Free The Dictator by Robert Harris Page B

sorry to hear it.”
    “He doesn’t feel it appropriate, in view of the new law that is to be proposed.” Whereupon he opened a small bag and handed over a draft bill, which Cicero read with evident surprise and then gave to Quintus, who eventually handed it to me.
Whereas the people of Rome are being denied access to a sufficient supply of grain; and to the extent that this constitutes a grave threat to the well-being and security of the state; and mindful of the principle that all Roman citizens are entitled to the equivalent of at least one free loaf of bread per day—it is hereby ordained that Pompey the Great shall be granted the power as Commissioner of Grain to purchase, seize or similarly obtain throughout the entire world enough grain to secure a plentiful supply for the city; that this power should be his for a term of five years; and that to assist him in this task he shall have the right to appoint fifteen lieutenant commissioners of grain to carry out such duties as he directs.

    Afranius said, “Naturally, Pompey would like you to have the honour of proposing the legislation when you address the Senate today.”
    Milo said, “It’s a cunning stroke, you must agree. Having retaken the streets from Clodius, we shall now remove his ability to buy votes with bread.”
    “Is the shortage really so serious it demands an emergency law?” asked Cicero. He turned to Quintus.
    Quintus said, “It’s true, there’s little bread to be had, and what there is has risen to an extortionate price.”
    “Even so, these are astonishing, unprecedented powers over the nation’s food supply to bestow upon one man. I’d really need to find out more about the situation before I offered an opinion, I’m afraid.”
    He tried to hand the draft bill back to Afranius, who refused to take it. He folded his arms and glared at Cicero. “I must say, we expected a little more gratitude than that—after all we’ve done for you.”
    “It goes without saying,” added Milo, “that you’d be one of the fifteen lieutenant commissioners.” And he rubbed his finger and thumb together to indicate the lucrative nature of the appointment.
    The ensuing silence became uncomfortable. Eventually Afranius said, “Well, we’ll leave the draft with you, and when you address the Senate we’ll listen to your words with interest.”
    After they had gone, it was Quintus who spoke first. “At least now we know their price.”
    “No,” said Cicero gloomily, “this isn’t their price. This is merely the first instalment of their price—a loan that in their eyes will never be repaid, however much I give them.”
    “So what will you do?”
    “Well, it’s a devil’s alternative, is it not? Propose the bill, and everyone will say I’m Pompey’s creature; say nothing, and he’ll turn against me. Whatever I do, I lose.”
    As was often the case, he had not decided which course to take even when we set off to attend the Senate. He always liked to take the temperature of the chamber before he spoke—to listen to its heartbeat like a doctor with a patient. Birria, the scarred gladiator who had accompanied Milo when he visited us in Macedonia, acted as a bodyguard, along with three of his comrades. In addition, I suppose there must have been twenty or thirty of Cicero’s clients, who served as a human shield; we felt quite safe. As we walked, Birria boasted to me of their strength: he said that Milo and Pompey had a hundred pairs of gladiators on standby in a barracks on the Field of Mars, ready to deploy at a moment’s notice if Clodius tried any of his tricks.

    When we reached the Senate building, I handed Cicero the text of his speech. On entering he touched the ancient doorpost and looked around him at what he called “the greatest room in the world” in thankful amazement that he should have lived to see it again. As he approached his customary position on the front bench nearest to the consuls’ dais, the neighbouring senators