With the letter of Pompey Magnus safely laying opened upon his office table, Marcus Tullius Cicero was staring at a blank point on the door, across from his office seat. His elbows rested upon the arms of his citrus wooden chair, his fingers’ ends touching while his chin was hovering above his united middle-fingers, often touching them in a mild caressing. What is Magnus thinking?, Cicero asked himself, sorting out all possible outcomes.

Reading the missive for the tenth time, Cicero pulled a piece of paper from his drawer and stared down at the blank sheet, ready to reply. What could be the consequences if I were to accept the invitation?, Cicero thought pulling away from the piece of paper. Cicero straightened his back to fit his seat, his hands rubbing the arms of his chair. Surely, Magnus has some notion as to how to control Caesar. That is why he is asking for a secret meeting, with the less possible leak of information. But what can it be?

Cicero’s mind was working with amazing alacrity. No, Magnus couldn’t be happy with the status quo, that was common knowledge for anyone who knew him for more than a moment. The general surely was bitter for being sideswiped from the spotlight by Caesar and for being forced to abandon politics. But, the question was, had Magnus a plan to limit Caesar’s power? And, to top that question, had Caesar a way to deal with the rejuvenated Pompey? How could these two men co-exist in peace when for the last twenty years all they desire is to be the First Men in Rome?

Conceding that Pompey did had a plan in mind, since he was calling for the meeting in the first place, what could it be and further, what would he be expected to do? This “old colleague” addressing worried him most. It is true, in the past Cicero was often asked by Pompey for assistance in various situations. But in return, Pompey never got his hands dirty to intervene in his favour when Cicero needed him most. Some might have felt that they were brutally used but Cicero was far too proud of himself and his intellect to admit that he had been constantly fooled by the Picenian Adulescentulus Carnifex. So, what would he have to do this time? It was almost unbearable when he was younger to be manipulated to risk his career, his reputation and his safety for some later forgotten promises but Cicero wasn’t going to sick his head out for Caesar now, in his late fifties! Sons of Death! What did Pompey had in mind?

Hovering back and forth between burning the letter and forgetting the whole thing and replying to Pompey’s invitation and preparing for a next great feat in the name of the Republic, Cicero weighted each decision. Both men had shown their will to be the supreme rulers of Rome; there was no doubt about that. Both had used bribery, violence, and illegal means of grasping command… The list of offences towards the dying Republic was near-endless! Whom to support? Does it matter? Both would grasp and hold the ultimate power until they were dead! What did it mattered whom Marcus Tullius Cicero would side with? Who could be the most manageable? Pompey of course. He lacked both the skill with politics and the needed nobility to grasp command for perpetuity. Caesar, from the other hand, he was dangerous. Noblest, cleverest, not succumbing to manipulation - or advice. But the man in charge, nonetheless. And generous, far more generous than Pompey Magnus. Whom to support?

Standing up from his office, Marcus Tullius Cicero began pacing up and down his tablinum. Sure, the Republic is long since ill and infernal. But where there’s life, there’s hope. Caesar dies one day and then this bastard, Mark Anthony will be unleashed to do as he pleases. Then the Republic will die! But who has Pompey to name successor? His son isn’t as worthy, not as notable. Pompey one day dies and the Republic will roll on without him.



“Pompey then.”