He finished to a round of boos and catcalls, and as he resumed his seat, with the most magnificent display of disdain, some kind of fight broke out at the other end of the chamber. I believe a senator threw a punch at Gabinius, who turned around and punched him back, and very quickly he was in difficulties, with bodies piling in on top of him. There was a scream and a crash as one of the benches toppled over. I lost sight of Cicero. A voice in the crowd behind me cried that Gabinius was being murdered, and there was such a surge of pressure forward that the rope was pulled from its fixings and we tumbled into the chamber. I was lucky to scramble to one side as several hundred of Pompey’s plebeian supporters (who were a rough-looking lot, I must admit) poured down the aisle toward the consular dais and dragged Piso from his curule chair. One brute had him by the neck, and for a few moments it looked as though murder would be done. But then Gabinius managed to struggle free and pull himself up onto a bench to show that, although he had been somewhat knocked about, he was still alive. He appealed to the demonstrators to let go of Piso, and after a short argument the consul was reluctantly released. Rubbing his throat, Piso declared hoarsely that the session was adjourned without a vote-and so, by the very narrowest of margins, for the moment at least, the commonwealth was saved from anarchy.
SUCH VIOLENT SCENES had not been witnessed in the heart of Rome’s governing district for more than fourteen years, and they had a profound effect on Cicero, even though he had managed to escape the melee with barely a ruffle in his immaculate dress. Gabinius was streaming blood from his nose and lip, and Cicero had to help him from the chamber. They came out some distance after Pompey, who walked on, looking neither right nor left, with the measured tread of a man at a funeral. What I remember most is the silence as the mingled crowd of senators and plebeians parted to let him through. It was as if both sides, at the very last moment, had realized that they were fighting on a cliff edge, had come to their senses and drawn back. We went out into the Forum, with Pompey still not saying anything, and when he turned into the Argiletum, in the direction of his house, his supporters all followed him, partly for want of anything else to do. Afranius, who was next to Pompey, passed the word back that the general wanted a meeting. I asked Cicero if there was anything he required and he replied, with a bitter smile, “Yes, that quiet life in Arpinum!”
Quintus came up and said urgently, “Pompey must withdraw, or be humiliated!”
“He already has been humiliated,” retorted Cicero, “and we with him. Soldiers!” he said to me in disgust. “What did I tell you? I would not dream of giving them orders on the battlefield. Why should they believe they know better than I about politics?”
We climbed the hill to Pompey’s house and filed inside, leaving the muted crowd in the street. Ever since that first conference, I had been accepted as the minute-taker for the group, and when I settled into my usual place in the corner, no one gave me a second glance. The senators arranged themselves around a big table, Pompey at the head. The pride had entirely gone out of his massive frame. Slumped in his throne-like chair, he reminded me of some great beast that had been captured, shackled, baffled, and taunted in the arena by creatures smaller than himself. He was utterly defeatist and kept repeating that it was all over-the Senate would clearly never stand for his appointment, he had only the support of the dregs on the streets, Crassus’s tame tribunes would veto the bill in any case; there was nothing left for it but death or exile. Caesar took the opposite view-Pompey was still the most popular man in the republic, he should go out into Italy and begin recruiting the legions he needed, his old veterans would provide the backbone of his new army, the Senate would capitulate once he had sufficient force. “There is only one thing to do if you lose a throw of the dice: double your stake and throw again. Ignore the aristocrats, and if necessary rule through the people and the army.”
I could see that Cicero was preparing himself to speak, and I was sure he did not favor either of these extremes. But there is as much skill in knowing how to handle a meeting of ten as there is in manipulating a gathering of hundreds. He waited until everyone had had their say, and the discussion was exhausted, before coming fresh to the fray. “As you know, Pompey,” he began, “I have had some misgivings about this undertaking from the outset. But after witnessing today’s debacle in the Senate, I have to tell you, they have vanished entirely. Now we simply have to win this fight-for your sake, for Rome’s, and for the dignity and authority of all those of us who have supported you. There can be no question of surrender. You are famously a lion on the battlefield; you cannot become a mouse in Rome.”
“You watch your language, lawyer,” said Afranius, wagging his finger at him, but Cicero took no notice.
“Can you conceive of what will happen if you give up now? The bill has been published. The people are clamoring for action against the pirates. If you do not assume the post, someone else will, and I can tell you who it will be: Crassus. You say yourself he has two tame tribunes. He will make sure this law goes through, only with his name written into it instead of yours. And how will you, Gabinius, be able to stop him? By vetoing your own legislation? Impossible! Do you see? We cannot abandon the battle now!”
This was an inspired argument, for if there was one thing guaranteed to rouse Pompey to a fight, it was the prospect of Crassus stealing his glory. He drew himself up, thrust out his jaw, and glared around the table. I noticed both Afranius and Palicanus give him slight nods of encouragement. “We have scouts in the legions, Cicero,” said Pompey, “marvelous fellows, who can find a way through the most difficult terrain-marshes, mountain ranges, forests which no man has penetrated since time began. But politics beats any obstacle I have ever faced. If you can show me a route out of this mess, you will have no truer friend than I.”
“Will you place yourself in my hands entirely?”
“You are the scout.”
“Very well,” said Cicero. “Gabinius, tomorrow you must summon Pompey to the rostra, to ask him to serve as supreme commander.”
“Good,” said Pompey belligerently, clenching his massive fist. “And I shall accept.”
“No, no,” said Cicero, “you will refuse absolutely. You will say you have done enough for Rome, that you have no ambitions left in public life, and are retiring to your estate in the country.” Pompey’s mouth fell open. “Don’t worry. I shall write the speech for you. You will leave the city tomorrow afternoon, and you will not come back. The more reluctant you seem, the more frantic the people will be for your recall. You will be our Cincinnatus, fetched from his plow to save the country from disaster. It is one of the most potent myths in politics, believe me.”
Some of those present were opposed to such a dramatic tactic, considering it too risky. But the idea of appearing modest appealed to Pompey’s vanity. For is this not the dream of every proud and ambitious man? That rather than having to get down in the dust and fight for power, the people should come crawling to him, begging him to accept it as a gift? The more Pompey thought about it, the more he liked it. His dignity and authority would remain intact, he would have a comfortable few weeks, and if it all went wrong, it would be someone else’s fault.
“This sounds very clever,” said Gabinius, who was dabbing at his split lip. “But you seem to forget that it is not the people who are the problem; it is the Senate.”
“The Senate will come around once they wake up to the implications of Pompey’s retirement. They will be faced with a choice of either doing nothing about the pirates, or awarding the supreme command to Crassus. To the great majority, neither will be acceptable. Apply a little grease and they will slide our way.”