Steven Saylor - Catilina's riddle

Which was not true, for when we rejoined the crowd, it seemed, if anything, to have grown. Nor was there a feeling of boredom in the air, but rather a charge of excitement, like the rush of wind before a thunderstorm. Men moved about restlessly, with the hush of anticipation in their voices.

At length the Third Class was called upon to vote. A large group of men, better dressed than most but not with the polished look of patricians or the ostentation of equestrian landowners or merchants, gathered outside the Sheep Pen. The First Century filed into the first aisle, the Second Century into the second aisle, and so on.

'There,' said Meto, 'that would be our century, wouldn't it?'

'Yes—’

'Come, Papa, I want to see!'

We moved into the millingthrong that was slowly being funnelled into the Sheep Pen. 'But, Meto, there's nothing to see—'

'No slaves here, only citizens!' said an election official posted outside the enclosure. He was looking at Belbo, who nodded and backed away.

'But there's no need.' I protested. 'He can stay with us. We're only—'

'For Catilina!' a voice whispered in my ear. At the same time a newly minted coin was pressed into my palm.

I looked around and saw the face of one of the crowd workers I had recognized before, one of Crassus's henchmen. He recognized me as well.

"The Finder! I thought you'd left Rome for good.' 'I have.'

'And I thought you never voted.' 'I don't.'

‘Well, then!' He snatched the coin out of my palm.

Without meaning to, I found that I was shuffling forwards with everyone else, hemmed in by the crowd and heading for the second aisle of the Sheep Pen. Meto was ahead of me. He was looking down at a shiny coin held between his forefinger and thumb.

'Meto, we need to—'

‘But, Papa, we're almost there.'

And so we were. Before I knew it, we were at the entrance to the voting aisle, and a bored-looking census officer holding a scroll was scmtinizing Meto. 'Family name?' he demanded wearily.

'Gordianus,' said Meto.

'Gordianus, Gordianus — yes, here it is. Not many of you. And which one are you — you hardly look old enough, to vote.' 'I'm sixteen,' protested Meto, 'as of yesterday.'

'Oh, yes, so you are,' said the official, squinting at the list 'Here,

take your tablet and stylus. And you're Gordianus, the pater?' he asked,looking up at me.

‘Yes. but-'

'Here, your tablet and stylus. Next' — And so, like a sheep, I found myself being driven to the voting urn. Ahead of me Meto scribbled on his tablet. We shuffled forward. Another officer at the end of the line collected our styluses and watched us cast our ballots into the urn. As I did so, the officer gave me an odd look.

We stepped out of the Sheep Pen, where Belbo was waiting for us. I breathed a sigh of relief, then heard a shout behind me. 'You, citizen! With the beard!' I turned around. 'Yes, you!'

The officer had plucked my tablet from the urn and was holding it up. You've made a mistake, citizen!' he laughed. 'There's no "Nemo" in the race for consul'

I shrugged. 'Even so, that's whom I'm voting for.'

Meto would not say for whom he had voted, protesting that his ballot was secret, but it was obvious from the despondent look on his face when it was announced that our century had gone for Silanus. And so he received his first bitter disappointment as a voter.

The disappointment was even more bitter for many in the crowd assembled before the Villa Publica when later that afternoon it was announced that the centuries of the Fifth Class and the free poor would not be needed to determine the outcome. Silanus and Murena had won. The Optimates had maintained their control of the consulships. For the second time in two years, Catilina had been repudiated at the polls. All around us I heard muttered curses and even cries of despair amid the general applause, and I felt a sudden tension in the air.

Silanus and Murena appeared on the podium, along with Cicero and Antonius. Following tradition, the consuls-elect would say a few brief words to the assembled citizenry, but when Murena stepped forward to speak he was drowned out by a sudden uproar. Catilina had emerged from the gates of the Villa Publica.

From the reaction of those around him, Catilina might have been the winner of the election, not a two-time loser. His partisans rushed to him, cheering, tearful, many of them reaching out to touch him, chanting his name in unison: 'Catilina! Catilina!' His own expression was stoic as he strode forward with his jaw set and his eyes straight ahead. From the podium, Cicero gazed down with a tight smile on his lips.

Once Catilina. had passed, Murena and Silanus were finally able to speak. Their comments were predictably banal and were greeted by tepid applause, afterwards Cicero announced that the voting for the praetors would begin immediately. I might have actually cared enough to stay and vote for my friend Rufus, but Meto suddenly lost heart and decided he had learned enough about politics for one day. We left the crowd and made our way back through the deserted streets of the Subura.

Back at Eco's house, Bethesda noticed that Meto seemed unusually withdrawn and pensive. She attributed this to the natural depression that comes the day after a big event such as a toga party, but I knew that Meto's disappointment sprang from something deeper than that.

XXII

We dined informally that evening, with everyone raiding the kitchen for leftovers from the day before. The heat of the day cast the whole household into a mood of easy lassitude. The slaves went sluggishly about their errands, and even Bethesda was too hot to reprimand them. The sun itself seemed lazy, and took an unusually long time to set beyond the horizon. The sky deepened to a rich, dark blue. Meto withdrew to his room to be alone. Diana snuggled against her mother and dozed on our sleeping couch. Eco and Menenia retired to another room at the back of the house to do whatever it is that young newlyweds do to amuse themselves on long, sultry summer evenings. I was left alone again in the garden, which suited my mood.

The first handful of stars were beginning to sparkle in the heavens when Belbo announced that there was a caller outside the front door.

'For Eco?' I asked, thinking he would hardly care to be disturbed at the moment.

'No, he's come to see you, Master. But I don't like the looks of

it.’

'Why is that, Belbo?'

'Too many bodyguards, for one thing — one for every finger at least — and they're all carrying big daggers in their hands, not even sheathed.'

My heartbeat sped up a bit What in Jupiter's name had I done now? Why could I not be left in peace? 'Who is this visitor, Belbo?'

'I'm not sure. He doesn't give a name, and he stands back among his bodyguards so that I can't see him properly. His toga has purple on it, though.'

'Yes?' I pursed my lips, puzzled.

'And he's armed himself. Or at least he's wearing armour. I can see what looks like a breastplate underneath his toga—'

'I see. Yes, Belbo, I suppose I had better see this visitor. But ask him to leave his bodyguards outside. He has nothing to fear in this house.'

Belbo withdrew. A few moments later I was joined in the garden by Marcus Tullius Cicero.

'Gordianus!' he said, giving me a warm, lingering look as if I were a long-lost friend, or perhaps an undecided voter. 'Such a long time since I've seen you!'

'Not so very long. You saw me yesterday on the path to the Arx.'

'I wouldn't count that, would you, given the circumstances? If I was brusque or distant yesterday — well, you understand. I was unable to acknowledge you as I should and will acknowledge you when all this is over.'

' "All this?"'

'You know what I mean.' 'Do I?'