Cicero - Anthony Everitt [182]
During the following weeks new names were added to the original list—some because they were genuine political opponents, but others simply because they had been a nuisance or were friends of enemies or enemies of friends or, most appositely, were known to be rich. Appian writes: “The point was reached where a person was proscribed because he had a fine town house or country estate.” Verres, Cicero’s old adversary, whom he had prosecuted for corruption in Sicily a quarter of a century before, was still alive and a collector of valuable Corinthian bronze artifacts; it was said that Antony had him proscribed when he refused to part with any of them.
In a thoroughly un-Roman betrayal of family loyalties and the ties of amicitia, each Commissioner agreed to abandon friends and relatives. Lepidus allowed his brother Paulus to be marked down, Antony an uncle of his (although both ultimately survived) and Octavian a man reported to have been his guardian. Cicero was proscribed along with the rest of his family. It was claimed that Octavian fought to keep his name off the list for two days, but the vindictive Antony insisted. This account may have been propaganda, for Octavian will not have forgotten Cicero’s self-betraying remark about him, “Laudandum, ornandum, tollendum,” and this may have strengthened a resolve to see an end to the troublesome old man. If the last of the orator’s young disciples had genuine feelings of affection for him, they probably did not run deep: with Octavian personal ties took second place to public expediency.
Cicero and his brother were at Tusculum when they heard about the proscription. They moved at once to the villa at Astura about thirty miles away on the coast (and forty miles or so from Rome), planning to sail to Macedonia and join Brutus. They were carried on their way in litters—a journey that could be accomplished in a long day. According to Plutarch, “they were quite overwhelmed with grief and on the journey would often stop and, with the litters placed side by side, would condole with each other.” Quintus suddenly realized that he had brought no cash with him and Cicero too had insufficient funds for the journey. So Quintus volunteered to go back home, get what was needed and catch up with Cicero later. The brothers hugged each other and parted in tears.
The decision to return was disastrous. Bounty hunters were already on the family’s trail and Quintus was betrayed by servants. His son was either with him or within reach: according to one account, he found a hiding place for his father and, when tortured to reveal its whereabouts, did not utter a syllable. AS soon as Quintus was told about this, he came out into the open and gave himself up. Each man begged to be killed first. The conflicting requests were reconciled, for they were taken away to separate parties of executioners and, on an agreed signal, put to death simultaneously.
During the civil war both father and son had tried in their different ways to extricate themselves from Cicero’s clouded fortunes, but they had been unable to escape his ruin. The brothers had been reconciled, at least on the surface, and, whatever their disagreements about Julius Caesar, they both unhesitatingly backed the last surviving defenders of the Republican cause. Young Quintus was a clever but unsympathetic figure. However (if we can believe the story of his last days, as recounted by late sources), it is touching to see him behave for once with courage and unselfishness.
Meanwhile, Cicero reached Astura and, presumably after waiting vainly for Quintus or having received news of his capture, found a boat. He sailed twenty miles south to the headland of Circaeum. There was a following wind and the pilots wanted to continue their journey, but Cicero insisted on disembarking and walked about twelve miles in the direction of the Appian Way, the road to Rome.
His motives are unclear. Plutarch offers various alternative explanations. One is that he was afraid of the sea. It was true that