Catilina's Riddle (22 page)

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 practicing 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 defense 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 no-

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torious, except so much dust blown into the faces 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. "I was thinking of other crimes, Catilina, offenses 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 rumors 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 ruining 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

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innocent. What man with a healthy appetite does not appreciate a blush-ing 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 vapors 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 go to bed."

Catilina stepped from the tub. He took his towel from the niche in the wall, but did not bother to cover himself. 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

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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.

He tumbled toward me, staggering. I caught him in the twisted cloth, pinned his arms to his sides and spun him around. He tripped and lurched, but didn't struggle. He tilted his face toward mine.

I hissed a curse and released the towel. My captive stepped free and sucked in a quick breath, and then, as if what had just happened had been nothing more than a game, whispered, "So Catilina
did
sleep with the Vestal!"

"Meto!"

"Sorry, Papa, but I couldn't sleep. My feet hurt from climbing the mountain! When I came to the door, I heard the two of you talking. It didn't seem right to step in on you, but I had to listen. You wouldn't have said anything different if you'd known I could hear, would you? And Catilina might not have said so much if I'd been in the room. I was awfully quiet, wasn't I? Did you really not know that I was there until just now? That was a mistake, leaning against the door like that . . . "

"Meto, when will you learn respect?"

Meto put his fingers to his lips and nodded toward the door to the cool plunge. I lowered my voice. "This habit of yours, skulking and spying,

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where did you possible learn such—" I sighed. "No, as a matter of fact, I had no idea you were there until the door creaked. Which means that you are young and agile while I am growing old and dull and possibly a little deaf.
I
wonder, which of us is more in need of a good night's sleep?"

Meto smiled at me, and I couldn't help smiling back. I gripped the back of his neck and gave his head a firm shake, none too gently. It was time for bed, but before we turned to go I looked back at the thin bar of lamplight that shone from beneath the opposite door. A faint splashing came from the pool of cool water in the room beyond. As on the night before, soon everyone in the household would be abed and sleeping except Catilina, who would still be up, defying Morpheus and who knows what other gods to come and take him.

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C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N

orpheus must have come for Catilina at last, and claimed him until well past sunup, for it was not until mid-morning that Catilina and Tongilius appeared in the kitchen seeking food. They both looked a bit bleary-M eyed from oversleep, but were quite cheerful—indeed, suspiciously self-satisfied, I thought. They muttered little jokes to one another, laughed out loud, and smiled at nothing. Their appetites were enormous, and they devoured everything Congrio set before them.

Once finished with his breakfast, Catilina announced that they would be leaving before noon. He and Tongilius dressed in blue riding tunics, gathered up their things, said farewell to Bethesda, paid their compliments to Congrio on his cooking, and loaded their horses in the stable. I asked Catilina which way he was headed. To the north, he told me, saying he had more visits to pay in Etruria, campaigning among Sulla's old veterans, whom the dictator had settled on farmland seized from his enemies. I watched them ride off. Despite having dreaded his visit so much, I was not as happy to see him leave as I'd thought I would be.

Curiously, when they reached the Cassian Way, Tongilius and Catilina turned not north but south, toward Rome. I would never have noticed, for I was no longer watching, but Meto was. He came running up to me outside the pigsties and pointed toward the two figures on the distant highway. "What do you make of that, Papa?"

"Odd," I said. "Catilina claimed he was heading north. I wonder—"

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"I'll go watch from the ridge," Meto called back over his shoulder as he broke into a run. He was on the ridgetop long before I came up huffing and puffing behind him. He had already found the ideal lookout between two towering oaks, shielded from sight behind a clump of brambles. We could not be seen from the road, but had a clear view of everything that passed on the Cassian Way.

It was not hard to spot Catilina and Tongilius, as they were the only horsemen on the road. They seemed to have come to a halt at a spot not far from the pass between the ridge and the foothills of Mount Argentum. Why they should hesitate was unclear, until I realized that they were waiting for a team of oxen to pass by, heading north. Once over the rise, the oxen must have passed outside of their sight—just as Catilina and Tongilius passed out of the oxherd's view. They looked stealthily about, then dismounted and led their horses into the underbrush on the eastern side of the road.

Their mounts secured somewhere out of sight, the two men reappeared, but only for a moment before they passed beneath the branches of a large tree and out of sight. Then I saw them again, stepping back onto the road, but only for a moment. So it went, with Catilina and Tongilius disappearing and reappearing, going back and forth along the roadside as if searching for something they had lost.

"What are they looking for?" asked Meto.

"The trailhead," I said.

"What trailhead?"

"You must have run on ahead when Forfex explained it to us yesterday. There's another path that leads up to the mine, beginning somewhere along the Cassian Way. It's long been disused and overgrown.

Catilina is trying to find the trailhead."

"But why? He's already been to the mine."

I made no answer. From the corner of my eye I saw Meto frowning at me, not because he was perplexed but because he sensed that I was withholding my thoughts from him. Together we watched as Catilina and Tongilius went in and out of the dense underbrush alongside the road. At length a team of slaves appeared from the south, linked by chains from neck to neck and driven along by freedmen wielding whips.