Steven Saylor - Catilina's riddle

'Which is exactly what they're meant to assume.'

'But who else could have sent them?' said Eco.

'Who, indeed? Who would stand to profit by stirring up panic among the powerful, while at the same time ascertaining the position of a man like Crassus? And it was largely due to this incident that Cicero was able to convince the Senate to pass the Extreme Decree?'

"That, along with word that Manlius was about to put his army into the field.'

'Knowledge of which came from—'

'From Cicero and his informers. And of course there were the rumours of planned slave uprisings—' 'Rumours, you say, not reports?'

Eco looked into the fire for a long moment. 'Papa, are you arguing that Cicero might have sent those anonymous letters himself? That he's creating a panic on purpose?'

'I make no argument. I merely posit questions and doubts — like the consul himself '

XXXII

October ended with gusty winds from the north and a lowering pearl-grey sky. The Kalends of November dawned cold and bleak, with streaks of rain that never amounted to a storm, but seemed to fall from the sky one at a time, like tears, with all the niggardliness of the gods when they deign to weep.

So it continued until the eighth day of November. Twilight dawned and the day never grew brighter. A mass of rolling black clouds gathered to the north. High winds swept through the valley. The animals were gathered into the stable. The Cassian Way was almost deserted, except for a few shivering bands of slaves driven by men on horseback.

Except for a few excursions to look after the beasts and make sure that doors had been secured and loose implements had been put away, everyone stayed indoors. Diana was bored and out of sorts; when the thunder came, it frightened her and made her even more intractable. Her mother was endlessly understanding and comforting — with Diana. With everyone else she was in a foul mood all day.

Meto shut himself away in his narrow little room. I walked in on him unannounced and saw a scroll of Thucydides open on a table and his metal soldiers spread on the floor in battle array. When I smiled and asked what combat he was re-enacting, he acted embarrassed and resentful and pushed the soldiers against the wall.

The least good fortune that such a miserable day could bring would be a skyful of rain, I thought. All through the day I stepped from time to time into the little walled garden off my library to watch the sky. Beginning at a point halfway to the peak, Mount Argentum was lost in a hazy black mantle of clouds, lit now and again with growing bolts of lightning. It must have been raining madly up on the mountain, but down in the valley there were only wind and darkness.

The rain finally began after sundown, if indeed there was a sundown on such a day when the sun had never shown itself. It began with a quiet pelting against the tiled roof, then grew to a steady torrent. We discovered a few new leaks in the roof; with all the relish of a general too long away from battle, Bethesda sent the kitchen slaves to fetch pots and pans to catch the dribbles. Diana abruptly recovered her good spirits; she opened a shuttered window and gazed out at the rain with squealing delight. Even Meto’s mood was lightened. He came into my study to return the scroll of Thucydides, and we talked for a while about the Spartans and the Persians. I said a quiet prayer of gratitude to the gods for opening the sky at last.

Having been restless and kept indoors all day, we were wide-awake that night. We had been smelling the scent of Congrio's cooking all day and received the meal with enthusiasm Afterwards I asked Meto to read to us aloud. Herodotus, with his accounts of strange lands and customs, seemed a good choice.

The hour grew later and later, but no one seemed inclined to sleep. The rain poured down.

I had set a watchman that night, as I did every night. Unable to post himself on the roof of the stable, his place was in the loft, where he could keep watch from the little shuttered windows. He, too, was wakeful that night. When the men turned off the Cassian Way and rode towards the farm, he saw them

Above the din of the rain, no one heard the banging on the door. It was only when the slave began to shout and struggle with the latch, knocking the doors against the bar, that we noticed the commotion. Bethesda was apprehensive at once; a few bad experiences in Rome had made her wary of nocturnal visitors. Her agitation communicated itself to Diana, who squirmed on her lap. Meto set down the scroll and rushed with me to the atrium. We kept beneath the colonnade to avoid the pelting rain. I opened the peephole and looked out.

The slave was pointing wildly towards the highway and shouting. The rain suddenly came down in a rush, and I couldn't make out a single word.

We unbarred the door. The slave rushed in, soaked with rain, his bedraggled hair streaming. 'Men!' he said hoarsely. 'Coming from the highway! A whole army of them on horseback!'

He exaggerated. Thirty men do not make an army, but they do make an intimidating sight when seen rushing towards you in the darkness, wrapped in black cloaks. The pounding hooves joined the din of the rain and rose above it, like a constant peal of thunder drawing closer. The horsemen were less than a hundred feet away.

'Catilina?' shouted Meto.

'I can't tell,' I said.

'Papa, should we bar the doors?'

I nodded and pulled the rain-sodden slave inside. We slammed the door and dropped the bar, towards what end, I wasn't sure. It was meant to keep out sneak thieves and burglars, not an armed force. Armed men could easily force the doors to the library or the kitchen. But it would buy us time to find out who they were and what they wanted. At the other end of the atrium, beyond the curtain of rain, I saw Bethesda standing erect with Diana in her arms, both of them staring back with huge eyes.

The banging at the door came so swiftly and so loudly that I bolted backwards and almost tripped. Meto seized my elbow and steadied me. I pressed my eye to the peephole.

'Catilina?' whispered Meto.

'I don't think so.' I could hardly see their faces for the darkness and the shadow of their cowls. The man at the door banged again, not with his fist but with something hard that resonated through the wood — the pommel of a dagger.

'Escaped slaves?' said Meto. I turned my head and saw that he was looking at me with fear in his eyes. I put my hand on his shoulder and drew him closer to me. What had I done, to bring my family to such a place? In the city one might always hope to flee, to raise a call to neighbours, to hide amid the jumble of walls and rooftops. The farmhouse and the fields around it suddenly seemed to me a very naked place, open and indefensible. I had my slaves, but what protection were they against a band of armed horsemen?

The banging resumed. I put my mouth to the peephole. 'Who are you? What do you want?'

One of the men who remained on horseback, the leader, I supposed, gestured to the man at the door to stop his banging. 'We want the man you're hiding here!' he shouted.

'What man? Whom do you want?' I felt a stab of relief. It was all some bizarre mistake, I thought.

'Catilina!' the man shouted. 'Bring him to us!'

'Papa?' Meto looked at me, confused.

I shook my head. 'Catilina isn't here,' I shouted.

'Catilina is here!'

'Papa, what is he talking about?'

'I don't know.' I looked at Bethesda, who stood as stiff as a statue while Diana clung to her neck and hid her face. I put my mouth to the peephole. 'Who sent you?'

In answer the banging began again. From somewhere outside I heard shouting and screams. I looked through the peephole. Beyond the men on horseback, I saw a confusion of cloaked figures running in and out of the stable.