He shook his head. 'I see no reason why you should suspect Catilina of such an atrocity.'
'When I hesitated to respond to your demand that I play host to Catilina, the body appeared, headless, as in the riddle — as if to persuade me.'
'Gordianus, I know nothing about this, I swear to Hercules. It makes no sense…'
The harder I looked into his eyes, the more impossible he became to fathom. Was he lying? And if so, on whose behalf?
'But if you wish to hear Catilina's riddle complete…'
'Yes?’
'Wait until Catilina's rebuttal to Cicero in the Senate this afternoon. What Catilina has to say will be on everyone's lips. Everyone in Rome will know the riddle then.'
'Tell it to me now, Marcus Caelius—'
At that moment a hush fell over the garden, and heads turned towards the hallway that led to the private chambers, from which Rufus had emerged in augur's dress. He was resplendent in his trabea, a woollen robe ornamented with a purple border and saffron-coloured stripes. In his right hand he carried a long, slender wand made of ivory and decorated with carvings of ravens, crows, owls, eagles, vultures, and chickens, as well as foxes, wolves, horses, and dogs — all the various birds and quadrupeds from whose actions the augurs interpret the will of the gods.
Rufus spoke, his voice full of authority. "The time has come for Meto to set foot in the Forum wearing his manly toga, and to ascend with me to the Temple of Jupiter for the reading of the auspices.'
I looked around and saw that Marcus Caelius was gone.
XIX
With many wishes of goodwill, the guests dispersed. The kitchen slaves, brooded over by Bethesda and Menenia, began to clear the tables and return the uneaten food to earthen jars. Eco summoned the rest of the household slaves and looked them over to be sure they were clean and presentable. A Roman commands no respect in the Forum unless he has a retinue — the longer the retinue, the greater the respect — and as Cicero says, a slave takes up as much space as a citizen. Our retinue would be small, but with Rums at its head it would be distinguished. Mummius, too, declared that he and Apollonius would walk with us. Making up the balance were a few other citizens and freedmen, men who owed favours to Eco or had long been bonded to our family by ties of mutual obligation.
We departed down the narrow pathway to the Subura, where our hired litters waited. Diana was left at home (and hardly protested, thanks to some soothing from Menenia), so I shared my litter with Bethesda. Eco rode with Menenia, and Meto, in the foremost litter, with Rufus. I felt some chagrin at having no place to offer Marcus Mummius, but he forestalled my apologies by declaring he would never accept a ride on the back of slaves so long as he still had two good legs to walk on. There followed the predictable boasting about great distances traversed while on campaign; Mummius claimed to have once covered sixty miles in a single day on a rocky mountain road, wearing battle armour.
We settled ourselves in the Utters and were lifted above the crowd. The carriers bore us into the Subura Way with our retinue following behind.
Bethesda was silent for a while, watching the people on the street and scrutinizing the vendors and their wares. She missed the bustle of the city, I thought 'It went very well,' she finally said.
'Yes.'
"The food was excellent'
'Quite. Even by our usual standards, and Congrio spoils us.' 'The yellow canopy was a good idea.' 'Yes, the sun is strong today.' 'And the litters are rather fun.'
'A treat,' I agreed. For such a light conversation, Bethesda's voice was oddly flat, and her face was pensive as she watched the people of the Subura go by. 'I saw that our neighbour Claudia made an appearance.'
'Didn't she speak to you?'
'No.'
'Well, she left abruptly. She made the mistake of bringing along her cousin Manius. He was rather abusive and made a bit of a scene, but it ended badly for him. Did you see it?'
'No, I must have been busy in the kitchen. But I heard about it later. Eco says the man made a fool of himself. Was he really slipping food into his toga?'
'I'm afraid so.'
'How absurd! He must be as rich as Crassus.'
'You exaggerate, I'm sure, but I doubt that Manius ever goes hungry. These country Claudii are an odd lot They appear to have an exceedingly grasping and stubborn nature.' Even Claudia, I thought, was distinguished by her miserly hatred of waste.
'And there was someone else who came to the party…'
'Yes?'I said
'That young man who visited us some while ago. The one who prevailed upon you to play host to Catilina. The handsome one.' 'Marcus Caelius.'
'Yes. I had no chance to speak to him, either.'
I tried not to smile. 'Now, Bethesda, I understand your regret at missing a second opportunity to charm such a good-looking young man—'
She turned her face from the street. Her expression stopped me cold.
'Husband do you really think I would brood this way over a lost chance to flirt? What was Marcus Caelius doing in our house today?'
Her face was drawn, like a garment worn too tightly, and her eyes had a haunted look that turned my heart to water. She was not angry, but frightened.
'Bethesda!' I reached out to put my arm around her, but she shrugged off my embrace.
'Don't coddle me like a slave. Tell me why that man came to Meto's party. What did he want from you?'
‘Very well. He came, he said, to deliver apologies from Cicero for not coming in person.'
'Did he ask more favours of you?' When I hesitated to answer, Bethesda's eyes flashed. 'I knew it! What will he have us doing this time? Does this involve Catilina again?'
'Bethesda, I told Caelius in no uncertain terms that my obligation was already discharged.'
'And did that satisfy him?'
Again I hesitated, and the spark in her eyes ignited. 'I knew it! More trouble!'
'Not necessarily, Bethesda.'
'How can you say that! Do you know how I've worried since Diana found that horrible body in the stable? I will not have such things going on around us!'
'Then we should probably do whatever Caelius demands.'
'No!'
'Yes! Satisfy him — and whomever he really represents, whether it's Cicero or Catilina or—' For the first time it occurred to me that Caelius might actually be representing some other party.
'You must not deal with him,' Bethesda insisted.
'He asks very little.'
'So far! But it will come to something horrible. When we left the city, you said you would leave such things behind.'
'I did leave them, Bethesda. They followed me.' 'But this is different. This is not your way, to do things without knowing why. You've always been an open and honest man, even when you worked in secret.'
'That doesn't quite make sense, Bethesda.'
'You know what I mean!'
I sighed. 'Yes, I do. The duplicity that Caelius forces on me doesn't sit well with me, either. In truth, I dread it.' Without intention, as naturally as a child, I reached for her hand and twined my fingers with hers. 'I'm frightened, too, Bethesda. Frightened and dismayed and a little disgusted — and proud and elated and sentimental, because this is Meto's toga day! If only our lives could be one thing at a time, instead of this mad jumble’
It was my turn to become pensive and watch the street pass by. 'Bethesda, when I was young and beginning to make my way in the world pursuing the work that my father did, there was one thing he made me promise that I would never do — use my skills to capture runaway slaves. It was an easy promise for me to make, and I've never broken it, for I have no appetite for such work. Over the years I added another promise to myself— that I would not become a spy for the state, or ever become a dictator's secret policeman if the Republic should fall prey to another Sulla, Jupiter forbid.
'There are times when I have done things of which I'm not particularly proud, and times when distinguishing right from wrong has confounded me — thus did the gods
make this world, of multiple uncertainties and questions without answers. But I've always been able to sleep at night and to look at myself in a mirror without shame. Now I find myself compelled to be a spy, or at least to consort with spies, and I'm not even certain for whom I'm working. Am I the agent of Cicero and the Optimates, which is to say the state? Or am I the unwitting tool of Catilina, who would surely make himself a dictator if he could, for how else can be bring about the changes he promises his disinherited and disenfranchised followers? In the end, I tell myself, I don't care so long as my family is left in peace — and my own cynicism distresses me! Am I wise, or merely apathetic — or a coward?'
Bethesda looked at me steadily and squeezed my hand. 'You are not a coward.'
'Ah, but I don't hear you reassuring me that I'm wise!'
She cooled a bit and slid her hand from mine. She rested her chin on her knuckles and gazed out at the street. She spoke in a tone that was at once detached and determined and that allowed no contradiction. 'In your own heart you know what I know: that something terrible looms over us. I'm a woman, what can I do? Meto is barely a man. Eco, too, is very young and has his own life here in the city. It is up to you, husband. All up to you.'
I blinked and sighed, and wondered: was this woman ever really my slave?
The litters deposited us at the eastern end of the Forum, not far from the Senian Baths. By custom, the women stayed behind to await our return. Meto set foot upon the Sacred Way wearing a happy smile along with his toga. Whatever he had been talking about with Rufus, it must have been on happier topics than my conversation with Bethesda.
Led by Rufus in his augur's vestments, our little party made its way through the very heart of Rome. Amid the throngs of vendors, voters, politicians, and vagrants, we passed the House of the Pontifex Maximus, where young Caesar now held office, and the adjoining House of the Vestal Virgins, the scene of Catilina's indiscretion ten years before. We passed the Temple of Vesta, where the sacred fire burns eternally in the hearth of the goddess, and the Temple of Castor and Pollux, where the scales and measures of the state are kept. We passed the tribunal of the commissioners, where justice had been served in the case of Asuvius and the forged will — my first adventure with Lucius Claudius. We came to the Rostra, the orator's platform decorated with the beaks of ships captured in war, from which politicians harangue the masses, and advocates argue their cases before the courts of law. Here young Cicero had pleaded the case that established his career, defending Sextus Roscius from the charge of parricide; I served as his investigator. At that time, a great equestrian statue of the dictator Sulla dominated the square, but no longer; the Senate had ordered it removed only a few years ago. Behind the Rostra stood the Senate House, where today Cicero, as consul of Rome, would be arguing for another postponement of the consular election, and Catilina would be defending himself from charges of disrupting the state.
The square was thronged with people. A politician was speaking from the Rostra to an audience of voters — one of the Optimates' candidates for consul, to judge from his rhetoric, though I couldn't tell whether it was Murena or Silanus — but there were plenty of other speakers all around to vie for the voters' ears. Wherever a flight of steps or a wall allowed a man to stand and be seen above the crowd, there appeared to be a politician addressing anyone within hearing. In places the discourse seemed to be more a debate than an address, with members of the crowd shouting questions or accusations at the speaker or even booing him from his platform. Within the crowd, insults were hurled, men were spat upon, and scuffles erupted here and there. Rome on the eve of an election!
Obviously, the larger a speaker's retinue, the greater his security and the more effective his rhetoric, and so each politician was surrounded by as many of his supporters as he could muster, not to mention freedmen, slaves, and bodyguards. The square had the appearance of warring factions intermingling for no discernible reason, except to cheer for their own favourite and jeer at the others. The threat of violence hung heavy in the air; I thought of a seething pot on the verge of boiling.
With Rufus at its head, our retinue commanded respect. His saffron-striped trabea was immediately recognizable; men parted and made way for the augur. Many in the crowd knew him by name, and hailed him cheerfully; his youth and charm, unusual for an augur, no doubt contributed to his popularity. Mummius, too, cut a familiar and popular figure with the crowd; people still remembered his role in putting down the Spartacan slave revolt, and his more recent service with Pompey earned him even more respect.
Meto was not ignored. The purpose of our retinue was evident at a glance to many in the crowd — an augur, father, son, and followers headed for the Capitoline — and there were spontaneous outbursts of applause for the young man taking his first walk as an adult through the Forum. Meto, smiling happily, eyes wide, seemed dazzled. I was not even sure if he realized that the bursts of applause were for him.
The press of bodies was so dense that several times we had to stop and wait for an opening before proceeding. All around, from one end of the Forum to the other, I caught snatches of heated conversations. Near the Temple of Castor and Pollux two men were discussing an incident in the theatre. The mention of Cicero caught my ear.
'—and the speech he made afterwards was the best he's ever made!' said the first man.
'Absurd!' countered the second. 'It was the low point of his career. Cicero should have resigned in disgrace! Defending such an unfair and un-Roman practice! Once upon a time the theatre was the one place where Romans were truly equal. When I was a boy, the rich and poor all sat shoulder to shoulder. We booed the villains and laughed at the clowns and lusted after the young lovers as a single body.'
'Everyone equal in the theatre? The first four rows have always been for senators.'
'Because being in the Senate is a mark of achievement and distinguished ancestry. But why should there be special seats for certain people just because they have money? They're common folk, the same as I am. We should all sit together, like family, instead of splitting ourselves up between rich andpoor. What, do I smell too strong from honest sweat for a perfumed merchant to sit next to me? Otho's law is a scandal, it's bad for Rome, and for Cicero to defend it—'
'Otho's law makes perfect sense, as you would know if you had really listened to Cicero's speech.'
'I'd rather listen to an actor reciting Plautus — and from the best seats in the theatre, if I make the effort to show up early enough to get them, rather than being shooed away because I don't happen to be of the rich equestrian class, like Cicero's ramify! Why should I have to sit behind some rat-headed equestrian who blocks my view?'
'Obviously you'd rather spit venom than deal in cogent argument.'
'Very well, dismiss me because I never had schooling in rhetoric! Perhaps a fist in your nose would be more convincing?'
Fortunately, an opening in the throng allowed us to pass at that moment. I leaned towards Rufus. 'What is all this scandal about an incident in the theatre? You mentioned it before.'
'You haven't heard about it?'
'No.'
He rolled his eyes. 'It's been the talk of the city for months. It never stops! The easiest way to pick an argument in Rome! You know how it goes sometimes — a simple little incident suddenly attracts everyone's attention, ignites a controversy and becomes the rallying point for issues far greater than anything inherent in the incident itself Well, a few years ago Lucius Roscius Otho was tribune and passed a bill reserving fourteen rows of seats in the theatre for the wealthy equestrians.'
'Yes, I remember.'
'It seemed a liberal measure at the time, at least within the Senate. There havealways been at least four rows reserved for senators; therefore, Otho argued, why not reserve some rows for equestrians? The moneyed set who can't get into the Senate were very pleased, and they've been financing Otho's political career ever since. This year he's serving a term as praetor, and as such he's made sure that his seating law has been scrupulous
ly enforced at all the public festivals. Well, it was in the month of Aprilis, at the very start of the theatre season during the Megalesian Games, at a performance of The Girl from Andros, when Otho himself appeared in the audience. A bunch of young rowdies at the back of the theatre began to boo and hiss, saying they wanted better seats, and why couldn't they sit in some empty seats up in the equestrian rows? They shouted epithets at Otho. In response a contingent in the equestrian section began to applaud Otho. This was taken as an insult by the rowdies, who saw the equestrians' applause as a way of thanking Otho for not forcing them to sit with such trash. More hissing, more cheering, and soon there were threats and spitballs being hurled. The crowd was on the verge of a riot
'Almost immediately, word of the incident got to Cicero in his house on the Palatine — Cicero's eyes and ears are everywhere, and nothing important happens in the city that he doesn't know about at once. A short while later the consul himself appeared at the theatre, with an armed bodyguard. He summoned everyone in the place to the Temple of Bellona and delivered a splendid speech that ended with the whole crowd cheering Otho and returning to their seats to watch the play without further interruption.'
'What did Cicero say?'
'I wasn't there to hear it myself, but I'm sure that Cicero's secretary Tiro transcribed a copy, if you care to read it. Cicero cannot open his mouth without Tiro's scribbling every utterance, as if his master were an oracle. You know that Cicero can be quite convincing when he defends privilege and order. I believe he dwelled upon Otho's honourable service to the state, and scolded those who would be so crude as to hiss and boo an upstanding Roman magistrate. Then he defended extending privileges to the equestrians; not hard for him to do — he comes from the equestrian class himself, of course,' said Rufus, with a patrician's disdainful lift of the eyebrow. 'It's my theory that the more hot-blooded members of the crowd simply got bored and ran off to expend their energies elsewhere, while the more sedate audience members sheepishly returned to enjoy the comedy. Cicero counted the affair as a personal triumph.'
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