At last the Ethiop made a face of disgust and shrugged his brawny shoulders. "Suit yourself," he said and closed the door on me.
It was such a short way to my house, and the night was so silent and so deep, surely there was nothing to fear.
Chapter Seventeen
Rome slept. The great houses and apartment buildings of the Palatine were dark. The streets were silent, except for the sound of my own footsteps. What was the hour? Dusk and dawn seemed equally distant, like opposite shores impossible to make out from the middle of a vast, black sea. I felt utterly alone, the last man awake in Rome.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
I stopped. The footsteps stopped a heartbeat later. I took a few steps. The footsteps behind me resumed. Gordianus, I whispered to myself, you've finally done it, taken the final risk of a lifetime full of foolish risks. You've fallen into the lazy habit of relying on Fortune's favor, always assuming that the goddess will make allowances for your foolishness and shield you at the last moment because the singular drama of your life for some reason intrigues her and she wishes it to continue. Now Fortune's interest has waned; she's turned her attention elsewhere for as long as it takes to blink an eye, and you will be snuffed out, removed from the world's story for good.
A part of me believed this and steeled for the worst. But another part of me knew that it was impossible for me to die just yet, and merely gave lip service to the possibility, to let Fortune know that I wasn't taking her for granted, and to gently remind her she had better do something, and quickly.
The footsteps behind me speeded up. I fought the urge to run and instead turned around. I refused to end up as one of those corpses found with knife wounds in the back.
The street was narrow, the shadows deep. The figure moved toward me with a slightly unsteady gait. The man was alone, and unless I was mistaken, had been drinking too much wine. It's the poet Catullus after all, I thought, the man whom Clodius told me not to fear.
Unless, of course, it was Marcus Caelius, drunk and coming after me with a knife. Or some nameless henchman of King Ptolemy. Or a garlic-eating gladiator sent by Pompey. Or someone else with a reason to kill me, thinking I knew something I didn't.
He stopped several paces away. I still couldn't make out his face, but it obviously wasn't the Ethiop; the man wasn't big enough. He appeared to be of medium height, with a slender build. When he spoke, I recognized Catullus's voice.
"So she's gotten tired of picking apples off the tree the moment they're ripe. Now she's poking around in the mulch heap." He sounded only slightly drunk, sarcastic but not particularly threatening.
"I'm afraid I don't follow you," I said.
"Aren't you awfully old to be warming a spot in her bed?" "Whose bed? I don't know what you're talking about." He came a few steps closer. "We should find a patch of light so I can watch your face while you lie to me. You know whose bed." "Maybe. But you're mistaken."
"Am I? The damned gallus carries messages back and forth between you, takes you to her horti. You go riding around in her litter with the curtains closed, and stay at her house until the middle of the night. You must be her new lover."
"Don't be absurd."
He backed off a bit and began to circle around me. I suddenly realized that he might be more frightened of me than I was of him. He was the one who had turned to flee on the Ramp.
"At least she's finished with Caelius, though I can't see why she'd throw him over for the likes of you."
"You insult me," I said. "Shall I go on insisting on the truth-that I'm not Clodia's lover-and let the slur against my manhood stand? Or shall I tell a lie to refute the insult, say that Clodia is my lover and tells me nightly that I'm twice the man Caelius is, and four times the man that you are, Gaius Valerius Catullus."
I thought I might have pushed him too far, but my instinct was true: he came to a stop and barked out a laugh. "You must be a nit-picking orator, like Caelius. One of those word-murdering, truth-twisting advocates from the Forum. Why haven't I heard of you before, old man?"
"Because I'm not an orator. I'm a Finder, Catullus."
"Well, you found out my name. What's yours?" "Gordianus."
He nodded. I saw him more clearly now. He still had the scraggly beard on his jaw, despite his trip to the baths. The tragic look had returned to his eyes, even when he smiled.
"Are you thirsty, Gordianus?"
"Not particularly."
"I am. Come with me."
"Where?"
"It's time we talked. About her." "I didn't say why. I said where." "Where else, at this time of night?"
Take a winding pathway to the foot of the Palatine, to a spot just behind the Temple of Castor and Pollux. Turn left. Proceed down the narrow alley (stinking of urine, and black as pitch at night) that runs behind the buildings on the north side of the Forum. As the slope of the Palatine curves away on the left-hand side, letting the alley open a bit, you will come to a cluttered area of little workshops and warehouses south of the Forum, east of the cattle markets and the river. Look for the little pillar which name the shops and businesses. As you draw near to the ninth signpost you will see the pool of light cast by the lamp hung outside welcoming those who cannot or will not sleep, and who cannot or will not stop drinking, whoring and gambling. This is the place which Catullus called the Salacious Tavern.
Actually, the place has no name, or none to be read on the signpost outside. Atop the little pillar, instead of an inscription, is an upright marble phallus. The lamp which casts such a lurid glow is carved in similarly suggestive shape. Perhaps inspired by these fine examples o craftsmanship, less skilled artists have drawn crude graffiti on the wall outside, graphically depicting various uses to which such phalli might b put.
Catullus rapped on the door. A little trap opened. A bloodshot eye peered at us. The door swung open.
"They know me here," said Catullus. "And I know them. The win is wretched, the whores are lice-ridden, and the patrons are the lowest of the low. I should know. I've come here every night since I go back."
We stepped into a long narrow room partitioned here and there b
folding screens. The room was packed with patrons who stood in groups or sat on chairs and benches around little tables. The lamps were fueled by an inferior oil that created as much smoke as light, filling the room with an amber haze that made my eyes water. I heard laughter and cursing and the clatter of dice followed by hoots of triumph and groans of despair. The crowd was made up almost entirely of men. The few women were obviously there to ply their trade.
One of them suddenly emerged from the haze and wrapped herself around Catullus like a clinging vine. I blinked my watery eyes and the vine resolved into a supple redhead with a heart-shaped face.
"Gaius," she purred. "One of the girls told me you were back. And with a beard! Here, let me kiss it."
Catullus stiffened and drew back with a pained expression. "Not tonight, Ipsithilla."
"Why not? It's been a whole year since I've made a meal of you. I'm famished."
Catullus managed to smile.
"Not tonight."
She drew back, lowering her eyes. "Still pining for your Lesbia?"
He winced and took my arm, leading me to a bench that had just been vacated. A slave brought us wine. Catullus was right; the quality was wretched, especially after the honeyed wine that Clodius had given me. But Catullus drank without hesitation.
Next to us, clustered around a little table, a group of rough-looking young men were playing with dice of the old-fashioned kind, made from the rectangular anklebones of a sheep, with numbers-I, III, IV, VI- painted on each of the four long sides. Each man in turn would scoop the four dice up in a cup, rattle them, cry out the name of a deity or his mistress, and cast them on the table. A referee figured out the combination and shouted the name of the throw, which would be followed by cries of gloating or derision.
"When I was young, the laws against gambling were more strictly enforced," I said, "except of course d
uring the Saturnalia."
"It's always Saturnalia inside the Salacious Tavern," quipped Ca-tullus.
"Hercules!" shouted one ofthe gamblers. The box rattled, the bones clattered. "A Taurus Throw!" declared the referee-three ones and a six.
The next gambler cried a woman's name and tossed the dice. 'Dogs!" cried the referee. "Four ones — nothing lower!" The player groaned at such bad fortune, and cursed the mistress whose name he had called out for luck.
Catullus stared blearily at the crowd. The haze was so thick I could hardly make out faces, let alone recognize anyone. "You wanted to talk " I said.
"I've lost my tongue for it. I want more wine."
"Then I'll talk. Was it you who followed me up the Ramp two nights
ago?"
"Yes."
"Who sent you?" "No one."
"Then why follow me?"
"I was following you before that. Perhaps you're not as sharp as you think. I was outside her house when you came calling that afternoon with Trygonion.
I'd just gotten back into town."
"You'd just arrived and you went straight to Clodia's house?"
He put a finger to his lips. "In this place, call her Lesbia."
"Why?"
"It's my secret name for her. In the poems. In places like this."
"Why 'Lesbia'?"
"Lesbos was the island of Sappho, who understood love better than any poet before or since. And Homer called the women of Lesbos 'the most beautiful women in the world.' "
"Wasn't Homer blind?"
He gave me a sour look. "Agamemnon speaks the line."
"Very well: Lesbia. When you went to Lesbia's house that day, didn't they tell you she'd gone out?"
"No. I didn't knock on the door. I was waiting. Watching. I wasn't ready to see her again, not face to face."
"Waiting and watching from where? It's a dead-end street."
"There are doorways deep enough to hide in. Then you came along with your bodyguard and the little gallus. I was close enough to overhear the word 'horti,' so when you headed off, I followed. What did the two of you get up to, alone inside her tent?"
"I don't think that's any of your business."
"More to the point, what did the three of you do after Lesbius showed up, naked and dripping from the river?" "Lesbius?"
"You know whom I mean."
"You saw him come into the tent?"
"I hid among the trees and bushes on the riverbank." He grinned bleakly. "You must think I'm an utter fool." "Did you follow me when I left?"
"All the way to your house, then over to that other house in the
Subura, then back. You never knew until the Ramp, did you? You set a trap for me at the top, you and your bodyguard, so I made like a rabbit. If you're like most of the low-lifes she takes for lovers, I figured you might be pretty dangerous."
"I told you, I'm not her lover. Just her 'hireling,' as Clodius calls
me."
"Lesbius!" he insisted. The cheap wine was beginning to take effect. "Anyway, you could be her lover and her hireling both. She's far above the likes of you, but she's been known to bend over for love."
"The Venus Throw!" shouted the referee, setting off an uproar next to us. Someone slammed his fist on the table, making the dice jump, and shouted an accusation of cheating. The others closed ranks to calm him down.
"The Venus Throw," said Catullus. "When all four dice come up different. Not the highest total, just the luckiest. Why do you suppose
that is?"
"Because Venus craves variety?"
"Like Lesbia. Except when she craves her own flesh:
Lesbius is Pulcher-Pulcher meaning beautiful — and he must be, because Lesbia loves him far better than Catullus and all his clan, whom Lesbius would sell down the river
to pay three upright men willing to let him blow them… a kiss!"
I smiled and nodded. "Clodius said you made better poems than Milo's men. And nastier."
"Lesbius," insisted Catullus, "demeans me with such praise." "You seem to be talkative after all."
"But as thirsty as ever. Where is that serving slave?" He banged his cup against the bench, but the noise was lost in the hubbub. "I suppose you'll see her again, eventually," I said. He stared bleakly into the amber haze. "I already have." "I mean face to face. To speak to her." "I spoke to her today. I spent the afternoon with her."
"What?"
"This morning I finally knocked on her door. The old slave told me she'd gone out early, taking her daughter to visit some cousin. So I wandered around and ended up at the Senian baths. It was only coincidence that I happened to see you there, and that ridiculous chase after Caelius's friend. What was it all about?"
"I'll tell you later. Go on, about… Lesbia."
"I finally left the baths and headed back to her house. On the way I recognized her litter outside the house of one of the Metelli. She was just leaving, with her daughter. The two of them were stepping out the door. Before I could turn, she saw me. It was hard to read her face. It always has been. A face unlike any other, except one. Do you suppose that Lesbia and Lesbius can read each other at a glance? Like looking in a mirror? The rest of us study their faces for hours and still can't be sure what's behind them. Something about her eyes-like a poem in a foreign tongue. But more perfect than any poem. More painful.
"She invited me into her litter. 'To go where?' I said. 'Home. I'm expecting a man to bring me some news,' she said. I suppose she meant you? 'I don't want to go there if there'll be someone else,' I told her. She paused for a long time, looking at me. Finally she said, 'Metella can stay here with her cousins a while longer. You and I will go to the horti.'
"That was a mistake, of course. On a warm day like this, with all the naked toads jumping about in the water and leering at her while Lesbia leered back at them. Did she flirt with them merely to hurt me? Or do I flatter myself? At least Chrysis wasn't there to fetch the comeliest toad into her tent, which is their usual game. She invited me to her upcoming party. She was very polite. 'You must have some new poems you can read for us, something inspired by your travels.' As if I was an acquaintance she could call on to entertain her admirers. But do you know what?" He smiled grimly. "It so happens that I do have a new poem, and I will be reading it at her party. Something to fit the theme of the Great Mother festival. I suppose you'll be there."
"Me? I haven't been invited. Strange, isn't it, considering that I'm her new lover and all."
"Don't needle me, Finder. I've been pricked enough for one day. At sundown she decided it was time to leave the horti, just when I'd made up my mind to say what I needed to say to her. She had to pick up Metella, she said, and she was expecting her brother tonight. 'You're welcome to come along,' she said-as if I could stomach being with both of them at once. I told her I'd walk back into town by myself."
"But you ended up outside her door again."
"Like a moth to a flame, except that this flame freezes instead of burns."
The serving slave suddenly appeared and at Catullus's insistence poured fresh wine into our cups. I sampled it and was tempted to spit it out, but Catullus drank without complaint.
"So, what exactly happened at the baths today?" he said. "At the horti, when I told Lesbia I'd been at the Senian baths, she was suddenly all ears, pressing me for everything I'd seen of that ridiculous chase. She knew what it was about, didn't she? But she was as tight-lipped as you."
No wonder Clodia hadn't bothered to wake me when she came in, I thought. From Catullus and then from Barnabas she had probably heard more than enough details about the botched capture of Licinius and the pyxis. Or had she been too eager to be with her brother to bother with the hireling's report?
"You know about charges pending against Marcus Caelius?" I said.
"It's all I've heard about since I got back to Rome. They say he's up to his neck in it this time."
"Your Lesbia and Lesbius have a hand in the prosecution. Not officially, but they're eag
er to gather evidence against him on a particular charge of attempted murder."
"So I've heard. Is that what she's hired you for?"
"Yes."
"Then it's come to that, between her and Caelius. I've loved them both. The glittering Venus of Roman society, the petulant Adonis. Who could be surprised when the two of them decided to love each other and turn the country bumpkin from Verona out of their beds? Those two together, without me — that was more than I could stand." The wine was beginning to slur his speech. "It was better when her husband was still alive. Good old Quintus Metellus Celer, the stodgy goat. She was faithful to me then! But after Celer died, she became her own woman, and everyone else's woman as well. Even that was better than having her choose a favorite and shut me out altogether. But then she picked Caelius and I became just another of her multitude of used-up lovers. This tavern is full of the wretches. I could point out a dozen men who've had her. I thought a year away would dull the pain. But the wound still bleeds, and I still crave the knife that cut me."
"She doesn't love Caelius anymore," I said. "He rejected her, as far as I can tell. She's bitter. She's determined to see him destroyed, obsessed with it, if that's any comfort to you."
"Comfort? To know that another man truly got inside her, made her care enough to feel pain when he turned away, made her ache enough to want to destroy him? Me she dismissed with a flick of her wrist-no more scraps for the dog! Caelius deserts her and she goes crazy. Where's the comfort in that?"
"The desire for destruction is mutual, at least according to Lesbia. That's what the incident at the baths was about. Caelius's friend Licinius was there to deliver poison to some ofher slaves, because Caelius thought he could bribe them to murder their mistress."
"Murder Clodia?" Catullus was startled enough, or drunk enough to forget the pseudonym. "No, Caelius would never do that. I don't believe it."
"She claims he tested the poison on a slave first, and watched the man die before his eyes."
"I can believe that. Caelius could kill a slave without a twinge of guilt. But I can't believe that he would use the same poison on her."
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