Steven Saylor - Catilina's riddle

That would not be possible for long, I knew. All Italy must be talking about Catilina, awaiting word of his fate. Some would listen in hopeful expectation of an uprising against the Optimates; others would listen with spite in their hearts, praying for the traitor's demise; and others would simply wait anxiously, remembering the devastation of the wars, purges, and uprisings that had wracked Italy in recent years.

I secretly hoped that Catilina would do as he had said, and flee to Massilia. But this was not the case, or so it seemed from the letter I received from Eco a few days after the Ides of October

Dearest Papa,

The press of events here prevents me from coming to visit you, or I surely would. I miss your steady counsel and the sound of your voice. I miss Bethesda as well, and Diana, and my brother Meto. Give them my love.

The news here is that Catilina has definitely taken up arms with Manlius in Faesulae. He is said to have stopped in Arretium first and to have stirred up trouble there. We hear fresh rumours every day of uprisings to the north and south, near and far. The people of Rome are in a state of great agitation and anxiety. I remember nothing like it since the years of the Spartacan revolt. People talk of nothing else, and every fishmonger and shop owner has an opinion. As the playwright says: ‘The underworld shivers like a web being plucked at one corner.'

The Senate, at Cicero's urging, has declared Catilina and Manlius outlaws and enemies of the people. Any man who takes them under his roof will be considered an enemy of the people as well. I know you understand.

An army is being raised under the command of the consul Antonius. There will almost certainly be war. People speak of Pompey rushing back from his foreign duties to save the day, but people always say that about Pompey in times of domestic crisis, don't they?

Please, Papa, come to Rome and bring the family. Surely the farm is disagreeable at this time of year. Rich men abandon their farms for the city in the winter, so why shouldn't you? If there is a war, it is likely to be waged in Etruria, and I cannot sleep when I think of your vulnerable position. The city would be so much safer for all of you.

If you will not come for a long stay, then please come for a visit very soon, if only so that I may speak to you in terms more frank than a letter permits.

This is the fond desire of your loyal son, Eco.

I read the letter twice. On the first reading I was touched by his concern, smiled to see him quoting Bolitho (a second-rate playwright, but Eco has always loved the stage), and shook my head at his admonishment not to let Catilina under my roof again; why did he worry when I had already let him know that my guest would not be returning? On a second reading I was mainly struck by the unease and unnatural restraint of his tone.

Eco had come to the farm when I needed him, even though I had not directly asked him to. I could hardly do less when he pressed me so passionately to visit him. I consulted with Bethesda. I asked Aratus when I would be least missed (knowing he would be happy to have me gone and out of his way at any time). Between them I decided that the family would take a trip to the city at the beginning of December.

For a man who professed a weary disgust for politics, my timing could not have been more ironic. My summer trip had subjected me to political harangues and led me through the voting stalls against my will. My winter trip would make me a witness to afar grander spectacle, for with less than a month remaining of his year as consul Cicero was about to experience the crowning moments of his career. Life is like the Cretan Labyrinth, I sometimes think; whenever we bump our noses against a wall, somewhere the Minotaur is laughing.

Part Four

Nunquam

XXXV

We departed for Rome before daybreak on the day after the Kalends of December. The wind, bracing but not bitter, was at our backs, and our horses were full of spirit. We made excellent time and arrived at the Milvian Bridge when the sun was strongest.

Traffic was light, especially compared to the jam of horses and wagons we had encountered on our last trip. Even so, a knot of people had gathered at the nearer end of the bridge. I thought at first that tradesmen selling wares had attracted the crowd, but as we drew nearer I saw that the only commodity being traded was conversation, much of it quite animated. The men were of various classes — local farmers and freedmen, as well as a few well-dressed travellers attended by their slaves.

As we drew nearer, I signalled to the slave who drove the cart carrying Bethesda and Diana to stop beside the road. Meto and I dismounted and walked into the crowd. Several men were talking at once, but the voice that carried above the rest belonged to a farmer in a dusty tunic.

'If what you say is true, why didn't they kill them on the spot?' the farmer said.

His remarks were addressed to a merchant, a man of some wealth, to judge from the rings on his fingers and the coterie of slaves around him, all of whom were more finely dressed than the farmer. 'I only repeat what I heard before I left the city this morning,' the merchant said. 'Business takes me north; otherwise I would have stayed to see what transpires this afternoon. It's rumoured that Cicero himself may address the people in the Forum—'

'Cicero!' The farmer spat. 'Chickpeas turn my stomach sour.'

'Better that than a barbarian's knife in the stomach, which is what these traitors had in mind for you,' snapped the merchant.

'Bah, a bunch of lies, as usual,' said the farmer.

'Not lies,' said another man, who stood just in front of me. 'The man from the city knows what he's talking about. I live in that house just over there, on the river. The praetor and his men spent the night under my roof, so I should know. They waited in ambush, then trapped the traitors on the bridge and arrested them—'

'Yes, you told us your story already, Gaius. Certainly, soldiers arrested some men from Rome, but who knows what it really means?' demanded the angry farmer. 'Just wait and see, the whole thing is another scheme concocted by Cicero and the Optimates to bring down Catilina.' Several others joined him with a chorus of angry shouts.

'And why not?' demanded the merchant. As the crowd grew more animated, his slaves drew around him in a protective ring, like trained mastiffs. 'Catilina should already be dead. Cicero's only fault is that he didn't have the fiend strangled while he was still in Rome. Instead, he continues with his plots, and you see where it's led — Romans plotting with barbarians to stage their revolt! It's disgraceful.' This set off a round of jeering from the farmer's contingent, and an equally vociferous response from those who agreed with the merchant,

I touched the shoulder of the man called Gaius, who claimed to live nearby. 'I've just come from up north,' I said. '"What's happened?'

He turned around and peered at us with eyes puffy from lack of sleep. His chinless jaw was grizzled and his hair unkempt. 'Here,' he said, 'let's step away from the crowd. I can't hear myself think! I've told the story a hundred times already this morning, but I'll tell it again.' He sighed in mock weariness, but I could see he was only too happy to recount his tale to anyone who hadn't yet heard it. The men in the crowd were too busy arguing to listen to him any longer. 'Are you headed into the city?'

'Yes.'

"They'll all be talking about it there, have no doubt. You can tell them you heard the facts from a true witness.' He looked at me gravely to see that I grasped the importance of this.

'Yes, go on.'

'Last night, long after I was in bed, they came banging on my door.'

'Who?'

'A praetor, he said he was. Imagine that! By the name of Lucius Flaccus. On a mission from the consul himself, he said. Surrounded by a whole company of men all wrapped up in dark cloaks. And all carrying short swords, like the men in the legions do. He told me not to be afraid. Said they'd be spending the night in my house. Asked to put his horses away in my stable, so I sent a slave to show his men. Asked if there was a window where he could keep an eye on the bridge. Asked if I was a patriot, and I told him of course I was. Said if that was true, then he knew he could trust me to keep quiet and out of the way, but gave me a piece of silver anyway. Well, that's customary, isn't it, to pay something when soldiers put themselves up in the house of a citizen?'