Catilina's riddle rsr-3

by Steven Saylor

  The moon was long departed. The sky was neither blue nor black but in between. The lesser stars had vanished. In the east Lucifer, the morning star, glittered just above the dark, brooding mass of Mount Argentum.

  I stood, covering my nakedness with the towel and slipping on my sandals, which I had taken off during the night. I climbed slowly down the slope of the ridge, my back stiff from having slept on the hard ground.

  The watcher atop the stable, yawning from his vigil, blinked his eyes wide open at the sight of me.

  'My guests,' I said, 'the ones who arrived yesterday—'

  'Gone already, Master. Took their horses an hour ago. Turned

  towards Rome when they reached the Cassian Way.' He bit his lip. 'I was a bit worried about you when he came down from the hill alone.

  I went up to check on you, and you seemed all right. Sleeping like

  a stone. Did I do right not to wake you?' I nodded dully and went into the house.

  Bethesda was asleep, but stirred when I slid my body next to hers. 'You smell like wine,' she murmured, with an edge to her voice. 'Where have you been all night? If this were Rome, I would think you had been with another woman.'

  'Absurd,' I said. 'No chance of that happening here.'

  I closed my eyes and slept till noon.

  XXXI

  That night on the ridge with Catilina was one of the last moments of calm before the deluge.

  September continued dry and mild. The first days of October turned leaves to gold and quickened the harvests. With the puzzle of the mill solved, I gave myself over to running the farm again, and the work continued at a busy pace. I busied myself with small matters to distract me from the looming crises of hay and water, and from Meto's continuing coolness towards me.

  Catilina visited once again in September and three times in October. On each occasion he brought other companions besides Tongilius, but there were never more than five or six. These men were large and armed: bodyguards. Bethesda did not care for the look of them, but they slept in the stable and ate the same fare as the slaves without complaint, and Catilina never stayed for more than a night.

  On each succeeding visit Catilina became less communicative and more distant. I sensed in this the reticence ofa man increasingly distracted and pressed for time. He would arrive late in the day and leave early in the morning. He did not haunt the atrium or go walking naked under moonlight, but took to his bed soon after dinner and rose at dawn. I was seldom alone with him for even a moment; we shared no more revelations about the anguish of his defeat or the obscure geometries of desire.-

  He did not even spare the time to revisit the water mill, though I offered to show it to him more than once. I had found it necessary to rebuild some parts of the mechanism to match better with Catilina's solution, and once the general design had been altered, Aratus also suggested a few minor adjustments to the overall scheme. This work was done in desultory fashion, in bits and pieces as the more pressing work of the farm allowed. By late October it was virtually finished, though its true utility could be confirmed and measured only when the stream once again rose high enough to drive the wheel. I looked to the skies every morning and night, hoping for rain.

  It was on a day near the end of October that I decided to show Claudia the mill. It was Claudia who had told me of her cousin Lucius's intention to build such a mill; without her, I would never have known. I sent a message that she should meet me on the ridgetop at midday, suggesting we share a simple meal and telling her I had something to show her.

  I brought cheese, bread, and apples. Claudia brought honey cakes and wine, and the greatest delicacy of all: a jug of fresh water. I told her that the honey cakes were sweet and the wine delicious, but that it was the fresh water from her well that ravished my palate.

  'Has it grown that serious, your shortage?' she said.

  'Yes. We're able to collect some water from the trickle in the stream; once the silt settles, it's good enough to drink, but there's hardly enough to quench the thirst of every slave and animal. Then there's a tiny spring that comes out of the ridge. That, too, is low; an urn placed under it is only half full by the end of the day. So to water the stronger animals we still use the well, though it loosens their bowels. Fortunately, there are still a few tall urns of water that were drawn before the well was polluted — I've set them aside as if they were filled with silver. And there's plenty of wine, but sometimes a man must have water to drink.'

  'I suppose the well water is good enough for washing,' said Claudia.

  'Aratus advises against it. Still, we use it sparingly with sponges and strigils. The well is low anyway, thanks to the lack of rain. Instead of immersing herself in a hot tub of water, Bethesda dabs herself with scented oils. She's normally as fastidious as a cat; unable to preen, she pouts. I'm afraid we've all become rather tawdry. This tunic I'm wearing could use a good washing.'

  'Alas, I wish I could spare you more water myself, but my own well is dangerously low, or so my foreman says. Enjoy the water I've brought — drink up, and see if it won't make you drunk,' she laughed. 'Where is young Meto, by the way?'

  'Busy, I suppose. He preferred not to come.'

  'Oh, but I haven't seen him in so long; hardly at all since his birthday. Well, I won't press you about it,' she said, reading the look on my face. "Though I wouldn't be surprised to learn that he's less than happy here. I've told you before that you belong in the city, and the same is even truer for Meto. Not everyone was meant to be a farmer, especially when the city can offer such a full, rich life. Ah, but I said I wouldn't press the matter, and here I am giving unsolicited advice like the bossiest Roman matron who ever lived!'

  We ate for a while in silence. It was a magnificent autumn day, the air crisp, the sky cloudless. The landscape below us was arrayed with subtle shades of ochre, grey, and evergreen. Slender plumes of smoke from the farms all around, from bread ovens and burning piles of leaves, rose straight into the air like white pillars. From the valley below, the lowing of the animals and the calling of slaves carried across the crystalline air.

  'Was there ever such a day as this in the city?' I said quiedy.

  'You have a point there,' said Claudia, who looked down on the scene with a placid smile. 'But your messenger said that you had something to show me.'

  'So I do, as soon as we've finished eating.'

  'I'm done,' she said, popping her plump fingers into her mouth to clean the morsels of honey cake. "Though you mustn't leave your apple half-eaten.'

  'We have more apples than we can eat.'

  'But it's such a waste!'

  I laughed. 'I shall feed it to the pigs on our way down.'

  'Down?'

  'To the stream'

  'Oh, Gordianus — are you going to show me the water mill?' She wore a strange expression. 'I am'

  'I've seen you building it, you know. I can't help but notice it whenever I'm up here on the ridge. The building is quite handsome.'

  I shrugged. 'It was made from bits of other buildings. It's no temple, but I suppose it doesn't pain the eye to look at it.' 'It's charming!'

  'Perhaps. More important is what's inside. The mechanism actually works.'

  ‘Then it's finished?'

  'As finished as it can be, without a stream to move it'

  We rose from our respective stumps and gathered up the slim remains of our meal. I glanced towards the Cassian Way, as I always did whenever I was leaving the ridgetop. I noticed two horsemen coming up from the south. There was nothing remarkable in that, but even so, I felt a bit uneasy as we stepped down the path, and I kept glancing towards the road even after the brush and trees had blocked it from view.

  Claudia was quite impressed; indeed, her enthusiasm was so extreme as to appear a bit forced, especially considering that she seemed to have no understanding of the mechanism at all. She asked the purpose of this gear and that shaft in such a way that it was clear that no explanation would suffice. When I summoned slaves to push the wheel
and set the grinding blocks in motion, she gave a start and her smile cracked. 'Oh, dear!' she said. 'Like horrible, huge, gnashing teeth! like being in a Titan's jaw!' Deep down she did not like the mill very much, I thought, and she felt uncomfortable being near it. I ascribed this to her class and its deep conservatism, which distrusts all innovations, whether social or mechanical. Her cousin Publius had put it quite eloquently when I had told him that the mill could be to his benefit: 'What would I want it for? I have slaves to grind my meal!' I had hoped Claudia would be more receptive, but in some ways she was no different from her cousins.

  The gears were in full motion when a voice called out, 'Magnificent, Papa!'

  I turned and saw Eco standing in the doorway, with Belbo behind him — the two riders I had seen on the highway.

  I laughed in happy surprise and stepped forward to embrace Eco. Meanwhile the slaves ceased their labour and the gears ground slowly to a halt Claudia smiled crookedly, then jumped as one of the gears made a loud popping noise.

  'It's nothing,' I said, but the only way to calm her was to get her out of the mill house. I ushered everyone out of the door and onto the rocky stream bank. Eco wanted to see the mechanism demonstrated again, but I nodded discreetly towards Claudia to indicate that we should defer to our guest 'Perhaps later,' I said. 'Drive the slaves too hard and one of them is likely to injure himself'

  'But how did you solve the problems you were having? Don't tell me: inspiration came to you in a dream! Just as it has so many times when you've been faced with a mystery that seemed to have no answer.'

  'Not this time. As a matter of fact, a mutual acquaintance suggested the solution.'

  'An acquaintance?'

  'An occasional guest.' I indicated Claudia with a twitch of my jaw.

  'Ah!' Eco understood the need for secrecy and nodded. 'That man from the city.'

  'The very one. But we mustn't ignore today's guest,' I said. Eco acknowledged Claudia with a bow of his head.

  'Oh, Eco, how lovely to see you,' crooned Claudia. Our brief conversation had given her time to recover her composure. 'What news from the city?'

  'Actually…' Eco looked uncertain. I could tell in a glance that news from the city was precisely the reason he had come to visit me, but what he had to say was not for other ears. He blinked and I saw that he had quickly calculated how much he could say without saying too much. 'Actually, that's why I'm here. The atmosphere has been tense and unsettled in Rome all summer — as I suppose you must already know.'

  'Oh, yes, my cousins have been predicting trouble ever since the election,' said Claudia.

  "Then your cousins could find work as soothsayers,' said Eco. It was a facetious comment, but Claudia was not amused. The mill had set her on edge.

  'There's talk in the city of armed revolution,' he went on. 'Cicero has got the Senate to vote him emergency powers — what they call the Extreme Decree in Defence of the State.'

  'Ah, yes, the decree our ancestors created sixty years ago to get rid of that rabble-rouser Gaius Gracchus,' said Claudia with a bit of relish.

  I nodded gravely. 'Gaius Gracchus was killed by a mob in the street while the laws against murder were temporarily suspended. Is that what they're planning for Catilina?'

  'Nobody knows,' said Eco. "The decree is vague. Essentially it gives the consuls powers over life and death that would otherwise have to be granted by the people's Assembly — power to raise an army and send it to battle, and the right to apply what they call unlimited force against citizens in order to protect the state.'

  'In other words, the Optimates in the Senate have circumvented any moderating influence that might have been wielded by the people's Assembly,' I said.

  'And why not?' said Claudia. 'When the state's security is threatened, there must be recourse to extreme decrees. It's only a pity that such power should rail to a New Man like Cicero, who hardly deserves the honour and whose family background could scarcely have prepared him for the responsibility.'

  'However that may be,' said Eco 'everyone knows Cicero's fellow consul Antonius is useless. If anything, he's in sympathy with Catilina. ‘ Which means everything falls on Cicero's shoulders.'

  'Or into his lap,' I said.

  Eco nodded. 'At this moment, in theory at least, Cicero has more power than any man since Sulla was dictator.'

  'Then Cicero finally has what he wants,' I said. 'Sole ruler of Rome!'

  'Well, if he can rid us of Catilina once and for all, then he deserves the post,' said Claudia. 'What other news, Eco?'

  'Rumours of war. Catilina's general, Manlius, has openly mobilized his troops up in Faesulae. There's also talk of slave revolts, instigated by Catilina, of course. One in Apulia, another in Capua—'

  'Capua? Where Spartacus started his uprising!' said Claudia, her eyes widening.

  Eco nodded. 'All gladiatorial schools throughout Italy have been ordered to lock away their weapons and disperse their gladiators to other farms in chains. That was one of Cicero's first acts under the Extreme Decree.'

  'To stir up memories of Spartacus!' I said ruefully. It was a clever move, to keep the people frightened and to solidify his support. The terror and chaos of the Spartacan revolt was fresh in everyone's memory. Thus, in a time of declared crisis, who could possibly be against breaking up the gladiator schools — even if they were in no way involved, and the only reason to draw attention to them at all was to stir up panic? At the same time, the association served to identify the impeccably patrician Catilina with a rebellious Thracian slave. I began to see what Catilina meant when he spoke of Cicero and his thunderbolts.

  'Meanwhile, charges have been brought against Catilina.'

  'Again? What sort of charges?'I said.

  'Something more serious than bribery or embezzlement. One of the Optimates has indicted him under the Plautian Law against political violence.'

  'And Catilina's response?'

  'Uncharacteristically meek. He's voluntarily placed himself under house arrest at the home of a friend. That means he won't be leaving Rome.' Eco looked at me meaningfully.

  'Good,' I said, automatically, as one shakes one's hands after washing them. The news disturbed me more than I cared to admit, but my own involvement might at last be over.

  'Good!' echoed Claudia. 'Perhaps the whole matter can be settled without bloodshed. If Catilina can be tried and sent into exile, maybe his band of rabble will dissolve back into the mud. Cut off the head and the body withers!'

  'Odd,' I said. 'I was thinking of the same metaphor.'

  Claudia left us shortly afterwards, saying she would have to share the news with her cousins and learn if they had news of their own. Once we were alone, at his insistence, I showed Eco the mechanism of the water mill, but it seemed to me that the intricacies of what was happening in Rome were far more complex and, in spite of my aversion, fascinating.

  That night, after dinner, we gathered in the atrium. The night was cool, but the sky was clear. At the turning of the seasons the fountain had been drained and a brazier put in its place. We sat in a circle around the fire. Meto joined us. I had made a point of asking him to stay and listen, but it had not been appreciated; the look on his face indicated that he found my efforts to include him merely condescending. Bethesda joined us after putting Diana to bed. The mood of impending crisis had penetrated even her catlike composure to pique her curiosity.

  "This is the situation,' said Eco. "The Senate is raising an army to send against Manlius up in Faesulae, to join battle in Etruria or at least to keep Manlius from marching on Rome. In Rome the garrison has been put on alert, with extra night watches set all over the city. Catilina is under house arrest, but his fellow conspirators are all free; Cicero has no evidence against them There may or may not be an uprising in the city. There may or may not be a battle or several battles between the Senate's forces and those of Manlius. There may or may not be other uprisings elsewhere in Italy.'

  'Is the Senate really in danger?' said Meto.

>   He asked the question of Eco and seemed disappointed when Eco deferred to me. 'Everywhere in Italy there is poverty, indebtedness, and forced enslavement due to bankruptcy,' I said. 'Our family has been favoured by Fortune, not to mention the will of Lucius Claudius, to rise rather than fall in the world at such a time, but all around us simple citizens starve, while proud nobles find themselves dispossessed and unable to rise again. The few possess great wealth and power, which they dispense in stingy increments to the many who struggle to survive. The corruption of those in power is naked for all to see. Men long for change, and know that they will never have it so long as the Optimates maintain their unshakable grip on the Senate. Can Catilina and his allies ignite a general revolution? Obviously the Senate believes it is possible, or else they would never have voted the Extreme Decree to give the consul extraordinary powers.' I spread my hands before the flames. 'How Cicero must relish the grave honour his colleagues have bestowed upon him! Was their gesture of faith in him spontaneous, I wonder, or did Cicero pull a few strings to manage the vote?'

  'Yes, Papa,' admitted Eco, flinching at the sarcasm in my voice, 'you can be sure that Cicero lobbied hard for the passage of the Extreme Decree. The cooperation of the Senate was helped along by the anonymous letters that Cicero introduced into the debate.'

  'Letters? You haven't mentioned these before.'

  'No? I suppose I was watching my tongue around Claudia. On the evening before Cicero requested that the Senate pass the Extreme Decree, he was paid a visit by several distinguished citizens, among them Crassus. They came knocking on his door at midnight, demanding that his slaves rouse Cicero from his bed. It seems that each of these men had received anonymous letters that night, warning of impending bloodshed.'

  'How did these letters arrive?'

  'By a messenger whose face was hidden. He handed the rolled letters to the doorkeepers and departed without a word. The letter to Crassus addressed him by name, but was unsigned. It read: "In a few days all the rich and powerful men of Rome shall be slaughtered. Flee while you can! This warning is a favour to you, from a friend. Do not ignore it." '