Catilina's riddle rsr-3

by Steven Saylor

  'Speaking of heads, your own is turning red as a beet, Catilina. I think the water must be too hot'

  Catilina, who in his passion had drawn himself up until his chest was above the water, took a deep breath and sank back into the tub. 'But we were talking about Crassus.. 'He smiled, and I marvelled at how easily he could let go of his bitter tone and restore his good humour. 'Do you know what really cemented our relationship? The scandal of the Vestal Virgins! Fabia and I weren't the only ones brought to trial that spring — Crassus was accused of polluting the Virgo Maxima herself. Do you remember the details? He had been seen in her company so often that that scheming Clodius had no trouble convincing half of Rome to believe the worst. But Crassus's defence was unbeatable: the millionaire was merely pestering the Virgo Maxima over a piece of property that he wanted to buy from her at a bargain — a story so typical of Crassus that no one could disbelieve it! He escaped with his life, and so did I, but both of us took a blow to our reputations — Crassus, because everyone believed he was innocent but greedy, and I, because everyone thought I was guilty but got away with it. After the trial we celebrated together over a few bottles of Falernian wine. Political alliances are not always founded on hard logic, Gordianus. Sometimes they grow out of shared distress.' He looked at me steadily, as if to emphasize his words. 'But I understand you've had your own dealings with Crassus.'

  'He called on me to deal with the murder of his cousin down in Baiae,' I said. 'That was nine years ago. The circumstances were quite remarkable, but I'm not at liberty to discuss the details. Suffice to say that Crassus and I parted on less than friendly terms.'‘

  Catilina smiled. 'Actually, Crassus has told me most of the story, or his version of it. He wanted certain slaves found guilty of the crime, while you would settle for nothing less than the truth, no matter how disappointing to Crassus's schemes or how personally embarrassing. Believe it or not, he secretly admires your integrity, I think, even if he did resent your, shall we say, inflexible nature. I suppose Crassus himself is rather inflexible, which accounts for your mutual antipathy. But your work for him in Baiae had at least one good outcome. I understand that's how you met your son Meto. Oh, please, don't lower your eyes, Gordianus. I think it's a remarkable thing, to free a young slave boy and then adopt him as your son. I realize it's not a fact you care to advertise, for the boy's sake. But I know the story, and with me you can be frank.'

  'I would rather forget that Marcus Crassus was ever Meto's master. Had Crassus had his way, Meto would be long dead. As it was, Crassus sold him to a farmer in Sicily, just to thwart my having him. That he was eventually found, that I freed him and made him my son, is proof that even the richest man in the world can be cheated of his petty revenge.'

  Catilina pursed his lips. 'Evidently Crassus didn't tell me the whole story.'

  'Because Crassus doesn't know the whole story. But you won't hear it from me.'

  'Now it's you who've turned beet-red, Gordianus! Are you ready for the cool plunge?'

  like Catilina in his agitation, I had raised myself halfway out of the water. I sighed and settled back into the soothing warmth.

  ‘You're very protective of the boy, as well you should be,' said Catilina. "These are dangerous times, full of peril. I'm a father, too. I worry constantly about the future of my wife and her daughter. Sometimes I think it would be better to follow your example and withdraw from the world entirely, or as much as a man can. To live in simple obscurity, like Cincinnatus. You know the old story — when the Republic was imperilled, the people called on the farmer Cincinnatus, who laid down his plough, assumed the dictatorship, and saved them all.'

  'And when the peril was over, he laid down his dictatorship and went back to his plough.'

  'Yes, but the point is that he acted when the occasion called for it. For a man to turn his back on the world entirely is to relinquish his opportunity to shape the world's future. Who can give up that chance, even if his efforts end in failure?'

  'Or in utter disaster?'

  'No, Gordianus, when I contemplate the world my descendants will live in, I cannot become a hermit, apathetic and ineffectual. And when I think of the shades of my ancestors watching me, I cannot be idle. The founder of my family stood by Aeneas when he first set foot on Italian soil. Perhaps it's my patrician blood that drives me to take the reins — to rip them from the Optimates' hands if I have to!'

  He reached out and clutched a fistful of steam, then relaxed his grip and slowly dropped his open hands into the roiling water. The motion took on a vague and unreal aspect in the orange haze, like an actor's gesture seen from afar.

  For a while we were both quiet. A slave stepped silently into the room and asked if he should open the valve from the furnace to add fresh hot water. I nodded, and the slave withdrew. A moment later the pipes gurgled and the tub swirled. The mist thickened and the lamp burned lower. In the dense orange haze I could see Catilina's face only as a soft blur.

  'Do you want to know a secret, Gordianus?'

  Oh, Catilina, I thought, there are many secrets I would like to know, foremost among them the identity of Nemo and how his headless body came to rest in my barn! 'Why not?'

  'It's a riddle, actually—'

  'Telling a secret and posing a riddle are entirely different things, Catilina. I would like to hear a secret. But tonight I would not care to hear a riddle.'

  'Indulge me. Well, then: how can a man lose his head twice?'

  The water swirled. The mist was as thick as a sea fog. 'I don't know, Catilina. How can a man lose his head twice?'

  'First, over a beautiful woman, and then to the executioner's blade.'

  'I understand the answer but not the riddle.'

  'I lost my head over the Vestal Fabia, and then almost lost my head for the crime. Do you see? I think it's a rather good riddle. I was younger then. What a fool I made of myself…'

  'What are you saying, Catilina?'

  'I'm telling you that what you always suspected was true. There was more between Fabia and myself than a shared appreciation for Arretine vases.'

  'And that night in the House of the Vestals—'

  'It was the first time. Before that, she always resisted me. But that night she gave in to me. When the man behind the curtain cried out, we were in the middle of making love. Fabia wore her gown, and I wore my tunic, and we stood the whole time. I wanted her to be naked, I wanted to touch her everywhere, I wanted to take her on the couch. But she insisted we keep our clothing on and do it standing up. Even so, it was one of the most exciting and exquisite moments of my life. When the man cried out, I hardly heard him in the heat of my passion. It might have been myself crying out in sheer ecstasy. Fabia panicked, of course. She pushed at me, trying to make me withdraw, but I told her that would be madness. I wasn't quite finished, you see, and if she pushed me out of her I would either leave a pool of evidence on her floor or else carry a telltale bludgeon inside my tunic. We consummated the act and drew apart only moments before the Virgo Maxima entered the room. Fabia's cheeks were as red as apples. Her breasts were heaving, covered with beads of sweat, I was still tingling—'

  'Catilina, why are you telling me this?'

  'Because you prize the truth, Gordianus; you're one of the few men I know who does. Because you've never been quite certain what really transpired, and now you can be.'

  'But why tell me now?'

  Catilina was quiet for a long moment. In the dim orange mist I tried to make out his expression, but could not tell if he smiled or frowned, or even if his eyes were open. At last he said, "They say you have a gift for listening, Gordianus. Every politician needs a listener. They say you have a way of drawing out the truth, even if one doesn't mean to speak it.'

  '"They"?'

  'Crassus, actually. In all these years he hasn't forgotten your late-night conversations down in Baiae. He says he can't recall ever speaking so frankly to another man, and a hireling at that He says you have some uncanny power to draw the truth from m
en's hearts.'

  'Only if their hearts are burdened with something that they need to release.'

  ‘What sort of burden?' he said.

  'It varies from man to man, woman to woman. Some feel compelled to confess fear of failure, others their remorse for wickedness done to the dead. Some confess their shame at submitting to the cruelty of others, some confess their shame for inflicting such cruelty. Some have committed terrible crimes and gone unpunished by man or god, and yet feel they must tell someone. Others have only imagined such crimes, and yet they feel a burden just as heavy as if they had committed them.'

  'And what of those who failed to commit a crime when they should have?'

  ‘I don't understand.'

  'What of those who should have taken action, and then quavered and railed to act? Have you ever encountered aman like that, Gordianus, whose confession was that he did not commit a crime when he should have?'

  'Is this another riddle, Catilina?'

  Despite the dimness, I knew he smiled. 'Perhaps. But like the riddle that Caelius repeated to you, the time for its telling hasn't yet arrived. Perhaps that time will never come.'

  'I should think, Catilina, that you already have plenty of crimes to confess without fretting over those you might not be able to get around to.'

  I thought my bluntness would offend him. Instead he laughed, sharply at first, and then with a low chuckle that blended with the gurgling of the pipes and the hissing of the water. 'I fear that the reputation far outstrips the reality, Gordianus. And if you observe the reality, you will see that I have been the victim of my enemies' unrelenting persecution. Yes, three years ago I was brought to trial, accused of practising extortion against the locals while I was propraetor in Africa. Were the charges brought because of true misdeeds? No, my old enemy Clodius mounted the prosecution on behalf of the Optimates for no other purpose than to wreck my political career. They achieved their object, in the short run; thanks to the way they drew out the proceedings, I was disqualified from running for consul for two years! But ultimately I was acquitted, a fact no one seems to recall. Did you know that before the trial Cicero himself offered to defend me? Yes, the same lying opportunist who now paints me as the most wicked man in Rome. I think this says more about Cicero than it does about myself

  'Last year I was finally able to stand for consul, and there was nothing the Optimates could do to prevent me. To thwart me, they made Cicero their creature and set his venomous tongue against me. I lost. Even so, they feared that I would run again, and win, and so to prevent me they mounted another prosecution against me, this one for murdering Gratidianus back in the days of Sulla! You can be sure that Cicero did not offer to speak for my defence this time! Even so, again I was acquitted, and the Optimates failed in their attempt to keep me out of the race. I was free of the cloud in plenty of time to stand for consul again this year.

  'So then, Gordianus, what are these crimes for which I'm so notorious, except so much dust blown into the races of the voters by my enemies, who would destroy a man's reputation with no more thought than swatting a fly; When a man is brought to trial again and again, it leaves a taint, I know, but to what crime should I confess, except that I'm a fly in the Optimates' ointment?'

  I squinted at Catilina and saw only an uncertain head above half-submerged shoulders, an obscure island floating on the mist. 1 was thinking of other crimes, Catilina, offences of a different order altogether.'

  'You're too wise a man to believe even half of what you hear, Gordianus, especially from the venomous lips of Cicero and his brother Quintus. I don't pretend to be humble or meek, but I'm hardly the monster my enemies portray — what man could be? Oh, I know the rumours and insinuations. Very well, let's begin with the worst: when I sought to take Aurelia Orestilla as my second wife a few years ago, she refused, because she wouldn't marry into a household that already had an heir, and so to please her I murdered my own son. You're a father, Gordianus. Can you imagine the anguish that lie has caused me? Every day that passes, I mourn the death of my son. If he had lived, today he would be a man, at my side in my struggles, a comfort and an inspiration to me. He died from fever, yet my enemies call it poison, and they use the tragedy of his death as a sordid weapon against me.

  'They also say I married Aurelia for her money, to get myself out of debt. Ha! That only shows the depth of their ignorance, to so vastly underestimate my debts. They also underestimate the bond between Aurelia and myself, but that is none of their business, and none of yours, either, if I can say so politely.

  'And then there are the tales of my sexual exploits, some of them true, some of them totally fantastic — really, the next thing you know, they'll be saying I raped my own mother and thus fathered myself! What does it matter which of these tales are real, anyway? No one cares about such things except dried-up moralists like Cato and Cicero with their black hearts and their black tongues. Honestly, I have never been able to understand why men who have no appetite should feel such spite for men who eat with relish!'

  'A pretty phrase, Catilina, but enjoying a hearty dinner is one thing, while taking a girl's virginity and mining her chances for a good marriage is quite another, as is convincing young men to ruin their credit on your behalf, destroying their own careers in the process.'

  The lamp had almost burned out. From the dim haze I heard a sigh. 'Alas, Gordianus, I can no longer see your face, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you smile as you speak such outrages, knowing them to be nothing more than slanders concocted by my enemies. Oh, yes, I confess that I have a weakness for the young and innocent. What man with a healthy appetite does not appreciate a blushing fruit plucked fresh from the tree? And in a world so corrupted with machinations and lies, what man would not find a special appeal in those of an unworldly character? Where else can sweetness be found in this bitter world except among the young? But I don't force myself on others. I've been accused of murder and theft, but never of rape — even my enemies credit me with being able to attract my partners without coercion. Nor do I merely take and give nothing in return. They give me their innocence and in return I give them my worldliness, the commodity I possess in greatest abundance; each gives to the other what the other lacks and desires.'

  'And what did you give to the Vestal Fabia?'

  'Adventure! Pleasure, excitement, danger — all the things her drab existence denied her.'

  'And was that worth the chance of snuffing out her existence altogether? What if the affair had ended with Fabia being buried alive? It could very easily have ended that way.'

  'Blame Clodius for that, not me.'

  'You shrug off your responsibility too easily, Catilina.'

  He was silent for a long moment, then I heard him stir in the water. He stood, causing the water to splash against the lip of the tub and the vapours to whorl and part before him. His skin was reddened from the heat. Beads of moisture clung to the black hair flecked with silver that matted his chest and ran down to his sex, which floated heavily half in and half out of the water. His shoulders and chest were broad, his belly flat. He was an uncommonly virile-looking man. No wonder his lovers appreciated him, I thought; no wonder constipated, thin-limbed, plain-faced men like Cato and Cicero so despised his physical and sexual prowess.

  He seemed to read my thoughts. 'You're a fit-looking man yourself, Gordianus. The active life of the farm obviously suits you. Men grow soft and fat in the city — it's one thing to grow old and quite another to grow soft, eh? But I think you're a man of strong appetites yourself' He stood gazing down at me with a thin smile, as if he expected something from me. His gaze made me uncomfortable. 'Well,' he finally said,

  'I've had enough of this heat! Will you join me in the cool plunge, Gordianus?'

  'No, I think I'll stay here a while longer. Perhaps I'll follow Tongilius's example and simply dry myself and gp to bed.'

  Catilina stepped from the tub. He took his towel from the niche in the wall, but did not bother to cover hi
mself. He paused at the door to the cooling room 'Shall I call for a slave to bring another lamp?'

  'No,' I said. 'The darkness suits my mood.'

  Catilina nodded and shut the door behind him A moment later the light dwindled and died. I lay in the darkness, ruminating on Catilina and his crimes.

  I must have dozed for just an instant, for suddenly I was awakened by a faint creaking noise, not from the door through which Catilina had just exited but from the door that led back to the warm bath and thence to the rest of the house. It was just such a noise as might be made by someone leaning against the door without meaning to. At the same instant a thin crack of light appeared at the top of the door frame.

  Perhaps the door had moved on its own, swollen by the humidity and heat. Still, my heart began to beat more quickly, and the languid drowsiness of the hot bath was instantly dispelled. Perhaps it was Tongilius returning, I told myself — but why should he be skulking? Perhaps it was a slave come to replenish the extinguished lamp — but then why did the slave not enter?

  I listened and heard nothing more from beyond the door, but I was convinced that someone stood there, waiting.

  I rose from the water as quietly as I could and stepped from the tub. I reached for my towel, but not to cover myself. A simple towel, wound tightly like a rope, has many uses — as a shield against daggers, as a means of binding an enemy, as a weapon good for strangling or breaking necks. I walked on tiptoe to the door. I reached for the wooden handle, hesitated for a heartbeat, then pulled it open.