Steven Saylor - Catilina's riddle

Suddenly he sprang up from the couch. I thought he must have seen or heard me, but he took no notice of me. He began to pace slowly around the small courtyard, circling the pool, his arms crossed and his head bowed. After a while he fell back onto the couch and covered his face with one hand, dropping his other arm limply to the floor. His posture suggested deep exhaustion or despair, but from his lips came neither snoring nor weeping, not even a sigh, only the steady breathing of a wakeful man. Catilina brooded.

I returned to my room and pressed myself beside Bethesda, who stirred but did not wake. I feared that I would brood and fret like Catilina, but Morpheus came quickly and pulled me deep into the black recesses of forgetful sleep.

XI

I arose the next morning expecting to find Catilina still abed, despite his claim to be up early, but when I looked into the room he shared with Tongilius I saw two vacant couches with their covedets neady folded. When had he slept — or had he slept at all?

Perhaps, I thought with a glimmer of hope, he had grown restless and departed altogether. But one of the kitchen slaves informed me that he and Tongilius had eaten an early breakfast of bread and dates and then had gone out, taking their horses from the stable and leaving word that they would return before noon.

Very well, I thought, the less I have to entertain him, and the less he disrupts the routine of the firm, the better. At least he possessed good manners, as a true patrician should. As a house guest, he could have been much worse.

I took Aratus and Meto and went down to the stream to continue our calculations for building the water mill. For a while, engaged in the work, I forgot about Catilina completely, but then I began to have new misgivings. He had gone out with Tongilius, he had said, but to where and for what purpose? As my guest he was free to wander wherever he liked on the farm, but the two of them had taken their horses with them, and the kitchen slave thought she had seen them headed in the direction of the Cassian Way. Catilina had said he would be back by noon, and therefore could not have gone far; what sort of business could he have nearby, and with whom? I did not like the idea of his using my home as a base for whatever dealings he might have in the 'vicinity. Nothing of the sort had been mentioned by Marcus Caelius, who had promised that Catilina would visit me only to retire from the city or to rest on his way north. I considered confronting Catilina with my displeasure. It seemed a reasonable thing to do, except that I kept remembering Nemo.

I tried to push such thoughts from my mind and to concentrate on the work at hand, but I was distracted and grew more and more irritated. Meto's obvious disinterest did not help. I had hoped that the water mill would spark his enthusiasm, and one of the reasons I wanted to pursue the project was to give him a practical lesson in building, but he had no head for figures or geometry and grew bored and restless at being asked to hold pieces of string and take a few steps in one direction or the other. Later in the morning he asked to be excused to return to the house, saying the heat was making him dizzy, and I let him, though I suspected he was more bored than faint.

I myself was clumsy with the siting instruments and kept giving Aratus the wrong figures to write down, then correcting myself Each time he erased the wax tablet with the back of his hand, the gesture grew more curt. I was about to reprimand him, but then he shut his eyes and used the other side of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. The sun was directly overhead. Perhaps it was only the heat that was setting our nerves on edge.

'We'll stop now, until it's cooler,' I told him. Aratus nodded and hurriedly gathered up the instruments, then departed for the house. Clearly, he was as tired of my manner as I was of his, and glad to have a break from me. I sighed, wondering if any farmer could succeed on such bad terms with his foreman. For an instant I wondered if I should replace Aratus, but the thought was too much to take on. I fetched my battered tin cup and went down to the stream to scoop up a drink of cool water. I drank it down slowly, then scooped up another cup and splashed it on my face. The day was going to be intolerably hot.

I heard a noise, and turned to see Meto stepping from behind an oak tree. From the smile on his face, the respite from geometry had lifted his spirits considerably. Then I saw the man who followed him. I gave a start, thinking another stranger had appeared on the farm. I stared, puzzled, then realized what had changed.

'Your beard, Catilina!'

He reached up and stroked his naked jaw, laughing softly. 'Would you share your cup? Just walking here from the stable has given me a thirst.'

I handed him the cup. While he knelt beside the flowing water, I sat down on a broad, flat rock in the shade. He drank his fill, then joined me on the rock. Meto slipped off his sandals and went wading in the shallow water to cool his feet.

'Tongilius did it for me this morning,' Catilina said, stroking his jaw again. 'Not a bad job, considering the poor light'

'He shaved you before you went out?'

He nodded. When had he slept?

'But the look was so distinctive, Catilina.' I meant the words to be ironic, considering that I had seen the same beard on every recent visitor from the city.

'The first to adopt a certain fashion should be the first to abandon it' said Catilina glibly.

"The voters will think you are changeable and frivolous.'

'The voters who know me will know better. The voters who despise me would like to think I could be changed, and thus should be comforted, or at least disarmed. And I don't worry that anyone in Rome, whether friend or enemy, considers me frivolous.' He frowned for a moment, then turned up his chin and squinted at the bright leafy canopy above. 'It was this foray into the countryside that did it like a plunge into cold water. New surroundings give a man inspiration to put on a new face. I feel ten years younger, and a thousand miles away from Rome. You should try it, Gordianus.'

'Moving a thousand miles from Rome?'

'No,' he laughed, 'shaving your beard.' Meto, wading in the stream, was paying no attention to our conversation. Even so, Catilina leaned towards me and lowered his voice. 'Women like it when a man first grows a heard, or when he shaves one. It's the change that's exciting, you understand. Imagine Bethesda's reaction if you should suddenly appear in her bed with a naked face. There, you see, you're smiling. You know I'm right'

I did smile and even laughed a little, for the first time that day. I was suddenly at ease as I realized with surprise. The change in my mood was because of the cool shade and flowing water, the respite from Aratus's scowl and from the sight of Meto's delight in the stream, I told myself. It had nothing to do with Catilina's smile.

Meto emerged from the stream and joined us. He stood first on one leg and then on the other, drying his feet and slipping on his sandals. With the stream behind him and the sunlight glinting on the hair that hung over his face, he looked like one of those statues of unselfconscious youth that the Greeks so admire. Impossible, I thought, that he was almost a man. He was still too pretty, too boyish. Having grown up myself without the benefit of beauty, I was never quite sure whether his good looks were an advantage or not Certainly men rlike Pompey, not to mention Catilina, had used their looks to further their careers; Marcus Caelius was of the same mould. On the other hand, Cicero was proof that plainness was no disadvantage. And for a man of no great means or ambition, as for a woman of the same station, beauty could be as much a disadvantage as a boon, attracting the wrong sorts of patrons and leading a young man to rely too much on his charm. I only wished that Meto had a more serious side to his nature, and a bit more common sense.