The Triumph of Caesar by Steven Saylor

as long as Caesar was alive?
    That night at dinner with the family, I recounted some of my conversation with Antony and Cytheris but kept to myself anything that might embarrass (or simply displease) Calpurnia should it spread beyond my house. It was not that I doubted the discretion of my loved ones, but in my experience, words once uttered have a way of taking flight, as if acting on their own volition. I was struck again at Rupa's suitability to act as my companion and bodyguard. He heard all but could repeat nothing.
    My body was weary. I would have slept with the sun, but restless thoughts kept me awake. The prospect of meeting the leader of the Gauls on the last full day of his life filled me with trepidation. The interview would almost certainly be unpleasant, in one way or another, and I found myself wishing I could avoid it altogether.
    Unable to sleep, I left my bed. The night was warm. Crickets thrummed in the garden. I stepped into my library, lit a lamp, and did my best to peruse the difficult handwriting of Hieronymus. Previously, I had intentionally skipped over the entries having to do with Cicero, assigning them a low priority. For one thing, I had no wish to read about Cicero—if Hieronymus had thought me a windbag, what in Hades had he made of Cicero?—and for another, it seemed to me that Cicero was the unlikeliest of assassins. But Fulvia's reference to him had piqued my curiosity.
    Over the years, my relations with the great lion of the Roman law courts had been mixed. Over thirty years ago, I ferreted out the truth for Cicero when he took on his first major case, defending a man accused of parricide in the gloomy days when Sulla's shadow covered Rome. I nearly got myself killed more than once in the course of that investigation, and Cicero had faced considerable danger as well, daring to take on one of the dictator's most dangerous henchmen in the court. His surprising success had redounded to the enduring benefit of us both.
    But Cicero's meteoric rise in the political arena had revealed a darker side of his character. He was perfectly willing to sacrifice the reputations and even the lives of his rivals to attain success, though he was careful to do so by using (some would say twisting) the law. As he grew in fame and power, I hardened my heart toward Cicero. But when men like Caesar and Pompey elbowed him off the political stage, their terrifying ruthlessness made Cicero, even at his worst, look benevolent. My feelings about him had softened, but I had never quite patched up the strained relations between us.
    Could Cicero be the menace to Caesar?
    When civil war loomed, Cicero had wavered between Caesar and Pompey for as long as he possibly could, and would have avoided choosing either side had such an option been possible. Ultimately he sided with Pompey and the old establishment and fought against Caesar at Pharsalus. After a resounding victory, Caesar saw fit to pardon Cicero. Since then, the great orator, whatever his true feelings about the new dictator, had kept his mouth shut.
    I could no more easily picture Cicero as a conspirator that I could picture Antony, for different reasons. If Antony was too brash and outspoken, Cicero was too cautious and indecisive. And, to his credit, he was a true defender of the republican virtues of debate, compromise, and consensus; a man like Cicero would pursue every possible legal channel, no matter how tortuous or tenuous, rather than resort to violence. But had not Caesar's victory closed all political and legal avenues of challenge to his authority? What was a true republican to do when faced with the prospect of a dictator for life?
    These were strange days. If Calpurnia could fall under the spell of a haruspex, if Antony the man of action could wile away his days in a drunken stupor, if an Alexandrian dancer could take up residence in Pompey's house, could Cicero become a murderous conspirator?
    What had he been up to in my absence and since my return