'And might as well have killed Elena,' I said.
'What was the shame of more blood on his hands after all his crimes?' Sulla asked, and I realized he had no sense at all of the irony of his words, spoken by one who was awash in the blood of others up to his chin. 'It was not too long afterwards that the cousins managed to get hold of Sextus's copy of the incriminating agreement. Without it he was defenceless; he had no check on them. No doubt they were turning over various ways to murder him and his family when he made his escape, first to a friend in Ameria, a certain Titus Megarus, and then to Caecilia Metella in Rome. Since he had slipped from their clutches, the cousins' only recourse was to destroy him via the law. Since he was in fact guilty of his father's murder; they naively thought they could reconstruct a narration of the events to leave themselves out of the picture. And of course they were counting on the intimidation of Chrysogonus's name to drive away any competent orators from mounting a defence — if the matter even came to trial. By this point the state of Sextus Roscius's mind was so disturbed that they hoped he might be driven to suicide, or perhaps to simply confess his own guilt and mount no defence at all.'
'They were obscenely self-confident,' Cicero said softly.
'Were they?' Sulla mused. His voice carried a dark, brooding edge. 'Not excessively so. If this trial had taken place six months ago, do you think an advocate for the defence would have dared to utter Chrysogonus's name? To mention me by name? To bring up the proscriptions? Do you think a majority of judges in one of the courts reconstructed by me would have dared to flaunt their independence? Capito and Magnus were simply six months out of step, that's all. Six months ago the Metelli would not have lifted a finger to save Sextus Roscius. But now they sense my power waning; now they decide to test the limits of my prestige and sting me with a defeat in the courts. How these powerful old families chafe beneath the steady hand of a dictator, even when I have always used my power to enrich their coffers and hold the jealous masses in check. They want it all for themselves — like Magnus and Capito. Are you really so proud to be their champion, Cicero, to have saved a bloody parricide just so you could kick me in the balls, all in the name of old-fashioned Roman virtue?'
For a long rime Sulla and Cicero looked each other in the eye across the small space that separated them. Sulla suddenly looked to me very old and weary, and Cicero very young. But it was Cicero who dropped his gaze first.
'What becomes of Sextus Roscius now?' I said.
Sulla sat back and took a deep breath. 'He is a free man, exonerated by the law. A parricide, a fratricide twice over; does such a man deserve to live? But thanks to Cicero the wretch has become a sort of suffering hero, a petty little Prometheus chained to a rock. Peck at his entrails, as he deserves, and the people will be outraged. So, to Sextus Roscius, Fortune will be merciful.
'His father's estates will not be returned to him. That's what my most radical enemies would like — to see a duly recorded proscription rescinded, to see the state admit such an embarrassing error. No! That will never happen, not while I live. The Roscius estates will remain disposed as they are, but—'
Sulla made a face and bit his tongue as if he tasted worm-wood. 'But Chrysogonus will voluntarily give to Sextus Roscius other estates equal in value to those that were taken from him, located as far from Ameria as possible. Let Sextus Roscius the parricide return to the life he knew, as best he can and away from those who know him and his past; but the proscription stands, and he is stripped of his family estates and his civil rights. Knowing what you know of the man, can you really say this is unjust, Cicero?'
Cicero stroked his upper lip. 'And what of my safety, and the safety of those who've helped me? Certain men are not above murder.'
'There will be no further bloodshed, no reprisals by Magnus or Capito. As for the mysterious death of a certain Mallius Glaucia, whose body was discovered earner today, no doubt fittingly, in a public latrine — the incident is closed and forgotten. The creature never existed. I have been quite adamant with the Roscii on this point.'
Cicero narrowed his eyes. 'A bargain has two sides, Lucius Sulla.'
'Yes. Yes, indeed. I expect, Cicero, a certain restraint on your part. In return for my efforts on behalf of tranquility and order, from you there will be no prosecution of Capito or Magnus for murder; no official complaint against the proscription of Sextus Roscius pater, no charge of malicious prosecution brought against Gaius Erucius. Neither you nor any ofthe Metelli or their agents will mount any sort of lawsuit against Chrysogonus. I tell you this explicitly, Cicero, so that you can pass it on to your friends among the Metelli. Do you understand?' Cicero nodded.
Sulla rose. Age had weathered his face but had not stooped his shoulders. He seemed to fill the room. Next to him Cicero and Tiro looked like slender boys.
'You are a clever young man, Marcus Tullius Cicero, and by all accounts a splendid orator. You are either stupidly daring or madly ambitious, or perhaps both — just the kind of man my friends and I could use in the Forum. I would reach out my hand to recruit you, but you wouldn't take it, would you? Your young head is still too muddled with vague ideals — boldly defending republican virtue against cruel tyranny and that sort of thing. You have delusions of piety; delusions about your own nature. My other senses may be failing me, but I'm a wily old fox, and my nose is still keen, and in this room I smell another fox. Let me tell you this, Cicero: the path you've chosen in life leads to only one place in the end, and that is the place where I stand. Your path may not take you as far, but it will take you nowhere else. Look at me and see your mirror, Cicero.
'As for you, Finder. .' Sulla looked at me shrewdly. 'Not another fox, no; a dog, I think, the kind that goes about digging up bones that other dogs have buried. Don't you ever get sick of all that mud in your snout, not to mention the occasional worm up your nose? I might consider hiring you myself, but I shall soon have no need ever again for covert agents or bribed judges or scheming advocates.
'Yes, citizens, sad news: in a matter of days I shall announce my retirement from public life. My health fails me; so does my patience. I've done what I can to shore up the old aristocracy and to keep the common rabble in their place; let someone else take on the job of saving the Republic. I can hardly wait to begin a new life in the countryside — strolling, gardening, playing with my grandchildren. Oh, and finishing my memoirs! I shall be sure to send a complete copy for your library, Cicero.'
Sulla flashed a sour smile and drew himself up to depart; then his smile abruptly sweetened. He was looking over our heads towards the hallway. He raised one eyebrow and cocked his head, radiating charm. 'Rufus, dear boy,' he crooned, 'what an unexpected delight!'
I looked over my shoulder to see Rufus standing in the doorway, dishevelled and out of breath. 'Lucius Sulla,' he muttered with a nod, averting his eyes; that formal acknowledgment dispensed with, he turned to Cicero. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I saw his retinue outside. Of course I knew who it must be. I would have waited’ but the news… I ran all the way to tell you, Cicero.'
Cicero wrinkled his brow. 'Tell me what?'
Rufus looked at Sulla and bit his Hp. Sulla laughed aloud. 'Dear Rufus, feel free to say anything you wish in this room. "We were already engaged in a most frank discussion before you arrived. No one here has any secrets from me. No one in this Republic can keep a secret from Sulla. Not even your good friend Cicero.'