Cicero (25 page)

Clodius's originality lay in his perception of what could be achieved by
consistent
violence on the streets and in the Forum. For half a century politicians of every persuasion had resorted to force from time to time. The scale of public spaces in the city center, the absence of wide streets or avenues and the facts that there was no police force and that soldiers were forbidden to cross the
pomoerium
meant that gangs could temporarily take over the seat of government, terrorize officeholders and force legislation through or impede it. Clodius saw that this could be turned into a permanent state of affairs. He developed the concept of the standing
gang, equipped and ready to act at any time. Once his Tribuneship was over in December 58, this would become his power base. He realized that this private army would need an operational headquarters and, apparently, took over the Temple of the Castors in the Forum for a time, turning the building into a fortress by demolishing the steps that led down from its high podium. This was insurrection as a means of government rather than as a means of overthrowing a government.

What Clodius wanted to do with power, once he had achieved it, is uncertain. Unlike other radicals, whether of the left or right, he gave no indication that has come down to us of a serious interest in root-and-branch constitutional reform. He was happy enough to exploit the constitution or subvert it, but he had no idea of overthrowing it. Beneath the eccentricity of his politics probably lay a basically conventional ambition to climb the political ladder, reach the Consulship and make a fortune from misgoverning a province. In that sense, there was no material difference between him and his hot-tempered brother, Appius Claudius Pulcher, who stood on the other side of the political fence and was a leading conservative. Clodius was typical of his ancestors in his waywardness, volatile moods and disrespect for respectable opinion. He regarded the political scene in a highly personalized light and was not a man to be crossed lightly, as Cicero found out.

Wisely, Cicero had taken steps to protect his personal position by finding a friendly Tribune who agreed to veto all Clodius's reforms. In response, Clodius made a deal with Cicero: if Cicero would not block his legislation, he promised not to launch a prosecution. He made a point of being friendly with Cicero, saying that he wanted a reconciliation and blaming Terentia for their estrangement.

In late January or early February of 58, Clodius hurled his thunderbolt. He proposed two new bills, the first of which bought off the Consuls by allotting them rich provinces (Macedonia and Cilicia) for the following year with unusually generous financial allowances. The second cynically broke the assurance he had given Cicero. It punished with the denial of the traditional symbols of hospitality, fire and water (in other words exile), any public official who executed or
had
executed a citizen without due process of law. This was, in effect, a renewal or restatement of an existing law, but its target was obvious. It would be wrong, though, to see the bill
simply as a question of revenge. From the point of view of his patron, Caesar, waiting outside the city limits in order to watch developments before he left for his provincial command, the indictment of Cicero for illegal acts as Consul would distract the Senate from examining the legality of his own legislation. More broadly, Clodius was exactly the weapon Caesar needed to keep the Senate cowed and on the defensive.

Cicero responded by going into mourning, wearing torn clothes and letting his beard and hair grow, and presented himself in public as a suppliant. This was recognized behavior when a Roman found himself in serious trouble and especially if facing prosecution in the courts. Many
equites
followed suit and held a protest meeting at the Capitol. According to Plutarch, “the Senate met to pass a vote that the people should go into mourning as at times of public calamity.”
The Consuls, one of whom was Caesar's father-in-law, were politely unsympathetic. They opposed the measure, although the Senate as a whole seems to have been on Cicero's side. When Clodius surrounded the Senate House with armed men, many Senators ran out of the building, tearing their clothes as a sign of grief.

Although they did not want their involvement to become known, the First Triumvirate was complicit with Clodius, who, in another ingenious initiative, managed to temporarily remove the obstructive Cato from the scene, sending him on a commission to annex Cyprus. Special commands were his bane, but, as a strict constitutionalist, Cato felt obliged to accept an officially conferred duty. He was absent from Rome for two years. Clodius's move had two purposes: to further weaken the
optimates
and to provide revenue to pay for his planned free distribution of corn.

Caesar and Pompey knew what was going on but posed as candid friends, giving Cicero cordial if conflicting advice. Caesar said he should accept a command with him in Gaul; in that case, he would be seen to be acting from a position of strength. Pompey criticized Caesar for his advice, remarking that to quit Rome precipitately would be cowardly; Cicero should defend himself openly and, naturally, his old friend would be on hand to help him.

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the crisis came to a head, Pompey became increasingly embarrassed by his own double-dealing and withdrew to his splendid villa in the Alban Hills outside Rome. Cicero went to seek him out and plead for assistance. According to Plutarch, when the great man heard of Cicero's arrival he

Clodius shared with Cicero an inability to hold his tongue. He was indiscreet about Caesar's connivance and there were signs that public opinion was swinging to Cicero. Now that he had officially taken up his military command, Caesar was not allowed to enter the city. He was studiedly reasonable, assuring the crowd that, as everyone well knew, he had disapproved of Lentulus's execution—but he equally disapproved of retrospective legislation.

Wherever Cicero turned, support was lukewarm and he slowly came to realize that his position was untenable. He could hardly leave his house without being pelted with mud and stones by the Tribune's gangs. Even friends were counseling retreat. At a meeting in his house, senior
optimates
, led by Hortensius, advised him to leave the city, promising him an early return—advice he took but never forgave. Most people were sympathetic in principle (or appeared to be), but nobody in practice would act against Clodius.

Despairing, Cicero carried a little statue of Minerva down through the Forum and up to the summit of the Capitol, where he dedicated it with the inscription: “To Minerva, Guardian of Rome.”
He
had once been Rome's guardian and now he asked the goddess to protect the Republic during his enforced absence. Then, escorted by friends, he slipped out of the city, on foot in dead of night in order to avoid detection.

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soon as Cicero's departure was discovered, a furious Clodius placed a new, bolder measure before the People, this time condemning Cicero by name and confiscating his goods. He was to be refused fire and water and was forbidden to live closer than 400 miles from Rome. It is a sign of the affection in which Cicero was widely held, of his fundamental likeability, that most people paid little attention to the new law and happily put up the exile on his journey from Italy. There were exceptions, though: the Praetor of Sicily asked him to avoid the island, so he made his way instead through Macedonia and settled in Thessalonica, where the Roman Quaestor,
Cnaeus Plancius, generously and not uncourageously took him into his official residence.

Cicero was always prone to excessive mood swings. He easily became overconfident when his affairs went well and a setback could drive him into an exaggerated depression. The present crisis was unlike anything he had faced before. Even the most sanguine mind would have been daunted. If we are to believe what he writes in his letters, he may have suffered something like a mental breakdown and seems to have attempted, or at least considered, suicide.

Before too long, though, the exile returned to something approaching his old form, scheming and arguing for his recall. He decided that Terentia, probably now in her early forties, should not join him because she would be more useful to his interests in Rome. Atticus bore the brunt of his newfound agitations, receiving a constant flow of suggestions, instructions and criticisms without apparent complaint.

But if Cicero was determined that one day he would return to Italy, his enemy had different ideas. Clodius did all he could to ensure that his victim's disappearance was permanent. He had his house on the Palatine burned down, together with some if not all of his villas in the country and arranged for the site of the house to be consecrated and reserved for a Temple of Liberty.

The Rise of Caesar: 58–52
BC

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icero was shattered by his downfall; he reported to Atticus that he was losing weight and crying a lot. Expulsion from Rome, the world city, and its center, the Forum, seemed to annihilate all he was and stood for.

He longed for his family, which must have gone through a terrifying time when the house in Rome was demolished. Terentia, the “frailty” of whose health caused him anxiety, and the seven-year-old Marcus were now homeless. Perhaps Quintus and Pomponia put them up, but we do not know, for, in the surviving correspondence, Cicero, preoccupied with his own emotions, does not discuss the matter. Atticus was a tower of strength and Terentia repeatedly told her husband how grateful she was for his help as she tried to put some order into their domestic affairs.

Cicero's thoughts often turned to Tullia, his favorite child. “I miss my daughter, the most loving, modest and clever daughter a man ever had, the image of my face and speech and mind.”
She was living with her husband, Calpurnius Piso, a model son-in-law, who was a Quaestor in 58 but gave up his foreign posting to work for Cicero's return.

The exile indulged himself by translating his grief and shock into high rhetoric. “Has any man ever fallen from so fine a position, with so good a cause, so strong in resources of talent, prudence and influence, and in the
support of all honest men? Can I forget what I was, or fail to feel what I am and what I have lost—rank, fame, children, fortune, brother?” One senses here less a broken man than an orator looking for an admiring audience.

When it came to the allocation of blame for what had been done to him, Cicero's resentment overmastered him. His paranoia enriched with plausibility, he blamed the aristocrats in the Senate who had never accepted him as one of them and, he felt, had taken pleasure in abandoning him. He was particularly angry with his old rival Hortensius, who (he believed) had never forgiven him for outdoing him in the law courts. It was about such people that he complained to Atticus: “I will only say this, and I believe you know I am right: it was not enemies but jealous friends who ruined me.”

It was, of course, the First Triumvirate that was really to blame: the three had knowingly let Clodius engineer Cicero's ruin. Curiously, though, Cicero said little against them and never directly criticized Pompey. Did he not see the link between his refusal to join the alliance and his subsequent political destruction? With the benefit of hindsight, the connection seems inescapable.

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soon as he had settled down in Thessalonica, he sent off letters to various public figures, including one to Pompey. Although he was familiar with Pompey's faults, he may have become too fond of him to credit his duplicity. More probably, he knew he would need his support in the future. Cicero was sure that at heart Pompey was no radical; sooner or later he would make common cause with the Senate. And in the short run, Cicero needed Pompey for a more practical reason. Without his active backing it was clear that he would never be allowed to return to Rome.

Atticus came in for his share of criticism. If only he had loved Cicero enough he would have given him better advice; instead he had “looked on and done nothing.” Atticus very sensibly paid no attention to this unfair jibe and went on doing all he could to help, even offering to place his personal fortune, now much augmented by the death of an “extremely difficult” but extremely wealthy uncle, at Cicero's disposal. This was a gesture of some significance for, with the confiscation of his property, Cicero's financial affairs were in a very poor state. Cicero's letters to Atticus are full of practical advice, complaints and queries.

In June 58 the Senate attempted to pass a motion reprieving him, but a
Tribune friendly to Clodius blocked it. In October eight Tribunes drafted a law to revoke the second of Clodius's two laws (the one naming Cicero). It failed too, but Cicero was not too disappointed, for he thought it “carelessly drafted.” A
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the year drew to a close he expressed growing worries about the Tribunes-Elect and the likely attitudes of the incoming Consuls. One of these was his old enemy Metellus Nepos, who had opened the sniping against him on the last day of his Consulship five years before.

However, Metellus agreed (more or less) to a reconciliation and the senior Consul, Publius Cornelius Lentulus Spinther, turned out to be a strong supporter. The Tribunes were sympathetic too. Atticus was successful in his informal role as campaign manager for Cicero's recall. With his aptitude for networking and the freedom with which he could cross enemy lines, he gradually and discreetly pushed matters forward.

Even more helpful than Atticus was the deteriorating situation in Rome. Only a few weeks after Cicero's melancholy departure for Greece, Clodius turned his attentions to Pompey and a supporter of his, the Consul Aulus Gabinius (a onetime friend of Catilina's or, in Cicero's dismissive phrase, his “pet dancer”). With his gangs of supporters he made life so dangerous for Pompey that the former general shut himself up for much of the time in his villa outside the city.