Steven Saylor - Catilina's riddle

'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.

'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 teem.'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?'

'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 defence. 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'

'And how did her cousins respond?'

'Not very warmly, but she did shut them up. Her manner can be rather…'

'Brusque’ concluded Congrio. 'And remember, it was in her home that the family conclave was being held; she is very much the mistress under her own roof I think that Claudia suffers no challenges to her authority on her own property, even from her blood relations.'

I smiled and nodded 'A woman to be reckoned with. A woman who demands respect. Do her own.slaves respect her?'

'Of course.' Congrio shrugged. 'Although…'

'Yes? Speak up.'

He wrinkled his plump brow. 'I'm not sure that they feel much affection for her, as some slaves do for their masters. She is quite demanding, as I have learned for myself. Nothing must go to waste! Every part of every beast must be rendered for whatever it's worth; every seed must be picked up off the floor. Some of the older slaves swear that they owe their bent backs to her and not to old age.'

'The very fact that she owns slaves old enough to have stooped backs speaks of a compassionate nature,' I said, thinking of all the farms where slaves are treated worse than beasts of burden. A slave's hide, unlike that of a cow, has no value after death, and thus many masters see no reason not to cover it with scars; and the flesh of slaves, unlike the flesh of beasts, cannot be eaten, and so these same masters see no need to feed them more than the bare minimum. Wise old Cato would certainly have had no wizened slaves about his farm; his advice is to cull out the sick and weak and to stop feeding a slave once he grows too old to do his full share.

Done with the slaves, I dismissed them, but as Congrio was stepping through the door (he had to turn a bit sideways, I noticed, to manoeuvre his bulk through the passageway), I called him back.

'Yes, Master?'

'This family conclave of the Claudii was mostly about the upcoming elections, I understand.'

'I think so, Master, though I imagine they also discussed matters of more immediate concern to the family.'

'Such as their unwanted neighbour and what to do about him,' I said glumly. 'Did you overhear any rumours of how the Claudii plan to vote? In the consular election, I mean.'

'Oh, in that they were unanimous. They will back Silanus, though they appear to have no great respect for him. "Anyone but Catilina," was the phrase I heard again and again. Even the slaves had picked it up.'

'I see. "Anyone but Catilina.'' You may go now, Congrio. Bethesda will wish to advise you about this evening's meal.' After he left the room, I sat for a long while with my fingertips pressed together, staring at the wall, lost in thought.

VI

For the next few days I put aside thoughts of politics and Rome and the great world beyond the farm I even managed to banish the troublesome Claudii from my mind. No more messengers arrived from the city; no more insults were hurled across the stream that bordered my estate. The city folk were busy with electioneering, and my neighbours were no doubt occupied, as I was, with the haymaking. The sun shone bright and warm, the slaves seemed content at their labours, the beasts dozed in their pens. Meto and Diana seemed to have made peace with each other, at least for the time being, and Bethesda, her maternal nature aroused by the budding spring, took them to gather wildflowers on the hillside. In my idle moments I played at designing the water mill that had been the dream of Lucius Claudius.

The nights were warm but pleasant. I went to bed early, and Bethesda and I made love three nights in a row. (The chance appearance of a handsome young visitor like Marcus Caelius in my household seemed often to have this stimulating effect, but I did not question or object.) I slept well and deeply. It seemed to me that a great peace had descended on my own little plot of land in Etruria, no matter what wickedness was brewing in the world beyond. Thus do the gods sometimes deceive us with a respite before the storm.

The bad news began at mid-month, on the Ides of Junius. Early that morning a slave came running to my library, saying that Aratus wished to see me in the fields. From the boy's uneasy countenance I saw trouble looming.

I followed him to a place at the northern edge of the farm, near the wall that separated my land from that of Manius Claudius. Since this field of grass was farthest from the house and the barns, the slaves had mowed it last. The grass was all cut, but only a few bundles had been gathered. The slaves stood idly about and became nervous at my arrival. Aratus stepped towards me, looking glum.