Steven Saylor - Catilina's riddle

Cicero may have had the last word that day, but his bitterness at being deprived of his valedictory must have been great. Some say Caesar and the populists were behind the incident. Others say it was Pompey's faction, who were already tired of hearing Cicero proclaim that his execution of the traitors was as great an achievement as Pompey's conquest of the East, and thought that Senator Chickpea needed to be put in his place.

* * *

I was not surprised when Meto came to my library one frosty morning, and said, with his eyes averted, that he wished to leave the farm for a while and go to stay with his brother in the city.

I considered this request for a long moment. 'I suppose, if Eco is — amenable…'

'He is,' said Meto quickly. ‘I know, because I already asked him, when we were in Rome last month.' 'I see.'

'I'm not really needed here. You have all the help you need.' 'Yes, I suppose we can manage without you. Diana will miss you, of course.'

'Perhaps I won't be gone for long.' He sighed and threw up his hands. 'Oh, Papa, can't you see I simply need to get away?'

‘Yes, that much is clear. You're right, it would probably be a good thing for you to be in the city. You're a man now. You need to find your own way. And I know that we can trust Eco to look after you. Which of the slaves will you take with you?'

He averted his eyes again. 'I was thinking that I would go by myself'

'Oh, no, not with the countryside in such turmoil. You can't travel alone. Besides, I can't send you to Eco without sending along a slave to compensate for the extra burden on his household. How about Orestes? He's strong and young.'

Meto merely shrugged.

He left almost at once, having already packed his things the night before. Bethesda waited until after he was gone to start crying. She thought that Meto and I must have had a great row, and pestered me for the details. When I denied this and tried to comfort her, she shoved me from the room and closed the door in my face.

'Perhaps I should flee to Rome myself,' I muttered under my breath.

It was turning out to be a very hard winter.

The next day I took a long walk around the periphery of the farm, thinking that exertion and fresh air might help relieve my depression. I struck out towards the Cassian Way and walked along it towards the north until I came to the low stone wall that separated my land from that of Manius Claudius. What a peculiar fellow he had turned out to be, I thought, remembering the scene he had made at Meto's party. Stealing bits of food to take home with him, and then daring to insult me in my son's home! He was probably in Rome now.

Claudia had said that he preferred the city, especially in the colder months.

The slaves had done a good job of repairing the wall during the summer, but already the rains and the ice were taking a toll; I noticed several small cracks here and there in the mortar. I looked across the open fields that gradually rose towards my house, from which the smoke of wood fires rose into the still air. From such a distance, with the ridge behind it, it looked the very picture of a rich man's peaceful retreat from the city.

I came to the stream and turned south. Except for the evergreens, all the foliage along its course had been stripped naked by the winter, and the stream had frozen over, locking the waterwheel in place until the thaw. Some day, I thought, the controversy over the stream would be settled for good, and I could visit its banks without thinking of lawyers, law courts, and the sour countenance of Publius Claudius. A hill obscured my view of his property, but I could see a plume of smoke rising from his house. What was my neighbour doing on such a day? Probably keeping warm with his little Butterfly, I thought. The memory of my brief visit to his house caused me to shiver.

Following the stream, I came to the thicket at the southwestern corner of the farm, the secret place where I had buried Nemo. Amid the denuded branches it was not hard to find his stele. Who had he been, after all — a pawn of Cicero's, or Catilina's, or of Marcus Caelius? Not far away we had buried the body of Forfex. Though we knew his name, I had buried him as a slave, with only a stone to mark the place.

I climbed the ridge and looked down over all. The view was pleasing, even to a melancholy eye, with its muted shades of grey and umber. I would have stayed longer on the hill, but the cold in my fingers and toes drove me back to the house.

Aratus met me at the door. 'Master,' he said in a low voice, 'you have a visitor, waiting for you in your library.'

'From the city?' I said, feeling a prickle of dread.

'No, Master. The visitor is your neighbour, Gnaeus Claudius.'

'What in the name of Jupiter can he want?' I muttered.

I shrugged off my cloak and headed towards the library. I found Gnaeus seated in a backless chair, looking bored and fingering the little tag attached to a scroll tucked away in its pigeonhole, as if he had never seen a written document before. He raised an eyebrow when I entered but did not bother to stand.

'What do you want, Gnaeus Claudius?'

'Bitter weather we're having,' he remarked in a conversational drawl.

'Beautiful weather in its way, if a little harsh.'

'Yes, harsh, that's what I meant to say. Like country living in general. It's a hard life, running a farm, especially if you don't have a home in town to retreat to. People from the city read a few poems and imagine it's all butterflies and fauns lurking in the woods. The reality is quite different. All in all, I gather you've had a very harsh year here on cousin Lucius's old farm'

'From where did you gather that idea?'

'So my cousin Claudia says.'

'And what concern is that of yours?'

'Perhaps I could help you.'

'I don't think so, unless you have hay to sell me.'

'Of course I don't! You know there are no decent fields on the mountain for growing hay!'

'Then what are you talking about?'

His sudden vehemence slowly faded into a smile. 'I should like to make an offer to buy this farm'

'It's not for sale. If Claudia told you so—'. 'I merely assumed you might be ready to give it up and go back where you belong.'

"This is where I belong.'

'I think not.'

'I don't care what you think.'

'This is Claudian land, Gordianus. It has been Claudian land since—'

'Tell that to the spirit of your late cousin. It was his will that I should have this land.'

'Lucius was always different from the rest of us. He had more money and took everything for granted. No appreciation of his status; no understanding of the importance of keeping plebeians in their place. He'd have left this land to a dog if a dog had been his best friend.'

'I think you should go, Gnaeus Claudius.'

'I came here prepared to make a serious offer. If you're worried that I'll try to cheat you—'

'Did you come by horse? I'll have Aratus fetch it from the stable.' 'Gordianus, it would be best for all concerned—' 'Go now, Gnaeus Claudius!'

* * *

I was still brooding over Gnaeus's visit the next day when a messenger arrived with a letter from Eco. Whatever the news, it would brighten my outlook to hear his sweet, gruff voice in my mind. Perhaps Meto had attached a note as well, I thought. I retired to the library and hastily broke the seal.

Dearest Papa:

Your slave Orestes has arrived with no real explanation for being here. He claims that he set out from the farm with Meto the other day, but that Meto soon turned back, ordering him to go on to Rome without him and to tell me that you were making a gift of him to the household. It seems that Orestes originally thought that he was accompanying Meto to Rome, but at any rate he says that you did intend for him to stay with me for good. (He's strong as an ox, I grant, but not very bright.) Can you explain?