“Qui autem civium rationem dicunt habendam, externorum negant, ii dirimunt communem humani generis societatem; qua sublata beneficientia, liberalitas, bonitas, iustitia funditus tollitur.”
—
Cicero
Those who claim that we must take care of our own citizens, and ignore foreigners, they break apart the universal harmony of humankind. And once that is gone, kindness, generosity, goodness, and justice are altogether destroyed.
The next few days were a whirlwind as Cicero prepared for our journey to Sicily. First, he met at length with Sosethius, Heraclieus and Epicrates, who would provide letters of introduction to help Cicero gain the confidence of the many Sicilians who had already submitted written testimony in the case.
An acquaintance of Cicero’s, Lucius Calpurnius Piso, cognominated Frugi, offered the services of his son to help with baggage and manage any materials or documents we collected. In exchange, Cicero agreed to help strengthen the young man’s rhetorical skills, for he wished to become an advocate. Relieved for the extra hand, he sent young Gaius Calpurnius Piso Frugi ahead to Ostia to book passage for the party to Messana.
Quintus, in the meantime, helped to arrange for accommodations and plan our itinerary. We would make a grand tour of the island, stopping in virtually every city to talk with the locals, collect evidence and recruit the many witnesses Cicero hoped would make the trip to Rome to testify.
All this would take money, however, and while Cicero’s law practice was finally earning him a small income through legacies, property gifts and in-kind payments that would not violate the senate’s membership qualifications, it did not generate enough coin to cover the expenses of such a case – which could easily reach 100,000 sesterces. Argue over it as he and Quintus did, Cicero could only see one possible source of funds.
Terentia, of course, used the request as yet another way of belittling her husband, but eventually relented, giving him an advance of 50,000 sesterces – exactly half the amount he had requested.
“We shall have to be thrifty,” he told Quintus and I after leaving her sitting room. “While I have no doubt my wife would not deny me more money if needed, I do not relish the thought of asking for it, and we will not only need to complete our tour of Sicily, but pay transportation and lodging costs for any witnesses who agree to testify for us here in Rome.”
Yet even when the final preparations for our journey had been made, Cicero slowed down not a bit, calling a final meeting of his inner council on the eve of our departure. Sitting comfortably in the triclinium after an early dinner, Cicero assigned everyone their tasks.
“I believe we are ready to depart,” Cicero said. “Tiro and I will leave at dawn for Ostia, where we will meet young Frugi and his party before setting sail for Messana. We shall endeavor to be gone no longer than seventy days, if possible, but much will depend on what we find there.”
“And while you are gone?” Servius Sulpicious asked. “What would you have us do?”
“I was coming to that, old friend,” Cicero said, nodding.
“My first task is for Quintus, who I ask to manage my campaign for the aedileship,“ he said, turning to his brother. "Work with the guilds, host dinners and schedule appearances at all of the largest crossroads colleges. I have always had a lot of support among the head count – especially in Subura – but now I want common citizens from one side of Rome to the other to have no other name on their lips but Cicero.”
“You can count on me, brother,” Quintus said, nodding.
“Atticus, I leave it to you to gather support among the knights,” Cicero said. “While I count many of them as clients already, I expect an even larger number of supporters among your class. Find out what is important to them that I can, as aedile, deliver, and promise it to them if it is within my power to give. I will not have the support of many plebeians or patricians, if any, so my support among the equestrian class must help carry the election.”
“I shall do what I can, of course, my dear Cicero,” Atticus responded.
“And I?” Sulpicious asked. “What would you have me do?”
“Ah, yes, Servius Sulpicious,” Cicero replied with a grin. “For you, I have perhaps the most important task. You have contacts across Rome, both highborn and lowborn. Use them – not necessarily to benefit me in the election, but instead to build anticipation and excitement around my prosecution of Verres. Assure them all of my intent to see Verres convicted and sent into exile, and promise a show such as the forum has not seen in generations! When I deliver my opening speech, I want a crowd of record numbers!”
Sulpicious laughed. “That, my friend, I can do.”
“Now, my friends, I’m afraid we must say goodnight,” Cicero said, rising. “Tiro and I leave early tomorrow, and we all have much to do before our work is done.”
“May the gods protect you both, Marcus,” Atticus said.
By the morning Cicero was due to present his opening statement, word of Cicero’s prosecution had spread throughout Rome. As a result, the forum was crowded with spectators as I laid out my master’s papers on the prosecutor’s table.
At the defense table, Gaius Verres sat scowling angrily at Cicero as his advocate, Quintus Hortensius Hortalus, pointedly ignored his competition.
Between them, as magistrate, Marcus Acilius Glabrio called the court to order. As urban praetor, Glabrio would act as judge, which pleased Cicero immensely. While Glabrio was not a man of great intellect, he was known to be fair and honest – qualities that were becoming increasingly rare in Rome.
As the prosecutor, Cicero would speak first. He stood and paused, allowing the tension to build. It was a trick he had learned under the great Appolonius Molon, and used it to great advantage.
“Fellow Romans,” he said, finally. “I am here today representing not just one man, but a multitude of men. Men who have devoted their lives to the enrichment of their families, communities and country. Men not unlike many of you here today, but with one great difference. They are not citizens of Rome, but of Sicily – a nation that has, for generations, served Rome faithfully, becoming the breadbasket of the republic!“
“In exchange for their labors, Rome has protected and governed their island, recognizing that their prosperity mirrors our own. Yet in the governorship of Gaius Verres, that compact has been broken, leaving Sicily in a ruinous state and its people crying out for justice!”
“Now, my friends, most of you know me – and you know that I am a man who has always been a defender of others, not a prosecutor! But the scale of the crimes committed by Gaius Verres is so massive – so blatant in its greed – that I am unable to look the other way.“
“We know that our senior magistrates, upon drawing their assigned province, often have ambitions that include making a profit. And who can blame them, eh? Running for office is an expensive business in Rome! And who among you can say you have not been wooed by those of us wearing the toga candida? A free meal here, a gift there? Even a few coins under the table, eh?”
The crowd laughed.
“But there is a limit, my friends. There is profit, and there is uncontrolled greed! There is good-natured principle, and there is obscenity! Gaius Verres, in his theft of Sicily’s treasures and his rape of its wealthiest and most respected citizens, crossed that line!”
Cicero stood next to the defense’s table and continued as Verres scowled.
“As I said, the scope and scale of Gaius Verres’ transgressions against the people of Sicily are beyond compare in the history of the republic,” Cicero continued. “However, because of that scale – the sheer number of crimes to be documented and witnesses to be deposed, it is my request that we delay these proceedings so that I may continue gathering valuable evidence for the prosecution.”
Hortensius sat up quickly, then stood.
“What is this?” he asked, arrogantly. “You bring charges of corruption against my client, then admit to this court that you do not have sufficient evidence to pursue those charges? I cannot see any reason to delay.”
“No reason?” Cicero countered. “Until recently, the presence of Gaius Verres in Sicily created an environment in which few of his victims would speak out. Now that he has left his post, I wish to travel to Sicily so that I may interview these additional victims.”
Glabrio pondered Cicero’s request.
“I will not have this proceeding dragged out overlong,” he said. “However, your point is well taken, Cicero. I will allow you 90 days to gather your evidence, at which time this court will reconvene. But take heed – no additional delays will be tolerated.”
“None will be needed,” Cicero replied.
“I object to this unnecessary delay,” Hortensius complained, his hands fluttering in the air. “Every day this court delays is another day in which my client’s reputation continues to be unfairly maligned.”
“I’m sure he’ll live,” Glabrio said, then looked at Cicero. “Ninety days. Until then, this court is adjourned.”
The following morning, Cicero strode confidently into the Forum Romanum and swiftly toward the Basilica Aemilia, before which Marcus Acilius Glabrio, the city praetor charged with oversight of the corruption court, sat accepting new cases.
I myself walked only a couple of paces behind him, watching as a small crowd gathered, sensing Cicero’s intent. News of Cicero’s battle with Verres in the senate had already spread throughout the city, and if there was anything the people of Rome loved, it was a good fight.
“Ave, Marcus Acilius,” Cicero said as he approached and laid a scroll on the table before the praetor. “I am here to file charges of corruption against the former governor of Sicily, Gaius Verres.”
“I was expecting you, Cicero,” Glabrio said, looking up from his papers and accepting the scroll, upon which was a detailed description of the charges. “We will hear your opening remarks three days hence, on the kalends of Maius.”
Cicero thanked Glabrio, but rather than leaving, he stood waiting.
“Is there anything else?” Glabrio asked.
“As a matter of fact, there is,” Cicero said. “I have yet another declaration to make before I leave.”
He turned to face the crowd that had gathered and then spoke, his voice reverberating across the forum.
“People of Rome!” he called, his voice resounding across the forum. “I hereby announce that it is my intention to stand for the position of aedile in the upcoming elections!“
“I do this not for personal glory or enrichment, but because it is the responsibility of leaders to do all they can to serve the Roman people without regard for gain or notoriety. I pledge to discharge the duties of aedile to the best of my ability, and prove to you all the value of my leadership.”
His announcement was greeted by scattered applause and a few cheers, but little else. In Rome, someone was always announcing their candidacy for one position or another.
“Good for you,” Glabrio said, sarcastically. “Now if there’s nothing else?”
Cicero was underwhelmed, and set off toward his home. As we left the forum, he turned to me.
“Somehow I’d expected more, Tiro,” he said. “But I should have known. Oh, how fickle Romans are! But no matter, we have much work to do!”
Entering the Curia Hostilia, Cicero’s eyes immediately fell on Gaius Verres, his pale skin and bright red hair hard to miss among the sea of black and brown heads and olive complexions.
Surrounded by his fellow patricians, Verres sat self-assured, his eyes locked on Cicero as he made his way to his seat near the back of the chamber. Cicero gave a slight nod of greeting, and Verres immediately looked away, pointedly ignoring my master’s acknowledgement.
As the presiding consul, Gaius Scribonius Curio, was calling the House to order, in walked Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, his mop of blond hair tousled from the wind.
Smiling, Pompey walked to the front of the chamber and pushed himself between two patricians, Gaius Marcellus and Quintus Metellus, both of whom looked horrified by the intrusion. A loud laugh drew Cicero’s attention to Marcus Licinius Crassus, who apparently found the scene quite hilarious.
“Very well, I now call the House to order,” Curio said. “Given that both our victorious generals have returned, I have no outstanding dispatches to read, so I will open the floor to new orders.”
Gaius Verres rose and cleared his throat.
“The chair recognizes Gaius Verres, Praetorian Governor of Sicily,” Curio said.
“Thank you, consul,” Verres said, standing. “I thank the House for the warm welcome I have received – although I cannot claim it has come from all quarters. In fact, it has been made known to me that I have been quite regularly criticized and attacked in this House by a man for whom good breeding is an unknown quality.”
The aristocratic contingent greeted this comment with laughter.
“Indeed, I am told that one Marcus Tullius Cicero intends to prosecute me for corruption! Corruption, mind you – despite the fact that I return from Sicily with my books in order and a chest full of gold for Rome’s treasury! I doubt anyone will disagree that these are important goals for any provincial governor, and, having achieved them, I am mystified as to why I am being villainized by this mushroom from Arpinum, other than due to the jealousy he feels for a man of noble birth who has served Rome with dignity while he himself has not!”
“Hear, hear!” Catulus called out.
“Yet I am sure that, should Cicero choose to pursue his prosecution, that you, Conscript Fathers, will be fully satisfied in my innocence, given the testimony of those who served under me – good Romans, all – and the support of those Sicilians who consider me not a criminal, but a hero to the people of that island!”
As Verres finished, Cicero stood.
“Then obviously, my dear governor, I have been grossly misinformed,” Cicero said.
The back-benchers laughed, catching Cicero’s thinly veiled sarcasm.
“I must assume that the evidence I have collected – and, Conscript Fathers, I must admit I am overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of evidence the good people of Sicily have provided – has all been fabricated! That our own Gaius Verres is simply being painted as a villain by those who wish him ill.”
“Yet there still stands the question of the bronzes belonging to Sosethius, which he claims were stolen from him,” Cicero continued. “Stolen by this very man, who has – according to the witnesses who have come forward – chosen to abuse his powers as a Roman governor.”
“While, of course, I will concede that any foreigner’s report might be considered suspect, I find it fascinating that one of the very bronzes he described – down to the last detail – now stands in a place of honor in the peristyle garden of our very own Princeps Senatus, Marcus Aemilius Scaurus – a gift from Gaius Verres!”
A few gasps greeted this statement, but even more laughter.
“Or that other similar bronzes seem to have found their way to other illustrious members of this House, if reports are true.”
“So I would beg the house’s pardon should I choose to proceed with my prosecution. For only though it – and the careful presentation of evidence on both sides, will the truth of this matter finally be known! And if there is any virtue that should be precious to the members of this house, it is truth.”
Cicero sat down as the house erupted into a combination of applause, laughter, derision and flying insults.
It was only ten days later that we were informed that Gaius Verres had quietly returned to Rome. Atticus had learned of it first, since he had been a guest at a dinner hosted by Marcus Aemilius Scaurus Princeps Senatus. Scaurus, of course, was a leader of the boni, the aristocratic membership of which welcomed Verres home with open arms. The very next morning, as he waited for the senate to convene, my master began his work.
“So I understand Verres has returned,” Cicero said, speaking intently with Gaius Norbanus Flaccus, a fellow back bencher whose lack of funds outweighed his unquestionably noble birth in the eyes of his fellow patricians. While his grandfather had been a consul, the old man had fallen into disfavor during the reign of Lucius Cornelius Sulla, leaving his son and grandson after him struggling to retain the family’s position – and the rest of Rome’s famous families looking down their noses. As such, he’d struck up friendships with many of the plebian senators, including young Cicero.
“Oh yes,” Gaius Norbanus replied. “I heard he spent his first night back in the company of none other than the leaders of the boni themselves – Catulus, Scaurus, Hortensius and the brothers Metellii.”
“Is that right?” Cicero replied. “You seem well informed.”
“Oh, Hortensia, the wife of Catulus, is a dear friend of my Scribonia, my wife,” Gaius Norbanus said. “They talk and gossip constantly, and thus I heard of his welcome dinner first thing this morning.”
“Well, then, I should like to have been a fly on that wall,” Cicero said. “Any juicy gossip that might be helpful to my case?”
“Well,” Gaius Norbanus said, conspiratorially, leaning in with voice lowered, “from what I hear, he returned with lavish gifts for all his friends. For example, he gave Hortensius a beautiful bronze status of Hermes that was said to be worth at least 50,000 denarii!”
“A bronze now?” Cicero said, giving me a sidelong glance. “Well, my colleague Hortensius must have been pleased.”
“Oh no doubt,” Gaius Norbanus said. “But no more pleased than Scaurus and the rest, who all received bronzes equally fine to that which he had gifted Hortensius.”
“Hmmm,” Cicero said. “Our dear Gaius Verres must have spent every penny he made in Sicily on gifts, then.”
“Not at all – or at least, that’s not the tale Scribonia passed on to me, Marcus Tullius!” Gaius Norbanus, laughed. “It seems Verres spent most of the evening talking about all the money he’d made as governor. Finally, old Scaurus left his guests and went to bed, thinking Verres’ boasting in very poor taste.”
“Of course, he didn’t decline the bronze, did he?” Cicero asked, grinning.
“Of course not,” Gaius Norbanus replied, smugly. “But then I’ve never known any patrician to turn down a gift like that, no matter how ill-gotten it may have been.”
The senate bell rang, calling the senators to session.
“I thank you for the information, Norbanus,” Cicero said, gesturing toward the senate house. “Shall we?”
Later the same day, Cicero ordered dining couches to be carried up to the roof, where he declared the family and guests would dine under the stars that evening. Quickly, he sent invitations to Quintus, Atticus and Servius Sulpicious – his inner circle and closest advisors. Even I was invited, although I’m sure it didn’t sit well with Terenthia.
Yet Cicero had thought through that conundrum, as well, purchasing some lovely flowers from the vendors on the Forum Boarium and apologizing for his behavior the night before.
That evening, we all sat chatting after a hearty dinner, myself on a chair nearby. Above us, it was cloudy, but a cool breeze made the night pleasant, banishing the smoke and odors that so often rose from the crowded city below.
“My friends, I’m glad you are all here,” Cicero said. “Now that we’ve dined, I suppose I should make my little announcement.”
Everyone turned toward their host, curious.
“I have decided to stand for election as aedile,” Cicero said, firmly.
Quintus laughed, thinking him joking, but soon stopped.
“But you cannot win, Marcus!” he said. “You heard what Pompey said. He doesn’t want you to stand.”
Cicero shook his head.
“It is not for Pompey to decide,” he said. “I choose to run. That is all that is needed.”
“But what is the point?” Atticus asked. “You’re not likely to win if he chooses to block you, and then you’ll have earned his enmity.”
“Well, after yesterday, one might better ask the point of earning Pompey’s friendship?” Terentia said, bitterly.
“Well said, my dear,” Cicero said. “I could wait a year or two, fawning over Pompey like any of a hundred other lackeys, currying for his favor. But who’s to say I wouldn’t find myself forgotten or ignored? No, I think it’s better to seize the opportunity that lies before me now.”
“But how?” Quintus’ wife, Pomponia, asked. “How in the world can you get the votes?”
“By moving forward with my prosecution of Gaius Verres,” Cicero said. “By the time I’m done, my name will be on the lips of every man in Rome! Then no one can stop me – not even Pompey!”
Servius Sulpicious began to laugh, and everyone turned to him.
“Cicero, my friend,” he said. “You are either the most brilliant politician I have ever met, or the biggest fool. I suppose it remains to be seen which is true – but you can count on my support in finding out!”
That night, Cicero – for the first and last time in my years with him – drank too much, and had words with Terentia to such an extent that it left her in tears. Yet the next morning, all was as it had been.
As always, I opened the atrium door to Cicero’s clients, who filed in dutifully. Among them, I was sorry to see, was Sosethius – this time joined by two other Sicilians I did not recognize, but whom he introduced as Heraclieus of Syracuse and Epicrates of Bidis.
I went to my master and let him know of their arrival.
“I suppose I should see him then,” Cicero said, annoyed. “But I must tell him to stop showing up unannounced.”
I showed Sosethius and his guests into the tablinium, where Cicero welcomed them lukewarmly.
“I know we are unexpected, but I wanted to introduce two friends from Sicily who are in predicaments similar to my own,” Sosethius said. “I also have obtained documents I thought you might be eager to see, for they support my case.”
“Well, let’s see them then,” Cicero said, and the Sicilian spread out an array of scrolls and papers.
“Those are the court records from my trial,” Sosethius said. “Or, more accurately, the first set of court records I received, which state that I was present for my trial.”
“Which we both know you were not,” Cicero said, picking up the first document and reading it carefully. “In fact, the date on these documents is after you were granted the protection of the tribunes – which means we have dozens of witnesses that you were in Rome at the time! Very good.”
“But that one is the second record of my trial, which I just received yesterday,” Sosethius said. “It says I was tried in abstentia.”
Cicero was stricken, then laughed.
“So you’re telling me that Verres is fasifying the proceedings of his own court, then falsifying his own falsifications?”
“It would seem so,” Sosethius said, shrugging. “But there’s more.”
“Go on,” Cicero said, sitting down.
Sosethius presented letters, names, scraps of paper, official documents and more – outlining instance after instance of Gaius Verres’ crimes. Here was the sworn affidavit of Dio of Halaesa, from whom Verres had demanded 10,000 sesterces to bring in a not-guilty verdict, and then had stolen all of his horses, tapestries and gold and silver plate. A bronze Appollo stolen from a temple in Agrigentum. A statue of Ceres from Catina. Evidence from farmers threatened with flogging lest they paid protection money to Verres’ agents.
“Remarkable!” Cicero exclaimed, gesturing for everyone to sit down. “And you two?”
He listened as Heraclius and Epicrates told their tales of being swindoled out of their estates – one worth 60,000 denarii, the other 30,000, and left penniless and accused of treason.
“The unmitigated gall!” Cicero said angrily, raising his arms to the sky. “By all the gods! It’s not a province Gaius Verres is running, but rather a full-fledged criminal state!”
“That is why we’ve asked you to help us!” Sosethius said. “Please, just tell us what more you need, and we will get it for you! But we must have justice, Cicero!”
“Then justice you shall have, my friend,” Cicero said.
It was late afternoon when a stirring from the doors of the Villa Publica preceded the exit of Gnaeus Pompey Magnus and his party. Cicero and Quintus rose to follow as Pompey, Crassus and the senior-most members of the senate strode confidently out the gate to face the crowds.
Pompey looked tired, but confident. Cicero had only glimpsed Pompey once or twice in years past, but the general had not changed much. His face was handsome beneath a curling shock of blonde hair, though the lines around his eyes began to finally hint at the passing years.
“People of Rome!” he called. “The leaders of the senate have granted me the honor of a triumph, and I am pleased to accept it!”
The crowd roared.
“They have also informed me that I will be allowed to stand for consul in the coming elections, and I am pleased to accept that, as well,” Pompey continued. “For I have dedicated my life to Rome’s service, and I will gladly answer the call to leadership.”
He paused.
“The only thing that pleases me more I that I will share the consulship with my colleague and old friend, Marcus Licinius Crassus!”
The roar increased as Crassus waved.
“I am humbled by your affection,” Pompey said, motioning for the crowd to calm itself, “and promise to serve as I always have – with the utmost loyalty and respect to the Senate and the People of Rome! And I pledge to hold a festival of games, dedicated to Hercules, to honor my victories in Spain, so that the people of Rome may share in the joy of my return!”
The roar of the crowd reached a crescendo, and was nearly deafening as Marcus Licinius Crassus stepped forward.
“People of Rome!” he called. “I thank my brother, Gnaeus Pompey Magnus, for his kind words, and now make my own pledge to the city I love! First, I will use a tenth of my fortune to buy food for all of Rome during the festival of Hercules planned by my co-consul, and for three months following, so that no man, woman or child in Rome will go hungry!”
Cicero leaned in to Quintus and I as the speeches ended.
“Brilliant,” he said. “Games from Pompey and free food from Crassus – the perfect combination for public happiness.”
“But a tenth of Crassus’ fortune?” Quintus asked. “That must be at least 40 million sesterces!”
Finally sensing his moment had come, Cicero strode forward.
“Cicero!” he cried. “This is Cicero, Imperator,” Palicanus said, pushing my master toward Pompey. “He is considered one of Rome’s foremost advocates, and has been of great use to us in the senate!”
“Has he?” Pompey said, shaking Cicero’s hand, absently. “Well, keep up the good work.”
Cicero gripped the general’s hand longer, getting his attention.
“I shall, general,” he said, “for I hope next year to be aedile!”
“Aedile?” Pompey said, surprised. “No, no, I don’t think that will be possible. I have other plans in that direction.”
Pompey and the others started back inside, but the general turned back to a stricken Cicero as he walked.
“Don’t worry, my friend,” he said. “I’m sure we can find a use for you. There’s always a place for a good lawyer!”
And with that, Pompey moved on without a second glance, leaving Cicero standing, mouth agape and staring after him.
As Crassus finished crucifying his captives along the Appian Way to the south, Pompey the Great approached Rome from the opposite direction, leading an army of ten legions. While he could not enter Rome’s pomerium lest he lose his imperium and disqualify himself from honors, Pompey sent word of his intention to camp on the Field of Mars – plans that prompted the senate to quickly gather to determine honors for both of its returning generals.
Cicero, of course, voted with the majority of his colleagues to deny Crassus a triumph. Instead, he would have to settle for an ovation. Instead of entering Rome in a golden chariot pulled by four white horses wearing a wreath of laurel, he would enter on foot with a wreath of myrtle on his head.
Pompey’s honors, however, were more elaborate. And, since he had already returned to Rome, the House immediately deputed its consuls to appear before the general personally to offer the honor.
Cicero, along with a string of other senators, followed the consuls and senior senators out of the city gates to the Field of Mars, where Pompey had taken up residence in the Villa Publica, which had, in recent years, become the official guest house of Rome’s senate.
Ringed with soldiers, the villa bustled with activity, and the consuls and senior officials were ushered inside. Once they had entered, however, the guards stepped in to prevent any others from entering.
Annoyed, Cicero slowed. As one of Pompey’s supporters, he had been certain of an audience – and a place of honor in the general’s councils.
“Cicero!” a voice called. It was Palicanus, who whispered to the guards to let my master and I pass.
“Cicero, my friend,” he said. “The consuls are with the general now. Please make yourself comfortable here in the atrium.”
Once inside, Cicero sat down on a bench and stewed. He had expected more for his efforts on Pompey’s behalf. Indeed, he had angered the richest man in Rome – Crassus – because he had already chosen a side. Perhaps his decision had been too hasty.
“I should be in there,” Cicero said, growing angry. “But no, I’m stuck out here while inside, Rome is being sliced up like a cooked chicken! Catulus, Scaurus, Hortensius – even Crassus, who is Pompey’s sworn enemy, mind you – all have seats at the table!”
Finally, as the afternoon was waning, Cicero’s brother, Quintus, arrived.
“What is happening, brother?” Quintus asked. “I have heard many things on the forum.”
“Indeed?” Cicero asked. “I have heard nothing, being ignored as I have. What is the news?”
“All bad, I’m afraid,” Quintus replied. “If the magistrates on the forum are to be believed, it will be Pompey for consul, and the powers and rights of the Tribunate of the Plebs are to be restored!”
“Ah,” Cicero said. “So much for the mystery behind Palicanus settling for tribunician rank. He will be powerful, indeed! But how did Pompey manage such a feat – especially with the aristocrats in the room?”
“Apparently, they put up no resistance once Pompey agreed to Hortensius and Quintus Metellus for consul next year, and Lucius Metellus to take Sicily once Verres returns to Rome. Even Crassus is pleased – he is to be Pompey’s junior consul, from what I hear.”
“Carve up Rome they did!” Cicero said, furiously. “Mark my words, Quintus, we are witnessing the beginning of the end of the republic!”
While I admired my master greatly, I could only wonder if he would have felt this way had he been inside, and allowed a share of the honors and powers being bestowed. Who knows?
TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter includes visual depictions of torture in the form of crucifixion. If you do not wish to read further, but wish to know the content of this chapter, please message me for a summary.
By the time we reached the busy encampment of Crassus and his army the next day, it was mid-afternoon. As we entered the camp, we both froze in our tracks, shocked to see a long string of crosses next to the road and stretching off over the horizon, each holding the suffering form of a crucified slave. Along the road, more captive slaves shuffled by them, hands bound. Obviously, they knew their fate was to be the same, whether on this stretch of road or the next.
Cicero shuddered, and we exchanged a glance before moving into the encampment. It was not difficult to identify the general’s tent, for Crassus was not one to deprive himself of luxuries. Marcus Licinius Crassus had made his fortune in real estate, now owning a good third of Rome’s insulae, from which he collected exhorbitant rents. He was well known as a brilliant businessman, but also a ruthless one. He funded many of Rome’s fire brigades, and it was said that he often withheld assistance when buildings caught fire until the owner consented to sell him the property – at a discounted price, of course.
“Marcus Tullius Cicero?” a centurion asked. “This way.”
As we approached the command tent, a man, tall and completely bald, exited to greet us.
“Cicero,” Marcus Licinius Crassus said. “Thank you for coming. And this is?”
“My secretary, Tiro,” Cicero replied. “He is my memory these days, so I hope you’ll forgive his presence.”
“So long as I can count on his discretion,” Crassus responded, ushering us inside. “Wine?”
Cicero declined. “I would prefer to discuss the reason you have called me here,” he said. “I must admit to some curiousity.”
“Ah, right to the heart of it,” Crassus said, taking a seat behind an ornate field desk. “Very well then. It is my hope to win your support for two requests I will be lodging with the senate as I return to Rome.”
“Oh?” Cicero responded. “Let me guess. A triumph and a consulship?”
“As astute as I had heard, then,” Crassus said. “Can I count on your support?”
Cicero paused, then shook his head.
“I’m afraid not, Marcus Licinius,” he said. “While, personally, I think you quite deserve a triumph for your victory, the senate has spoken. Triumphs are reserved only for those generals who win victories over foreign armies.”
“A pity,” he said. “My victory over Spartacus was hard won, and my punishment of the slaves severe. As you saw, I am crucifying them – one every fifty feet for nearly 350 miles – as a warning to any other slaves who might consider rising against their Roman masters!”
Crassus stood.
“And what about supporting me for consul, Cicero?” he asked. “Surely you must be willing to at least give me that!”
“Again, I am sorry,” Cicero said. “I have already pledged my support to Pompey.”
“I guessed as much, but each man has two votes for consul, so I don’t see the issue,” Crassus said. “You can cast one for me and one for anyone else you like. I never forget those who oblige me, Cicero – nor those who do not, for that matter.”
“I understand,” Cicero replied, “and I hope you will not think less of me for my answer, Marcus Licinius.”
Crassus circled his desk to face Cicero, then replied.
“I can quite honestly tell you that it would be impossible for me to think less of you, Marcus Tullius,” he replied.
Offended, Cicero turned and left, and Crassus followed.
“I was hoping that you would be more cooperative, senator,” Crassus said. “It is important to me to be remembered.”
“Oh, you’ll be remembered,” Cicero said angrily, pointing down the road at the long line of crucified slaves suffering under the darkening sky. “Let that be your triumph, Imperator!”
Crassus sneered as Cicero went on.
“For as long as Rome exists, its people shall remember the man who crucified 6,000 slaves over 350 miles!” Cicero said. “No one else would have had the nerve to do such a thing. In fact, no one else but you would even have thought of such cruelty!”
Over the next few weeks, Cicero was intent on doing as much research as possible so that he was prepared to prosecute Gaius Verres when he returned from Sicily. It was toward this goal that Cicero dispatched me to the Republic’s archives to fetch the official dispatches and reports submitted by Verres over the course of his term in Sicily, as well as those filed by his predecessors.
“But isn’t the archive overseen by Catulus?” I asked, concerned. “You know whatever requests I make there will be reported back to him, do you not?”
“Of course I do,” Cicero replied. “Unfortunately, there are few options. I need to know what he has reported so that we can compare that against the accounts Sosethius have given. I don’t believe Catulus would try to prevent us obtaining those records or interfere with our investigation. While he is a patrician to the bone, I know him to be an honorable man at heart.”
So off I went to the archive, which, in those days, was located in the vast cellars under the Temple of Saturn.
There, my request for any records or official correspondence from Verres were rewarded with a single document, which I was told was all Verres had submitted since becoming governor.
“But what about previous governors?” I asked. “I’ll need something for comparison.”
So it was that I returned home with copies of a number of documents, which Cicero then reviewed with great interest.
“Interesting,” he said. “Here, he reports tax income of 600,000 denarii – no more, no less. Quite a nice, round figure, isn’t it? Whereas here, during the governorship of Marcus Antonius Creticus on a year before Verrus’ arrival, reported tax income of 823,654 denarii – a much larger, and more believable, number. I can’t imagine tax revenues on an island like Sicily would fluctuate so much, which leads me to believe that Verres was not only robbing the Sicilians, but also Rome.”
A knock on Cicero’s tablinium door distracted him.
“Yes?”
Cythenus, Cicero’s steward, entered.
“There is a centurion outside, master,” Cythenus said. “He bears a message from Marcus Licinius Crassus.”
Cicero’s eyes betrayed his concern, but he only nodded.
“Send him in,” he said, standing to greet his guest.
A moment later, the soldier entered.
“My master, General Marcus Licinius Crassus, Imperator, victor over the slave army of Spartacus that has threated Rome, requests your presence. He asks that you meet him tomorrow afternoon at the 18th milestone of the Appian Way, near Lanuvium.”
“I am honored by his invitation,” Cicero said. “Please leave us for a moment while I draft my response.”
As the soldier left, Cicero sat down heavily, shaken.
“Crassus! What could he possibly want?” I asked, nervously. “Will you go, master?”
“What choice do I have, Tiro?” Cicero said. “If I don’t go, it would be an insult to the richest man in Rome. But then, if I do go, I will likely have to insult him face to face, for I have already committed my support to Pompey.”
He sighed.
“Yes, I will go,” he said. “And you shall come with me.”
It was mid-morning when Cicero, trailed by Quintus and I, marched down to the forum. Cicero had sent his usual escort of clients home, so it felt oddly unsettling to make the journey on our own.
The Tribunate of the Plebs, which consisted of ten tribunes of plebeian birth, had for generations been a powerful body designed to preside over the people’s assembly and check the power of the Senate and its leaders by exercising its power of veto over the laws and actions of Rome’s senior magistrates. Yet, nearly 20 years before, the dictator Lucius Cornelius Sulla, fearing the power of the tribunes to veto his agenda, had deprived the tribunate of a majority of its powers.
Today, election as a Tribune of the Plebs was considered a dead-end position, politically, and avoided by most men of any ambition. Which is why, as Cicero climbed the steps of the Basillica Porcia, the seat of the tribunate, he encountered few other petitioners.
Inside, they found the ten tribunes sitting, per tradition, on a long wooden bench behind a scarlet-draped railing.
“Cicero!” one called, standing. “I was wondering when you’d show up here!”
Turning to the speaker, Cicero was surprised to see Marcus Lollius Palicanus, a plebeian from Picenum. Palicanus was well known to be a creature of the Roman general Gnaeus Pompeius – or Pompey the Great, as he now called himself.
“Marcus Lollius,” Cicero said, respectfully as Palicanus approached. “I had heard you were standing for Tribune, but honestly was surprised by your decision.”
“Many were, Cicero, but all will be made clear soon enough,” Palicanus replied, nodding. “Walk with me, and we can talk about your friend Sosethius.”
“So you know why we have come?” Cicero said as Palicanus led him outside, Quintus and I following at a respectable distance. “I trust you are open to helping us?”
“By imposing my ius intercessionis and offering Sosethius my protection as tribune?” Palicanus inquired. “Of course, my friend. But then, I’m sure you understand that I might wish something in return.”
Cicero swallowed. He’d known this course of action might demand concessions on his part.
“Yes, yes,” Cicero replied, nodding. “And what is your price, Marcus Lollius?”
“Well, it’s not exactly my price, but the price of my mentor, Pompey the Great,” Palicanus said, leading my master toward the well of the comitia – the expansive central plaza of the forum, where the People’s Assembly met regularly.
“As you know, Pompey is on his way back to Rome from his splendid victory at Osca,“ Palicanus continued. "He has only two requests for the senate: a triumph for his victory and to stand for consul in the upcoming election.”
Cicero stopped and turned to Palicanus, trying to hide his shock. Both demands went against everything he believed as a Roman. A triumph was forbidden for all but victors against foreign enemies – and since Pompey had been fighting rebels under the banner of Quintus Sertorius, he did not qualify. Then, even more seriously, Pompey could not legally stand for consul. The minimum age for a consul was 42, while Pompey had just turned 36.
“You realize that both of these honors are outside my ability to bestow,” Cicero said, carefully.
“Indeed, but the general knows that your voice has become highly valued in the senate – at least among its junior and plebeian members,” Palicanus said. “Your support for these measures could be invaluable.”
Cicero considered his answer carefully, but knew that he had little choice but to agree. He did not wish to become beholden to Pompey the Great – or any man, for that matter – but understood that all his hopes for a political career now rested on the outcome of his prosecution of Gaius Verres.
“Very well, Marcus Lollius,” Cicero said, resigned. “You may count on my support.”
“Then you, my dear Cicero, can count on mine,” Palicanus replied.
After hiding Sosethius from the agents of Gaius Verres, Cicero began looking for way to protect his friend in the long term. Keeping him hidden was not enough – for even the best-kept secrets did not endure long in Rome.
“There is only one way forward I can see,” Cicero said, early the following morning. “But I doubt you’ll think it wise.”
“What is that, Marcus?” Atticus asked. “Certainly it can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, but I disagree, if it’s what I think it is,” Quintus said. “Not the tribunes, surely!”
Cicero nodded, grimly.
“If there was another way, I would certainly pursue it,” he said.
“So you’ve decided to take Sosethius’ case, after all?” Quintus asked.
“I have,” Cicero replied. “There is much to be gained by doing so.”
“But also much to lose,” Quintus groaned. “Especially if you go to the tribunes!”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Atticus said, puzzled. “Didn’t Sulla’s reforms leave the tribunate relatively powerless? What could they possibly do to help?”
“My dear Atticus, the tribunes aren’t completely powerless,” Cicero replied, rising. While his friend was well versed in etiquette and family histories, his constitutional knowledge and political savvy sometimes left something to be desired. “They can still offer their protection from prosecution to anyone within the boundaries of Rome whom they feel requires it.”
“Certainly that’s not a permanent solution, though,” Atticus replied.
“We don’t need a permanent solution,” Cicero said. “We just need to protect Sosethius until Verres can be returned to Rome to face charges of corruption!”
“But brother,” Quintus said, standing to face him. “The tribunes? If the aristocrats don’t hate you already, they’ll certainly condemn you if you take this route.”
“They hate me quite enough already,” Cicero said with a laugh. “I doubt this can do anything to magnify their enmity!”
“Agreed,” Atticus said. “But tread lightly, Marcus. If you don’t win this case, I can guarantee that you’ll never advance politically. The boni won’t let you.”
“Aye,” Quintus echoed, worriedly. “Father had to sell a lot of property to give me the means to get into the senate. I’d rather not repay his efforts by being a back bencher for the rest of my life because you’ve sullied our family name!”
Cicero winced, and his temper flared.
“I don’t need you to remind me,” he said. “After all, that property would have been mine, so the sacrifice was mine as much as it was our father’s! I’m now even more dependent on Terentia, so I’d thank you not to lecture me, brother!”
“Gentlemen, please,” Atticus said, ever the peacemaker. “A wise man once wrote, ‘If you have to do something unpopular, do it with your whole heart. Ultimately, they’ll have to admire you for it.’”
“I hope so,” Quintus replied. “Or we’ll both be ruined.”
Cicero shook his head as Cythenus, his steward, entered the triclinium quietly and cleared his throat.
“A message for you, master,” Cythenus said. “From your client, Appius Saliensis Nicaenus. He asked that you read it as soon as possible.”
Cicero stood and took the note, quickly reading its contents.
“Oh by all the gods!” he said, folding the paper and placing it in the folds of his toga.
“What is it Marcus?” Quintus asked.
“Verres!” Cicero said. “He’s tried Sosethius in abstentia and found him guilty. Now he’s ordered lictors to arrest him and return him to Sicily for execution!”
“But how would Appius Saliensis know before anyone else?” Atticus asked, shocked.
“He manages the Senate dispatches, and received the notice,” Cicero said, glancing back at the note. “He says he’ll delay delivery until tomorrow morning. Thank the gods I agreed to defend Appius’ brother last year. He owed me a favor!”
“So what do we do now?” Servius Sulpicius asked.
“We must hide Sosethius,” Cicero said. “He must be lost in the maze of Rome until which time as he can clear his name. But where?”
“Well,” Atticus said, conspiratorially. “I do own an insulae in Subura that has a few vacancies. It’s not much, but there is a room he can have – you’ll just have to provide him with a servant. We can’t have him running across the street to the latrine constantly, lest he be seen. No, he’ll need someone to prepare his meals and empty his chamber pot.”
“I can do that,” Cicero said. “Once again, my friend, you save the day.”
Atticus smiled.
“Tiro!” Cicero said. “Go find Sosethius and bring him here! Atticus, can you take him to your insulae tonight? I don’t know when the lictors will receive their notice, but I want him protected while I decide what to do next.”
Gathering at Cicero’s home that evening, it didn’t take long for Quintus, to begin questioning his brother’s judgement.
“I can’t believe it, Marcus,” Cicero’s brother, Quintus said, shaking his head. “How are you going to have any kind of political career making such enemies!”
“Oh, my husband has never cared who he might offend, Quintus,” Terentia said, bitterly. “But this is simply beyond the pale. Half the decent families in Rome will be shunning us now!”
“My dear,” Cicero replied, “I don’t understand how you can criticize my actions this time – I was only doing what was right.”
“Right for whom?” Terentia shot back. “Some Sicilian nobody who couldn’t muster a single Roman vote?”
“Well, I haven’t told Sosethius that I would take his case,” Cicero replied. “I still may not. But at least I did what I could to protect an innocent man from unfair prosecution.”
“I, for one, think you should take the case, Marcus Tullius,” Servius Sulpicius said. “If you can convict Gaius Verres – and from what I’m hearing, he’s villain enough to make the charges stick – you’ll build yourself an unstoppable reputation!”
“Not to mention give yourself a senior position in the senate,” Atticus said.
Terentia sat up, suddenly all ears. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Well, if your husband convicts him, he’ll assume Verres’ position in the senate, as well as all of his personal property,” Atticus said, casually. “I don’t agree with the practice, of course, but it’s tradition in the courts. And it’s a fast, cheap way to gain influence.”
“Oh Atticus,” Cicero said, laughing. “You just consider it rude, which, to you, is the gravest of offenses.”
“Well, it is,” Atticus said, indignantly.
“Well,“ Cicero went on, "if I should choose to take Sosethius’ case, it won’t be to benefit my career or my purse, but instead to seek justice.”
“Then you’re a fool, husband,” Terentia said, rolling her eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, those are the only reasons to do it at all!”
The senators took their seats in the Curia Hostilia, where the Roman Senate had gathered since the formation of the republic.
Once a plain building of plain stone, the Senate House now boasted a veneer of black marble on its interior walls and risers. Gilded columns painted to imitate stone soared heavenward to support a gilt ceiling that sparked from the light from high windows on both sides. A wide center aisle led to a large dais on the far end opposite the entrance, where a golden statue of winged victory stood behind the ivory inlaid cerule chair used by the presiding consul.
As the day’s business was light, the presiding consul, Gaius Scribonius Curio, wasted little time in getting to Cicero’s measure, reading it out as Cicero stood. The boni looked on in disdain as he walked down the steps to the central aisle to speak, and my master later told me that, even though he was one of the greatest speakers in Rome, that walk was one of the longest in his life.
“Conscript Fathers,” Cicero began, respectfully. “This morning, I received an old friend from my time as praetor of Sicily, Sosethius of Thermae. When I knew him, only a year ago, he was a wealthy businessman and a respected member of his community. Indeed, he was such a great friend of Rome that he regularly hosted visiting dignitaries and officials in his homes across Sicily – and I know this because I, myself, was one of them, and was shown great hospitality and kindness.”
“Yet, when he arrived this morning, it was not the Sosethius of memory who came calling, but instead a broken man, in mourning for all he had lost at the hands of a monster who has abused his power and raped Sicily for all he could squeeze from it.”
A few murmurs filled the house as the realization set in as to whom Cicero referenced.
“Not only was Sosethius deprived of his property and livelihood,” Cicero continued, raising his voice slightly, “but he was also charged – unjustly and without proof, to my knowledge – with treason by this same official, in an effort to not only cover the tracks of his abuses, but silence any possibility of Rome discovering his activities.”
“Yet Sosethius managed to reach Rome himself, penniless and hopeless – seeking nothing more than our famed Roman justice,” Cicero said. “Which is the purpose behind the measure I propose today. For if he is tried in abstentia, he will be sentenced to an untimely – and unfair death that will ….”
“I believe I will speak now,” Hortensius said, standing. As a senior member of the house and former consul, his claim took precedence, leaving Cicero no choice but to yield the floor.
“I find it fascinating that this young man feels it his place to cast dispersion upon an esteemed member of this House, Gaius Verres, when said member is not present to defend himself,” Hortensius said. “Obviously it is an attempt to villify, once again, any member of the Roman aristocracy by an upstart of low birth!”
“Oh, but my dear Quintus Hortensius,” Cicero said with a broad smile, “I do not recall ever mentioning the name Gaius Verres! Or is my memory suddenly failing me?”
The junior senators and back benchers roared with laughter and stomped their feet in approval, while the aristocratic boniscowled.
“Yet, since you have brought his name into our discussion, I will not deny that it is he – whom the Senate has entrusted with the role of governor – who has been painted in such a negative light. Yet I completely agree with your objection. He is NOT here to defend himself. But that is precisely my point! I am simply asking that my friend, Sosethius, be granted the same courtesy you now ask for Verres. Or is there to be one standard for aristocrats and another for everyone else?”
The laughter grew louder, and the consul had to raise his voice to quiet the chamber – at which time, Quintus Catulus rose.
Recognized, he began an attack on Cicero that caused my master to blush with anger. Yet he remained calm, and even managed a smile as he returned to his seat. Obviously, Catulus was attempting to talk out the remainder of the session. Yet Cicero was content, having made his point – and an honest effort to protect his friend from prosecution.
By the time I returned slid back into my seat at the criminal court, Cicero was already well into his closing speech for the defense.
It was not a speech he chose to preserve, so I cannot quote it to you now.
Suffice it to say that he won the case by cleverly promising that young Popillius, if acquitted, would devote the rest of his life to serving Rome in military service – a pledge that took the prosecution, the jury and, indeed, his own client, completely by surprise.
Once the jury had returned its acquittal, Cicero, without a word to his client, immediately moved off toward the Senate House, followed by his clients. Reaching the expanse of forum space before the Senate House, Cicero plunged himself into the sea of white-robed bodies, accented by splashes of senatorial red and patrician purple.
It’s been said that most of the Roman Senate’s work did not occur within that august body’s walls, and today was no exception, and Cicero moved easily among his colleagues, ever the consummate politician as he quietly promoted his proposal among the membership.
He spent considerable time among his peers – junior members and backbenchers who, although without an active voice in senate sessions, could still vote to support him.
Seeing his dear friend, Servius Sulpicious, Cicero moved his direction. Servius had the ear of many powerful knights in the senate, and could help drum up support if necessary.
He avoided the aristocratic members of the senate, whom he knew instinctively would be more likely to support Verres, but could feel their eyes on him. Quintus Hortensius Hortalus watched intently, while Quintus Lutatius Catulus, former consul and a leading member of the aristocratic boni, or good men, stared sharply at Cicero as he whispered to his colleagues.
Finally, the bell rang, summoning the senate into session, and the men slowly shuffled inside.
Having finished with clients, Cicero and I stepped out into the bright morning light with the usual string of clients in tow.
The senator walked quickly down the street, taking us from the leafy heights of the Esquiline Hill and into the smoke and stink of the Subura.
Cicero was a well-known figure here, a hero to the shopkeepers and merchants whose interests he had represented, and the people waved and called out warmly as we passed. Without breaking his step, Cicero acknowledged each bowed head, wave or greeting, and, while I was always ready to whisper names into his ear, I rarely that I needed to. He knew his voters far better than I.
Finally, we entered the Forum Romanum, where the crowds were growing by the moment. I don’t know how it is today, but in those days there were always six or seven law courts in almost permanent session, each set up in a different part of the forum. By the time each of these courts convened, the forum was packed with advocates, legal officers and spectators come to hear the cases of the day, which always made for good entertainment.
By chance, we emerged into the forum as Quintus Hortensius Hortalus, Cicero’s primary rival and the recognized best lawyer in Rome, passed by with his legal team. Due to his rank and reputation, Cicero was forced to stop and wait. The patrician barely registered or acknowledged my master’s presence, which left Cicero irritated; obviously, Hortensius did not feel the need to acknowledge someone he felt was beneath him.
Our business this morning was in the central criminal court, which convened outside the Basilica Aemilia, where the fifteen-year-old Caius Popillius Laenas was on trial, accused of stabbing his father to death. Cicero was due to make the closing speech for his defense, and, if he failed, Popillius would be stripped naked, flayed until he bled, sewn up in a sack with a dog, a cock and a viper, and thrown into the River Tiber.
“We really must secure an acquittal,” Cicero whispered to me as we approached. “If only to spare the dog, the cock and viper the ordeal of being sewn up in a sack with Popillius.”
Cicero stopped to talk briefly to his client. He didn’t care for the boy, of course, so he didn’t care whether or not he was guilty. He undertook only to do his best, and, in return, the Popillii Laeni, a family which boasted four consuls within its family tree, would be obliged to support him whenever he ran for office.
As I sat down at the defense table, Cicero quickly scribbled something on a piece of parchment, which he then handed to me.
“Say nothing to our Sicilian friend,” he said. “Take this to the chief clerk at the Senate House and see if you can get it on today’s agenda.”
I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, wishing to complete my errand in time for my master’s closing speech.
It was not until I was almost to the Senate House that I glanced down at what he had written: That in the opinion of the House the prosecution of persons in their absence on capital charges should be prohibited in the provinces. I felt a tightening in my chest, for it amounted to nothing less than a declaration of war.
I’ve never played Skyrim, but there’s a big chance that character is inspired by, or at least named after Marcus Tullius Cicero.
Cicero, was an asshole, but he was a golden tongued asshole. grew up outside of Rome to wealthy parents, and had no real title when he ran for consul (an important position). basically back then, your ancestor’s name meant everything. it’s why in old stories and stuff, like Beowolf, they introduce themselves as their father’s son if their father is a known man. it gives people you just met an expectation or a level of respect for you based on your familial ties. but no one knew Cicero’s father because he didn’t come from Rome, but that didn’t matter because he was charismatic. he won. he won against this guy named Catiline, who btw, was a big fan of vigilante justice, but more on him later. anyway, Cicero became consul and immediately opposed a new law that was being passed about. see, even though no one knew his family, Cicero was still ‘old money’ or a patrician. and this guy named Tiberius Gracchus offered up a plan to take a little bit of land from wealthy people, and give it to the plebeians (the impoverished). aand those old money assholes (because you needed to have money to run for office back then. you needed to be a rich man to run for senate) didn’t like that shit at all because the plebeians don’t have a lot of money, but they got a lot of people in their ranks, so if one of them actually gets rich enough to run you know he’s going to get voted into office so fucking quick and that’s going to threaten the richy rich men’s precious community of power hungry pricks, so Tiberius and a bunch of his supporters get straight up murdered by senate members. But the bill looked like it was going to get passed anyway. meanwhile, Catiline, that dude from earlier, he’s in a metric fuck-ton of debt after not winning the election, plus he’s pretty pissed that a no name fucking ass-hat stormed in from no where and swiped the consul position from him, so like any normal person he decides he’s going to fucking assassinate key members of the senate and set the government buildings on fire so that all of the records of debt get burned and no one has any more debt and at this point in time, thanks to numismatics (the study of coins) we know that Rome is pretty short on funds right now, not as much currency is getting made, and a lot of indebted plebeians are pretty desperate for any sort of help to get out of poverty because you know, they can barely eat. plus, their only real advocate just got fucking murdered soo they’ll hop on board basically any plan right now. so Catiline builds a fucking militia and tell them to wait outside town and he organizes with all these peeps to get his plan off the ground when OOPS! someone wanted to impress his girlfriend so they told her about the plan to overthrow the government. turns out she’s fucking tight with Cicero, and now the head bitch in charge knows what’s up with our homeboy. Cicero takes our main man to court and spouts off this whole speech that’s basically “I was threatened!! by this man!! who isjEALOUSofME and my ACCOMPLISHMENTS and he and his SMELLY THIEF FRIENDS want to taKE oUr LaNd and fucking RUIN SHIT and you guys killed the LAST ASSHOLE who TRIEd to fuck with us why won’t you at least STAB this one??? you know what? just get him out.” and so Catiline fucks off to his militia, and they have a nice time rejecting the status quo until Catiline gets himself demolished on the battlefield. meanwhile, Cicero shoots the land share legislation out of the air and begins to go on a witch hunt for Catiline’s followers, persecuting people without even giving them a trial, and the people of Rome are having none of that shit the senate is full of assholes, but they’re honorable assholes… actually no they weren’t the government was filled with lies and corruption, but they couldn’t just let Cicero murder these people so they were like “hey, maybe you should cool off. take a walk outside for a bit, and then come back when you’ve calmed down.” so Cicero went into exile for a few years, left his wife (who wasn’t technically his wife anymore because he was banished from Rome) in charge of all his finances, came back after a while, watched Julius Caesar get stabbed, went to fight in the civil war because of the whole… leader of Rome getting stabbed…thing. and comes back afterward and now he’s been away so long, the relationship with his wife is so strained and he finds out she’s skimming off the top of his estate earnings and [Cicero implies in a letter to his bestie that he thinks] she’s going to use the money to run away with a freed slave of theirs that she fell in love with, so he divorces her, but at this point, he has no money to pay her father back his dowry ( a thing the father of the bride gives the new husband as a compensation), and his daughter’s good for nothing (third) ex husband hasn’t payed back his dowry yet, so Cicero is kinda strapped for cash right now. what’s the solution Cicero goes for? marry a 15 year old who’s dad is rich. and that’s what he does. (keep in mind he’s like *at best* in his 50′s right now) so a week after he divorces probably one of the most boss women in Roman history, he marries a fifteen year old girl, and everything is going fine, until Cicero’s daughter Tullia dies in childbirth. (he absolutely adored Tullia, she was his pride and joy, unlike his good for nothing son, coincidentally also named Marcus Tullius Cicero, who died in the civil war while trying to impress daddy dearest. spoiler, didn’t work.) and Cicero is so stricken with greif that he locks himself in his study, and his new wife divorces him. meanwhile, Octavian, Julius Ceaser’s nephew/adopted son (didn’t actually adopt him, simply named him Julius’s heir in his will, and Octavian saw an opportunity and ran with it) just defeated Marc Antony in battle and goes by Augustus now, (yes, this is Augustus Caesar you’ve heard of him, yeah?) and is the supreme overlord of Rome (lol but Octavian will straight up deny it. “no no no, I’m one of you, please don’t stab me to death 23 times on March 15th like you did with my dad pretty pls.”) anyway, Cicero has been pretty politically vocal, and after all the shenanigans while he was Consul, the new senate wasn’t having that shit at all, and Cicero got his name added to the Murder List ™ aaand so the Senate’s hired assassins payed him a lil’ visit. and now, you know who Cicero is.
