Catilina's Riddle (51 page)

"Actually . . . " Eco looked uncertain. I could tell in a glance that news from the city was precisely the reason he had come to visit me,

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but what he had to say was not for other ears. He blinked and I saw that he had quickly calculated how much he could say without saying too much. "Actually, that's why I'm here. The atmosphere has been tense and unsettled in Rome all summer—as I suppose you must already know."

"Oh, yes, my cousins have been predicting trouble ever since the election," said Claudia.

"Then your cousins could find work as soothsayers," said Eco. It was a facetious comment, but Claudia was not amused. The mill had set her on edge.

"There's talk in the city of armed revolution," he went on. "Cicero has gotten the Senate to vote him emergency powers—what they call the Extreme Decree in Defense of the State."

"Ah, yes, the decree our ancestors created sixty years ago to get rid of that rabble-rouser Gaius Gracchus," said Claudia with a bit of relish. I nodded gravely. "Gaius Gracchus was killed by a mob in the street while the laws against murder were temporarily suspended. Is that what they're planning for Catilina?"

"Nobody knows," said Eco. "The decree is vague. Essentially it gives the consuls powers over life and death that would otherwise have to be granted by the people's Assembly—power to raise an army and send it to battle, and the right to apply what they call unlimited force against citizens in order to protect the state."

"In other words, the Optimates in the Senate have circumvented any moderating influence that might have been wielded by the people's Assembly," I said.

"And why not?" said Claudia. "When the state's security is threatened, there must be recourse to extreme decrees. It's only a pity that such power should fall to a New Man like Cicero, who hardly deserves the honor and whose family background could scarcely have prepared him for the responsibility."

"However that may be," said Eco "everyone knows Cicero's fellow consul Antonius is useless. If anything, he's in sympathy with Catilina.

Which means everything falls on Cicero's shoulders."

"Or into his lap," I said.

Eco nodded. "At this moment, in theory at least, Cicero has more power than any man since Sulla was dictator."

"Then Cicero finally has what he wants," I said. "Sole ruler of Rome!"

"Well, if he can rid us of Catilina once and for all, then he deserves the post," said Claudia. "What other news, Eco?"

"Rumors of war. Catilina's general, Manlius, has openly mobilized his troops up in Faesulae. There's also talk of slave revolts, instigated by Catilina, of course. One in Apulia, another in Capua—"

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"Capua? Where Spartacus started his uprising!" said Claudia, her eyes widening.

Eco nodded. "All gladiatorial schools throughout Italy have been ordered to lock away their weapons and disperse their gladiators to other farms in chains. That was one of Cicero's first acts under the Extreme Decree."

"To stir up memories of Spartacus!" I said ruefully. It was a clever move, to keep the people frightened and to solidify his support. The terror and chaos of the Spartacan revolt was fresh in everyone's memory.

Thus, in a time of declared crisis, who could possibly be against breaking up the gladiator schools—even if they were in no way involved, and the only reason to draw attention to them at all was to stir up panic? At the same time, the association served to identify the impeccably patrician Catilina with a rebellious Thracian slave. I began to see what Catilina meant when he spoke of Cicero and his thunderbolts.

"Meanwhile, charges have been brought against Catilina."

"Again? What sort of charges?" I said.

"Something more serious than bribery or embezzlement. One of the Optimates has indicted him under the Plautian Law against political violence."

"And Catilina's response?"

"Uncharacteristically meek. He's voluntarily placed himself under house arrest at the home of a friend. That means he won't be leaving Rome." Eco looked at me meaningfully.

"Good," I said, automatically, as one shakes one's hands after washing them. The news disturbed me more than I cared to admit, but my own involvement might at last be over.

"Good!" echoed Claudia. "Perhaps the whole matter can be settled without bloodshed. If Catilina can be tried and sent into exile, maybe his band of rabble will dissolve back into the mud. Cut off the head and the body withers!"

"Odd," I said. "I was thinking of the same metaphor."

Claudia left us shortly afterward, saying she would have to share the news with her cousins and learn if they had news of their own. Once we were alone, at his insistence, I showed Eco the mechanism of the water mill, but it seemed to me that the intricacies of what was happening in Rome were far more complex and, in spite of my aversion, fascinating.

That night, after dinner, we gathered in the atrium. The night was cool, but the sky was clear. At the turning of the seasons the fountain had been drained and a brazier put in its place. We sat in a circle around the fire. Meto joined us. I had made a point of asking him to stay and

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listen, but it had not been appreciated; the look on his face indicated that he found my efforts to include him merely condescending. Bethesda joined us after putting Diana to bed. The mood of impending crisis had penetrated even her catlike composure to pique her curiosity.

"This is the situation," said Eco."The Senate is raising an army to send against Manlius up in Faesulae, to join battle in Etruria or at least to keep Manlius from marching on Rome. In Rome the garrison has been put on alert, with extra night watches set all over the city. Catilina is under house arrest, but his fellow conspirators are all free; Cicero has no evidence against them. There may or may not be an uprising in the city.

There may or may not be a battle or several battles between the Senate's forces and those of Manlius. There may or may not be other uprisings elsewhere in Italy."

"Is the Senate really in danger?" said Meto.

He asked the question of Eco and seemed disappointed when Eco deferred to me. "Everywhere in Italy there is poverty, indebtedness, and forced enslavement due to bankruptcy," I said. "Our family has been favored by Fortune, not to mention the will of Lucius Claudius, to rise rather than fall in the world at such a time, but all around us simple citizens starve, while proud nobles find themselves dispossessed and unable to rise again. The few possess great wealth and power, which they dispense in stingy increments to the many who struggle to survive. The corruption of those in power is naked for all to see. Men long for change, and know that they will never have it so long as the Optimates maintain their unshakable grip on the Senate. Can Catilina and his allies ignite a general revolution? Obviously the Senate believes it is possible, or else they would never have voted the Extreme Decree to give the consul extraordinary powers." I spread my hands before the flames. "How Cicero must relish the grave honor his colleagues have bestowed upon him! Was their gesture of faith in him spontaneous, I wonder, or did Cicero pull a few strings to manage the vote?"

"Yes, Papa," admitted Eco, flinching at the sarcasm in my voice,

"you can be sure that Cicero lobbied hard for the passage of the Extreme Decree. The cooperation of the Senate was helped along by the anonymous letters that Cicero introduced into the debate."

"Letters? You haven't mentioned these before."

"No? I suppose I was watching my tongue around Claudia. On the evening before Cicero requested that the Senate pass the Extreme Decree, he was paid a visit by several distinguished citizens, among them Crassus.

They came knocking on his door at midnight, demanding that his slaves rouse Cicero from his bed. It seems that each of these men had received anonymous letters that night, warning of impending bloodshed."

"How did these letters arrive?"

"By a messenger whose face was hidden. He handed the rolled

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letters to the doorkeepers and departed without a word. The letter to Crassus addressed him by name, but was unsigned. It read: 'In a few days all the rich and powerful men of Rome shall be slaughtered. Flee while you can! This warning is a favor to you, from a friend. Do not ignore it.' " "And Crassus brought this letter to Cicero?"

"Yes, as did several others who had received them the same night.

Well, you can see that such a letter put Crassus in a compromising position. He's under suspicion already for his past associations with Catilina as well as his own shady political dealings. There are those who think he's a part of this conspiracy, perhaps even one of the powers behind it. To avert suspicion, he brought the letter to Cicero at once, disavowing any knowledge of its origin or the impending bloodshed of which it gave warning."

"But these letters were unsigned?"

"Anonymous, yes. Of course everyone assumes they came from someone close to Catilina."

"Which is exactly what they're meant to assume."

"But who else could have sent them?" said Eco.

"Who, indeed? Who would stand to profit by stirring up panic among the powerful, while at the same time ascertaining the position of a man like Crassus? And it was largely due to this incident that Cicero was able to convince the Senate to pass the Extreme Decree?"

"That, along with word that Manlius was about to put his army into the field."

"Knowledge of which came from—"

"From Cicero and his informers. And of course there were the rumors of planned slave uprisings—"

"Rumors, you say, not reports?"

Eco looked into the fire for a long moment. "Papa, are you arguing that Cicero might have sent those anonymous letters himself? That he's creating a panic on purpose?"

"I make no argument. I merely posit questions and doubts—like the consul himself."

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C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - T W O

ctober ended with gusty winds from the north and a lowering pearl-gray sky. The Kalends of November dawned cold and bleak, with streaks of rain that never amounted o to a storm, but seemed to fall from the sky one at a time, like tears, with all the niggardliness of the gods when they deign to weep.

So it continued until the eighth day of November.

Twilight dawned and the day never grew brighter. A mass of roiling black clouds gathered to the north. High winds swept through the valley. The animals were gathered into the stable. The Cassian Way was almost deserted, except for a few shivering bands of slaves driven by men on horseback.

Except for a few excursions to look after the beasts and make sure that doors had been secured and loose implements had been put away, everyone stayed indoors. Diana was bored and out of sorts; when the thunder came, it frightened her and made her even more intractable.

Her mother was endlessly understanding and comforting—with Diana.

With everyone else she was in a foul mood all day.

Meto shut himself away in his narrow little room. I walked in on him unannounced and saw a scroll of Thucydides open on a table and his metal soldiers spread on the floor in battle array. When I smiled and asked what combat he was reenacting, he acted embarrassed and resentful and pushed the soldiers against the wall.

The least good fortune that such a miserable day could bring would be a skyful of rain, I thought. All through the day I stepped from time to time into the little walled garden off my library to watch the sky.

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Beginning at a point halfway to the peak, Mount Argentum was lost in a hazy black mantle of clouds, lit now and again with glowing bolts of lightning. It must have been raining madly up on the mountain, but down in the valley there were only wind and darkness.

The rain finally began after sundown, if indeed there was a sundown on such a day when the sun had never shown itself. It began with a quiet pelting against the tiled roof, then grew to a steady torrent. We discovered a few new leaks in the roof; with all the relish of a general too long away from battle, Bethesda sent the kitchen slaves to fetch pots and pans to catch the dribbles. Diana abruptly recovered her good spirits; she opened a shuttered window and gazed out at the rain with squealing delight.

Even Meto's mood was lightened. He came into my study to return the scroll of Thucydides, and we talked for a while about the Spartans and the Persians. I said a quiet prayer of gratitude to the gods for opening the sky at last.

Having been restless and kept indoors all day, we were wide-awake that night. We had been smelling the scent of Congrio's cooking all day and received the meal with enthusiasm. Afterward I asked Meto to read to us aloud. Herodotus, with his accounts of strange lands and customs, seemed a good choice.

The hour grew later and later, but no one seemed inclined to sleep.

The rain poured down.

I had set a watchman that night, as I did every night. Unable to post himself on the roof of the stable, his place was in the loft, where he could keep watch from the little shuttered windows. He, too, was wakeful that night. When the men turned off the Cassian Way and rode toward the farm, he saw them.

Above the din of the rain, no one heard the banging on the door.

It was only when the slave began to shout and struggle with the latch, knocking the doors against the bar, that we noticed the commotion.

Bethesda was apprehensive at once; a few bad experiences in Rome had made her wary of nocturnal visitors. Her agitation communicated itself to Diana, who squirmed on her lap. Meto set down the scroll and rushed with me to the atrium. We kept beneath the colonnade to avoid the pelting rain. I opened the peephole and looked out.

The slave was pointing wildly toward the highway and shouting.

The rain suddenly came down in a rush, and I couldn't make out a single word. We unbarred the door. The slave rushed in, soaked with rain, his bedraggled hair streaming. "Men!" he said hoarsely. "Coming from the highway! A whole army of them on horseback!"

He exaggerated. Thirty men do not make an army, but they do make an intimidating sight when seen rushing toward you in the darkness, wrapped in black cloaks. The pounding hooves joined the din of the rain