Catilina's riddle rsr-3

by Steven Saylor

  Tongilius laughed aloud. 'Lucius, what a gift you have for understatement!'

  Catilina arched an eyebrow. The gesture was typically patrician, but together with his chin-strap beard and unruly cuds, it gave his face the shrewd look of a satyr contemplating an unprotected sheep. 'The situation wasn't compromising — Fabia and I were both fully dressed — but there remained the fact that I was on forbidden ground, and of course the presence of a corpse in a holy place. Do you know the penalty for such crimes, Meto?' Meto vigorously shook his head.

  'Really, Gordianus, you've neglected the boy's education. Do you not regale him with anecdotes of your past adventures, dwelling on all the juicy details? When a Vestal is convicted of an improper dalliance with a man, Meto, the man is put to death by public scourging. Painful and humiliating, but not the most terrible of fates — death is death, after all. But for the Vestal — oh, for her, the end is far more gruesome.'

  I glanced at Meto, who gazed raptly at Catilina. Tongilius, who must have heard the tale many times already, found fresh amusement in Meto's wide-eyed fascination.

  'Shall I tell you the punishment for a Vestal found guilty of impiety?' said Catilina.

  Meto nodded.

  'Really, Catilina,' I protested, 'the boy won't sleep a wink tonight.'

  'Nonsense! A young man his age craves images of horror and depravity. A fifteen-year-old sleeps best when he's had his head freshly filled with atrocities.'

  'I'll be sixteen this month,' said Meto, wanting to remind us he was almost a man.

  'There, you see,' said Catilina. 'Really, you're too protective, Gordianus. Well, them first, the Vestal is stripped of her diadem and her linen mantle. Then she is whipped by the Pontifex Maximus, to whom, as head of the state religion, all the Vestals are directly accountable. After being whipped, the condemned Vestal is dressed like a corpse, laid in a closed litter, and carried through the Forum attended by her weeping kinfolk in a hideous parody of her own funeral. She-is carried to a place just inside the Colline Gate, where a small vault is prepared underground, containing a couch, a lamp, and a table with a little food. An executioner guides her down the ladder into the cell, but he does not harm her, as her person is still sacred to the goddess Vesta and she cannot be killed outright. The ladder is drawn up, the vault sealed, the ground levelled. No man bears direct responsibility for taking her life, you see; the goddess Vesta claims her.'

  ‘You mean she's buried alive?' said Meto.

  'Exactly! In theory, if the court has been mistaken and the Vestal is innocent, the goddess Vesta will refuse to take her life, and she'll remain alive in her tomb indefinitely. But since the vault is sealed, the opportunity to redeem herself is merely a technicality. And surely Vesta would eventually take pity on the girl and snuff out her life whether she was innocent or not, rather than let her live through eternity in a cold vault, alone and miserable.' Meto contemplated this idea with awed repulsion. 'Fortunately,' said Catilina, 'that is not what happened to the lovely Fabia. She is very much alive and still a Vestal, though I haven't spoken to her in years. We can thank your father for her salvation. Really, Gordianus, you never told this tale to your son? It's not bragging to simply tell the truth. But if Gordianus is too modest, I will tell it for him.

  'Where was I? Ah, yes, in the House of the Vestals, in the middle of the night, alone with Fabia and a fresh corpse. The Virgo Maxima, who found us, was already implicated in a scandal herself and desperate to avoid another. She sent for help to Fabia's brother-in-law, a rising young advocate famed for his cleverness — Marcus Tullius Cicero. Yes, the consul himself, though who then could have foreseen his destiny? Cicero in turn sent for Gordianus. And it was Gordianus who discovered the murderer still lurking in the House of the Vestals when no one else could find him. It turned out that the assassin had miscalculated his opportunity to escape and was trapped in the courtyard when the gates were shut He was hiding — can you believe it? — in the pool among the lily pads, breathing through a hollow reed. It was your father who noticed that the reed had moved from one place to another. Gordianus strode into the pool and pulled the man sputtering from the water. The assassin swung a knife. I leaped upon him. A moment later the man was impaled on his own blade. But before he died he confessed all — namely that my enemy Clodius had put him up to everything: sending the false note, luring me to the House of the Vestals, following me inside, and killing his confederate, so that I would be found not only in a dubious position but with blood on my hands in a sacred place.'

  'But there was a trial?' said Meto.

  'Of sorts. The assassin was dead, so nothing could be proved against Clodius. Even so, with the biggest prude in Rome to defend her honour — I mean young Marcus Cato, of course — Fabia was found innocent, and so was I. Clodius was so disgraced he fled to Baiae to wait for the scandal to blow over. He didn't have long to wait That was the year the gladiator Spartacus began the great slave uprising, and the little matter of the Vestals was quickly forgotten in the wake of more momentous events.

  'Alas, Meto, I fear I've disappointed you. The scandal was no scandal. at all, you see, only a contrivance designed by my enemies to have me dishonoured at best and at worst put to death. I cannot claim to be the man who deflowered a Vestal and lived to tell about it, for I never did such a thing. I merely prevailed over a trumped-up charge, thanks to the help of clever lawyers and an even cleverer man who called himself the Finder. Ironic, is it not, Gordianus, that it was Cicero who called on you to unravel the mystery? Of course it was his wife's half-sister Fabia whom he wished to save from ruin, not me. Even so, in those days Cicero and I were not yet enemies.'

  There followed a long silence. Tongilius was beginning to nod. So was Meto, despite his enthusiasm for the tale.

  'Younger men require more sleep than their elders,' said Catilina.

  'Yes, off to bed with you, Meto.'

  He made no complaint, but rose and nodded respectfully to our guests before leaving. Tongilius followed him shortly thereafter, retiring to the room he was to share with Catilina.

  The two of us sat in silence for a long moment. The night was warm and still. The lamps were beginning to sputter and sink. The sky above us was moonless and pierced by bright stars.

  'Well, Gordianus, did I do justice to the tale and to your part in it?'

  I paused for a long moment before I spoke. I stared up at the stars, not at Catilina. 'I would say that you put the facts plainly enough.' 'You sound dissatisfied.'

  'I suppose I still have my doubts about the matter.' 'Doubts? Please, Gordianus, be frank.'

  'It always seemed odd to me that a man should spend so much time and effort courting a young woman sworn to chastity, unless he had some ulterior motive.'

  'Misunderstood again — it is a curse that the gods have put upon me, that the face the world sees is seldom my true face, but often the very opposite. When my motives are purest, other men doubt me, and yet when my intentions slip from the path of virtue I find that other men flock to me with praise.'

  'And then, how did Clodius know that you would respond to that forged note from Fabia, unless he had evidence that the two of you were more than friends?'

  'Another irony — quite often one's enemies are the best and truest judges of one's character. Clodius knew my sentimental heart and adventurous spirit. He devised the most forbidden lure he could imagine and then tempted me with it. Had I truly been Fabia's lover I would have sensed that the note was false.'

  'And again, I recall that in Cato's speech in Fabia's defence, he dwelt heavily upon the fact that when the Virgo Maxima rushed into the Vestal's room, the two of you were discovered completely dressed—'

  'And don't forget that the assassin said likewise before he expired. Before killing his companion so as to leave a corpse, he had instructions from Clodius to wait until Fabia and myself were undressed so that we would be found that way. But as he himself declared, "they would not take off their clothes!" He said it more than once, do you reme
mber?'

  'I do, and it caused me to wonder, for why did Clodius think you would take oft your clothes in the first place, and in the second, it occurred to me that for a man and a woman to have intercourse, they need not take off’ their clothes, but merely rearrange them.' I looked from the stars to Catilina, but the lamps had burned so low that his eyes were in shadow and I could not read his face. His lips seemed to curve into a smile, but perhaps I only imagined it.

  'Really, Gordianus, you are as devious as any advocate. I'm glad it was that idiot Clodius who spoke against me at the trial, and not you, or else my defence would have been utterly demolished.' He sighed. 'Anyway, all of that is ancient history now, as dead as Spartacus, just a slightly lurid tale to quicken the pulse of a young man like your son.'

  'Yes, about Meto…'

  'Do I hear another note of dissatisfaction in your voice, Gordianus?' 'If you are to stay in my house, I would prefer that you respect my authority as head of this household.' 'Have I somehow offended you?'

  'More than once you cast doubt on my judgment regarding my son, and you did it in front of Meto himself. I realize your manner is ironic, Catilina, but Meto is likely to take your comments seriously. I ask that you refrain from ridiculing me, however good-naturedly. I will not have my authority undermined.'

  I kept my voice even and tried to speak without undue passion. There followed a long silence. I could see that Catdlina's face was turned up to the stars, his jaw clenched. That he failed to reply seemed to indicate that he was angry and was biting his tongue. If I had offended him, I could not regret it.

  Then he laughed. It was a low, quiet laugh, gentle and without harshness. The laughter faded and after a moment he spoke. 'Gordianus — but no, you will think I am ridiculing you again. Even so, I must say it. How could I undermine your authority with the boy? Any fool could see that he worships you. Such devotion is like a rock, and my teasing is like a pebble cast against it. Even so, I apologize and ask your forgiveness. I am a guest in this house, here upon your sufferance, and I have behaved as if I were in my own home, without regard to your sensibilities. That is rudeness on my part, not to mention a failure of wisdom I meant no offence. You see, I was serious when I said that men mistake my meaning. If only I could learn to do the opposite of what I intend to do, then everyone would be pleased with me at last.'

  I stared at him in the darkness, not knowing whether to be charmed or offended, whether to laugh at his wit or fear him. 'If I distrust you, Catilina, perhaps it's because you speak in riddles.'

  'Men offer riddles when they cannot offer solutions.'

  ‘You're cynical, Catilina.'

  He laughed softly, this time with a touch of bitterness. 'Against the insoluble ugliness of life, one man takes refuge in flippant cynicism while another takes refuge in smug certainty. Which man is Cicero and which is me? No, don't answer.' He was silent for a moment, then said, 'I understand you've had a falling-out with Cicero.'

  'I've always had my differences with him. I never care to work for him again.' It was not exactly a lie.

  'You're not the only one who's become disillusioned with our consul. For years Cicero paraded himself as the fiercely independent champion of reform, a battler against the status quo, the outsider from Arpinum. But when it came his time to stand for consul, he found that I had the constituency for reform already in my hand, so he moved without a moment's hesitation into the opposite camp and made himself a puppet for the most reactionary elements in Rome. It was a transformation to make a man's head spin, yet he changed his rhetoric without a stutter or even a pause for breath! Oh, others were surprised, but I saw it coming from the first days of his campaign. A man who will do anything to get himself elected is a man without principles, and Cicero is the worst. All his old supporters with any integrity — like young Marcus Caelius — have abandoned him, just as he abandoned them to go to sit in the lap of the oligarchy. The ones who've stayed with Cicero have no more principles than he does. They simply bend towards power as flowers bend towards the light. The last year in Rome has been a farce—'

  'I've been away from Rome the whole tame.'

  'But surely you visit the city?'

  'Not at all.'

  'I can't blame you. The place is full of vipers, and worse than that, it's become a city without hope. The oligarchs have won. You can see the resignation on people's faces. A small group of families own and control everything, and they will do anything not to share their wealth. There was some chance for reform with the Sullan legislation, but Cicero of course saw to it that those reforms came to nothing—'

  'Please, Catilina! Surely Caelius told you that talk of politics is like a bee sting to me — I swell up and break out in welts if I'm exposed to it.'

  Though his eyes were in shadow I could see that Catilina regarded me steadily. 'You're a strange man, Gordianus. You invite me, a candidate for consul, into your home, yet you cannot abide to speak of Rome's fate.'

  'You said yourself that you came here to escape from politics, Catilina.'

  'So I did. Yet I think that I am not the only one who poses riddles here.' He sat unmoving in the darkness, watching me.

  Perhaps Catilina trusted me no more than I trusted him, but which of us had the greater cause to be suspicious? I might have asked him outright what he knew of the headless body that had been left in my barn, but if he was responsible he would hardly have admitted it, and if he knew nothing and said as much I wouldn't have believed him. Still, I thought that I might trap him by laying my words in a circle around him and then pulling them tight.

  'The riddle you posed earlier was too easy, Catilina. But I find myself still puzzled by one that Marcus Caelius posed when he visited me last month. He said that you invented the riddle, so surely you can tell me the solution.'

  'What riddle was that?'

  'It was posed in this fashion: "I see two bodies. One is thin and wasted, but has a great head. The other body is big and strong — but has no head at all" '

  Catilina did not respond immediately. From the shifting shadows on his brow and around his mouth I thought I saw him frowning. 'Caelius told you this riddle?'

  'Yes. Contemplating it has caused me considerable distress.' I spoke only the truth.

  'Strange that Caelius should have repeated it to you.'

  'Why? Is the riddle a secret?' I thought of clandestine meetings, messages sent in code, oaths sworn and sealed by drinking from a cup of blood.

  'Not exactly. But riddles have their proper time and place, and the time to pose that riddle has not yet arrived. Strange…' He rose from his couch. 'I'm suddenly weary, Gordianus. The journey has caught up with me, and I think I must have eaten too much of Congrio's cooking.'

  I roused myself, intending to show him the way, but he was already leaving the courtyard. 'Don't worry about waking me in the morning,' he said over his shoulder. 'I'm an early riser. I shall be up even before the slaves.'

  Only moments after he left, the last of the lamps sputtered and went out. I reclined on my couch in the darkness, wondering why Catilina would not supply the answer to his own riddle.

  Later that night I woke up in my bed beside Bethesda. Nature called.

  I rose to my feet. I didn't bother to reach for a cloak to cover myself. The night was warm.

  I stepped into the hallway and headed for the privy; Lucius Claudius, never one to stint himself of luxury, had blessed the house with indoor plumbing, just like a city house in Rome. The hallway ran alongside one wall of the courtyard. Through one of the little windows I glimpsed a dark shape on one of the couches and gave a start.

  It was a body. Of that I was instantly certain, though in the dim starlight I could tell little about it. I stared at the stiff, unmoving shape. I felt a tremor of fear, and then a hot flush of anger that I should feel such fear in my own home.

  Then the body stirred. It was a living man.

  He turned his head slightly, and in the dim starlight I discerned the profile of Catilina. He lay
upon the couch with his hands folded on his stomach, not making a sound. I would have thought he was asleep, except that his eyes were open. He appeared to be lost in thought.

  I watched him for a long moment, then silently continued on my way. I stepped into the privy and did my business as quietly as possible. On the way back to my bedroom I stopped and watched him again. He had not moved.

  Suddenly he sprang up from the couch. I thought he must have seen or heard me, but he took no notice of me. He began to pace slowly around the small courtyard, circling the pool, his arms crossed and his head bowed. After a while he fell back onto the couch and covered his face with one hand, dropping his other arm limply to the floor. His posture suggested deep exhaustion or despair, but from his lips came neither snoring nor weeping, not even a sigh, only the steady breathing of a wakeful man. Catilina brooded.

  I returned to my room and pressed myself beside Bethesda, who stirred but did not wake. I feared that I would brood and fret like Catilina, but Morpheus came quickly and pulled me deep into the black recesses of forgetful sleep.

  XI

  I arose the next morning expecting to find Catilina still abed, despite his claim to be up early, but when I looked into the room he shared with Tongilius I saw two vacant couches with their covedets neady folded. When had he slept — or had he slept at all?

  Perhaps, I thought with a glimmer of hope, he had grown restless and departed altogether. But one of the kitchen slaves informed me that he and Tongilius had eaten an early breakfast of bread and dates and then had gone out, taking their horses from the stable and leaving word that they would return before noon.

  Very well, I thought, the less I have to entertain him, and the less he disrupts the routine of the firm, the better. At least he possessed good manners, as a true patrician should. As a house guest, he could have been much worse.

  I took Aratus and Meto and went down to the stream to continue our calculations for building the water mill. For a while, engaged in the work, I forgot about Catilina completely, but then I began to have new misgivings. He had gone out with Tongilius, he had said, but to where and for what purpose? As my guest he was free to wander wherever he liked on the farm, but the two of them had taken their horses with them, and the kitchen slave thought she had seen them headed in the direction of the Cassian Way. Catilina had said he would be back by noon, and therefore could not have gone far; what sort of business could he have nearby, and with whom? I did not like the idea of his using my home as a base for whatever dealings he might have in the 'vicinity. Nothing of the sort had been mentioned by Marcus Caelius, who had promised that Catilina would visit me only to retire from the city or to rest on his way north. I considered confronting Catilina with my displeasure. It seemed a reasonable thing to do, except that I kept remembering Nemo.