Catilina's riddle rsr-3

by Steven Saylor

  I had not realized how tense Meto had been until he loosened his shoulders and stopped clutching his arms. I thought he might smile at his little triumph, but instead he looked closer to tears. 'You'll see, Papa,' he said in a very earnest voice. 'You'll see that I'm right and I do remember.'

  'I hope so,'I said, but I still doubted.

  XXV

  "We could confront him directly,' suggested Meto, as he climbed onto his horse.

  'Not before we try getting the truth from his slaves,' I said, gripping the reins and calming my mount.

  'But how shall we avoid him? There's only the one road that leads from the Cassian Way onto his property. If Gnaeus is there, he may see us ride up, or else one of the slaves may run and inform him. He didn't seem like the sort of master whose slaves would let strangers onto the estate without telling him.'

  'No? Forfex allowed Catilina and us to climb all over the mountain.'

  'Yes, and now you see what's happened to Forfex.'

  If indeed the corpse is Forfex, I thought. We rode away from the stable on the long, straight road to the highway. 'As for our approach,' I said, 'I have an idea. We won't take the main road that leads to the house of the goatherds and Gnaeus's villa.'

  'What then? The rocky hills alongside the Cassian Way are too steep and rough to take our horses, and hard going on foot'

  'But there's another way. Do you remember when we were on the hillside watching Catilina and Tongilius?'

  'And Claudia came up and joined us?'

  'Yes. Catalina knew from Forfex that another path, long disused and hidden from sight beneath the trees, cuts from the Cassian Way and winds up the mountainside. He must have found it, for after a bit of searching he disappeared and then reappeared high up on the hill. I think I remember where he disappeared among the rocks and trees.

  I think we can find the path he took. We can avoid Gnaeus's house altogether and go hunting for a lonely goatherd among the rocks and brambles.'

  We came to the Cassian Way and turned not left, which would have taken us to the main gate to Gnaeus's land, but right, towards Rome. We passed the ridge on our right, and I felt curiously vulnerable, knowing how visible we were to anyone up on the hill where I so often sat and gazed over the landscape. But no one would be there to see us, of course, except possibly Claudia, and Claudia would know what had transpired quickly enough if I discovered that Gnaeus had put Ignotus down my well.

  There was no traffic at all on the Cassian Way. At the high point of the saddle where the road passed between the foot of the mountain and the foot of the ridge, I paused and looked around. Before us I saw nothing but the long ribbon of road disappearing towards the south. Behind us there was a smudge on the horizon that might have been a team of slaves or cattle being driven towards Rome, but it was too far away to worry about. We moved on. The ridge fell away on our right, but low hills still hid our view of Claudia's farm. On our left the land rose sharply. High trees and tumbled rocks obscured any view of the steep mountainside looming above.

  'Somewhere close…' I murmured. We slowed our horses and together gazed into the underbrush. The tangle seemed impenetrable and undisturbed. We rode slowly on until I was certain that we had passed the place where Catilina and Tongilius had disappeared. The low hills on our right had fallen away, and I could see the slaves at work in Claudia's fields.

  'We've gone too far,' said Meto.

  'Yes. We'll double back.'

  The view on our return was no different from before, and I began to think that we would have to give it up, or else go thrashing through the underbrush as Catilina had. Then I heard the clatter of hooves on paving stones and looked up to see a young deer on the road ahead. A swaying branch showed where it had emerged from the woods at the base of the ridge. It saw us and for a long moment stood as still as a statue, then bounded towards the mountainside. Off the road, its hooves made a crackling noise in the dry grass. It passed between some scattered young trees into a zone of dappled shadow and sunlight, then seemed trapped against a wall of dense brush. Nonetheless it disappeared into a narrow space between a great boulder and the thick trunk of an ancient oak. Had I blinked I would have thought it vanished in a beam of sunlight. It was a sign such as the poets speak of, a portent.

  'Where the deer go,' I said quietly, 'there often is a trail.'

  We rode to the boulder and dismounted. The passage was just wide enough for us to slip through and to pull our horses after us. A narrow, open space curved around the boulder and opened onto a small clearing behind it, completely hidden from the road. From this spot we were able to see traces of an old path that headed steeply up the lull.

  'The boulder must have fallen at some time,' I said, 'loosened by rains or an earthquake, blocking the end of the path and hiding it completely from the Cassian Way. The path itself is strewn with rocks, suitable for deer perhaps, but not for horses. We shall have to tie the horses here and proceed on foot.'

  The way was steep and rugged. Disused as a path, it had reverted to a runnel, and over the years the scouring water had left much debris and damage in its wake. In places the way was overgrown so that we had to stoop and bend and push branches out of the way. Here and there, small branches had recently been broken; someone else had been using the trail.

  The path was steep at its beginning and then became absurdly steep. The rocks in the runnel were like steps carved for a Titan. Even Meto began to breathe hard and to sweat, though I could tell that he was holding back and could have been far ahead of me had he proceeded at his own pace. As it was, my heart was pounding and my feet had turned to lead by the time we came to the open space where I had first seen the path from its opposite end and Forfex had explained its existence. We were now on the road we had taken before with Catilina and Tongilius. To our left the narrow road would lead downwards back to Gnaeus's house and the house of the goatherds. To our right the footpath proceeded up the mountain, past the waterfall, and up to the mine.

  My body protested the folly of taking another step uphill, but it was there that we would most likely find a wandering goatherd, preferably alone and off his guard.

  It did not take long. As we approached the steep stone steps that led up to the head of the waterfall, amid the sound of rushing water I heard the bleating of a kid, and in counterpoint to it the voice of a goatherd calling in gentle tones. We stepped off the path, towards the sound of falling water. The splashing of the falls grew louder, but so did the bleating and the voice of the goatherd.

  We stepped through a mass of hanging vines and leaves and found ourselves at the base of the waterfall, on the bank of a foaming green pool. The place was deeply shadowed by high trees and the cliff above. Scattered about in rocky crevices and caught in the tangles of great tree roots were the skulls and bones that we had previously seen from above. A shiver passed through me; the place was dank and cool, even on a hot summer day.

  Only a few steps away we saw the goatherd. He was only a boy, younger than Meto, dressed in a ragged tunic and worn shoes barely held on his feet by scraps of leather. He had found the kid he was seeking. The animal was draped over his shoulders, its legs crossed over his chest and held tight in his fists. The sound of the waterfall had covered our quiet footsteps. When he saw us, the young slave gave a start and drew back, so suddenly that he almost lost his balance. For a moment he teetered on the edge of a rock and might have fallen into the pool if Meto had not stepped forward to grab his elbow.

  The young goatherd recovered his balance and jerked free of Meto's grip. He drew back. The kid struggled and bleated. The slave tightened his grip on the beast's forelegs until his knuckles were as white as the animal's fleece. He stared from Meto's face to mine with fear in his eyes. 'Who are you?' he finally stammered. 'Are you alive or dead?'

  A curious question, I thought, until I remembered that the pool with all its bones and skulls was haunted by the lemures of dead slaves. Forfex himself had told us so. 'We are very much alive,' I said, and meant it; surel
y lemures do not feel stiffness in their joints and soreness in their legs as living men do.

  The slave looked at us from beneath drawn brows and kept his distance. 'I suppose your hand felt warm enough on my arm,' he said, glancing at Meto. 'But what are you doing here? Friends of the Master?'

  'What are you doing here?' I countered.

  "They made me come, because I'm the youngest. Somebody heard one of the kids bleating down here by the pool, so they made me come after it Sure enough, it had one of its hooves trapped between two rocks down by the water. Nobody likes to come down here, because of them' He looked about at the scattered bones.

  'Who sent you?' I said. 'Was it Forfex?'

  'Forfex?' He made the name into a stifled gasp.

  'Yes, isn't Forfex chief among the goatherds?'

  'Not anymore. Not after—' He looked at us with renewed suspicion. 'Does the Master know you're here?'

  'Tell us what happened to Forfex,' I said, putting as much authority into my voice as I could. The slaves of Gnaeus Claudius were of the sort that responded to such a tone of voice — easily intimidated and unable to press their own questions, even against a trespasser. This said much about their master and the way he treated them.

  'Forfex — the Master didn't mean to do it, not really. He gets around to beating all of us sooner or later, but he's never before — at least not with his own hands — or not since I've been here, and I've been here since I was a boy…'

  'You're saying that Gnaeus Claudius killed Forfex, aren't you?' demanded Meto, glancing at me with a hint of a smile on his lips. He might have cause to feel vindicated, but his interruption was a mistake. He was neither old nor fearsome enough to make the young slave quail. The goatherd again drew back, unsure whether he was more afraid of answering or of not answering. The kid across his shoulders bleated pathetically.

  'How did your master kill Forfex?' I asked sternly, stepping forward and pinning the goatherd with my gaze. He was only a boy, and a slave, and regularly abused by his master. He had no defence against a direct interrogation, even from a man who had no right to administer it, so long as I held him with my eyes and hardened my voice.

  'His head — Forfex had already hurt his head not long ago…'

  I remembered Forfex's striking his forehead against the rock in the mine — the blood streaming down his face, his visions of lemures, his pitiful moaning as we carried him down the mountainside. 'Yes, go on,' I said.

  'After that he became a bit addled — slower than usual, not always making sense, with an ache in his head that came and went, sometimes so bad he woke up at night bleating like a kid.'

  Poor Forfex, I thought. If only Catilina had not bribed you into going where your deepest fears warned you not to go.

  'The Master isn't very patient. He was always beating Forfex for being stupid, anyway, but after the accident he was often really furious with him. He blamed Forfex for hurting himself, saying that he should never have taken it on himself to show the mine to strangers in the first place — but then, you must be…' He peered at us with a dawning awareness in his eyes.

  'Never mind, go on!' I snapped.

  'A few days ago the Master ordered Forfex to slaughter one of the goats, but Forfex slaughtered the wrong one, or so the Master insisted. The Master flew into such a rage — terrible to see, like lightning when it strikes the mountain. He beat Forfex across the back with his whip so hard he ripped his tunic. There was blood on the whip. Then there was a terrible change in the Master's face. I was standing close enough to see. The sight of it turned me to water. It was as if he had made up his mind that Forfex was ruined and not worth keeping, like a cracked clay bottle that a man might smash just for the thrill of it That's what he did to Forfex. He turned the whip about in his hand and began to strike him with the handle — it's made of leather wrapped around iron, with hard iron studs. He began to strike Forfex all about his head. He laughed and said, "Since it's your head to blame, I'll take it out on your head!" And all the time Forfex bleated and moaned and then started making other noises. Oh, please—'

  The memory had turned his face the colour of chalk. His eyes were red and moist. He blinked and staggered uncertainly. The kid across his shoulders bleated at the sudden jostling and began to kick, so violently that the boy lost his grip and the animal went flying through the air, landing with a clatter of hooves on a flat stone. It bounded into the water and then out again and went running through the underbrush towards the path, shaking itself and sending beads of water flying from its snowy fleece.

  The young goatherd staggered back against a wall of rock and slid downward until he sat on a stony bench, holding his hands to his stomach. 'It makes me sick to remember,' he said weakly.

  'I'm sure it does,' I said earnestly. How much sicker would it make him to see Forfex now? 'When did this happen?'

  'Five days ago.’

  'Are you sure?'

  'Yes. It was just after the Ides. The Master was gone for a few days, down to Rome for the election. He came back as soon as it was over. They say the voting went as he wanted, but he was in a terrible mood anyway. Perhaps something else went wrong for him down in Rome besides the election. I think he would have found fault with Forfex no matter what.'

  'Five days ago,'I said, exchanging a glance with Meto. 'And last night Clementus told us he heard the splash from the well three or four nights before — that would fit exactly. What was done with Forfex's body?'

  'Brought here,' said the boy dully. 'When it was over, when Forfex lay upon the floor, not moving, the blood and gore from his head all—' He broke off and swallowed hard.

  'Go on.'

  'The Master's face changed again. I don't think he quite knew what he had done until he had done it, if you know what I mean. His face, the look in his eyes — I've never seen such a look, except in a slave's eyes. As if he were frightened of what he had done. They say there's a goddess who punishes men, even free men, if they go too far. There's a Greek word—' He wrinkled his brow.

  'Hubris,' I said. 'Insolence that borders on madness; arrogance that flouts all sense of decency. Hubris is punished by the goddess Nemesis, who brings retribution against the wicked.'

  'Perhaps in some places,' said the boy, 'but I don't think that goddess ever comes to this mountain. Even so, for just a moment I think the Master knew he had gone too far. He dropped the whip and trembled. But then he hardened his jaw. He clenched his fists to stop them from shaking. He looked around the room, bunking as if it were too dark for him to see, though the sun was still up. His eyes fell on me, just because I happened to be closest, I think. "Clean it up!" he said, as if it were a mess left on the floor by the goats. "Clean it up and take what's left of him to the waterfall. Throw him off the cliff and let him join the rest of the bones!" '

  'And is that what you did?'

  'Yes, only we didn't cast him off" the cliff. We carried him down here, to the pond. One of the older slaves said we should strip his body and clean the blood off him, to make him fit to enter Hades. The old slave said a few words over the body, a prayer to some god or other. Even slaves have gods, you know, though I don't think any of them live on this mountain, and certainly not your Nemesis. We carried him across the stream, over to that jumble of boulders there, and laid him in a narrow place between the stones. We covered him with a few large rocks, and then we left. It was beginning to grow dark. No one comes here after dark.'

  'Poor Forfex!' I said. 'To be left among the lemures he dreaded so much. To join their number.'

  'That's why no one wanted to come here today to search for the bleating kid. They've always been afraid of the old spirits that dwell here, and now there's Forfex as well. How can his lemur rest after such a horrible death? He could never take revenge on the Master; the Master is too powerful. But on another slave, alone and helpless…' The boy's voice trailed to a whisper, and he looked across the water at the tumbled boulders and the deep shadows among them. 'It must be here now, watching us.'

&
nbsp; 'I think not, if his lemur follows his mortal remains. Come, show us where you put the body.'

  The boy blanched.

  'Come!’ I said.'If I'm right—

  Meto cleared his throat.

  'If my son is right, the body is long gone. Come, show us!' It was a testament to Gnaeus Claudius's cruelty that the boy could be controlled by a harsh voice alone. A less cowed slave would have required a few blows, or at least the threat of violence, to be prodded to his feet by a man who was not his master and then sent skipping across the stones in the stream to revisit a gravesite he believed to be haunted. The young goatherd obeyed, though he began to tremble violently as we climbed the tumbled rocks.

  'Just on the other side of that big stone,' he said, his voice quavering. He pointed the way, but would go no farther.

  Meto and I climbed past him and stood atop the jagged stones. We looked down into the narrow cleft and saw what there was to see.

  'The body is gone,' I said.

  'Gone?' The young goatherd climbed reluctantly after us. He stared down into the empty cleft with a look of superstitious dread on his face.

  'Not the work of gods or lemures,' I assured him. 'Men put him here, and it must have been men who took him from this place.'

  'The same man who killed him!' declared Meto.

  I turned my face away from the goatherd and frowned at Meto. We had no proof yet of what he said. More than that, it is unfair to a slave to gossip about his master in his hearing, for he may repeat what you say, to his regret.

  Meto scowled back at me. He had been right about Forfex, after all, despite my doubts. Just to be certain, he asked the slave, 'Was there a marking of some sort on one of Forfex's hands?'

  'A marking? — You mean the little purple birthmark on the back of his left hand?'

  Meto's face was suffused with triumph.

  'But where has the body gone?' said the slave.