Catilina's Riddle (14 page)

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my sight or I'll give you a beating. Ha! What manners—showing your naked backside to visitors! Come back here and I'll add some stripes to go with my handprints, you little harpy!"

He turned back to us, wearing a self-satisfied smirk. With a sinking feeling I glanced down at his right hand and saw that he wore a ring on his finger—and not just a common citizen's iron ring, but a patrician's band that gleamed golden in the soft light.

"You must be Publius Claudius," I said dully. My eyes having adjusted to the light, I studied his face and saw that it was true. I had seen him in court at the Forum in Rome, but only at a distance and with his hair neatly clipped and his beard shaved, and he had worn a fine toga.

He had looked as staid and sober as a man running for office. In his own home he showed a very different face.

He looked me up and down. "Ah, yes, I remember you. The man who got away with Cousin Lucius's property. You looked all stuffed full of yourself in the court, silly and dull like most city boys. You still look like a city boy."

I drew myself up. It does not do to be insulted in front of one's slaves. "Publius Claudius, I've come as your neighbor, to discuss a small matter involving the stream that marks our common boundary."

"Fah!" He curled his lip. "We'll settle the matter in court. And this time you won't have that windbag Cicero to come to your rescue by wriggling his silver tongue between the judges' buttocks. I understand he's already got his mouth full just to keep them smiling in the Senate."

"You have a foul tongue, Publius Claudius."

"At least I don't put it where Cicero does."

I took a breath. "As you say, Publius, the matter of water rights will be settled in court. Until then I have no intention to stop using the stream—"

"So I've seen. Oh, come, if it's the feuding between the washerwomen that's brought you here, let the matter go! Yes, yes, one of your slaves was struck by a stone. My foreman told me all about it. Well, can she still do her work or not? If she's ruined, I'll give you one of mine in exchange. But I won't go paying damages just because a washerwoman spilled a little blood—it's not as if she were a pleasure slave and the scar would make a difference. What more do you want from me? I gave every one of the slaves involved a sound beating, and gave special punishment to the little witch who threw the stone—she won't soon try that again.

I hope you did the same to your slaves—that's my advice, and if you haven't done so, then do it now. It's never too late. They'll have forgotten what they did wrong, but they'll remember the beating if you do it properly. Sometimes a beating is a good idea, even if they've done nothing wrong. Just to remind them who's in charge."

"Publius Claudius, the matter I've come to discuss—"

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"Oh, Romulus and Remus, it's far too hot to stand here in the doorway talking. Come on inside. Who's this behind you, your foreman?

Yes, bring him in, too—but leave the big one outside. You don't need a bodyguard to enter my house. What sort of man do you think I am?

You, slave, close the door behind you. Ah, good, my couch is still in the shade."

There was a fountain in the courtyard, but no water; the basin was littered with twigs and straw. Publius fell back onto his couch. There was only a stool for me to sit on. Aratus, having closed the door, took a place behind me and stood.

"You'll forgive the lack of soft furnishings and the like," said Publius.

A hound appeared and slunk whimpering beneath his master's couch.

"I've never had a taste for luxury. Besides, it takes a woman to make a house all soft and comfortable for visitors, and the only wife I ever took died a year after I married her. She took with her the only heir I ever made as well, or the baby took her, whichever way that works. They went down into Hades together, hand in hand, I suppose." He reached under his couch and produced a wineskin. He put it to his mouth and squeezed, but the skin only sputtered. "Dragonfly," he crooned. "Oh, Dragonfly, bring Papa some more wine."

"I came here, Publius, because I propose to build a water mill on the stream. There will be no need to disrupt the flow, as I plan to divert the channel into a ditch upstream from the site—"

"A mill? You mean a sort of machine with wheels run by the water?

But what would you do with such a thing?"

"It could have many uses. It could be used to grind meal, or even stones."

"But you already have slaves to do that, don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Dragonfly! Bring me more wine right now or I shall spank you again, here in front of these strangers!"

After a moment the girl appeared, dressed now in a stained tunic that left her arms and legs bare, carrying a bloated wineskin. Publius took it from her and slapped her backside. The girl began to withdraw, but Publius grabbed her buttock with one hand and pulled her back while he held the wineskin in his other hand and uncorked it with his teeth.

While he swilled the wine, he slid his hand up underneath her tunic and fondled her backside. The girl stood passively, her eyes averted, her face red.

I cleared my throat. "It might interest you to know that I got the idea for building the water mill from Claudia. She told me it had always been an ambition of your cousin Lucius to build such a mill. So in a way, you see, I am fulfilling his wishes."

Publius shrugged. "Lucius had a lot of stupid ideas, like leaving his

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farm to you. Like yourself, he was a city boy. That's where stupid ideas come from, the city. Put enough fools in one place and you have what they call a city, eh? And then the stupid ideas spread from head to head like a pox." He did something with his hand that made the girl give a start and open her mouth. Publius laughed.

I stood up. "I was thinking, if it would be of any interest to you, that I could allow you some access to the mill once it's finished. You might find it useful."

"What would I want it for? I have slaves to grind my meal."

"The water could do the work of the slaves."

"Then what would the slaves do? Idle slaves only end up getting into trouble."

"I'm sure the slaves could find plenty of other work to do around here," I said dryly. I meant to be insulting, but Publius seemed not to notice.

"A mill is a machine," he said. "Machines break and must be repaired. There is only so much water to run such a thing, especially in the dry months. And when a machine is idle, it's of no use to anyone—

while a slave can be useful even when she's at rest." Publius did something that made the girl let out a gasp. She began to draw away, then twitched and stood stiffly upright. A vein stood out in Publius's forehead, and he narrowed his eyes. His shoulder and elbow moved in a strange gyration.

The girl pouted and bit her lips. Publius put the wineskin to his mouth.

He sucked at the spout, spilling wine on his chin.

"I'll go now," I said. Aratus hurried ahead of me to open the door.

"Oh, but I'm a miserable host!" cried Publius, slurring the words.

"Here I am making myself at home and I've offered nothing to my guest.

Which would you like, Gordianus, the wineskin . . . or the girl?"

"I'll begin construction on the water mill tomorrow," I said, not looking back. "I hope I may expect no interference from you. I'll thank you for your cooperation."

On the path outside, Publius came hurrying after me. He laid his hand on my arm. I jerked it from his grasp. His breath smelled of wine.

His hand smelled of the girl.

"Another thing, Gordianus—you have to build a mill from scratch.

But a slave—you can make your own slaves! Why, half the slaves on this farm were planted in their mothers' wombs by me. You don't have to buy them, you see, you can make your own—more fun that way, eh? And doesn't cost a copper. You see the big one over there beneath the olive trees, rousing the others from their nap and putting them back to work—

one of my bastards. Oh, I've made some big ones, strong boys who can keep the rest in line. I feed them well and let them play with the Dragonfly now and again, to keep them happy. It doesn't matter if the others are miserable or not, so long as you've got the strong ones to keep them in

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line. Feed the weaker ones just enough to keep them going, but not so much as to make them stronger than they should be—"

I mounted my horse. Aratus and the field slave
I
had brought did likewise.

"But what's this, Gordianus, you don't care to discuss agrarian philosophy? I thought all you city boys, all you friends of windbags like Cicero, delighted in a good discussion—" He staggered after me, tripping on the paving stones.

"You shouldn't drink so much on such a hot day, Publius Claudius.

You'll fall and hurt yourself," I said, gritting my teeth.

"It's the trouble down at the stream that's still bothering you, isn't it? Fah! That was nothing. Women squabbling. If I'd really wanted to make a point, I'd have sent one of my big bastards over to do it. Oh, yes, you're just what my cousins say you are. Another nobody from the city who's risen too far above his station in life. Rome is in a sad state when a nobody like you can get his hands on a patrician's farm and take on airs like a country noble—and a nobody like your friend Cicero can worm his way into the consulship. Your head is all swollen, Gordianus—

maybe someone should pop it open for you!" He slapped his fist into his palm with a crack.

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 toward 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 labors 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

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reins and bent forward 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 horse, 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 chiseled 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, savoring 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."

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C H A P T E R T E N

e 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—

w 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.