We rowed on throughout the night. The smooth sea and the rocky coastline were silvered in the moonlight. The only sounds were the splash of the oars and the murmur of men’s voices in the darkness. Cicero spent a long time talking alone with Cato. Later he told me that Cato was not merely calm, he was serene. ‘This is what a lifetime’s devotion to stoicism can do for you. As far as he’s concerned, he has followed his conscience and is at peace; he is fully resigned to death. He is as dangerous in his way as Caesar and Pompey.’
I asked him what he meant. He took his time replying.
‘Do you remember what I wrote in my little work on politics? How long ago that seems! “Just as the purpose of a pilot is to ensure a smooth passage for his ship, and of a doctor to make his patient healthy, so the statesman’s objective must be the happiness of his country.” Not once has either Caesar or Pompey conceived of their role in that way. For them, it is all a matter of their personal glory. And so it is with Cato. I tell you, the man is actually quite content simply to have been right, even though this is where his principles have led us – to this fragile vessel drifting alone in the moonlight along a foreign shore.’
He was utterly disillusioned with it all – recklessly so, in truth. When we reached Corcyra, we found that beautiful island crowded with refugees from the carnage of Pharsalus. The tales of chaos and incompetence were appalling. Of Pompey, there was no word. If he was alive, he sent no message; if he was dead, no one had seen his body: he had vanished from the earth. In the absence of the commander-in-chief, Cato called a meeting of the Senate in the Temple of Zeus, on its promontory overlooking the sea, to decide the future conduct of the war. That once-numerous assembly was now reduced to about fifty men. Cicero had hoped to be reunited with his son and brother, but they were nowhere to be found. Instead he saw other survivors – Metellus Scipio, Afranius and young Gnaeus, the son of Pompey, who had convinced himself that his father’s ruin was entirely the result of treachery. I noticed how he kept glaring at Cicero; I feared he could be dangerous. Cassius was also present. But Ahenobarbus was not – it turned out that he was one of the many senators who had been killed in the battle. Outside, it was hot and dazzling; inside, cool and shadowy. A statue of Zeus, twice the size of a man, looked down with indifference upon the deliberations of these beaten mortals.
Cato began by stating that in Pompey’s absence the Senate needed to appoint a new commander-in-chief. ‘It should go, according to our ancient custom, to the most senior ex-consul among us, and therefore I propose it should be Cicero.’
Cicero burst out laughing. All heads turned to look at him.
‘Seriously, gentlemen?’ responded Cicero with incredulity. ‘Seriously – after all that has occurred, you think that I should assume direction of this catastrophe? If it was my leadership you wanted, you should have listened to my counsel earlier, and then we would not be in our present desperate straits. I refuse this honour absolutely.’
It was unwise for him to have spoken so harshly. He was exhausted and overwrought, but then so were they all, and some were also wounded. The cries of protest and disgust were eventually stilled by Cato, who said, ‘I take it from what Cicero says that he regards our position as hopeless, and that he would sue for peace.’
Cicero said, ‘I would, most certainly. Haven’t enough good men died to satisfy your philosophy?’
Scipio said, ‘We have suffered a reverse but we are not defeated. There are still allies loyal to us all over the world, especially King Juba in Africa.’
‘So that is what we have sunk to, is it? Fighting alongside Numidian barbarians against our fellow Romans?’
‘Nevertheless, we still have seven eagles.’
‘Seven eagles would be fine if we were fighting jackdaws.’
‘What do you know of fighting,’ demanded Gnaeus Pompey, ‘you contemptible old coward?’ And with that he drew his sword and lunged at Cicero. I was sure that Cicero was about to die, but with the skill of an expert swordsman Gnaeus checked his thrust at the last moment and left the tip of his blade touching Cicero’s throat. ‘I propose we kill this traitor, and I ask the Senate’s permission to do the deed this instant.’ And he pressed just a fraction harder so that Cicero had to tilt his head right back to avoid having his windpipe pierced.
‘Stop, Gnaeus!’ cried Cato. ‘You will bring shame on your father! Cicero is a friend of his – he wouldn’t want to see him insulted in this way. Remember where you are and put your sword down.’
I doubt whether anyone else could have stopped Gnaeus when his blood was up. For a moment or two the young brute hesitated, but then he withdrew his sword, and swore and stamped back to his place. Cicero straightened and stared directly ahead. A trickle of blood ran down his neck and stained the front of his toga.
Cato said, ‘Listen to me, gentlemen. You know my views. When our republic was under threat, I believed it was our right and duty to compel every citizen, the lukewarm and the bad included, to support our cause and protect the state. But now the republic is lost …’ He paused and looked around; no one challenged his assertion. ‘Now that our republic is lost,’ he repeated quietly, ‘even I believe it would be senseless and cruel to compel any individual to share in its ruin. Let those who wish to continue the fight remain here, and we shall discuss our future strategy. Let those who wish to retire from the struggle depart from this assembly now – and let no man do them harm.’
At first no one moved. And then very slowly Cicero rose to his feet. He nodded to Cato, whom he knew had saved his life, and then turned and walked out – out of the temple, out of the senatorial cause, out of the war and out of public life.
Cicero feared that if he stayed on the island he would be murdered – if not by Gnaeus then by one of his associates. Accordingly we left that same day. We could not sail back north again in case the coast had fallen into enemy hands. Instead we found ourselves drifting further south, until after several days we arrived in Patrae, the port where I had spent my illness. As soon as the ship docked, Cicero sent word by one of his lictors to his friend Curius to say that we were in the city, and without waiting for a reply, we hired litters and porters to transport us and our baggage to his house.
I believe the lictor must have lost his way, or perhaps he was tempted by the bars of Patrae, for all six lictors in their boredom since our departure from Cilicia had fallen into the habit of drinking heavily. At any rate, we arrived at the villa before our messenger did, only to be told that Curius was away for two days on business, at which point we heard male conversation emanating from the interior. The voices sounded familiar. We glanced at one another, neither of us quite believing what we were hearing, then hurried past the steward and into the tablinum to discover Quintus, Marcus and Quintus Junior seated in a huddle. They turned to stare at us in amazement, and I sensed at once a certain embarrassment. I am fairly certain they must have been speaking ill of us – or rather of Cicero. This awkwardness, I should add, was over in an instant – Cicero never even noticed it – and we fell upon one another and kissed and embraced with the sincerest affection. I was shocked by how haggard they looked. There was something haunted about them, as there had been with the other survivors of Pharsalus, although they tried not to show it.