know which kind you are. Does it really matter whether you happen to like or dislike the citizen standing next to you in the bucket-passing line? The point is to put out the fire. Come, let Cicero talk to you."
I sat for a moment, watching the flames in the brazier. I waved to Belbo, who stood quietly in the corner of the room. "Bring Tiro his cloak," I said. The flames danced and wavered. "And bring a cloak for me, too. Tell Bethesda I'm going out for a while."
Tiro smiled.
The walk was brief. The air was bracing. The bodyguards were perhaps unnecessary; we didn't pass a single person in the street. All the houses along the way were shut up tight.
I had never been inside Cicero's newly rebuilt house. Some years before, when Clodius managed to get Cicero exiled from Rome, the Clodian mob had celebrated their triumph by burning down Cicero's house; I had watched the flames from my balcony. When the Senate recalled Cicero from exile sixteen months later, he set about rebuilding. Clodius dogged him at every step, blocking his progress with legal manoeuvres. The property had been confiscated by the state and consecrated for religious use, he claimed. Cicero countered that the confiscation was illegal and that his rights as a Roman citizen had been grossly violated. It had been one of their livelier, uglier exchanges.
Cicero had won the case. The house had been rebuilt. Well, I thought, as we stepped across the threshold, Clodius would never threaten this home again.
Tiro led me through the foyer to the atrium beyond. The room was chilly. High clouds had gathered, blocking the sun's warmth.
"Wait here a moment," Tiro said, and exited to my left. After only a brief pause, I heard voices from the hallway to my right
The first voice was muffled and indistinct, but I recognized the second voice at once. It was Cicero. "Well," he was saying, "what if we tell people that it was Clodius who staged the ambush, instead of the other way around?"
I also knew the third voice. It was Cicero's handsome, fiery protege, Marcus Caelius: "Jupiter's balls! Who'd believe that, given the circumstances? Better to say, perhaps, that —"
The three men stepped into the atrium. Caelius saw me and fell silent.
At the same moment, Tiro returned from the opposite direction. He saw the situation and looked chagrined. Cicero gave him a brief, sharp look, rebuking him for leaving a visitor unattended. Had I heard something I was not intended to hear?
"Gordianus agreed to pay you a visit," Tiro said quickly. "I went to the study to announce him, but —"
"But I wasn't there," said Cicero. His rich orator's tones filled the atrium. An unctuous smile lit up his fleshy face. "I tend to think better on my feet. The more expansive the thoughts, the bigger the circuit -the study couldn't contain me! We've walked a mile since you left, Tiro, round and round the house. Well, Gordianus..." He stepped forwards. "I'm honoured to welcome you to my home once again. You know Marcus Caelius, of course."
I did indeed. Caelius crossed his arms and gave me a sardonic look. He was a creature of quicksilver, and always had been. He had begun as Cicero's pupil. Then he allied himself or appeared to do so, with Cicero's arch-enemy Catilina; that was how I first met him. Eventually he drifted into the camp of Clodius and into the arms -some said the clutches - of Clodia. His felling out with those two had landed him in dire straits, a trial for murder for which I helped gather evidence for the prosecution. He had been rescued by Cicero, who came to the defence of his errant pupil with a stirring oration. Now, to all appearances, Caelius was once again the faithful protege. He seemed to bear me no ill will for having helped the opposing side at his trial; his ambition was of the freewheeling sort that has little use for grudges. He was famous for his sharp tongue, but equally famous for his charm and extraordinary handsomeness. He was now serving a term as a tribune, which
I sat for a moment, watching the flames in the brazier. I waved to Belbo, who stood quietly in the corner of the room. "Bring Tiro his cloak," I said. The flames danced and wavered. "And bring a cloak for me, too. Tell Bethesda I'm going out for a while."
Tiro smiled.
The walk was brief. The air was bracing. The bodyguards were perhaps unnecessary; we didn't pass a single person in the street. All the houses along the way were shut up tight.
I had never been inside Cicero's newly rebuilt house. Some years before, when Clodius managed to get Cicero exiled from Rome, the Clodian mob had celebrated their triumph by burning down Cicero's house; I had watched the flames from my balcony. When the Senate recalled Cicero from exile sixteen months later, he set about rebuilding. Clodius dogged him at every step, blocking his progress with legal manoeuvres. The property had been confiscated by the state and consecrated for religious use, he claimed. Cicero countered that the confiscation was illegal and that his rights as a Roman citizen had been grossly violated. It had been one of their livelier, uglier exchanges.
Cicero had won the case. The house had been rebuilt. Well, I thought, as we stepped across the threshold, Clodius would never threaten this home again.
Tiro led me through the foyer to the atrium beyond. The room was chilly. High clouds had gathered, blocking the sun's warmth.
"Wait here a moment," Tiro said, and exited to my left. After only a brief pause, I heard voices from the hallway to my right
The first voice was muffled and indistinct, but I recognized the second voice at once. It was Cicero. "Well," he was saying, "what if we tell people that it was Clodius who staged the ambush, instead of the other way around?"
I also knew the third voice. It was Cicero's handsome, fiery protege, Marcus Caelius: "Jupiter's balls! Who'd believe that, given the circumstances? Better to say, perhaps, that —"
The three men stepped into the atrium. Caelius saw me and fell silent.
At the same moment, Tiro returned from the opposite direction. He saw the situation and looked chagrined. Cicero gave him a brief, sharp look, rebuking him for leaving a visitor unattended. Had I heard something I was not intended to hear?
"Gordianus agreed to pay you a visit," Tiro said quickly. "I went to the study to announce him, but —"
"But I wasn't there," said Cicero. His rich orator's tones filled the atrium. An unctuous smile lit up his fleshy face. "I tend to think better on my feet. The more expansive the thoughts, the bigger the circuit -the study couldn't contain me! We've walked a mile since you left, Tiro, round and round the house. Well, Gordianus..." He stepped forwards. "I'm honoured to welcome you to my home once again. You know Marcus Caelius, of course."
I did indeed. Caelius crossed his arms and gave me a sardonic look. He was a creature of quicksilver, and always had been. He had begun as Cicero's pupil. Then he allied himself or appeared to do so, with Cicero's arch-enemy Catilina; that was how I first met him. Eventually he drifted into the camp of Clodius and into the arms -some said the clutches - of Clodia. His felling out with those two had landed him in dire straits, a trial for murder for which I helped gather evidence for the prosecution. He had been rescued by Cicero, who came to the defence of his errant pupil with a stirring oration. Now, to all appearances, Caelius was once again the faithful protege. He seemed to bear me no ill will for having helped the opposing side at his trial; his ambition was of the freewheeling sort that has little use for grudges. He was famous for his sharp tongue, but equally famous for his charm and extraordinary handsomeness. He was now serving a term as a tribune, which
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