I tried to push such thoughts from my mind and to concentrate on the work at hand, but I was distracted and grew more and more irritated. Meto's obvious disinterest did not help. I had hoped that the water mill would spark his enthusiasm, and one of the reasons I wanted to pursue the project was to give him a practical lesson in building, but he had no head for figures or geometry and grew bored and restless at being asked to hold pieces of string and take a few steps in one direction or the other. Later in the morning he asked to be excused to return to the house, saying the heat was making him dizzy, and I let him, though I suspected he was more bored than faint.
I myself was clumsy with the siting instruments and kept giving Aratus the wrong figures to write down, then correcting myself Each time he erased the wax tablet with the back of his hand, the gesture grew more curt. I was about to reprimand him, but then he shut his eyes and used the other side of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. The sun was directly overhead. Perhaps it was only the heat that was setting our nerves on edge.
'We'll stop now, until it's cooler,' I told him. Aratus nodded and hurriedly gathered up the instruments, then departed for the house. Clearly, he was as tired of my manner as I was of his, and glad to have a break from me. I sighed, wondering if any farmer could succeed on such bad terms with his foreman. For an instant I wondered if I should replace Aratus, but the thought was too much to take on. I fetched my battered tin cup and went down to the stream to scoop up a drink of cool water. I drank it down slowly, then scooped up another cup and splashed it on my face. The day was going to be intolerably hot.
I heard a noise, and turned to see Meto stepping from behind an oak tree. From the smile on his face, the respite from geometry had lifted his spirits considerably. Then I saw the man who followed him. I gave a start, thinking another stranger had appeared on the farm. I stared, puzzled, then realized what had changed.
'Your beard, Catilina!'
He reached up and stroked his naked jaw, laughing softly. 'Would you share your cup? Just walking here from the stable has given me a thirst.'
I handed him the cup. While he knelt beside the flowing water, I sat down on a broad, flat rock in the shade. He drank his fill, then joined me on the rock. Meto slipped off his sandals and went wading in the shallow water to cool his feet.
'Tongilius did it for me this morning,' Catilina said, stroking his jaw again. 'Not a bad job, considering the poor light'
'He shaved you before you went out?'
He nodded. When had he slept?
'But the look was so distinctive, Catilina.' I meant the words to be ironic, considering that I had seen the same beard on every recent visitor from the city.
'The first to adopt a certain fashion should be the first to abandon it' said Catilina glibly.
"The voters will think you are changeable and frivolous.'
'The voters who know me will know better. The voters who despise me would like to think I could be changed, and thus should be comforted, or at least disarmed. And I don't worry that anyone in Rome, whether friend or enemy, considers me frivolous.' He frowned for a moment, then turned up his chin and squinted at the bright leafy canopy above. 'It was this foray into the countryside that did it like a plunge into cold water. New surroundings give a man inspiration to put on a new face. I feel ten years younger, and a thousand miles away from Rome. You should try it, Gordianus.'
'Moving a thousand miles from Rome?'
'No,' he laughed, 'shaving your beard.' Meto, wading in the stream, was paying no attention to our conversation. Even so, Catilina leaned towards me and lowered his voice. 'Women like it when a man first grows a heard, or when he shaves one. It's the change that's exciting, you understand. Imagine Bethesda's reaction if you should suddenly appear in her bed with a naked face. There, you see, you're smiling. You know I'm right'
I did smile and even laughed a little, for the first time that day. I was suddenly at ease as I realized with surprise. The change in my mood was because of the cool shade and flowing water, the respite from Aratus's scowl and from the sight of Meto's delight in the stream, I told myself. It had nothing to do with Catilina's smile.
Meto emerged from the stream and joined us. He stood first on one leg and then on the other, drying his feet and slipping on his sandals. With the stream behind him and the sunlight glinting on the hair that hung over his face, he looked like one of those statues of unselfconscious youth that the Greeks so admire. Impossible, I thought, that he was almost a man. He was still too pretty, too boyish. Having grown up myself without the benefit of beauty, I was never quite sure whether his good looks were an advantage or not Certainly menrlike Pompey, not to mention Catilina, had used their looks to further their careers; Marcus Caelius was of the same mould. On the other hand, Cicero was proof that plainness was no disadvantage. And for a man of no great means or ambition, as for a woman of the same station, beauty could be as much a disadvantage as a boon, attracting the wrong sorts of patrons and leading a young man to rely too much on his charm. I only wished that Meto had a more serious side to his nature, and a bit more common sense.
Meto finished fastening his sandals and sat down beside me. His smile was so open and honest that I felt foolish for worrying over him. The sunlight, where it pierced through the leafy canopy, was warm on my flesh. A breeze gently strummed the high grass alongside the stream. The world was silent except for the splashing of water, the singing of birds, and the faint, distant bleating of a goat which echoed off the hillside. Meto was as well equipped to find his way in the world as I had been, if not more so. What doors could I have opened with his looks and his charm, and what did it matter if he had no head for adding figures? I sighed. Was there nothing so simple that I could not find an excuse to brood over it?
'Well?' Meto said, looking at me expectantly.
'Well, what?'
Catilina drew back a little, pursing his lips. 'I suspect your son thinks we've been discussing another matter. You see, I told him at the stable that if you had no objection—'
'The mine, Papa, that abandoned silver mine up on Mount Argentum,' said Meto, suddenly excited.
'What are you talking about?' I looked from one to the other.
Catilina cleared his throat. 'Yesterday, as we rode up the Cassian Way, I happened to notice the trail on the mountainside to the east. Later I asked your foreman about it. Aratus told me that the mountain belongs to your neighbour and that the trail leads up to an old silver mine. This morning Tongilius and I rode over to have a look. I have a friend in the city, you see, who believes he's found ways to extract ore even from mines that others have deemed exhausted. One is always looking for such opportunities.'
'And did you see the place?'
'Only the goatherds' house, which is not far from the road. We spent a pleasant hour talking to the chief goatherd, who appears to be in charge of the place. He was perfectly agreeable about showing us the mine, but he asked us to come back later in the day, after the worst of the heat. Apparently the way is quite arduous. Tongilius and I were talking about it when we returned our horses to the stable, and Meto overheard. He asked to come with us; it wasn't my idea. I told him he would have to ask for your permission.' 'May I, Papa?' said Meto.
'Meto, you know how things stand between Gnaeus Claudius and myself. It's out of the question that you should go exploring on his property.'
'Ah, yes, Gnaeus Claudius, the owner of the estate,' said Catilina. 'But there's no problem there, as Gnaeus is away. The goatherd says he's ridden up north to have a look at another property, a place more suitable for farming. It seems he's quite willing to rent or sell his property here, as he believes the mine to be worthless and he has no taste for goatherding. It's a farm he wants, and so the mountain is available. Thus the goathered is quite happy to show it to me. I'm sure there would be no objection if Meto came along.'
'And does the goatherd know who you are?'
Catilina raised an eyebrow. 'Not exactly. I introduced Tongilius, and mysel
f I introduced as Lucius Sergjus. There are quite a few Lucius Sergii around, after all—'
"Though not many with the cognomen Catilina at the end.'
'I dare say not'
'And only one with the name Catilina who also wears a chin-strap beard.'
'Not even one of those any more,' said Catilina, stroking his chin. 'Very well, Gordianus, I was not completely forthright with the man, but he's only a slave, after all. If I wish to be incognito here in the country, surely that doesn't surprise you. Didn't Marcus Caelius tell you that I would prefer anonymity while I'm here? I should think you'd prefer it that way youself.'
'My neighbours are no partisans of yours, Catilina. Quite the opposite. Indeed, I strongly doubt that Gnaeus Claudius would deal with you if he knew who you are, so you'll only be wasting your time going to have a look at his mine.'
'Now, Gordianus, one hardly has to like a man to do business with him; that's what lawyers are for. Beside, it's not I who would make an offer on the property. I have no money at all, only debts. I'm interested in the mine for my friend, and Tongilius would do the dealing. But seriously, Gordianus, we're far ahead of ourselves. The matter at hand is quite simple. I intend to have a look at the old mine, and.Meto would dearly like to come with me. He tells me he's never seen a mine. His education is vital to you, I know, and unless one happens to be impossibly rich or else a wretched slave, how many men have the opportunity to walk through such a place? It will be an edifying experience.'
I thought it over, glumly. Meto smiled at me expectantly and drew his eyebrows together. Had I spoiled him so shamelessly that he would try to charm his own father to sway his judgment? What sort of Roman father was I? The question stiffened my spine, but only for a moment. I was no more a typical Roman father than my family was a typical Roman family. Convention and piety were dothing for other men but had always fitted me poorly. I sighed and shook my head and was about to relent when the vision of Nemo loomed up before me.
'Out of the question,' I said.
'But, Papa—'
'Meto, you know better than to contradict me, especially in front of a guest.' -
'Your father is right,' said Catilina. 'His decision is all that counts. The mistake is mine for not thinking the matter through and putting the question properly. What I should have said was this: Would you like to accompany me, Gordianus, and to bring your son along with you?'
I opened my mouth at once to answer, but some intuition told me that no matter how strenuously I objected or how many arguments I marshalled, in the end my answer would be the same, and so why waste my breath? I shut my mouth, considered for a very brief moment, and, feeling Meto's eyes on me, said simply, 'Why not?'
A man at my time of life understandably grows cautious and staid, I told myself) but even virtues can become vices when too rigidly adhered to. Occasionally a man must do the unexpected, the unforeseen, the uncalled-for. And so I found myself later that afternoon, after the heat had begun to dissipate, riding a little way north on the Cassian Way to the gate that opened onto the property of my neighbour Gnaeus Claudius. The gate was a simple affair, meant only to keep goats from wandering out onto the highway. Tongilius dismounted, threw the bolt, and swung it open.
'You need not even introduce yourself' Catilina said as we rode onto the rough path beyond the gate. 'I’ll simply say you're with me. The goatherd will be satisfied.'
‘Perhaps,' I said. 'Still, it seems less than honest for me to go snooping about on Claudian land without announcing myself'
"They would do the same to you,' said Catilina simply. Someone had already done so, I thought, remembering Nemo.
The foothills of Mount Argentum loomed abruptly before us. The way became progressively steeper. The earth became more rocky and the trees more dense until we round ourselves in a forest strewn here and there with boulders. Animals rustled in the underbrush, disturbed by our passing, but we saw no people at all. Around a bend in the road, at the crest of a steep ridge, we arrived at the goatherds' house.
It was a rustic affair, made of hewn stones and a thatched roof without adornment. The inside was a single room shared, if my nose was correct, by all the goatherds together, some ten or more to judge by the blankets piled against the walls where they slept. They were absent now, except for their chief, who lay upon a couch with splintered legs and threadbare cushions. The couch was of Greek design and workmanship, finely made but too worn to be worth restoring. It was the kind of expensive object masters are apt to pass on to a slave when the thing's beauty is used up, but not its utility. The goatherd seemed quite happy with it. He snored softly and batted a fly from his nose.
Catilina roused him by gently shaking his shoulder. The man blinked the sleep from his eyes and sat up. He reached for a skin of wine, swallowed a mouthful, and cleared his throat. 'So you came back after all, Lucius Sergius,' he said. 'Just to see an old hole in the ground. There's not much to see, as I told you. Still, for three sesterces…' He looked up at Catilina and cocked his head.
'It seems I remember promising you two sesterces,' said Catilina. ‘But no matter. You'll be paid.'
'And who are they?' The goatherd stroked his grizzled chin and squinted at our silhouettes in the doorway. 'Your friend Tongilius I met this morning, but not this man, nor the boy beside him.'
'Friends of mine,' said Catilina. He moved so that a jingling sound was produced by the little bag of coins within his tunic.
'Oh, friends of yours are friends of mine!' said the goatherd heartily. He raised the wineskin and squeezed a long draught of wine between his lips, then stood up and wiped his mouth. 'Well, what are we waiting for? Let me fetch my mule and well begin.'
* * *
The goatherd's name was Forfex, so called, I imagine, for his proficiency at shearing his flock. His hair and beard were grey and his skin looked as brown and tough as old leather. Despite his age he moved with the wiry agility of a slave who has spent his lite on rocky hillsides, learning to be as surefooted as the goats in his charge. He struck me as a naturally cheerful fellow, sitting atop his little mule and humming a song. The coins in his bag and the wine in his belly had put him in an especially good mood.
The way led at first beneath a high canopy of trees that grew alongside a deep, rugged streambed on our left-hand side. The stream was dry, or nearly so; little ponds of stagnant water appeared here and there among the tumbled boulders. We proceeded towards the south and shortly came to a juncture where a little bridge crossed the ravine and led to the main house. Through the trees and rocks I caught glimpses of a rustic two-storey structure set against a steep hillside. Chickens and dogs surrounded the place. The hounds, smelling us across the ravine, roused themselves and began to bark. The more energetic ones ran to and fro, throwing up clouds of dust and causing the chickens to flutter and cluck. Forfex shouted at the dogs to be quiet. To my surprise, they obeyed.
We did not take the bridge but rode on, leaving the house behind. The way became steeper and steeper; the forest became more and more dense. At length we came to what appeared to be a dead end. Only when we entered the little clearing was I able to see the narrow passage that led away to the left through a bower of low branches.
'We'll have to dismount here,' said Forfex.
'This is the path that leads to the mine?' asked Catilina.
'Yes.'
'But how can it be so narrow? Surely at one time there must have been a great traffic of men and beasts upon it.'
'At one time, yes, but not for many yean,' said Forfex. 'Once it was practically a road, as broad as two men laid head to head. But when the mine failed there was no more reason to use the path, except for driving goats. Stop using a path and you see what happens — the woods reclaim it. It's still passable, yes, but not on horseback. Youll need to dismount and leave your horses here.'
As I was tying the reins to a branch, I noticed another path that opened into the woods. It was even more overgrown, so much so that I might have missed seeing it altogethe
r. I stared into the shadowy undergrowth, trying to make out its course, then realized that Catilina was standing behind me, looking over my shoulder.
'Another path,' he said to me in a low voice. 'Where do you suppose it leads?' Then he called Forfex over. 'Is this another pathway?'
The old goatherd nodded. 'Or used to be. Nobody uses it at all, so far as I know, except perhaps to go looking for a lost kid.'
'Where does it lead?'
'Down to the Cassian Way, if I remember correctly. Yes, pretty much straight down the mountain towards the south and west. It used to come out on the highway not far from the gate to Claudia's farm. That way you could send a slave from Claudia's house all the way up to this clearing and on up to the mines without his having to go up north as you did and enter by the main gate. But the path hasn't been cleared in years and years. It may be blocked by fallen branches and stones, for all I know; we get some fierce storms up here on the mountain in the winter, blowing over trees and setting off landslides. It takes many a slave to keep the pathways clear.'
"Then one would pass this pathway on the ride up from Rome, before coming to the main entrance?' said Catilina.
Catilina's riddle rsr-3 Page 13