Catilina's riddle rsr-3

by Steven Saylor

  I wheeled around. Publius drew back, startled and coughing from the dust stirred up by the horse's stamping hooves. His enforcers in the olive grove pricked up their ears and began walking quickly towards us.

  'What's that you said about heads, Publius?' I demanded. 'What?' He looked up at me with a puzzled expression, waving at the dust.

  'Do you make a habit of doing damage to other men's heads, Publius Claudius?'

  'I don't know what you're talking about. It's a figure of speech—'

  'And if you popped a man's swollen head, Publius — what would you do with the body?'

  The enforcers arrived and circled their master. His momentary abashment passed and Publius squinted up at me defiantly. 'I think you'd better get off my property. If you have no taste for my hospitality, then go! And don't think I'll forget the matter of the water rights. It's my stream, not yours!'

  I turned around and called to Aratus and the field slave to follow me. I drove the horse at a trot, then at a full gallop through the high grass, scattering startled cicadas and grasshoppers in my wake. The heat of the fields rushed over my face, and the wind roared in my ears. The pounding of the horse's hooves against the hard earth vibrated through my body. The slaves returning to their labours drew back in alarm. Even when I came to the stream I did not slow the pace, but urged the beast to bound over the water. Once I was on the far bank I pulled on her reins and bent forwards to stroke her neck. I rested in the shade, listening to the breath pass through her nostrils, and the pounding of my heart in my ears.

  Aratus and the field slave went back to their duties. I lingered for a while by the stream, letting my horse drink from the cool water and eat the tender grass. When she was done, I rode up to the stable. I was about to dismount when a faraway movement on the highway caught my eye. I shaded my brow and peered across the fields. Two men were turning off the Cassian Way onto the road to my house. One rode a black horse, the other a white.

  Eco, returning so soon? That could only mean trouble, I thought, I hurried down the road to meet him

  As I drew nearer I thought I recognized Eco by his fashionable beard and haircut, but the other rider, on the white hone, was not nearly large enough to be Belbo. I reined in my horse and waited for the men to draw closer. They kept a slow, steady pace, until the one on the black horse broke into a trot and rode ahead to meet me. He looked absurdly happy; indeed, it seemed to me that a great smile was approaching me accompanied by a horse and rider.

  When he was close enough for me to see him more clearly, I knew that I must be seeing the first and foremost face to wear the fashion so popular among the young men at Rome, for it could not possibly have suited any other face, not even that of handsome Marcus Caelius, as perfectly as it suited his. The strap of beard across his jaw was the ideal frame for his strong chin and perfectly chiselled nose. The cut of his hair, long on top and sheared above the ears so that flecks of silver shone among the black, was ideally suited to his straight black eyebrows and lofty forehead. His eyes were a piercing blue that seemed to pin me and hold me in place as he drew nearer.

  'Beautiful!' he said as he reined in his mount, taking his eyes from mine to gaze at the fields around him. 'Even better than Marcus Caelius promised. It couldn't be more perfect — could it, Tongilius?' he said, calling back to his young companion. He breathed deeply, savouring the sweet smells of hay and wildflowers. 'A beautiful piece of earth. One can almost picture Pan himself flitting across the fields. The kind of farm every Roman dreams of.' With a great smile on his face he extended his hand. Reluctantly I took it. His grasp was warm and strong. 'You must be a proud and happy man, Gordianus!'

  I nodded and sighed. 'Oh, yes, Catilina, I am assuredly that,'

  We had met briefly ten years before, but in all the time since the scandal of the Vestal Virgins I had had nothing to do with Catilina and had hardly seen him, even when he was in the Forum campaigning for office — especially then, for the sight of a politician approaching with his retinue was enough to send me running. (A Roman politician will doggedly pursue an honest man into a shop or tavern or even a brothel to beg for his vote; the only hope of escape is to head speedily in the opposite direction.)

  Meeting Catilina again immediately brought back memories of our previous encounter, so that I could see him vividly as he had been then — a man in his middle thirties with black hair and a beard (worn in a more conservative fashion back then), possessing such regular features so harmoniously balanced that one would hardly even think to call him handsome. More than handsome, he was quite remarkably attractive, with an appeal that seemed to emanate from within him in some invisible way, outwardly manifested by the playfulness that lit his eyes and the smile that came so readily to his lips.

  Time, if not the tide of human affairs, had been kind to Catilina; as men say of wine and women, he had aged well. There were lines at the corners of his eyes and his mouth, but they were such wrinkles as come from smiling too much. There was a hint of weariness in his sparkling eyes and in his smile, but that only infused them with a mellowness that was all the more appealing. He was a hard man not to like at first sight. No wonder he was thought to be so dangerous.

  'Gordianus,' he said, still clasping my hand. 'Years and years. Do you remember?'

  ‘I remember.'

  'Marcus Caelius said you would. Then it's all right that I should come to visit you here?'

  'Yes, of course,' I said. If Catilina noticed the beat of hesitation before I answered, he ignored it.

  'Marcus Caelius assured me that it would be. I must have a

  retreat where I can simply disappear from the world from time to time, and Caelius told me he knew just the place. You're very kind to have me.'

  I suddenly realized that he was still holding my hand in his. There was something so natural and unassuming in his touch that I had not even noticed. I gently pulled back. Catilina released my hand, but held me with his gaze, as if he were not quite ready to let me go.

  "This is Tongilius.' He gestured to his companion, an athletic-looking young man with wavy brown hair and a strong jaw, clean-shaven to show the dimple in his chin. I wondered if there was some way that Catilina's charm could be learned or acquired by contact, for Tongilius, with his green eyes and subtle smile, seemed to possess it in miniature. He nodded and said in a very deep voice, 'I am honoured to meet an old acquaintance of Catilina's.'

  I nodded in return. The three of us sat unmoving on our horses for a long, awkward moment. It was up to me to make some gesture of hospitality, whether feigned or not, but I found myself confused and unwilling to speak. The moment had arrived. The favour that Marcus Caelius had demanded was at hand. I had resisted this eventuality, dreaded it, steeled myself to see it through, and now that the crisis had occurred I felt strangely deflated, almost disappointed. I sensed nothing ominous in Catilina's presence. Indeed, I felt quite at ease with him, and that worried me all the more, for I had to wonder if my wits were growing dull, not to sense danger and deceit when they were surely close at hand.

  It was Catilina who finally spoke. 'And this one, riding up behind you — could it be your son?'

  I looked over my shoulder and saw Meto approaching on horseback, coming from the north wall where Aratus must have just relieved him of overseeing the slaves.

  'Yes, this is the younger of my two sons, Meto.' Reminded of the children and their vulnerability, I felt a pang of uneasiness that proved my wits were still with me. 'Meto, we have visitors. This is Lucius Sergius Catilina. And this is his companion, Tongilius.'

  Meto drew nearer with a crooked smile on his face, a bit flustered at meeting such a notorious character. Catilina extended his hand, and Meto took it, rather too eagerly, I thought. In a hushed voice Meto said, 'Did you really sleep with a Vestal Virgin?'

  My jaw dropped.'Meto!'

  Catilina threw back his head and laughed, so uproariously that my horse snorted in alarm. Tongilius laughed with his mouth shut. Meto turned pink but looked more pu
zzled than embarrassed. I put my hand to my brow and groaned.

  'Well,' said Catilina, 'now I know what anecdote I shall be telling tonight after supper!' He reached out and tousled Meto's hair, and Meto seemed to enjoy it.

  If I had hoped to drive Catilina away with bad cooking, Congrio made it impossible. That night he outdid himself Bethesda spurred him on to it. She has always judged strangers strictly by their appearance, and she very much liked the looks of Catilina and Tongilius. Consequently, we dined superbly on a pork stew with fava beans accompanied by an apricot fricassee.

  After dinner, as on the night before, I had the slaves pull our couches out into the atrium, but Bethesda did not join us. Since I made her my wife, she has been quite conscious of her status as a freedwoman and matron of a citizen's household, but she draws the line at the modern Roman matron's practice of joining in an after-dinner conversation with men outside her family. She withdrew, taking Diana with her. Meto remained. His presence made me uncomfortable, but I saw no easy way to dismiss him. Our guest had promised him a story, after all.

  'A very fine meal,' said Catilina. 'I must thank you again for having me.'

  'I admit that I was hesitant at first to invite you into my home, Catilina.' I spoke slowly and deliberately. 'You are a figure of considerable controversy, and I have reached a point in my life and fortunes when I no longer seek controversy; quite the opposite. But Marcus Caelius put forward the case for extending my hospitality… most convincingly.'

  'Yes, he is a persuasive young man of talent and initiative.' There was no hint of irony in Catilina's voice, and the sparkle in his eyes looked no more menacing than the playfulness that was always there.

  'He is eloquent, yes, and persistent. Also, he seems to know that a powerful gesture can speak louder than mere words.'

  Catilina nodded. Again there was no indication that he perceived any double meaning in what I said.

  'You're fond of riddles,' I said.

  Catilina smiled. Tongilius laughed. Between them passed the look of intimates sharing a private joke. 'I confess,' said Catilina.

  'It is his only vice,' said Tongilius. 'Or so he likes to tell people.' That was the joke, then — that a man with such a reputation for depravity should admit to nothing more vicious than a weakness for wordplay.

  'And you, Gordianus — I take it you're more inclined to solve riddles than to make them up.' 'I used to be.'

  'Well, then, an easy one.' He thought for a moment, then said, 'An edible legume of no distinguished pedigree, transplanted from rustic soil to a stony place where it thrives against all expectation and casts its tendrils far and wide.'

  'Too easy,'said Meto.

  'Is it?' said Catilina. 'I just made it up on the spot'

  'The bean is a chickpea. The stony place is the Forum in Rome.'

  'Go on.'

  'So the answer to the riddle is Marcus Tullius Cicero.' 'Because?'

  Meto shrugged. 'Everyone knows the family name Cicero comes from an ancestor who had a cleft in his nose, like a chickpea, a cicer bean. Cicero came from the town of Arpinum — rustic soil — and made his fortune in the Forum, which is all paved with stone. There he thrives, though nobody ever expected that a man who wasn't from a famous family could rise so far.'

  'Very good!' said Catilina. 'And the tendrils?' he asked, looking not at Meto but at me.

  'His influence, which reaches far and wide,' concluded Meto.

  'You're right, it's too easy,' conceded Catilina. 'I shall have to make it harder the next time I tell it. What do you think, Gordianus?'

  ‘Yes,' I said, 'much too obvious.'

  'The riddle or the riddler?' said Tongilius. For a moment I thought he meant the question seriously, and it seemed that all our masks were about to fall. But then he laughed softly and cast a grin at Catilina, and I saw he was merely jibing his mentor for the sake of punning.

  'I understand that you and Cicero go back a long time,' said Catilina. 'Fifteen or twenty years.'

  'Seventeen. I met him in the last year of Sulla's dictatorship.' 'Oh, yes, Caelius reminded me. The trial of Sextus Roscius.' "Were you at the trial?'

  'No, but of course one heard a great deal about it at the time. The talk was mostly about Cicero, but I do recall hearing your name mentioned in connection with the affair, after the fact. It turned out to be an important occasion, something of a landmark. I suppose one could say that you and Cicero made one another's reputation.'

  'You give me far too much credit. You might as well honour Congrio's spoon for making the sauce.'

  'Surely you're too modest, Gordianus.'

  'I take neither credit nor blame for Cicero's achievements. Yes, I've worked for Cicero a number of times over the years, just as I've worked for Crassus and Hortensius and many others.'

  'Then I'm no more correct when I say that Cicero made your reputation?'

  "The trial of Sextus Roscius was a watershed for all concerned.' Catilina nodded. He put his cup to his lips and drained it, then held it up to be refilled. I looked about and realized there was no slave to serve us.

  'Meto, go and fetch one of the girls from the kitchen,' I said.

  'No need.' Catilina stood up and walked to the table where the clay bottle of wine had been left by Bethesda. I watched a Roman patrician fetch his own wine and felt a quiver of surprise, but Catilina returned to his couch and reclined as if completely unaware that he had done anything remarkable. 'Your own vintage?' he said.

  'From the time of Lucius Claudius, who owned the farm before me. One of the better years, I think.'

  'I think you're right. The flavour is dark and rich, yet very smooth. It warms the throat and belly without being harsh. I think I shall have to beg a bottle from you before I leave.'

  "Will you be staying long?'

  'Only a day or two, with your indulgence.'

  'I should think the consular election would require your presence in Rome.'

  "The campaign is well in hand,' he said. 'But please, I've come here to escape from politics for a little while. Let's talk of something else.' Meto cleared his throat.

  Tongilius laughed. 'I think the young man was promised a story.'

  'Oh, yes, the tale of the Vestals,' said Catdlina.

  "There's no need to talk of the matter if you'd rather not,' I said.

  'What, and let others pollute the boy's mind with their own versions of the story? The only way to subvert the slanders of your enemies is to tell stories about yourself before others have the chance. What do you know of the tale already, Meto?'

  'He knows nothing,' I said. 'I only happened to mention it to him in passing.'

  'And yet he knows that I was accused of sleeping with a Vestal Virgin.'

  'And that you were acquitted,' I said. ‘With your help, Gordianus.' 'To some degree.'

  'Your father is a modest man,' Catilina said to Meto. 'Modesty is a fine Roman virtue, though I think it is more praised than practised.'

  'Rather like virginity among the Vestals?' suggested Tongilius.

  'Quiet, Tongilius. Gordianus is not a particularly religious man, if I remember correctly, but there is no call to be impious in his house. Nor is it necessary to besmirch the virtue of the Vestals in the telling of the tale, for all were innocent, even myself. Ah, Meto, it's been quite a while since I met anyone who didn't already know everything about the scandal of the Vestals, or thought he knew. This is a rare opportunity for me to give my own version of the story.'

  'Just as you did before the court.'

  'Hush, Tongilius! No, I won't repeat all that I said before the court, because there's no need to divulge every fact in order to tell the truth. The privacy and dignity of the Vestals should be honoured. I will tell only what needs to be told.'

  He cleared his throat and finished his cup of wine. 'Very well. The incident occurred ten years ago, just before the outbreak of the Spartacan slave revolt. I happened to have struck up a passing friendship with a certain Vestal named Fabia, having seen her at char
iot races and the theatre and at dinner parties.'

  'I thought the Vestals had no contact with men,' said Meto.

  'Not true, though since the scandal of which I speak their social lives and public appearances have been circumscribed to prevent the recurrence of an embarrassing episode. But back then the Vestals moved with relative freedom through the world, so long as they were chaperoned and comported themselves with dignity. They are vowed to chastity, not isolation.

  'One night I received an urgent summons from Fabia, begging me to come to her in the House of the Vestals, saying her honour and her life were at stake. Well, how could I refuse?'

  'But it's death to enter the House of the Vestals after dark,' said Meto.

  'What better excuse to risk death than to answer the desperate summons of a beautiful young virgin? Did I mention before that Fabia was beautiful? Very beautiful — wasn't she, Gordianus?'

  'I suppose. I don't recall.'

  'Ha! Your father is as cagey as he is modest, Meto. I don't believe him. Having seen Fabia's face, he could never forget it. I never have. Tongilius, don't grimace! You have no call to be jealous. My relations with the girl were pure and blameless and above reproach. Ah, I see that Gordianus looks sceptical He was sceptical then, too, but his doubts did not prevent him from saving both Fabia and myself from a cruel fate. But I'm getting ahead of the story.

  'In answer to the summons, I made my way to the House of the Vestals. The doors stood open, as they always do; it is the law, not wooden doors, that keeps men out at night. I had been to Fabia's room before, always chaperoned and in daylight, of course, so I had no trouble finding it. She was quite surprised to see me, for it turned out that she had not sent the message at all! It was a practical joke played on me by some dubious friend, I thought — until Fabia and I were startled out of our wits by a scream'

  'A scream?' said Meto.

  'From behind a curtain. The scream of a dying man, as it turned out. I pulled aside the curtain to discover him writhing on the floor, his throat cut, and beside him a bloody knife. The whole house was awakened. Before I could flee, the Virgo Maxima herself entered the room It was a thorny situation.'