Catilina's Riddle (20 page)

"It must be . . ." Forfex frowned and rubbed his jaw. "There were always vague rumors of such a thing, but I never thought it happened here in the mine. I thought if it was true, the skeletons amid the tailings outside accounted for it."

"For what?" said Catilina.

"It was always said that when the mine was shut down, the master sold off the unwanted slaves to other mine owners or to galley owners down in Ostia. No slave is ever expected to leave a mine alive, so where do you sell a used mine slave, eh? But I remember hearing from some of the older goatherds that the old master didn't bother to try to sell the slaves at all, but got rid of them instead, every one. I never knew it happened here in the mine. They must have blocked up this narrow rim on either side of the passage and driven them through the door—"

At that moment something stirred among the bones. There was a rustling and a hollow, clanking noise, followed by an eerie noise almost like a groan. In the uncertain light of our torches the whole mass of bones seemed to heave and shift. A rat, I thought, and a gust of air from some hidden shaft. But Forfex thought otherwise.

"Oh, Pluto!" he shrieked. "The lemures!" He turned around, shoving so carelessly that Meto staggered and might have fallen into the pit had I not seized his arm.

"Lemures!" Forfex shrieked again, his voice echoing from the stone chamber. From the immediate terror in his voice it was impossible to tell whether he meant the things in the pit or whether he had encountered more lemures in the chamber without.

In a rush we retreated from the narrow stone shelf, pressing against

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one another in the narrow passageway and emerging into the antecham-ber. Catilina and I held our torches aloft, but the room was deserted.

Forfex, never pausing in his flight, was far ahead of us. From the shaft down which we had descended we heard the echoey cry, "Lemures!"

together with a hail of loosened gravel. "Lemures!" we heard again, and then a distant, sickening thud, followed by more tumbling gravel and then silence.

We stood stock-still and looked at one another, wondering what had become of Forfex. In the pale torchlight, every face appeared white and bloodless. Tongilius bit his lips. "You don't think it was really . . . "

"The miner's brains!" said Meto.

Catilina smiled faintly and arched an eyebrow. "Without a doubt."

He held up his torch and led the ascent toward the exit. I sighed with relief at the first glimpse of daylight. A little farther up we came upon Forfex, not far from the protrusion of rock he had called the miner's brains. He was lying on his back, trying in vain to get up.

Tongilius and Meto lifted him to his feet and helped him stagger up the slope. His hair was matted with blood, and his face was covered with blood and dirt. In the lurid torchlight he looked like some sort of demon, tripping blindly about with his eyes pasted shut and his hands outstretched.

He was completely helpless, dazed and weakened by his injury and trembling from fear or shock. Eventually we managed to hoist him over the wall. Tongilius helped me over the wall, then followed.

It was Tongilius who tended to the goatherd's wound, splashing it with wine from the man's own wineskin, hushing his squeals of pain, and tearing a strip of cloth from the man's tunic to bind his head. The man who had led us up to the mine with such a bluff demeanor had a considerably different appearance descending. We took turns holding him up by his shoulders; he was able to put one foot ahead of the other, but seemed unable to steer himself.

Shadows began to loom. Crickets and cicadas began their twilight chirping. Forfex must have been a little delirious as well as groggy, for he kept starting back from the shadows and whimpering, "Lemures!"

Perhaps he saw things that were not there, or perhaps, having had a close scrape with Pluto himself, his senses perceived the haunting spirits that the rest of us could not see. Those nearest to death, they say, have their eyes and ears opened to those already dead.

We came at last to the place where our horses were tied. We left Forfex's mule behind, deeming it too slow. Instead, Catilina shared his own mount with Forfex, holding him upright in front of him. The man

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complained loudly of the pain in his head when we approached a gallop, then quieted and only occasionally whimpered the word "lemures!" at some passing pool of shadow or clump of rock.

A yellow light glowed at the open door of the goatherds' house, and from the pens behind it came the bleating of goats gathered for the night. Catilina and Tongilius dismounted and helped Forfex from the horse. A wide-eyed slave stuck his head around the edge of the doorway and peered at us quizzically, but instead of stepping out to greet us or help Forfex, the man quickly withdrew from sight. A moment later the reason for his timidity emerged from the doorway.

I had seen Gnaeus Claudius several times in the Forum during our litigation. He was a hard man not to recognize at once, with his frazzled wreath of red hair and his chinless neck. He was a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, and while he had evidently inherited whatever brawn there was in the family, he lacked all the charms of youth. His face was set in a perpetually sour expression, as if he resented the Fates for cheating him of any appealing qualities and was determined to make the most of his unappealing ones, such as his loud, grating voice.

"Forfex!" he shouted. "Where in Hades have you been?"

The goatherd relieved himself of Tongilius's support and staggered forward to meet his master, his head humbly bowed as if to show the wound he had received in the mine. "Master, I thought you would not be returning until—"

"And who are you?" said Gnaeus, staring hard at Catilina. There was a look in his eyes that indicated he could almost, but not quite, place Catilina's face.

"My name is Lucius Sergius," said Catilina. "I've come up from the city—"

"Sergius, eh?" said Gnaeus sourly. He spat on the ground and nodded grimly, acknowledging the presence of a fellow patrician. "And what have you been up to with my slave, trespassing on my property in my absence?"

"The goatherd was merely showing us the abandoned mine up on the mountainside. You see, I—"

"The mine? Why in Hades have you been snooping around my mine?"

"I thought that the property might possibly be for sale."

"Is that right? And you have a particular interest in silver mines?"

"I have an associate who does."

Gnaeus spat on the ground again. "Well, you had no business trespassing."

"Forfex assured me that in your absence he was authorized to—"

"Forfex is as worthless and smelly as his goats. 'Authorized,' my balls! No one goes snooping around my land when I'm not here. He

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knows better—don't you, Forfex? Don't flinch when I raise my hand to you! What, is that a jingle I hear?" He gave the old goatherd a hard shove. Forfex staggered back, covering his head with his hands.

"I do hear a jingle!" shouted Gnaeus. He tore at the slave's tunic and found the little bag of coins, looked inside and threw the three sesterces at Catilina's feet. "I'll thank you not to bribe my slaves! They're unruly enough as it is." He slapped Forfex across the face, hard enough to make the old goatherd stagger and fall.

"Gnaeus Claudius!" said Tongilius. "Can't you see the slave is already injured! He's bleeding!"

"And who are you, pretty boy?" said Gnaeus derisively. "Who are all these strangers that you've brought trespassing on my land, Lucius Sergius?" For the first time Gnaeus seemed to look at my face, and at Meto, but there was no hint of recognition. In the gathering gloom he could not see me well enough.

"Gnaeus Claudius," said Catilina, "my interest is completely legitimate. My associate in the city actively seeks out mines of all conditions, and pays well for properties in which he deems it worth his while to invest. I merely wished to have a cursory look at your mine. Had I known that the slave was forbidden to act on your behalf I would never have set foot on your land."

This speech seemed to mollify Gnaeus, who sucked in his cheeks and seemed to chew them. After a moment he said, "And what did you make of the mine, then?"

Catilina smiled. "I am encouraged."

"Yes?"

"I believe my associate may be interested."

"It's been closed for years."

"I know. But my associate owns engineers who can sometimes extract just a bit more from the earth even when a vein seems exhausted.

Any price he might offer would take the condition of the mine into account. He would send out some of his slaves to have a closer look before making up his mind—if, of course, I recommend that it's worth his bother."

"Then you think the land might be worth—"

"Alas, Gnaeus Claudius, night gathers. I've had a long and weary afternoon. The trip up to the mine is strenuous, as you must know. I need a meal and my rest. Perhaps we can discuss this another time."

Catilina mounted his horse, as did Tongilius.

"You have a place to stay, then? If not—" said Gnaeus.

"Yes, a fine place, not too far away."

"Perhaps I should ride with you—"

"No need. We know the way. Meantime, I suggest you have someone tend to the goatherd's head. He had a nasty accident—not his fault at

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all. He was only doing his best to accommodate me. His concern for your interests is commendable. It would be a pity to lose such a slave because a wound he received in his master's service was not properly seen to."

We rode off, leaving Gnaeus to stare after us, a mingled expression of greed and uncertainty on his face. Just before we rounded a bend in the way, I looked around and saw him raise his arm and strike the cowering goatherd square on the head.

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C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N

naeus Claudius—what an awful man!" said Catilina. "Are all your neighbors so awful?"

"So I'm finding out. Though not all of them," I said, thinking of Claudia. "Is the water hot enough for you?"

G "Quite."

"And you, Tongilius?"

"It's perfect."

"I can call one of the slaves to put more wood in the furnace . . . "

"Oh, no, any hotter and I should melt," sighed Catilina, letting himself sink into the tub until only his head was above the steaming water. My old friend Lucius Claudius had outfitted his country house with many citified luxuries, among them baths complete with three rooms, one for the warm plunge, another for the hot plunge, and the third for the cool plunge. Generally, in summer, I found it too hot even at night to want to immerse myself in warm water; I preferred to do my bathing with a sponge and strigil down at the stream. It was Catilina who had suggested that the slaves might stoke the furnace housed between the kitchen and the baths and fill the marble tubs with heated water. My stiff legs and aching feet had agreed, and so, after a light dinner, we retired not to the atrium but to the baths instead. We stripped off our soiled tunics and began in the warm basin, then moved on to the adjoining room and immersed ourselves in the hot basin. Catilina and Tongilius took turns scraping the sweat from each other's backs with an ivory strigil.

Meto had not joined us, though I think he wanted to stay up and listen to the grown-ups' conversation. All his leaping from stone to stone and running ahead and back on the trail at last began to take its toll at

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dinner, and he was yawning and dozing on his couch even before the final course of diced onions arrived. When the meal was over, Bethesda roused him and sent him to his bed.

It was just as well, for I was not quite sure I wanted Meto displaying himself naked in Catilina's presence. In matters of the flesh, Catilina's appetites were said to be voracious and his self-restraint nonexistent, notwithstanding his version of the Vestal story. His standards, at least, were rigorous, to judge from the sight of Tongilius in the nude. The young man's sleek, well-knit athlete's physique was of the sort to make boys jealous and older men sadly nostalgic, or else lustful. As I discovered in the baths, he was one of those handsome, charming youths who become more haughty with their clothes off than on. There was a trace of self-conscious preening in the way he lifted his well-muscled arms from the water, raised his chin, stared into the middle distance and pushed the shimmering hair back from his forehead, like a sculptor smoothing and molding his own perfection.

Catilina seemed to approve of this gesture, for he watched it intently.

Though their eyes did not meet, they smiled at the same moment, in such a way that I suspected that a secret touch had been exchanged beneath the water.

Perhaps it was a signal, for a moment later Tongilius stood up and stepped out of the basin. He wrapped himself in his towel and shook the water from his hair.

"You won't be taking the cold plunge?" I asked.

"I prefer to cool off on my sleeping couch. The steam rising from the flesh as it dries relaxes the muscles as well as any masseur. It's a delicious way to fall asleep." He smiled at me and then bent down until his cheek was almost touching Catilina's. They said a few words to each other in whispers, and then Tongilius departed.

"Have you known him long?" I said.

"Tongilius? For five years or so. Since he was Meto's age, I imagine.

A charming young man, don't you think?"

I nodded. The only light in the little room came from a single lamp suspended from the ceiling by a chain. Its glow was muted by the rising steam so that the room was filled with a soft orange haze. The quiet gurgling of the pipes and the gentle splashing of the water against the edge of the tub were the only sounds. Hot water swirled about my naked flesh so that I felt swallowed up by comfort. What had Catilina said, that if the water were any hotter he would melt? I felt as if I had melted already.

For a long time we lay at our opposite ends of the big marble tub.

Catilina closed his eyes. I gazed at the ephemeral patterns made by the rising steam, like a series of dissolving veils suspended in the darkness.