Catilina's Riddle (57 page)

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C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - F I V E

e departed for Rome before daybreak on the day after the Kalends of December. The wind, bracing but not bitter, was at our backs, and our horses were full of spirit. We made excellent time and arrived at the w Milvian Bridge when the sun was strongest.

Traffic was light, especially compared to the jam of horses and wagons we had encountered on our last trip. Even so, a knot of people had gathered at the nearer end of the bridge. I thought at first that tradesmen selling wares had attracted the crowd, but as we drew nearer I saw that the only commodity being traded was conversation, much of it quite animated. The men were of various classes—local farmers and freedmen, as well as a few well-dressed travelers attended by their slaves.

As we drew nearer, I signaled to the slave who drove the cart carrying Bethesda and Diana to stop beside the road. Meto and I dismounted and walked into the crowd. Several men were talking at once, but the voice that carried above the rest belonged to a farmer in a dusty tunic.

"If what you say is true, why didn't they kill them on the spot?"

the farmer said.

His remarks were addressed to a merchant, a man of some wealth, to judge from the rings on his fingers and the coterie of slaves around him, all of whom were more finely dressed than the farmer. "I only repeat what I heard before I left the city this morning," the merchant said.

"Business takes me north; otherwise I would have stayed to see what transpires this afternoon. It's rumored that Cicero himself may address the people in the Forum—"

"Cicero!" The farmer spat. "Chickpeas turn my stomach sour."

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"Better that than a barbarian's knife in the stomach, which is what these traitors had in mind for you," snapped the merchant.

"Bah, a bunch of lies, as usual," said the farmer.

"Not lies," said another man, who stood just in front of me. "The man from the city knows what he's talking about. I live in that house just over there, on the river. The praetor and his men spent the night under my roof, so I should know. They waited in ambush, then trapped the traitors on the bridge and arrested them—"

"Yes, you told us your story already, Gaius. Certainly, soldiers arrested some men from Rome, but who knows what it really means?"

demanded the angry farmer. "Just wait and see, the whole thing is another scheme concocted by Cicero and the Optimates to bring down Catilina."

Several others joined him with a chorus of angry shouts.

"And why not?" demanded the merchant. As the crowd grew more animated, his slaves drew around him in a protective ring, like trained mastiffs. "Catilina should already be dead. Cicero's only fault is that he didn't have the fiend strangled while he was still in Rome. Instead, he continues with his plots, and you see where it's led—Romans plotting with barbarians to stage their revolt! It's disgraceful." This set off a round of jeering from the farmer's contingent, and an equally vociferous response from those who agreed with the merchant.

I touched the shoulder of the man called Gaius, who claimed to live nearby. "I've just come from up north," I said. "What's happened?"

He turned around and peered at us with eyes puffy from lack of sleep. His chinless jaw was grizzled and his hair unkempt. "Here," he said, "let's step away from the crowd. I can't hear myself think! I've told the story a hundred times already this morning, but I'll tell it again."

He sighed in mock weariness, but I could see he was only too happy to recount his tale to anyone who hadn't yet heard it. The men in the crowd were too busy arguing to listen to him any longer. "Are you headed into the city?"

"Yes."

"They'll all be talking about it there, have no doubt. You can tell them you heard the facts from a true witness." He looked at me gravely to see that I grasped the importance of this.

"Yes, go on."

"Last night, long after I was in bed, they came banging on my door." "Who?"

"A praetor, he said he was. Imagine that! By the name of Lucius Flaccus. On a mission from the consul himself, he said. Surrounded by a whole company of men all wrapped up in dark cloaks. And all carrying short swords, like the men in the legions do. He told me not to be afraid.

Said they'd be spending the night in my house. Asked to put his horses

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away in my stable, so I sent a slave to show his men. Asked if there was a window where he could keep an eye on the bridge. Asked if I was a patriot, and I told him of course I was. Said if that was true, then he knew he could trust me to keep quiet and out of the way, but gave me a piece of silver anyway. Well, that's customary, isn't it, to pay something when soldiers put themselves up in the house of a citizen?"

"But these men weren't soldiers, were they?" said Meto.

"Well, no, I suppose not. They weren't dressed like soldiers, anyway.

But they came from the consul. The Senate passed a decree last month—

you must have heard about it—charging the consuls to protect the state by whatever means are necessary. So it's not a big surprise to see armed men being sent around by the consul, is it? Of course, I never thought I'd find myself in the middle of it!" He shook his head, smiling faintly.

"Anyway, the praetor stations himself at the window and opens the shutters—well, lean forward a bit and you can see it from here, how that side of my house looks out over the river and the bridge. He sent one of his men to bring him a bit of burning wood from my brazier, then held it up in the window and waved it. And do you see that other house just opposite mine, across the river? From a window in that house someone else waved a bit of flame in answer. So they had men hidden away in houses on both sides of the bridge, don't you see? An ambush for somebody. I could see that myself, even without being told."

He paused and peered at us, making sure we had absorbed the full drama of the situation. "Yes," I said, "go on."

"Well, the night drew on, but I couldn't sleep, of course, and neither could my wife or children. But we couldn't have any light, so we sat in darkness. The praetor never left the window. His men huddled together, wrapped up in their cloaks, talking to each other in low voices. It was sometime between midnight and dawn when we heard the clatter of hooves on the bridge—it was a clear, cold night with hardly a sound besides the water in the river, and the noise on the bridge carried like drumbeats. Quite a few horses, it must have been. The praetor went stiff at the window, watching, and the men sucked in their breaths. I stood across the room, but I could see over the praetor's shoulder. That bit of fire appeared again at the window across the way. 'This is it!' said the praetor, and the men were on their feet in an instant, with their swords already drawn. I just stood back and flattened myself against the wall to keep out of their way as they rushed out the door.

"There was quite a racket on the bridge then, enough to wake the lemures of the drowned—men rushing onto the bridge from both ends and the clatter of horses in the middle, along with shouts and curses, some of it in that awful tongue the Gauls use."

"Gauls?" said Meto.

"Yes, some of the men on the bridge were Gauls, from the tribe of

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the Allobroges, as the praetor told me afterward. The others were Romans, though they don't deserve the name. Traitors!"

"How do you know this?" I said.

"Because the praetor Lucius Flaccus told me. After the ambush, he was quite proud of himself, flushed with excitement, I guess, after all that waiting, and then—" He clapped his hands. "To have it all over so fast, just as he wanted, I suppose. Not a drop of blood was shed; at least you can't see any on the bridge this morning. The traitors were pulled from their horses, disarmed and bound. Once it was all over, Flaccus thanked me and slapped me on the back and told me I had done my part to save the Republic. Well, I told him I was proud, but I'd be even prouder if I knew what had happened. 'It will be on everyone's tongue soon enough,' he said, 'but why shouldn't you know before the rest?

These men we've just arrested are part of a conspiracy to bring down the Republic!'

" 'Catilina's men?' I asked him. Living on the highway as I do, I keep up with what's happening in Rome, so I know the problems that the consul's been having with that scoundrel.

" 'We shall see,' said the praetor. 'The proof of that may be here.'

And he held up some documents, all of them tightly rolled and sealed with wax. 'Letters from the traitors to their fellow conspirators; we'll leave them for the consul to open,' he said. 'But there's the worst evidence against them—the Gauls who were traveling with them.' He pointed toward a group of barbarians in leather breeches who were still sitting on their horses.

" 'Enemies?' I said, not understanding why they hadn't been dragged from their horses and bound as well.

" 'No,' said the praetor, 'loyal friends, as it turns out. Those men are official envoys of a tribe called the Allobroges, who live in the province of Gallia Narbonensis, beyond the Alps, under Roman rule.

The traitors tried to bring them into their plot. They wanted the Allobroges to make war up in Gaul, to tie up the troops there while the traitors carried out their revolt in Rome. Imagine, turning to foreigners to make war against fellow Romans! Can you think of anything more despicable?' I told him I could not. 'These conspirators are men without honor or loyalty,' he said. 'You'd think the mere fact of being Roman would've stopped them from even contemplating such foul crimes, but men like these have no respect for either their country or the gods.

Fortunately, the Allobroges betrayed the plot to their Roman patron, who in turn revealed it to Cicero, whose eyes and ears are everywhere.

The traitors, still thinking the Allobroges were on their side, dispatched their messages with the barbarians to carry word to Catilina and on up to Gaul. But this is as far as they got. We'll be taking them back to

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Rome now. The Senate and the people can decide what to do with these scum. The man paused, both for breath and for dramatic effect. He had delivered his long monologue with considerable skill, no doubt having honed it with each successive repetition. "Well, I haven't slept at all since I was roused from my bed last night, as you can imagine. Too scared at first, then too excited after it was all over. Then dawn came, and all the neighbors wanted to know what the noise was about in the middle of the night—they thought they were hearing bandits or runaway gladiators and closed their shutters tight. So I found myself standing here telling the tale, and every traveler on the road wants to hear it." He suddenly stretched his jaws in a great yawn and wiped the sleepiness from his eyes. "Ah, well, it's not every day that such mighty events take place right under a man's nose. Like the praetor said, I've done my part to save the Republic!"

Just then, a clump of horse dung came sailing through the air and struck the side of the man's head. He gave a yelp and clutched his ear in confusion.

"Jupiter turn you into a toad!" shouted a shrill voice, which I recognized as that of the pro-Catilinarian farmer. It was he who had thrown the dung; his target had been the wealthy merchant, who was more adept at ducking than I would have thought.

"How dare you?" shouted the merchant.

"Keep your filthy slaves away from me!" screamed the farmer, who was suddenly surrounded.

I saw the glint of steel in the crowd and clutched at Meto's arm, but he was already ahead of me. We mounted our horses while the driver set the wagon in motion. Midway across the bridge—in the very place where the praetor Lucius Flaccus had intercepted the plotters and their unfaithful Gallic allies—I looked back. The incident had erupted into a small riot. Missiles of dung were thick in the air, as was the roar of vile curses. The angry farmer came staggering out of the crowd, supported by a few allies. He clutched his head with both hands. Trickles of blood streamed down his forearms. The proud witness Gaius, meanwhile, had made a strategic retreat to his house by the river, where he stood watching from the doorway, yawning with his eyes open wide.

Rome, I thought, is like Bethesda. Just as I have learned to sense my wife's moods by the most subtle signs—the angle at which she holds her head, the disarrangement of a comb and brush on her table, the way she takes a breath—so I have learned to gauge the mood of the city by small

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manifestations. Forewarned by the news at the Milvian Bridge, my eyes were keen for signals. Shopkeepers were shooing customers from their counters and closing their doors early. Taverns were filled to overflowing.

I saw few women about. Gangs of boys ran through the streets, while men stood on corners in small crowds and debated. Among those who went about their business on horseback or on foot, there appeared to be a strong general drift toward the Forum; some proceeded to the center swiftly and surely, while others seemed drawn inward in a spiral approach, like bits of straw circling an eddy. So strong was this impression that as we made our way up the Subura Way to Eco's house, I felt as if we were swimmers working against a slow but steady current.

Menenia greeted us. As Diana ran to leap into her arms, I asked for Eco, and received the answer I expected. "He went to the Forum, only a little while ago," she said. "They say Cicero will be addressing the people this afternoon. We didn't know how soon to expect you, but Eco said that if you came in time you should go down to the Forum and try to find him."

"I think not—" I began to say, imagining the scene, but Meto interrupted.

"Shall we take the horses or walk, Papa?" he said, looking at me eagerly. "I'm for walking, myself. My backside aches from all that riding!

Besides, it's always so hard to find a place to leave the horses, and it's not that far. . . . "

We decided to walk.

The sensation of being caught in a current grew stronger and stronger as we neared the Forum. Just as a stream grows swifter as it narrows, so the traffic of bodies hastened and grew more congested. By the time we came to the Forum itself, the crowd was quite thick. Rumors swirled all around us like darting fish, and from passing tongues I heard the same words over and over: "Traitors . . . Allobroges . . . Cicero . . .