Steven Saylor - Catilina's riddle

I stood up. 'I was thinking, if it would be of any interest to you, that I could allow you some access to the mill once it's finished. You might find it useful.'

'What would I want it for? I have slaves to grind my meal.'

"The water could do the work of the slaves.'

'Then what would the slaves do? Idle slaves only end up getting into trouble.'

'I'm sure the slaves could find plenty of other work to do around here,' I said dryly. I meant to be insulting, but Publius seemed not to notice.

'A mill is a machine,' he said. 'Machines break and must be repaired There is only so much water to run such a thing, especially in the dry months. And when a machine is idle, it's of no use to anyone — while a slave can be useful even when she's at rest.' Publius did something that made the girl let out a gasp. She began to draw away, then twitched and stood stiffly upright. A vein stood out in Publius's forehead, and he narrowed his eyes. His shoulder and elbow moved in a strange gyration. The girl pouted and bit her hps. Publius put the wineskin to his mouth. He sucked at the spout, spilling wine on his chin.

'Ill go now,' I said. Aratus hurried ahead of me to open the door.

'Oh, but I'm a miserable host!' cried Publius, slurring the words. 'Here I am making myself at home and I've offered nothing to my guest. Which would you like, Gordianus, the wineskin… or the girl?'

'I’ll begin construction on the water milltomorrow,' I said, not looking back. 'I hope I may expect no interference from you. I’ll thank you for your cooperation.'

On the path outside, Publius came hurrying after me. He laid his hand on my arm. I jerked it from his grasp. His breath smelled of wine. His hand smelled of the girl.

'Another thing, Gordianus — you have to build a mill from scratch. But a slave — you can make your own slaves! Why, half the slaves on this farm were planted in their mothers' wombs by me. You don't have to buy them, you see, you can make your own — more fun that way, eh? And doesn't cost a copper. You see the big one over there beneath the olive trees, rousing the others from their nap and putting them back to work — one of my bastards. Oh, I've made some big ones, strong boys who can keep the rest in line. I feed them well and let them play with the Dragonfly now and again, to keep them happy. It doesn't matter if the others are miserable or not, so long as you've got the strong ones to keep them in line. Feed the weaker ones just enough to keep them going, but not so much as to make them stronger than they should be—'

I mounted my horse. Aratus and the field slave I had brought did likewise.

'But what's this, Gordianus, you don't care to discuss agrarian philosophy? I thought all you city boys, all you friends of windbags like Cicero, delighted in a good discussion — ' He staggered after me, tripping on the paving stones.

'You shouldn't drink so much on such a hot day, Publius Claudius. You'll fall and hurt yourself' I said, gritting my teeth.

'It's the trouble down at the stream that's still bothering you, isn't it? Fah! That was nothing. Women squabbling. If I'd really wanted to make a point, I'd have sent one of my big bastards over to do it. Oh, yes, you're just what my cousins say you are. Another nobody from the city who's risen too far above his station in life. Rome is in a sad state when a nobody like you can get his hands on a patrician's farm and take on airs like a country noble — and a nobody like your friend Cicero can worm his way into the consulship. Your head is all swollen, Gordianus — maybe someone should pop it open for you!' He slapped his fist into his palm with a crack.

I wheeled around. Publius drew back, startled and coughing from the dust stirred up by the horse's stamping hooves. His enforcers in the olive grove pricked up their ears and began walking quickly towards us.

'What's that you said about heads, Publius?' I demanded. 'What?' He looked up at me with a puzzled expression, waving at the dust.

'Do you make a habit of doing damage to other men's heads, Publius Claudius?'

'I don't know what you're talking about. It's a figure of speech—'

'And if you popped a man's swollen head, Publius — what would you do with the body?'

The enforcers arrived and circled their master. His momentary abashment passed and Publius squinted up at me defiantly. 'I think you'd better get off my property. If you have no taste for my hospitality, then go! And don't think I'll forget the matter of the water rights. It's my stream, not yours!'

I turned around and called to Aratus and the field slave to follow me. I drove the horse at a trot, then at a full gallop through the high grass, scattering startled cicadas and grasshoppers in my wake. The heat of the fields rushed over my face, and the wind roared in my ears. The pounding of the horse's hooves against the hard earth vibrated through my body. The slaves returning to their labours drew back in alarm. Even when I came to the stream I did not slow the pace, but urged the beast to bound over the water. Once I was on the far bank I pulled on her reins and bent forwards to stroke her neck. I rested in the shade, listening to the breath pass through her nostrils, and the pounding of my heart in my ears.

Aratus and the field slave went back to their duties. I lingered for a while by the stream, letting my horse drink from the cool water and eat the tender grass. When she was done, I rode up to the stable. I was about to dismount when a faraway movement on the highway caught my eye. I shaded my brow and peered across the fields. Two men were turning off the Cassian Way onto the road to my house. One rode a black horse, the other a white.

Eco, returning so soon? That could only mean trouble, I thought, I hurried down the road to meet him

As I drew nearer I thought I recognized Eco by his fashionable beard and haircut, but the other rider, on the white hone, was not nearly large enough to be Belbo. I reined in my horse and waited for the men to draw closer. They kept a slow, steady pace, until the one on the black horse broke into a trot and rode ahead to meet me. He looked absurdly happy; indeed, it seemed to me that a great smile was approaching me accompanied by a horse and rider.

When he was close enough for me to see him more clearly, I knew that I must be seeing the first and foremost face to wear the fashion so popular among the young men at Rome, for it could not possibly have suited any other face, not even that of handsome Marcus Caelius, as perfectly as it suited his. The strap of beard across his jaw was the ideal frame for his strong chin and perfectly chiselled nose. The cut of his hair, long on top and sheared above the ears so that flecks of silver shone among the black, was ideally suited to his straight black eyebrows and lofty forehead. His eyes were a piercing blue that seemed to pin me and hold me in place as he drew nearer.

'Beautiful!' he said as he reined in his mount, taking his eyes from mine to gaze at the fields around him. 'Even better than Marcus Caelius promised. It couldn't be more perfect — could it, Tongilius?' he said, calling back to his young companion. He breathed deeply, savouring the sweet smells of hay and wildflowers. 'A beautiful piece of earth. One can almost picture Pan himself flitting across the fields. The kind of farm every Roman dreams of.' With a great smile on his face he extended his hand. Reluctantly I took it. His grasp was warm and strong. 'You must be a proud and happy man, Gordianus!'

I nodded and sighed. 'Oh, yes, Catilina, I am assuredly that,'

We had met briefly ten years before, but in all the time since the scandal of the Vestal Virgins I had had nothing to do with Catilina and had hardly seen him, even when he was in the Forum campaigning for office — especially then, for the sight of a politician approaching with his retinue was enough to send me running. (A Roman politician will doggedly pursue an honest man into a shop or tavern or even a brothel to beg for his vote; the only hope of escape is to head speedily in the opposite direction.)