This, then, was how matters stood on the morning of the trial. Even as Cicero was checking his speech and dressing to go down to the Field of Mars, Quintus turned up in his chamber and urged his brother to withdraw as defence counsel. He had done all he could, argued Quintus, and would only suffer an unnecessary loss of prestige when Rabirius was found guilty. It might also be physically dangerous for him to confront the populists outside the city walls. I could see that Cicero was tempted by these arguments. But not the least of the reasons why I loved him, despite his faults, was that he possessed that most attractive form of courage: the bravery of a nervous man. After all, any rash fool can be a hero if he sets no value on his life, or hasn't the wit to appreciate danger. But to understand the risks, perhaps even to flinch at first, but then to summon the strength to face them down – that in my opinion is the most commendable form of valour, and that was what Cicero displayed that day.
Labienus was already in place on the platform when we reached the Field of Mars, alongside his precious stage prop, the bust of Saturninus. He was an ambitious soldier, one of Pompey's fellow countrymen from Picenum, and he affected to copy the great general in all things – his girth, his swaggering gait, even his hair, which he wore swept back in a Pompeian wave. When he saw Cicero and his lictors approaching, he put his fingers in his mouth and let out a derisive whistle, and this was taken up by the crowd, which must have numbered about ten thousand. It was an intimidating noise, and it intensified as Hortensius appeared leading Rabirius by the hand. The old fellow did not look frightened so much as bewildered by the racket and the numbers pressing forward to get a glimpse of him. I was pushed and shoved as I struggled to stay close to Cicero. I noticed a line of legionaries, their helmets and breastplates glinting in the bright January light, and behind them, sitting in a stand on a row of seats reserved for distinguished spectators, the military commanders Quintus Metellus, conqueror of Crete, and Licinius Lucullus, Pompey's predecessor in the East. Cicero made a face at me when he saw them, for he had promised both aristocratic generals triumphs in return for their support at election time, and had so far done nothing about it.
'It must be a crisis,' Cicero whispered to me, 'if Lucullus has left his palace on the Bay of Naples to mingle with the common herd!'
He clambered up the ladder on to the platform, along with Hortensius, and finally Rabirius, who had such difficulty mounting the rungs his advocates finally had to reach down and haul him up. All three glistened with the spittle that had been showered on them. Hortensius looked especially appalled, for obviously he had not realised how unpopular the senate had become during that hard winter. The orators sat down on their bench, with Rabirius between them. A trumpet sounded, and across the river the red flag was hoisted over the hill of Janiculum to signal that the city was in no peril of assault and the assembly could begin.
As the presiding magistrate, Labienus both controlled proceedings and acted as prosecutor, and this gave him a tremendous advantage. A bully by nature, he elected to speak first, and was soon shouting abuse at Rabirius, who sank lower and lower in his seat. Labienus did not bother to summon witnesses. He did not need to: he had the votes already. He finished with a stern peroration about the arrogance of the senate and the greed of the small clique that controlled it, and the necessity to make a harsh example of Rabirius, so that never in the future would any consul dare to imagine he could sanction the murder of a fellow citizen and hope to escape unpunished. The crowd roared in agreement. 'I realised then,' Cicero confided in me afterwards, 'with the force of a revelation, that the true target of this lynch mob of Caesar's was not Rabirius at all, but me, as consul, and that somehow I had to regain control of the situation before my authority to deal with the likes of Catilina was destroyed entirely.'
Hortensius went next, and did his best, but those great orotund purple passages for which he was so famous belonged to another setting – and, in truth, another era. He was past fifty, had more or less retired, was out of practice – and it showed. Some in the audience near the platform actually began to talk over him, and I was close enough to see the panic in his face as Hortensius gradually realised that he – the great Hortensius, the Dancing Master, the King of the Law Courts – was actually losing his audience! The more frantically he flung out his arms and patrolled the platform and swivelled his noble head, the more risible he seemed. Nobody was interested in his arguments. I could not hear all of what he said, as the din was tremendous, with thousands of citizens milling around and chatting to one another while they waited to vote. He broke off, sweating despite the cold, and wiped his face with his handkerchief, then called his witnesses, first Catulus and next Isauricus. Each came up to the platform and was heard respectfully. But the moment Hortensius resumed his speech, the racket of conversation started up again. By then he could have combined the tongue of Demosthenes with the wit of Plautus – it would not have made a difference. Cicero stared straight ahead into the din, white-faced, immobile, as if chiselled out of marble.
At length Hortensius sat down and it was Cicero's turn to speak. Labienus called on him to address the assembly, but such was the volume of noise he did not rise at first. Instead he examined his toga carefully, and brushed away a few invisible specks. The hubbub continued. He checked his fingernails. He folded his arms. He looked around him. He waited. It went on a long time. And amazingly a kind of sullen, respectful silence did eventually fall over the Field of Mars. Only then did Cicero nod, as if in approval, and slowly get to his feet.
'Although it is not my habit, fellow citizens,' he said, 'to begin a speech by explaining why I am appearing on behalf of a particular individual, nonetheless in defending the life, the honour and the fortunes of Gaius Rabirius, I consider it my duty to lay before you an explanation. For this trial is not really about Rabirius – old, infirm and friendless as he is. This trial, gentlemen, is nothing less than an attempt to ensure that from now on there should be no central authority in the state, no concerted action of good citizens against the frenzy and audacity of wicked men, no refuge for the republic in emergencies, and no security for its welfare. Since this is so,' he continued, his voice becoming louder, his hands and his gaze rising slowly to the heavens, 'I beg of most high and mighty Jupiter and all the other immortal gods and goddesses to grant me their grace and favour, and I pray that by their will this day that has dawned may see the salvation of my client and the rescue of the constitution!'
Cicero used to say that the bigger a crowd the more stupid it is, and that a useful trick with an immense multitude is always to call on the supernatural. His words carried like a rolling drum across the hushed plain. There was still some chatter at the periphery, but it was too far away to drown him out.