbling to himself.