Catilina's Riddle (8 page)

Or are you intentionally trying to coddle me?"

He smiled. "My teacher Cicero would say that one should never respond to a question of either/or if both answers are damaging. One should change the subject instead."

I begrudged him a smile in return. "You're positively wicked, Marcus Caelius; too wicked for a man your age. Yes, I do believe you could fool Catilina himself into trusting you. If I agree to do as you ask, I must have some way of protecting myself; I can't be seen as an ally of Catilina's if he comes to ruin, as he probably will. A letter from Cicero would be useful, acknowledging my help ahead of time."

Caelius grimaced. "Cicero foresaw such a request. It's not possible.

If such a communication were to be intercepted, it would spoil everything, and put you in immediate jeopardy, besides. Put your mind at ease. If a crisis comes, Cicero will not forget you."

"Still, I'd like some assurance from Cicero himself. If I came to Rome—"

"He couldn't see you, not now. Catilina would know, and all would be ruined. Do you not believe me, Gordianus?"

I considered for a long moment. The shiver of excitement I had felt earlier was joined by a prickle of apprehension. I felt like the man who cannot control his drinking and so abstains, but who picks up a cup intended for someone else and accidentally swallows a mouthful of warm wine. "I believe you," I finally said.

But later that night, as I lay beside Bethesda, a doubt took shape, grew and hovered over me like a gray mist in the moonlit darkness. Caelius had offered no proof that he came from Cicero. Might he have been sent by Catilina, instead? Even if he had come from Cicero, might not Catilina have seen through their plan? Where did Caelius's true allegiance lie? The same charming young man who claimed to have fooled Catilina might just as easily be able to fool Cicero, not to mention an unreformed intriguer named Gordianus the Finder, who thought he had sworn off politics forever.

Bethesda stirred. "What's wrong, Master?" she whispered. She had ceased to call me Master on the day of our marriage, but occasionally she slipped in her sleep; to hear her call me that reminded me of days long ago, before the world became so weary and complex. I reached out

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and touched her. The familiarity of her body—firm, warm, and responsive—dispelled my hovering doubts like ragged mists beneath the sun.

She rolled toward me and we folded our bodies together. For a while all apprehensions were forgotten in the animal act of love, and afterward
I
slept the sleep of a country farmer, dreaming of endless fields of hay and the musical lowing of oxen.

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C H A P T E R F I V E

he next morning Marcus Caelius was up before I was. I found him in front of the stable, fully dressed and readying his T mount for the ride back to Rome. His bodyguards emerged from within, rubbing their eyes and brushing straw from their hair. The sun was not quite above Mount Argentum, and the world was lit by a thin blue light. A trail of mist hovered over the stream and crept into the low places.

From Publius Claudius's farm to the west, a faraway cock began to crow. "Weren't you able to sleep, Caelius?"

"Quite well, thank you."

"The bed was too hard, wasn't it? I knew it would be. And the room was too stuffy."

"No. . . . "

"Alas, as you've seen for yourself, my home is wholly unsuitable for distinguished guests."

Caelius caught my meaning and smiled. "They say that Catilina is like a good general; he can eat and sleep under
any
conditions. Your accommodations will be more than adequate."

"I still haven't said yes, Caelius."

"I thought you had."

"I'll need to consider it."

"Which is the same as saying no. Time presses, Gordianus."

"Then no," I snapped, suddenly tired of bantering with him.

He clucked his tongue. "You'll change your mind as soon as I'm gone. Send a messenger to me." He mounted his horse and ordered his bodyguards to get ready.

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Bethesda emerged from the house, dressed in a long-sleeved stola with her hair down. The black and silver strands cascaded in splendid waves down her back, and there was a dreamy look in her eyes, for which I felt partly responsible.

"Surely, Marcus Caelius, you're not leaving us without eating first?" She positively purred. "I had planned something special for breakfast." "I prefer to start a long ride on an empty stomach. I've looted some bread and fruit from your larder, for the road." He turned his steed around a few times while his bodyguards mounted their horses.

"Wait a moment," I said. "I'll ride with you as far as the Cassian Way." As we set out, the sun crested the mountain and lit up the world, casting long shadows behind us. Birds began to sing. We passed by vineyards on one side and a mowed field of hay on the other. Caelius breathed in deeply. "Ah, Gordianus, the smell of a country morning! I see why you prefer it to the city. Yet the city does not cease to exist, merely because you turn your back on it. Neither do a man's obligations."

"You are nothing if not persistent, Caelius," I said, shaking my head ruefully. "Did you learn that trait from Cicero, or from Catilina?"

"A little from both, I think. There's something else I learned from Catilina: a riddle. You must like riddles, Gordianus, being so adept at solving mysteries. Do you want to hear it?"

I shrugged.

"It's a little riddle that Catilina likes to pose to his friends. He told it on the night of the blood oath, I see two bodies,' he said. 'One is thin and wasted, but has a great head. The other body is big and strong—

but it has no head at all!'
" He laughed quietly.

I shifted uneasily on my mount. "What is the point?"

Caelius gave me his heavy-lidded look. "But it's a riddle, Gordianus!

You must figure out the answer for yourself. I tell you what: when you dispatch your messenger to me, use a code. If you'll play host to Catilina, if your answer is yes, then say: 'The body without a head.' But if no, then say: 'The head without a body.' But don't wait long; once set in motion, events will move very swiftly."

"They always do," I said, reining in my horse. We had reached the Cassian Way. Caelius waved to me, then with his men turned onto the stone-paved surface and gathered speed. For a moment I watched their capes fluttering behind them like pennants, then turned back toward the bouse, more uncertain and apprehensive than ever.

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I was in my library that afternoon, sketching fanciful plans for the water mill, when Aratus announced that Congrio and his assistants had returned.

"Good, show them in. I want to see them. Privately."

Aratus narrowed his eyes and withdrew. A few moments later Congrio and the kitchen slaves entered. I put aside my tablet and stylus and gestured for them to shut the door.

"Well, Congrio, how did things go with the Claudii?"

"Quite well, Master. I'm sure you'll receive no complaints about our service. Claudia gave me this note to give to you." He handed me a rolled scrap of parchment sealed with wax on which Claudia had impressed her ring. Her seal, I noticed, was an abbreviation of her name, with the letter C enclosing a smaller A. It was clearly her own seal, neither inherited from her father nor taken from a husband, but invented by herself. This was unusual for a Roman matron, but Claudia was an unusually independent woman. I broke the seal and unrolled the letter.

To Gordianus:

Greetings, neighbor, and my gratitude for the loan of your slaves. They have comported themselves admirably, most especially your chief of the kitchen, Congrio, who has lost none of his skill since the days when he served my cousin Lucius. I am doubly grateful because my own head cook fell ill in the midst of preparations, whereupon Congrio proved to be not merely a great help but utterly essential; I should have been distraught and desperate without him. I will remember this when calculating the favor I owe you.

On a different subject, and confidentially, I want you to know that I did my best to put in a good word for you in the family council. We Claudii are a stubborn and opinionated bunch, and I cannot say that I immediately swayed anyone toward a more moderate view, but I think I made a start.

Anyway, I did what I could. It was a beginning.

Thank you again for the generous loan. Consider this your promissory note, and call upon me someday to repay it.

I remain your grateful neighbor,

Claudia

I rolled the letter and tied it with a ribbon, then saw that Congrio was watching me with his head quizzically cocked. "She was quite impressed with you," I said, at which Congrio let out a pent-up breath and smiled sweetly.

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"A good woman," he said. "A demanding mistress, but she genuinely appreciates a man's skills."

"You obeyed my orders regarding your own discretion?"

"We were discreet, Master. I regret that I can't say the same for other men's slaves."

"What do you mean?"

"The visiting Claudii brought along their own slaves, and the most natural place for slaves to congregate is the kitchen. I did my best to shoo them out whenever the place became too crowded, but there was always a throng, and the orgy of gossip never stopped. I took no part in it, of course, but above the clanging of pots and pans I kept my ears open, as you instructed."

"What did you hear?"

"Most of it was of no interest at all—which slaves had risen or fallen in their master's favor . . . fabricated stories about amorous adventures when journeying with their masters to Rome . . . obscene tales about illicit unions between field slaves and serving girls behind the wine press . . . rude comments about one another's anatomy—just the sort of trivial filth that you'd expect, and with which I would never consider polluting my master's ears."

"Was there anything at all of interest?"

"Perhaps. There were some rude insults aimed in my own general direction. Slaves often take on the colors of their masters, as you no doubt have noticed, and when there is hostility between masters it may be echoed between their slaves. Quite a few of the slaves, knowing I served Lucius Claudius long and faithfully, took crude jabs at me; these

. took the nature of bemoaning what they called my sad decline in the world, having now to serve a master—pardon me, Master, these are their exact words and it pains me to repeat them—having now to serve a master 'so far below' the last. I answered them with stony silence, of course, which they merely seemed to find amusing. The point is that such phrases could hardly have originated from the lips of slaves; rather, slaves pick up such phrases from their masters."

"I see. Did you hear anything so direct from the lips of the Claudii themselves?"

"No, Master, not I. As it turned out, I was confined almost exclusively to the kitchen, with hardly a moment to catch a breath of air.

Claudia's head cook fell ill—"

'So she mentions in her letter."

"As you might imagine, I was quite busy the whole time. I hardly saw any of her guests, only their slaves invading my—that is to say Claudia's—kitchen."

And you two?" I asked, nodding to his assistants. They drew themselves up nervously, looking at each other.

- 45 -

"Well?"

"We helped Congrio in the kitchen much of the time," said one of them. "It's as he says; there were rude jibes from some of the visiting slaves, veiled insults regarding our new master—which is to say yourself, Master. But we didn't spend all our time in the kitchen. We were also called upon to serve during the family council and the dinner that followed. Your name was mentioned . . . "

"Yes?"

They displayed acute discomfort. One of them had a rather bad complexion, with pimples scattered over his cheeks. I was surprised Claudia had chosen him to serve, since most Romans prefer to look on something pleasant while they dine. I put this down to her general eccentricity; Claudia seemed always determined to go her own way.

"You," I said to the boy with the pimples. "Speak up! Nothing you say will surprise me."

He cleared his throat. "They don't like you, Master."

"I know that. What I want to know is what they might be planning to do about it."

"Well, there was nothing specific. Name-calling mostly."

"Such as?"

He made a face, as if I had waved something foul-smelling under his nose and demanded he taste it. " 'Stupid young fart from the city'?"

he finally said, wincing.

"Who called me that?"

"That was Publius Claudius, I think, the old man who lives across the stream. Actually, he did state a specific intention, sort of. He said you ought to be dunked upside down in the stream and made to catch fish with your teeth." He winced again.

"That's pretty harmless," I said. "What else?"

His companion chewed his lower lip, then timidly raised his hand for permission to speak. " 'Stupid nobody with no ancestors, who should be put in a cage and carted back to Rome,' " he offered. "That was Manius Claudius, the man who lives up north beyond the wall."

"I see. Still, nothing more than idle grumbling."

The young man with the pimples cleared his throat.

"Yes?" I prompted.

"The youngest one, the one named Gnaeus—"

The Claudian whose own rocky, mountainous property would not support a farm and who, by all expectations, should have inherited Lucius's farm, I thought. "Go on."

"He said that the family should hire some assassins in the city to come up on some dark night and leave a bit of blood on the ground."

This was more serious, though it still might be only more idle talk.

"Did he say anything more specific?"

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"No, those were his words, exactly: 'Leave a bit of blood on the ground.' "

"And he said this where you could hear?"

"I don't think he knew what household I came from. I don't think any of them knew, except Claudia. They really didn't seem to notice us at all. Also, there was a lot of wine drunk that night, and Gnaeus drank his share."

"But you should probably know, Master," said the other slave, "that Claudia spoke up in your defense. She answered each of these insults and threats, and told the others that there was no point in nursing their animosity because everything had been settled in court."