Caesar put on an expression of pained surprise. 'None of this is aimed at you personally. I hope you understand that. We mean you no harm. In fact I want you to know that if ever you find yourself in personal danger, you can always rely on my protection.'

' I can always rely on your protection?' Seldom did I see Cicero at a loss for words. But on that freezing day, in that cramped and faded house, in that scruffy neighbourhood, I watched him struggle to find the language that would adequately convey his feelings. In the end he couldn't manage it. Draping his cloak over his shoulders, he stepped out into the snow, and under the sullen gaze of the band of ruffians still lingering in the street, he bade Caesar a curt farewell.

' I can always rely on his protection?' repeated Cicero as we trudged back up the hill. 'Who is he to talk to me in such a way?'

'He's very confident,' I ventured.

'Confident? He treats me as if I were his client!'

The day was ending, and with it the year, fading swiftly in that way of winter afternoons. In the windows of the tenements lamps were being lit. People were shouting to one another above our heads. There was a lot of smoke from the fires, and I could smell food cooking. At the street corners the pious had put out little dishes of honey cakes as new-year offerings to the neighbourhood gods – for we worshipped the spirits of the crossroads in those days rather than the great god Augustus – and the hungry birds were pecking at them, rising and fluttering and settling again as we hurried past.

'Do you want me to send a message to Catulus and the others?' I asked.

'And tell them what? That Caesar has undertaken to spare Rabirius if I betray them behind their backs, and that I'm going away to consider his proposal?' He was striding ahead, his irritation lending strength to his legs. I was sweating to keep up. 'I noticed you weren't making a note of what he said.'