Catilina's Riddle (12 page)

A visitor arrived at last.

He did not come through the gate but left the Cassian Way where it veered closest to the ridge at the southeast corner of the farm, and

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picked his way through the brambles and oak woods. He was not alone, but accompanied by a hulking giant with straw-colored hair who looked almost too big for his horse. Together they approached slowly and cautiously, surreptitiously examining the main house and the adjoining fields from a distance before coming closer.

By chance I happened to see them before they saw me, for I was up on the ridge that afternoon, sitting and gazing down on the farm.

The ridgetop sometimes catches a faint breeze even when the air is still down below, and so, with a skin of cooled wine, it can be a comfortable place to pass the waning of a hot, cloudless day.

Claudia had joined me a few moments before, coming up from her side of the hill. She wore a long, loose brown tunic and a farmer's straw hat with a brim almost as wide as she was tall, so that she gave the appearance of a giant mushroom. We sat in the shade and talked idly about animal ailments and temperamental slaves and the weather—not about Nemo or politics or her hostile cousins, for the heat was much too strong for confiding secrets or stirring up controversy. It was Claudia who first saw my visitors.

"Oh, Gordianus, those can't be two of your slaves, can they?"

"Where?"

"Those two men on horseback, down at the foot of the ridge. No, you can't see them now for the treetops—but now, there," she said, pointing with a down-crooked finger.

"What makes you think they're not my men?" I asked, peering down but still unable to see them.

"Because as I was climbing up the other side of the ridge I sat down to rest for a moment and saw them over on the Cassian Way, riding up from the south."

"The same two men? You're sure?"

"Only because one rides a white horse and the other a black, and the one on the black is positively enormous. I don't think you have any slaves that big on your estate."

I finally saw them, at rest on their horses beneath the olive trees down below. They faced away from us and seemed to be watching the farmhouse.

"Ah, yes," I said uneasily, "visitors from Rome, I suspect." Catilina, I thought, come at last.

"Anyone I know?"

I cleared my throat, trying to think of an answer, and meanwhile peered down at the men on horseback. All I could see were their shoulders and their round-brimmed hats.

Claudia laughed. "Forgive me for being so nosy. Country habits; if
I'
d been raised in the city I suppose I'd have learned to mind my own business. Or maybe not. Well, I shall leave you to go and greet your

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visitors." She rose and put on her hat. "Though why they should be approaching your house through the woods like a pair of bandits, instead of using the road, is a puzzlement. You do know who they are, Gordianus?"

"Oh, yes," I assured her, wondering if I did.

I waited for her to leave, then stood and took a sip of wine from the skin. Down below me, the men on horseback did the same, passing a skin between them. They seemed content to sit and watch from their vantage point beneath the shady olive trees, so I sat and watched them in turn. This went on for quite some time, until I began to grow impatient and a little angry. After all, invited or not, they had no business being on my property without my knowledge, and to spy upon my house, whatever their reason or intent, was inexcusable.

I had decided that I had had enough of their impertinence, and was about to go down the hill to confront them, armed with nothing but my dignity as a citizen and a farmholder, when the larger one suddenly turned and looked up at me over his shoulder. I couldn't see his face, because of the shadow cast by his hat, but he must have seen me, for he said something to his companion, who likewise turned his head and looked up at me. The smaller man gestured for the other to stay, then dismounted and began hiking up the hillside.

I should have realized then who it was, for he seemed to know at once the right way to come, as no stranger could have. There was also something instantly familiar about his gait and the outline of his body, though his face was still hidden by the brim of his hat. But it was not until he gained the ridgetop and was almost upon me that I knew him and said his name with a start.

"Eco!"

"Papa!" He took off his hat and put his arms around me, squeezing the breath out of me.

"I hope you don't squeeze your new bride that hard."

"Of course I do!" He squeezed me harder and then finally released me. "Menenia is a young willow and she bends."

"And I'm an old yew that can crack," I said, arching my back.

He stepped back. "Sorry, Papa. It's just that I'm so glad to see you." His voice still carried that same hoarse, husky quality that had marked it ever since he had regained it nine years before in Baiae, after many years of muteness. To hear him speak is always a miracle to me, and a reminder that the gods can sometimes be generous beyond all expectation.

"But what are you doing here? And why on earth do you look like that?" I asked, for I suddenly realized that his hair and beard were trimmed in exactly the same fashion as Marcus Caelius's—his hair shorn short on the sides but left long and unruly on top, and his beard trimmed and blocked into a thin strap across his jaw and above his lips. The style

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would look eccentric on anyone, I thought, but was at least flattering to Caelius with his high cheekbones and red lips; it was not at all suitable for Eco.

Eco raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, then touched his chin. "Oh, the look! Do you like it?"

"No."

He laughed. "Menenia likes it."

"The head of his own household should not put on an appearance merely to please his wife," I said, and immediately thought, Numa's balls, you sound just like every old fart of a Roman father who's ever lived. "Never mind," I quickly said, then frowned. "So long as it doesn't mean you've taken up with some sort of strange clique."

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"I mean, so long as the beard and hair aren't part of joining a certain political set. . . . "

He laughed and shook his head. "It's just a fashion, Papa. Anyway, I came as quickly as I could. I was gone from Rome when your letter came, down in Baiae on business for a client—one of the Cornelii; you know how well they pay. I got back only yesterday. When I read your letter, naturally I put things in order as fast as I could—well, after being gone from home so long I couldn't leave Menenia without at least spending the night. I brought Belbo along with me in case there was real trouble. Oh, and I did as you said and dispatched that cryptic message to Marcus Caelius before — I left."

"But, Eco, I didn't ask you to come."

"Oh, didn't you, Papa?" He looked at me shrewdly and pulled a rolled scrap of parchment from his belt. 'My beloved son Eco,' 'his loving father.' Really, so much sentiment at the outset alarmed me right away.

And then these peculiar references to surprises in the countryside and hints of something exciting taking place—as if you were writing with someone looking over your shoulder and unable to say what you really meant. Then comes the main point of the letter, ostensibly anyway, reminding me of Meto's coming-of-age party—really, as if I were likely to forget that, or as if we hadn't already discussed all the details in the spring! Then, disguised as an almost forgotten afterthought, your request that I pass on a message that can only be some sort of code—private joke, indeed!—followed by a final entreaty to be cautious and stay out of harm's way. Well, you might as well have sat down and written a letter saying, 'Help, Eco, come as quickly as you can!' "

"Let me see that letter," I said, and snatched it from his hands.

"Do you always scrutinize your personal correspondence for messages between the lines?"

He shrugged. "Papa, I
am
your son. Aren't you glad I've come? Isn't it what you wanted?"

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"Yes. Yes, I'm glad you're here. I do need someone to talk to." I sat down on the stump and picked up the wineskin.

Eco tossed his hat onto the ground and sat beside me. "Interesting,"

he said, slipping the palm of his hand beneath his buttocks. "This stump is rather warm, despite the fact that it's in the shade. Was someone else sitting here before me?"

I shook my head and sighed. "Oh, for better or worse, you are the Finder's son!"

"No wonder I found you wearing such a long face," said Eco. He sat with his bare feet in the grass, warming his legs in the late afternoon sun. While we talked, the sunlight and shadows had shifted around us.

I had told him everything I could think of that had happened in the last month, and several things I had forgotten, thanks to his persistent questioning. Between us on the grass the wineskin lay flattened and empty.

At the foot of the hill the horses were tethered to a rock, and Belbo dozed against a tree trunk.

"So you assume that it was Marcus Caelius who put the headless body in the stable, as a message?" Eco said, gazing thoughtfully down at the farmhouse.

"Who else?"

"Perhaps someone on the other side," he suggested.

"Which other side? That's the problem."

"Then you don't believe that Caelius truly represents Cicero?"

"Who knows? When I told him I would require assurances from Cicero himself, he flatly refused, though not without giving me reasons.

He wants no link between Cicero and myself."

"We can find a way around that," said Eco. "You needn't do it yourself. I can get a message to Cicero so that no one will know, and convey it here to you."

"And then what? Let us suppose that Cicero assures us that Caelius is indeed his spy in Catilina's camp—even so, can Cicero see into the young man's heart? Caelius claims to be merely
posing
as Catilina's ally while secretly working on Cicero's behalf. But what if his treachery doubles back on itself? What if he truly is Catilina's man? Then, if I go along with what he requests, I still have no way of knowing whose interests I'm ultimately being forced to serve. Oh, it's like being thrown into a snake pit—some are more poisonous than others, but all have a bite.

What a choice, choosing which snake to let bite you! And just when I thought I had climbed out of the pit for good . . . "

"But the body," Eco said, pressing on. "You're sure it was a message, then, from one side or the other?"

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"That much seems clear. Catilina's riddle—a head without a body or a headless body, so Caelius said, and if I would submit to his wishes I was to send a message: 'The body without a head.' I hesitated—and then the very thing appears in my stable! That was only five days after Caelius returned to Rome. Not much time before he began to strong-arm me, was it?"

"Unless, as you say, the message came from a different quarter."

"But the message means the same thing, no matter which side sent it. I am to do as I was told, to welcome Catilina into my house.
I
postponed giving an answer, and in return I was intimidated, my daughter frightened, my household turned upside down."

"You think it was Catilina who did this?"

"I can't believe that Cicero would stoop to such a tactic."

"Caelius might have done it without Cicero's knowledge."

"What does it matter who did it? Someone has gone to considerable lengths to show me that I'm at his mercy."

"So you acquiesced and had me send your reply to Caelius."

"I saw no choice. I sent it through you because I knew
I
could trust you, and because an indirect approach seemed wise—and yes, perhaps because in my heart I wanted you to come so that I could confide in you.

I didn't count on my message to Caelius being delayed on account of your absence from Rome. Strange, that there have been no further re-percussions. Barely five days passed after Caelius's visit before the body appeared. Now twice that much time has passed; you sent my message on to Caelius only yesterday, and yet there has been no further incident in the interval."

"The consular election approaches. The politicians and their co-horts are in a mad rush, canvassing the voters. Perhaps they've just forgotten you for the moment."

"If only they'd forget about me for good!"

"Or else . . . "

"Yes, Eco?"

"Perhaps the message—the body—came from another quarter altogether."

I nodded slowly. "Yes, I've considered that. From the Claudii, you mean."

"From what you say, they're already conspiring against you, and they have no scruples. What was it that Gnaeus Claudius said about assassins?"

"Something about hiring men from Rome to come and 'leave a bit of blood on the ground,' or so it was reported to me. But like most hotheaded young men, he's more talk than action, I imagine."

"And if he's not? He sounds like just the sort who'd leave a corpse in the stable to frighten you."

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"But why a headless corpse? No, the coincidence would be too great. And if he wanted to murder someone to make his point, why Nemo, whom I can't even identify? Why not one of my slaves, or even me? No, I've considered the possibility that one or more of the Claudii might be behind the incident, but there's simply no evidence."

Eco was thoughtful for a moment. "You questioned your slaves?"

"Indirectly. I don't want them to know about Nemo if I can help it. Disastrous for discipline."

"Why are you so discreet? Most men wouldn't care if the slaves knew. Most men would have every slave on the farm tortured until the truth came out."

"Then perhaps most men could afford to replace a whole farm of slaves; I can't. Besides, terror is not my way to the truth. You know that.

I asked what I needed to ask. Not one of them had seen or heard anything that I could connect with the body's appearance."

"How could that be? To put the body in the stable without anyone seeing, one would have to know when and where the slaves would be sleeping or working, and to know that would in itself require some collusion on the part of one of your slaves, or so I should think. Have you been betrayed?"