Steven Saylor - Catilina's riddle

'Yes, about Meto…'

'Do I hear another note of dissatisfaction in your voice, Gordianus?' 'If you are to stay in my house, I would prefer that you respect my authority as head of this household.' 'Have I somehow offended you?'

'More than once you cast doubt on my judgment regarding my son, and you did it in front of Meto himself. I realize your manner is ironic, Catilina, but Meto is likely to take your comments seriously. I ask that you refrain from ridiculing me, however good-naturedly. I will not have my authority undermined.'

I kept my voice even and tried to speak without undue passion. There followed a long silence. I could see that Catdlina's face was turned up to the stars, his jaw clenched. That he failed to reply seemed to indicate that he was angry and was biting his tongue. If I had offended him, I could not regret it.

Then he laughed. It was a low, quiet laugh, gentle and without harshness. The laughter faded and after a moment he spoke. 'Gordianus — but no, you will think I am ridiculing you again. Even so, I must say it. How could I undermine your authority with the boy? Any fool could see that he worships you. Such devotion is like a rock, and my teasing is like a pebble cast against it. Even so, I apologize and ask your forgiveness. I am a guest in this house, here upon your sufferance, and I have behaved as if I were in my own home, without regard to your sensibilities. That is rudeness on my part, not to mention a failure of wisdom I meant no offence. You see, I was serious when I said that men mistake my meaning. If only I could learn to do the opposite of what I intend to do, then everyone would be pleased with me at last.'

I stared at him in the darkness, not knowing whether to be charmed or offended, whether to laugh at his wit or fear him. 'If I distrust you, Catilina, perhaps it's because you speak in riddles.'

'Men offer riddles when they cannot offer solutions.'

‘You're cynical, Catilina.'

He laughed softly, this time with a touch of bitterness. 'Against the insoluble ugliness of life, one man takes refuge in flippant cynicism while another takes refuge in smug certainty. Which man is Cicero and which is me? No, don't answer.' He was silent for a moment, then said, 'I understand you've had a falling-out with Cicero.'

'I've always had my differences with him. I never care to work for him again.' It was not exactly a lie.

'You're not the only one who's become disillusioned with our consul. For years Cicero paraded himself as the fiercely independent champion of reform, a battler against the status quo, the outsider from Arpinum. But when it came his time to stand for consul, he found that I had the constituency for reform already in my hand, so he moved without a moment's hesitation into the opposite camp and made himself a puppet for the most reactionary elements in Rome. It was a transformation to make a man's head spin, yet he changed his rhetoric without a stutter or even a pause for breath! Oh, others were surprised, but I saw it coming from the first days of his campaign. A man who will do anything to get himself elected is a man without principles, and Cicero is the worst. All his old supporters with any integrity — like young Marcus Caelius — have abandoned him, just as he abandoned them to go to sit in the lap of the oligarchy. The ones who've stayed with Cicero have no more principles than he does. They simply bend towards power as flowers bend towards the light. The last year in Rome has been a farce—'

'I've been away from Rome the whole tame.'

'But surely you visit the city?'

'Not at all.'

'I can't blame you. The place is full of vipers, and worse than that, it's become a city without hope. The oligarchs have won. You can see the resignation on people's faces. A small group of families own and control everything, and they will do anything not to share their wealth. There was some chance for reform with the Sullan legislation, but Cicero of course saw to it that those reforms came to nothing—'

'Please, Catilina! Surely Caelius told you that talk of politics is like a bee sting to me — I swell up and break out in welts if I'm exposed to it.'

Though his eyes were in shadow I could see that Catilina regarded me steadily. 'You're a strange man, Gordianus. You invite me, a candidate for consul, into your home, yet you cannot abide to speak of Rome's fate.'

'You said yourself that you came here to escape from politics, Catilina.'

'So I did. Yet I think that I am not the only one who poses riddles here.' He sat unmoving in the darkness, watching me.

Perhaps Catilina trusted me no more than I trusted him, but which of us had the greater cause to be suspicious? I might have asked him outright what he knew of the headless body that had been left in my barn, but if he was responsible he would hardly have admitted it, and if he knew nothing and said as much I wouldn't have believed him. Still, I thought that I might trap him by laying my words in a circle around him and then pulling them tight.

'The riddle you posed earlier was too easy, Catilina. But I find myself still puzzled by one that Marcus Caelius posed when he visited me last month. He said that you invented the riddle, so surely you can tell me the solution.'

'What riddle was that?'

'It was posed in this fashion: "I see two bodies. One is thin and wasted, but has a great head. The other body is big and strong — but has no head at all" '

Catilina did not respond immediately. From the shifting shadows on his brow and around his mouth I thought I saw him frowning. 'Caelius told you this riddle?'

'Yes. Contemplating it has caused me considerable distress.' I spoke only the truth.

'Strange that Caelius should have repeated it to you.'

'Why? Is the riddle a secret?' I thought of clandestine meetings, messages sent in code, oaths sworn and sealed by drinking from a cup of blood.

'Not exactly. But riddles have their proper time and place, and the time to pose that riddle has not yet arrived. Strange…' He rose from his couch. 'I'm suddenly weary, Gordianus. The journey has caught up with me, and I think I must have eaten too much of Congrio's cooking.'

I roused myself, intending to show him the way, but he was already leaving the courtyard. 'Don't worry about waking me in the morning,' he said over his shoulder. 'I'm an early riser. I shall be up even before the slaves.'

Only moments after he left, the last of the lamps sputtered and went out. I reclined on my couch in the darkness, wondering why Catilina would not supply the answer to his own riddle.

Later that night I woke up in my bed beside Bethesda. Nature called.

I rose to my feet. I didn't bother to reach for a cloak to cover myself. The night was warm.

I stepped into the hallway and headed for the privy; Lucius Claudius, never one to stint himself of luxury, had blessed the house with indoor plumbing, just like a city house in Rome. The hallway ran alongside one wall of the courtyard. Through one of the little windows I glimpsed a dark shape on one of the couches and gave a start.

It was a body. Of that I was instantly certain, though in the dim starlight I could tell little about it. I stared at the stiff, unmoving shape. I felt a tremor of fear, and then a hot flush of anger that I should feel such fear in my own home.

Then the body stirred. It was a living man.

He turned his head slightly, and in the dim starlight I discerned the profile of Catilina. He lay upon the couch with his hands folded on his stomach, not making a sound. I would have thought he was asleep, except that his eyes were open. He appeared to be lost in thought.

I watched him for a long moment, then silently continued on my way. I stepped into the privy and did my business as quietly as possible. On the way back to my bedroom I stopped and watched him again. He had not moved.