Steven Saylor - Catilina's riddle

It occurred to me that Eco might have been allowed no choice in the matter. The idea of a headless body appearing at the house in Rome caused me to clutch at Belbo's tunic. 'Has he been threatened? Intimidated? Have they dared to make him fear for Menenia, or for us, here on the farm?'

Belbo was taken aback at my vehemence. 'I think not, Master,' he said meekly. 'Marcus Caelius came to the house not long after you left Rome. It all seemed cordial enough — the young Master is like you were; he doesn't like to take work from people he doesn't trust, not if he can help it. He seemed quite willing to do what Caelius wanted. If there were threats or the like, I never knew of it'

To hear such a placating tone of voice from such a giant suddenly struck me as absurd; almost as absurd as the sight of my fist, clutching the neck of his tunic and looking like a child's hand against the massive width of his neck. I released him and stepped back.

'See that the others keep their knives about them, even while they're playing trigon,' I said. 'And have someone keep an eye on the road that leads from the Cassian Way. If Eco believes he needs a bodyguard, I trust his judgment. But he should know, and so should you, that he's no safer here than in the city.'

I took a long walk around the farm to gather my thoughts. When I returned to the house, I found the family gathered in the atrium to escape the heat of the afternoon. Bethesda and Menenia reclined on couches facing each other; Diana sat cross-legged on the floor between them, playing with a doll; Meto and Eco sat side by side on a bench beside the pool. Between them was the little board game that Cicero had once given me and that I had passed on to Meto, called Elephants and Archers. They had evidently finished their game, for the bronze pieces had all been pushed to one side of the checkered wooden board. As I approached, I overheard Meto say something about Hannibal

'What are you two discussing?' I asked, as blandly as I could.

'Hannibal's invasion of Italy,' said Meto.

'With elephants,' added Eco.

'Actually, the elephants never reached Italy,' explained Meto, turning back to Eco. He seemed quite pleased for a chance to play the pedagogue with his older brother. "They died in the snow, crossing the Alps. So did Hannibal's men, by the tens of thousands. Don't you remember, years ago, when I first came to Rome, one of the magistrates put on a spectacle in the Circus Maximus — Hannibal crossing the Alps. They piled up mounds of dirt to make little mountains and ravines. For snow they used thousands of bits of white cloth, and slaves were hidden in little nooks with great fans to make them bluster and swirl. But the elephants were real. They didn't actually kill them; somehow the beasts had been trained to lie on their sides and play dead.' His smile faded. 'One of the slaves playing a Carthaginian soldier was trapped beneath an elephant and horribly crushed. It was awful, the red blood against the white snow — don't you remember, Eco?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Do you remember, Papa?'

'Vaguely.'

'Anyway, Eco, the point, as Marcus Mummius says, is that victory in battle hinges not only on superior numbers, bravery, and tactics, but on the elements as well — rain, snow, a muddy field, an unexpected sandstorm. "Elephants and elements both matter," he says, and "Men make war, but gods make weather." You should talk to Mummius about it sometime. He knows everything there is to know about great generals and famous battles.'

I shook my head. 'How did you ever end up talking about Hannibal? Oh, I see — Elephants and Archers.'

'Actually, Papa,' said Eco, 'Meto is very keen on military history.'

'Is he? Well, if you can leave the battle behind for just a moment, Eco, I'd like to ask your opinion of the water mill.'

Eco shrugged and stood. Meto began to stand, but I waved him back. 'Stay here. Visit with Menenia; try to keep your sister out of trouble. Surely you've seen enough of me mill by now.' Meto started to speak but bit his tongue and lowered his eyes. He sat down on the bench again and began to fiddle with the little bronze warriors.

'He really is fascinated by things military,' said Eco as we walked towards the stream 'Where he picked up such an interest I can't imagine. I suppose he's always been fond of Marcus Mummius—

'More to the point, what have you been up to in Rome lately?'

Eco sighed. 'Somehow I didn't think you had come to fetch me just to have a look at your water mill.'

"There's not much point. The thing is a failure, like almost everything else on the farm'

'Things are going badly?'

We reached the mill. I found a shady spot and gestured for Eco to sit beside me. Together we stared at the hard, baked mud along the banks and the thin trickle of water over the stones. 'I shall tell you my troubles first,' I said. 'Then you'll tell me yours.'

I gave him a full account of all that had happened since we left Rome — the discovery of Forfex's corpse, the pollution of the well, the encounter with Gnaeus Claudius, the death of Clementus.

'Papa, you should have let me know. You should have written.'

'And you should have let me know about your dealings with Marcus Caelius.' Eco looked at me askance. 'I wrangled it out of Belbo,' I explained.'It wasn't hard.'

'And I confess, I already knew about the body in the well.'

'How—'

'Meto told me. Most of the story, anyway.'

'Yet you let me tell you the story again, as if you knew nothing!'

'I wanted to hear it from you, from beginning to end. Meto's account was more dramatic, but yours was more coherent. Meto seems quite proud that he was able to identify Forfex by the birthmark on his hand. You glossed over that in your version.'

'Did I? Meto remains convinced, I suppose, that Gnaeus Claudius is the culprit'

'He leans towards that opinion.'

'Even if Gnaeus Claudius were, I'd be powerless to press charges against him. But he knows now that we suspect him — I as much as told him I had proof against him, so if he is guilty, and if he's capable of being intimidated, notice has been served. But there's something else I wanted to talk to you about—'

'Papa, you act as if it were nothing, finding another headless body on the farm! And this time it was an act of malicious destruction, not just intimidation. Really, if the matter can't be resolved, I think you should bring the family back to Rome, before something truly terrible happens.'

'Eco, we've discussed this before,' I said impatiently. "There's no room for all of us at the house, and besides, I have no stomach for living in the city. Instead of my leaving the farm, I'd suggest that you leave Rome and come here. Better that than putting yourself in the hands of Marcus Caelius. What does it mean that you've allowed him to send you into secret meetings with Catilina and his circle? Don't you realize the danger?'

'Papa, I'm working for a Roman consul.'

'Slim protection if you're caught in some crime with these men and slain on the spot, or if they find out you're a spy and lay an ambush for you. Where will Cicero be then?'

Eco pinched the bridge of his nose. 'I know you've come to have a low opinion of Cicero in recent years, Papa. You seem to have lost respect for him entirely since he won his election against Catilina. But you must give him credit for being true to his friends.'

'Don't tell me you're spying on Catilina out of friendship.'

'Why, no, Papa, I'm doing it for money. You would be the one who's doing it out of friendship.' There was an edge in his voice I had never heard before — the voice that had always been beautiful to my ears because for so many years he was mute. We had never had a true fight before. I suddenly realized that we were on the verge of having our first. I looked away and took a deep breath. Eco did the same.