Catilina's riddle rsr-3

by Steven Saylor

  Caelius grimaced. 'Cicero foresaw such a request. It's not possible. If suchacommunication were to be intercepted, it would spoil everything, and put you in immediate jeopardy, besides. Put your mind at ease. If a crisis comes, Cicero will not forget you.'

  'Still, I'd like some assurance from Cicero himself. If I came to Rome—'

  'He couldn't see you, not now. Catilina would know, and all would be ruined. Do you not believe me, Gordianus?'

  I considered for a long moment The shiver of excitement I had felt earlier was joined by a prickle of apprehension. I felt like the man who cannot control his drinking and so abstains, but who picks up a cup intended for someone else and accidentally swallows a mouthful of warm wine. 'I believe you,' I finally said.

  But later that night, as I lay beside Bethesda, a doubt took shape, grew and hovered over me like a grey mist in the moonlit darkness. Caelius had offered no proof that he came from Cicero. Might he have been sent by Catilina, instead? Even if he had come from Cicero, might not Catilina have seen through their plan? Where did Caelius's true allegiance lie? The same charming young man who claimed to have fooled Catilina might just as easily be able to fool Cicero, not to mention an unreformed intriguer named Gordianus the Finder, who thought he had sworn off politics forever.

  Bethesda stirred. 'What's wrong, Master?' she whispered. She had ceased to call me Master on the day of our marriage, but occasionally she slipped in her sleep; to hear her call me that reminded me of days long ago, before the world became so weary and complex. I reached out and touched her. The familiarity of her body — firm, warm, and responsive — dispelled my hovering doubts like ragged mists beneath the sun. She rolled towards me and we folded our bodies together. For a while all apprehensions were forgotten in the animal act of love, and afterwards I slept the sleep of a country farmer, dreaming of endless fields of hay and the musical lowing of oxen.

  V

  The next morning Marcus Caelius was up before I was. I found him in front of the stable, fully dressed and readying his mount for the ride back to Rome. His bodyguards emerged from within, rubbing their eyes and brushing straw from their hair. The sun was not quite above Mount Argentum, and the world was lit by a thin blue light. A trail of mist hovered over the stream and crept into the low places. From Publius Claudius's farm to the west, a faraway cock began to crow.

  'Weren't you able to sleep, Caelius?'

  'Quite well, thank you.'

  'The bed was too hard, wasn't it? I knew it would be. And the room was too stuffy.' 'No…'

  'Alas, as you've seen for yourself, my home is wholly unsuitable for distinguished guests.'

  Caelius caught my meaning and smiled. "They say that Catilina is like a good general; he can eat and sleep under any conditions. Your accommodations will be more than adequate.'

  'I still haven't said yes, Caelius.'

  'I thought you had.'

  'I'll need to consider it'

  'Which is the same as saying no. Time presses, Gordianus.'

  'Then no,' I snapped, suddenly tired of bantering with him.

  He clucked his tongue. ‘You'll change your mind as soon as I'm gone. Send a messenger to me.' He mounted his horse and ordered his bodyguards to get ready.

  Bethesda emerged from the house, dressed in a long-sleeved stola

  with her hair down. The black and silver strands cascaded in splendid waves down her back, and there was a dreamy look in her eyes, for which I felt partly responsible.

  'Surely, Marcus Caelius, you're not leaving us without eating first?' She positively purred. 'I had planned something special for breakfast.'

  'I prefer to start a long ride on an empty stomach. I've looted some bread and fruit from your larder, for the road.' He turned his steed around a few times while his bodyguards mounted their horses.

  'Wait a moment,' I said. 'I'll ride with you as far as the Cassian Way.'

  As we set out, the sun crested the mountain and lit up the world, casting long shadows behind us. Birds began to sing. We passed by vineyards on one side and a mowed field of hay on the other. Caelius breathed in deeply. 'Ah, Gordianus, the smell of a country morning! I see why you prefer it to the city. Yet the city does not cease to exist, merely because you turn your back on it. Neither do a man's obligations.'

  'You are nothing if not persistent, Caelius,' I said, shaking my head ruefully. 'Did you learn that trait from Cicero, or from Catilina?'

  'A little from both, I think. There's something else I learned from Catilina: a riddle. You must like riddles, Gordianus, being so adept at solving mysteries. Do you want to hear it?'

  I shrugged.

  'It's a little riddle that Catilina likes to pose to his friends. He told it on the night of the blood oath. "I see two bodies," he said. "One is thin and wasted, but has a great head. The other body is big and strong — but it has no head at all" ' He laughed quietly.

  I shifted uneasily on my mount. 'What is the point?'

  Caelius gave me his heavy-lidded look. 'But it's a riddle, Gordianus! You must figure out the answer for yourself. I tell you what: when you dispatch your messenger to me, use a code. If you'll play host to.Catilina, if your answer is yes, then say: "The body without a head." But if no, then say: "The head without a body." But don't wait long; once set in motion, events will move very swiftly.'

  "They always do,' I said, reining in my horse. We had reached the Cassian Way. Caelius waved to me, then with his men turned onto the stone-paved surface and gathered speed. For a moment I watched their capes fluttering behind them like pennants, then turned back towards the house, more uncertain and apprehensive than ever.

  * * *

  I was in my library that afternoon, sketching fanciful plans for the water mill, when Aratus announced that Congrio and his assistants had returned.

  'Good, show them in. I want to see them. Privately.'

  Aratus narrowed his eyes and withdrew. A few moments later Congrio and the kitchen slaves entered. I put aside my tablet and stylus and gestured for them to shut the door.

  'Well, Congrio, how did things go with the Claudii?'

  'Quite well, Master. I'm sure you'll receive no complaints about our service. Claudia gave me this note to give to you.' He handed me a rolled scrap of parchment sealed with wax on which Claudia had impressed her ring. Her seal, I noticed, was an abbreviation of her name, with the letter C enclosing a smaller A. It was clearly her own seal, neither inherited from her father nor taken from a husband, but invented by herself. This was unusual for a Roman matron, but Claudia was an unusually independent woman. I broke the seal and unrolled the letter.

  To Gordianus:

  Greetings, neighbour, and my gratitude for the loan of your slaves. They have comported themselves admirably, most especially your chief of the kitchen, Congrio, who has lost none of his skill since the days when he served my cousin Lucius. I am doubly grateful because my own head cook fell ill in the midst of preparations, whereupon Congrio proved to be not merely a great help but utterly essential; I should have been distraught and desperate without him. I will remember this when calculating the favour I owe you.

  On a different subject, and confidentially, I want you to know that I did my best to put in a good word for you in the family council. We Claudii are a stubborn and opinionated bunch, and I cannot say that I immediately swayed anyone towards a more moderate view, but I think I made a start. Anyway, I did what I could. It was a beginning.

  Thank you again for the generous loan. Consider this your promissory note, and call upon me some day to repay it. I remain your grateful neighbour,

  Claudia

  I rolled the letter and tied it with a ribbon, then saw that Congrio was watching me with his head quizzically cocked. 'She was quite impressed with you’1 said, at which Congrio let out a pent-up breath and smiled sweetly.

  'A good woman’ he said. 'A demanding mistress, but she genuinely appreciates a man's skills’

  'You obeyed my orders regarding your own discretion?'
>
  'We were discreet, Master. I regret that I can't say the same for other men's slaves’

  'What do you mean?'

  "The visiting Claudii brought along their own slaves, and the most natural place for slaves to congregate is the kitchen. I did my best to shoo them out whenever the place became too crowded, but there was always a throng, and the orgy of gossip never stopped. I took no part in it, of course, but above the clanging of pots and pans I kept my ears open, as you instructed'

  ‘What did you hear?'

  'Most of it was of no interest at all — which slaves had risen or fallen in their master's favour… fabricated stories about amorous adventures when journeying with their masters to Rome… obscene tales about illicit unions between field slaves and serving girls behind the wine press… rude comments about one another's anatomy — just the sort of trivial filth that you'd expect, and with which I would never consider polluting my master's ears’

  'Was there anything at all of interest?'

  'Perhaps. There were some rude insults aimed in my own general direction. Slaves often take on the colours of their masters, as you no doubt have noticed, and when there is hostility between masters it may be echoed between their slaves. Quite a few of the slaves, knowing I served Lucius Claudius long and faithfully, took crude jabs at me; these took the nature of bemoaning what they called my sad decline in the world, having now to serve a master — pardon me, Master, these are their exact words and it pains me to repeat them — having now to serve a master "so far below" the last. I answered them with stony silence, of course, which they merely seemed to find amusing. The point is that such phrases could hardly have originated from the lips of slaves; rather, slaves pick up such phrases from their masters.'

  'I see. Did you hear anything so direct from the lips of the Claudii themselves?'

  'No, Master, not I. As it turned out, I was confined almost exclusively to the kitchen, with hardly a moment to catch a breath of air. Claudia's head cook fell ill—'

  'So she mentions in her letter.'

  'As you might imagine, I was quite busy the whole time. I hardly saw any of her guests, only their slaves invading my — that is to say Claudia's — kitchen.'

  'And you two?' I asked, nodding to his assistants. They drew themselves up nervously, looking at each other.

  'Well?'

  'We helped Congrio in the kitchen much of the time,' said one of them 'It's as he says; there were rude jibes from some of the visiting slaves, veiled insults regarding our new master — which is to say yourself, Master. But we didn't spend all our time in the kitchen. We were also called upon to serve during the family council and the dinner that followed. Your name was mentioned…'

  'Yes?'

  They displayed acute discomfort. One of them had a rather bad complexion, with pimples scattered over his cheeks. I was surprised Claudia had chosen him to serve, since most Romans prefer to look on something pleasant while they dine. I put this down to her general eccentricity; Claudia seemed always determined to go her own way.

  'You,' I said to the boy with the pimples. 'Speak up! Nothing you say will surprise me.'

  He cleared his throat 'They don't like you, Master.'

  'I know that. What I want to know is what they might be planning to do about it'

  'Well, there was nothing specific. Name-calling mostly.'

  'Such as?'

  He made a face, as if I had waved something foul-smelling under his nose and demanded he taste it' "Stupid young fart from the city"?' he finally said, wincing.

  'Who called me that?'

  'That was Publius Claudius, I think, the old man who lives across the stream. Actually, he did state a specific intention, sort of. He said you ought to be dunked upside down in the stream and made to catch fish with your teem.'He winced again.

  'That's pretty harmless,' I said. 'What else?'

  His companion chewed his lower lip, then timidly raised his hand for permission to speak. ' "Stupid nobody with no ancestors, who should be put in a cage and carted back to Rome,"' he offered.

  'That was Manius Claudius, the man who lives up north beyond the wall’

  'I see. Still, nothing more than idle grumbling’ The young man with the pimples cleared his throat. ‘Yes?' I prompted.

  "The youngest one, the one named Gnaeus—'

  The Claudian whose own rocky, mountainous property would not support a farm and who, by all expectations, should have inherited Lucius's farm, I thought 'Go on’

  'He said that the family should hire some assassins in the city to come up on some dark night and leave a bit of blood on the ground’

  This was more serious, though it still might be only more idle talk. 'Did he say anything more specific?'

  'No, those were his words, exactly: "Leave a bit of blood on the ground"'

  'And he said this where you could hear?'

  'I don't think he knew what household I came from. I don't think any of them knew, except Claudia. They really didn't seem to notice us at all. Also, there was a lot of wine drunk that night and Gnaeus drank his share’

  'But you should probably know, Master,' said the other slave, 'that Claudia spoke up in your defence. She answered each of these insults and threats, and told the others that there was no point in nursing their animosity because everything had been settled in court'

  'And how did her cousins respond?'

  'Not very warmly, but she did shut them up. Her manner can be rather…'

  'Brusque’ concluded Congrio. 'And remember, it was in her home that the family conclave was being held; she is very much the mistress under her own roof I think that Claudia suffers no challenges to her authority on her own property, even from her blood relations.'

  I smiled and nodded 'A woman to be reckoned with. A woman who demands respect. Do her own.slaves respect her?'

  'Of course.' Congrio shrugged. 'Although…'

  'Yes? Speak up.'

  He wrinkled his plump brow. 'I'm not sure that they feel much affection for her, as some slaves do for their masters. She is quite demanding, as I have learned for myself. Nothing must go to waste! Every part of every beast must be rendered for whatever it's worth; every seed must be picked up off the floor. Some of the older slaves swear that they owe their bent backs to her and not to old age.'

  'The very fact that she owns slaves old enough to have stooped backs speaks of a compassionate nature,' I said, thinking of all the farms where slaves are treated worse than beasts of burden. A slave's hide, unlike that of a cow, has no value after death, and thus many masters see no reason not to cover it with scars; and the flesh of slaves, unlike the flesh of beasts, cannot be eaten, and so these same masters see no need to feed them more than the bare minimum. Wise old Cato would certainly have had no wizened slaves about his farm; his advice is to cull out the sick and weak and to stop feeding a slave once he grows too old to do his full share.

  Done with the slaves, I dismissed them, but as Congrio was stepping through the door (he had to turn a bit sideways, I noticed, to manoeuvre his bulk through the passageway), I called him back.

  'Yes, Master?'

  'This family conclave of the Claudii was mostly about the upcoming elections, I understand.'

  'I think so, Master, though I imagine they also discussed matters of more immediate concern to the family.'

  'Such as their unwanted neighbour and what to do about him,' I said glumly. 'Did you overhear any rumours of how the Claudii plan to vote? In the consular election, I mean.'

  'Oh, in that they were unanimous. They will back Silanus, though they appear to have no great respect for him. "Anyone but Catilina," was the phrase I heard again and again. Even the slaves had picked it up.'

  'I see. "Anyone but Catilina.'' You may go now, Congrio. Bethesda will wish to advise you about this evening's meal.' After he left the room, I sat for a long while with my fingertips pressed together, staring at the wall, lost in thought.

  VI

  For the next few days I put aside
thoughts of politics and Rome and the great world beyond the farm I even managed to banish the troublesome Claudii from my mind. No more messengers arrived from the city; no more insults were hurled across the stream that bordered my estate. The city folk were busy with electioneering, and my neighbours were no doubt occupied, as I was, with the haymaking. The sun shone bright and warm, the slaves seemed content at their labours, the beasts dozed in their pens. Meto and Diana seemed to have made peace with each other, at least for the time being, and Bethesda, her maternal nature aroused by the budding spring, took them to gather wildflowers on the hillside. In my idle moments I played at designing the water mill that had been the dream of Lucius Claudius.

  The nights were warm but pleasant. I went to bed early, and Bethesda and I made love three nights in a row. (The chance appearance of a handsome young visitor like Marcus Caelius in my household seemed often to have this stimulating effect, but I did not question or object.) I slept well and deeply. It seemed to me that a great peace had descended on my own little plot of land in Etruria, no matter what wickedness was brewing in the world beyond. Thus do the gods sometimes deceive us with a respite before the storm.

  The bad news began at mid-month, on the Ides of Junius. Early that morning a slave came running to my library, saying that Aratus wished to see me in the fields. From the boy's uneasy countenance I saw trouble looming.

  I followed him to a place at the northern edge of the farm, near the wall that separated my land from that of Manius Claudius. Since this field of grass was farthest from the house and the barns, the slaves had mowed it last. The grass was all cut, but only a few bundles had been gathered. The slaves stood idly about and became nervous at my arrival. Aratus stepped towards me, looking glum.