Catilina's Riddle (69 page)

Claudia's eyes darted wildly. I stepped closer, making it impossible for her to bolt. "I said that I wouldn't harm you, Claudia, and I meant it, though at this moment I regret the promise. You should be punished, Claudia—for your duplicity, for your arrogance, for murder, for kidnapping my daughter and making my wife mad with worry. But where would it end? Your cousins have too much bile in them and too much idle time; I should never feel safe if I exacted my just revenge on you. If only one could trust the gods to strike the balance against creatures such as yourself!

But I've seen too much of the world to trust justice, human or divine.

We make our own justice in our own way, just as you and I are going to strike a bargain, here and now."

"A bargain?"

"An agreement, Claudia, from which we shall move forward and never look back. My sons won't be satisfied. They think you should be destroyed, like a wild dog. Nor will Bethesda be happy. She would like to pluck out your eyes and make you swallow them. But they will abide by my decision. And my decision is that you should have this farm."

She looked at me with such a blank expression that I thought she hadn't heard me. Then she looked out at the farm and I saw a glimmer in her eyes. "Is this a trick, Gordianus?"

"Not a trick, a bargain. You shall have the farm, just as you wanted.

We shall go down to Rome, to the place in the Forum where the records are kept, and I shall sign over the deed to you. And in return . . . "

She turned her head and looked at me sharply.

"In return, you shall give me the house on the Palatine, which you inherited from Lucius, complete with all its furnishings."

"Absolutely not!"

"No? What use do you have for the house? It means nothing to you." "It's a splendid house, worth a considerable fortune!"

"Yes, probably worth more than my farm, considering all the statuary that Lucius collected, and the fine marble he installed, and the elegant furniture in each room, and the prime location on the Palatine. A valuable house, indeed. I'm sure that you don't think a mere nobody like

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me has any business living in such a house, any more than I had inheriting Lucius's farm, but the fact is that Lucius meant for me to have a legacy from him, and I will. He intended it to be the farm, because he thought the farm would please me. It has pleased me, but it has also brought me much grief.

"You, on the other hand, must want the farm very badly to have schemed so doggedly to take it from me. You'll double your holdings and have land on both sides of the ridge. You shall be the envy of your cousins, though, knowing your cousins, I shouldn't care to have their envy. So you see, the trade is equitable. Can you devise any other solution to the pass we've come to?"

She sat gazing out at the farm and began to tremble. "You condemn me for scheming against you, Gordianus, but how can you know how much this land means to me? I've wanted it ever since I was a little girl.

I used to daydream for hours that it was mine. But the land went to Lucius. Every year that passed without his marrying and having a son, I rejoiced, for there was always the chance that he would leave it to me, if only I outlived him. Patience, patience! But then Gnaeus began complaining in the family councils about his lot, and it was tacitly decided that he should be put ahead of anyone else in our wills. Even so, there was always a chance that the land would come to me in time. Patience and hope! Then, when Lucius died and left the property to a stranger from the city—oh, you can't imagine the shock! It had slipped away from me forever! But now . . . "

"Then you accept the bargain."

She took a deep breath. "You say you want me to leave everything at the house on the Palatine intact. You'll do the same with the farm?"

How easily she slipped from nostalgia to hard dealing, I thought.

"Of course. What would I do with farm implements in the city?"

"What about the slaves? Do they come with the farm?"

"Except for the house slaves I brought with me. Yes, you'll get the field slaves."

"Including Aratus?"

How I hated to leave him in the hands of such a mistress! But what would Aratus be without the farm he had been running for so many years? "Yes, Aratus will remain."

"And what about Congrio?"

I stared at an empty blue patch of sky. "By rights I should put him to death," I said quietly.

"No one would blame you," said Claudia, pensively studying her cuticles. "Though I know it would be hard for you to kill him. It goes against your nature."

"I wouldn't have to commit the deed myself. Congrio's betrayal was unthinkable—conspiring against his master, kidnapping his master's

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daughter. If I advertised his crime, I imagine I could gather a great number of citizens who would be happy to join in stoning such a slave to death, as an example to others. But of course that would mean advertising your involvement, as well."

Claudia bit at one of her cuticles uneasily.

"Or I might sell him, simply to be rid of him," I said. "A cook of such skill would bring a great price. But how could I let loose such a viper into another man's household without warning him, and what man would buy such a slave if he knew the truth? No, I thought the matter through last night, while I was deciding on my proposition to you. Congrio comes with the farm, whether you want him or not."

Her eyes lit up. Could she actually eat Congrio's cooking again, knowing the treachery of which he was capable? Then let her have him!

Let the vipers nest together!

"Do you accept my offer, Claudia?"

She breathed in deeply and exhaled. "I accept."

"Good. Then take one last look and go back to your own house.

The property isn't yours yet, and until it is I want you to stay away from me and my family, and tell your cousins to do the same. We shall let our advocates settle the matter. I never want to see your face again."

She stood, slowly surveyed the view, then turned and began to walk away, but after a few steps she stopped and turned back, not quite enough to show her face. "Gordianus, do you believe in the gods? Do you believe that Fortune decrees whether we prosper or suffer, and the Fates determine the hour of our death?"

"What are you talking about, Claudia?"

"When I was a girl, barely old enough, I had a baby. Never mind by whom, or how it came about. My father was furious. He said that no one must ever know, so he hid me away, and when the child came he himself tore it from me and carried it up to a wild, hidden place on Mount Argentum and left it there. I wept and screamed, because I -was young and in pain and hardly understood what was happening. I told him he had killed my baby, but he said that he had only exposed it to the gods, and that if it died it was by their will.

"I won't apologize for anything I've done to get the thing I want most in the world. My apologies would mean nothing to you, Gordianus, and nothing to me, either. But I want you to know that I would never have killed your daughter outright. When that fool Congrio sent her to me, what was I to do? I decided to send her up on the mountain and to put her in the mine."

"Where she might have fallen to her death!" I said. "Or starved, or died from the cold."

"Yes, but none of those endings would have come from my own

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hand. Don't you see? I left it up to the gods. And this is how it turned out. Your daughter is safe, and you shall have a fine house in Rome, and I shall have the farm. I did the right thing, after all."

"Claudia," I said, taking a deep breath and clenching my teeth, "I think you should go from here very quickly, or else I shall break my vow, and your neck along with it!"

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

apa, there's a man to see you at the front door!" said Diana, out of breath from running.

I put down the scroll I was reading. "Diana, how many times must I tell you that we have a slave who answers the P door? I don't want you doing it yourself. Here in the city—"

"Why not?"

I sighed. At least her bad experience with Congrio had not made her timid. I yawned, stretched my arms above my head, and looked at the statue of Minerva on the far side of the garden. Made of bronze, she was painted so realistically that I often thought I could see her breathing. She was the only female in the household who never talked back to me, though like the others she never seemed to listen, either. Lucius must have paid a great sum for her.

"Besides, Papa, I recognize the man. He says he's a neighbor."

"Great Jupiter, surely not one of our old neighbors from the farm."

I imagined one of the Claudii standing at my front door and felt a tremor of alarm. I got up from my chair and crossed the garden with Diana at my heels.

The man at the front door turned out to be two men, accompanied by a retinue of slaves. The one whom Diana had recognized was Marcus Caelius. I calculated the months in my head and realized it was almost exactly a year since he had come to the farm and called on me to pay back my debt to Cicero. How Diana had recognized him I didn't know, for Caelius was clean-shaven now and his hair had an ordinary cut; the look made fashionable by Catilina and his circle the year before was not to be seen anywhere in Rome that summer.

The citizen beside him was Cicero. The former consul had gained

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a bit of weight since I had last seen him walking across the Forum in triumph after putting the conspirators to death.

"You see," said Diana, pointing at Caelius, "I told you I knew the man." "Citizens, excuse my daughter's manners."

"Nonsense," said Cicero. "Never have I been greeted by anyone more charming. May we come in, Gordianus?"

While their retinues remained outside, Cicero and Caelius followed me to the garden. A slave brought cups and a clay bottle, and as we sipped the wine I watched the two men appraise their surroundings.

Cicero's gaze lingered on the statue of Minerva. I knew that he also had a statue of the goddess in his house, but mine, I suspected, was considerably more valuable. I smiled at the thought.

"Your new house is quite impressive," said Cicero.

"Quite," echoed Caelius.

"Thank you."

"So you gave up the farm," said Cicero. "After I worked so hard to make sure you got it."

"Your work wasn't wasted, Cicero. The farm became this house, as the caterpillar becomes the butterfly."

"You must explain that to me sometime," said Cicero. "Meanwhile, welcome back to the city. How you ever thought you could stand to leave it, I don't know. We're neighbors now, if you can imagine that. My house is just over that way."

"Yes, I know. From the terrace off my bedroom upstairs
I
have a splendid view of it, with the Capitoline Hill behind."

"And I'm your neighbor as well," remarked Caelius. "I've just taken an apartment in a building around the corner. The rent is exorbitant, but I've come into a bit of money lately."

"Really?" I said, thinking it would be impolitic to inquire where his money came from.

"What a beautiful garden," said Cicero. "And what a fine statue of the goddess. If you should ever wish to part with it, I'm sure I could offer you—"

"I think not, Cicero. Like this house, it came to me by way of a very dear, departed friend."

"I see. Of course." He sipped his wine. "But we didn't just come to admire your good fortune, Gordianus. I have a small favor to ask of you." "Do you?" I said, feeling a chill despite the warm summer sun.

"Yes." He looked vaguely distressed. "Ah, but first, I wonder if the private facilities are as impressive as the more public ones?"

"You'll find a privy down that hall," I said. Cicero excused himself.

Caelius leaned forward. "Dyspepsia," he said confidentially. "And

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loose bowels. It's been worse than ever in the last year. Do you know, I sometimes wonder how Cicero manages to finish a speech before the Senate."

"Thank you for sharing that confidence, Marcus Caelius."

He laughed. "Actually, his digestion improved considerably for a while after the Senate passed that bill in the spring."

"What bill?"

"The one that pardoned everyone concerned in putting the conspirators to death."

"Ah, yes, I wasn't yet back in the city when that happened. But my son wrote me with the details: 'To all members of the Senate and to all magistrates, witnesses, informers, and other agents involved in any violations of law which may have been committed in relation to the execution without trial of Publius Cornelius Lentulus Sura, Gaius Cornelius Cethegus, et alii, the Senate of Rome grants permanent immunity against prosecution.' In other words, the Senate rather sweepingly let everyone off the hook."

"And a good thing for Cicero. For a while he was truly afraid he might be brought to trial for murder."

"And why not? The executions were completely illegal."

"Please, Gordianus, don't say such a thing when Cicero returns!

Or at least wait until I'm gone."

"Leaving, so soon?"

"I can't stay. I have to see a man in the Street of the Weavers about buying some rugs for my new apartment. He uses a new dye that no one else has. It duplicates exactly the green of the eyes of a certain widow I'm trying to impress."

"You've always had such refined taste, Marcus Caelius—"

"Thank you."

"—that I'm left puzzled by your choice of loyalties. Knowing both of them as well as you must have, and having wavered between them, how did you ever come to choose Cicero over Catilina?"

"Gordianus, really! You show your own lack of good taste in asking such a question."

"Because it impugns your youthful idealism?"

"No, because it impugns my common sense. Why would I have chosen to be on the losing side in such a conflict? Oh, yes, I know what you mean about Catilina, and about Cicero. But sometimes, Gordianus, expediency wins out over good taste." He sipped his wine. Keeping an eye on the door through which Cicero had departed, he leaned forward and spoke in a confidential tone. "But if you want to know the truth of the matter, the real truth—"