Rubicon

My mouth was dry. I wished that he would offer me some wine. "Pompey and Caesar may yet patch up their differences."

"No!" He shook his head and gestured wildly. "Caesar may send messages of peace and pretend that he's willing to parlay, but that's just for show, so that he can say later on, 'I did my best to keep the peace.' The moment he crossed the Rubicon, any hopes for a peaceful settlement vanished. On the far side of the river, he was a legally commissioned promagistrate in command of Roman legions. Once he crossed the bridge into Italy with armed men, he became an outlaw at the head of an invading army. There's no way to answer him now except with another army."

"Some people," I said, speaking slowly and carefully, "would say that the hope for peace vanished a few days before Caesar crossed the Rubicon, on the day the Senate passed the Ultimate Decree and drove Caesar's friend Marc Antony out of the city. That was as good as declaring Caesar an enemy of the state. You did the same to Catilina, when you were consul. We know how Catilina ended. Can you blame Caesar for mustering his troops and making the first move?"

Cicero looked at me darkly. The old antagonism between us began to stir. "Spoken like a true Caesarian, Gordianus. Is that the side you've chosen?"

I walked to the brazier and warmed my hands. It was time to speak of something else. "I was sorry to learn of Tiro's illness. I understand he's still in Greece. Have you heard from him lately? Is he better?"

Cicero seemed disconcerted by the change of subject. "Tiro? Why-? But of course, you and Tiro have always remained friends, even when you and I have not. Yes, I think he may be somewhat better."

"What is his malady?"

"Recurring fever, poor digestion, weakness. He can't leave his bed, much less travel."

"I'm sorry to hear it. You must miss him terribly, under these circumstances."

"There's no man in the world I trust more than Tiro." A silence ensued, finally broken by Cicero. "Is that why you came tonight, Gordianus? To ask after Tiro?"

"No."

"Why, then? Surely it wasn't concern for your old friend and patron Cicero that drew you out alone on such a night, without even that hulking son-in-law of yours to look after you."

"Yes, without even my son-in-law," I said quietly, seeing in my mind the look on Diana's face, and Davus looking over his shoulder as Pompey's men dragged him off. "I understand that Pompey came to visit you earlier today. And before that, Pompey's kinsman, Numerius."

Cicero scowled. "Those damned guards at the door! Their jaws are always flapping."

"It wasn't the guards who told me. It was Pompey himself. After he left you, he came to my house. So did Numerius, earlier in the day. Numerius came to see you, and then to see me."

"What of it?"

"Numerius never left my house alive. He was murdered in my garden."

Cicero looked aghast. His reaction seemed almost too extreme. I reminded myself that he was an orator used to performing to the farthest person in a crowd, and was prone to overact by force of habit. "But this is terrible! Murdered, you say. But how?"

"Strangled."

"By whom?"

"That's what Pompey would like to know."

Cicero tilted his head back and raised his eyebrows. "I see. The old hound has been put to the scent again."

"The first place the scent leads is back to this house."

"If you think there's any connection between Numerius's visit here and… what happened to him later, that's preposterous."

"Still, you were one of the last people he spoke to. One of the last… besides myself… to see him alive. Did you know him well?"

"Numerius? Well enough."

"From the tone of your voice, I take it you didn't care for him."

Cicero shrugged. Once again, the gesture seemed too broad. What was Cicero really thinking? "He was likable enough. A charming young fellow, most people would say. The apple of Pompey's eye."

"Why did he come to visit you this morning?"

"He brought news from Pompey. 'The Great One is vacating Rome, heading south. The Great One says that any true friend of the Republic will do the same at once.' That was his message for me."

"It sounds almost like a threat," I said. "An ultimatum."

Cicero looked at me warily but said nothing.

"And then Numerius left?"

"Not immediately. We… talked a bit, about the state of the city and such. Pompey hasn't called on all his allies to leave immediately. The consuls and some of the magistrates will stay on, a sort of skeleton government, enough to keep the city from falling entirely into chaos. Even so, the treasury will be closed, the bankers will flee, everything will come to a standstill…" He shook his head. "We talked a bit… and then Numerius left."

"Was anyone with him?"

"He came alone and he left alone."

"Odd, that he should go abroad in the city on Pompey's business without even a bodyguard."

"You've just done the same, Gordianus, and after dark. I suppose Numerius wished to moved as quickly and freely as he could. There must have been plenty of other senators he had to call on, all over the city."

I nodded. "There were no harsh words between you, then?"

Cicero glared at me. "I may have raised my voice. Those damned guards! Did they tell you they heard me shouting?"

"No. Did you shout at Numerius that loudly? What was the altercation about?"

He swallowed hard. The knob in his throat bobbed up and down. "How do you think I felt, when Numerius told me to leave the city by daybreak? I've been away from Rome for a year and a half governing a miserable province, and now that I'm back I hardly catch a breath before I'm told to pack up and flee like a refugee. If I raised my voice, if I shouted a bit, what of it?"

"You're raising your voice now, Cicero."

He pressed a hand against his chest and took several deep breaths. I had never seen him so overwrought; it unnerved me. Whatever their flaws, Pompey and Cicero represented models of Roman self-assurance and self-discipline, the military giant and the political genius. Both had known setbacks, but always triumphed in the long run. Now something was different, and both seemed to sense it. Born the same year, they were a few years younger than I, yet I felt like the child who sees his parents in a panic: if they have lost control, then all must be chaos.

He went on at a lower pitch. "It's a mistake for Pompey to flee. If Caesar is allowed to enter the city without opposition, he'll break into the treasury and squander the wealth of our ancestors to bribe the street gangs. He'll call together whatever's left of the Senate- debtors, discontents, rabble-rousers- and claim it's the legitimate government. Then it will be Pompey and those who fled who are outlaws."

"Have you said as much to Pompey?"

"Yes. Do you know what he replied? 'Sulla could do it, why not I?' It always comes back to Sulla!"

"I don't understand."

"Sulla abandoned the city to his enemies and then retook it, with Pompey as one of his generals. Thirty years later, Pompey thinks he can do the same if the need arises. Can you imagine the city under siege? Disease, hunger, fires spreading out of control- and then the horror of the conquest…"