Steven Saylor: Catilina's riddle

'Marcus Caelius, it's good to see you again, truly. The day is hot and the road is dusty. I'm glad I can give you a cup of cool wine and a respite from your horse. Perhaps you require more than a drink and a brief rest? Very well, my hospitality is not exhausted. To ride all the way from Rome to my door and back again in a single day would challenge even a man as young and fit as you appear to be, and so I will gladly offer you accommodations for the night, if you wish. But unless you want to talk about haymaking or pressing olive oil or tending the vine, you and I have no business to discuss. I have given up my old livelihood.'

'So I've heard,' he said amiably, with an undaunted glimmerin his eyes. 'But you needn't worry. I haven't come to offer you work.'

'No?'

'No. I've come merely to ask a favour. Not for myself, you understand, but on behalf of the highest citizen in the land.' 'Cicero,' I sighed. 'I might have known.'

'When a duly elected consul calls him to duty, what Roman can refuse?' said Caelius. 'Especially considering the ties that bind the two of you. Are you sure there's not another room that might be more appropriate for our discussion?'

'My library is more private… if hardly more secure,' I added under my breath, remembering my glimpse of Aratus skulking away from the window two days before. 'Come.'

Once there, I shut the door behind us and offered him a chair. I sat near the door to the herb garden, so that I could see anyone approaching, and kept an eye on the window above Caelius's shoulder, where I had caught Aratus eavesdropping. 'What have you come for, Marcus Caelius?' I said, dropping all pretence of pleasant conversation. 'I'll tell you right now that I will not go back to the city. If you need someone to spy for you or dig up trouble, you can go to my son Eco, though I hardly wish it on him.'

'No one is asking you to come back to Rome,' said Caelius soothingly.

'No?'

'Not at all. Quite the opposite. Indeed, the very fact that you are now living in the countryside is what makes you so appropriate for the purpose Cicero has in mind.'

'I don't like the sound of that.'

Caelius smiled thinly. 'Cicero said you wouldn't.'

'I'm not a tool that Cicero can pick up whenever he wishes, or bend to his purpose at will; I never was and never will be. No matter that he's consul for the year, he's still only a citizen, as I am. I have every right to refuse him.'

'But you don't even know what he's asking of you.' Caelius seemed amused.

•Whatever it is, I won't like it,'

'Perhaps not, but would you refuse an opportunity to serve the state?'

'Please, Caelius, no empty calls to patriotism.'

'The call is not empty.' His face became serious. "The threat is very real. Oh, I understand your cynicism, Gordianus. I may have lived only half as long as you, but I've seen my share of treachery and corruption in the Forum, enough for ten lifetimes!'

Considering his political education at the side of men like Crassus and Cicero, he was probably speaking the truth. Cicero himself had trained him in oratory, and the pupil did his master proud; the words that poured from his lips were polished like precious stones. He might have been an actor or a singer. I found myself listening to him in spite of myself

"The state stands poised on the brink of a terrible catastrophe, Gordianus. If it steps over that brink — or is pushed, against the will of every decent citizen — the descent will be more abrupt and harrowing than anything we've known before. Certain parties are determined to destroy the Republic once and for all. Imagine the Senate awash in blood. Imagine a return of the dictator Sulla's proscriptions, when any citizen could be named an enemy of the state for no reason at all — you must remember gangs running through the streets, carrying severed heads to the Forum to receive their bounty from Sulla's coffers. Only this time the anarchy will spread unceasingly, like waves from a great stone cast into a pond. This time the enemies of the state are determined not to reform it, at whatever bloody cost, but to smash it altogether. You own a farm now, Gordianus; do you want to see it taken from you by force? It will happen, most certainly; because in the new order everything already established will be usurped and thrown down, ground into the dust. The fact that you no longer live in Rome will provide no protection to you or your family. Bury your head in a haystack if you wish, but don't be surprised when someone comes up behind you and cuts it clean off'

I sat for a long moment in silence, unblinking. At last I managed to shake my head and suck in a breath. 'Well done, Marcus Caelius!' I said. 'For a moment there, you had me entirely under your spell! Cicero has taught you exceedingly well. Such rhetoric could make any man's hair stand on end!'

He raised his eyebrows, then his lids grew heavy. 'Cicero said you would be unreasonable. I told him he should have sent that slave of his, Tiro. Tiro you know and trust—'

'Tiro I sincerely like and respect, because he is such a kind and openhearted man, but I would have beaten him back with words at every turn, which is no doubt precisely why Cicero did not send him. No, he did very well to send you as his agent, Marcus Caelius, but he did not count on the depth of my disgust with Roman politics, or the strength of my resolve to steer clear of any involvement with his consulship.'

Then what I've said so far means nothing to you?'

'Only that you've mastered the skillof making insanely exaggerated statements as if you sincerely believed them.'

'But every word is true. I exaggerate nothing.'

'Caelius, please! You're a Roman politician in the making. You are not allowed to speak the truth, and you are absolutely required to exaggerate everything.'

He sat back, momentarily rebuffed but regrouping, as I could see from the glimmer in his eyes. He stroked his narrow beard. 'Very well, you care nothing for the Republic. But surely you at least retain some vestige of your personal honour as a Roman.'

'You are in my house, Caelius. Do not insult me.'

'Very well, I won't. I will argue with you no longer. I will simply remind you of a favour you owe to Marcus Tullius Cicero, and request on his behalf that you pay back that favour now. Having faith in your honour as a Roman, I know you won't refuse.'

I shifted in my seat uneasily. I glanced over my shoulder, through the doorway into the herb garden, where a wasp was buzzing among the leaves. I sighed, already sensing defeat. 'I assume you refer to the case that Cicero argued on my behalf last summer?'

'I do. You inherited this estate from the late Lucius Claudius. His family, quite reasonably, contested the will. The Claudii are a very old and distinguished patrician clan, whereas you are a plebeian with no ancestry at all, a dubious career, and a most irregular family. You might very well have lost your case, and with it any claim to this farm where you have so comfortably retired from the city you claim to loathe so much. For that you can thank Cicero, and don't deny it — I was in the court that day and I heard his arguments myself. I have seldom witnessed such eloquence — excuse me, untruths and exaggerations, if you prefer. It was you who asked Cicero to speak for you. He might well have declined. He had just finished a gruelling political campaign, and as consul-elect he was pressed on all sides with obligations and requests. Yet he took time to prepare your case and to present it himself. Afterwards, Cicero asked no payment for his service to you; he spoke on your behalf to honour you, acknowledging the many occasions on which you have assisted him since the trial of Sextus Roscius, seventeen years ago.’ Cicero doesn't forget his friends. Does Gordianus?'