Catilina's Riddle (52 page)

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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. Toward 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 backward 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 neighbors, 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?"

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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.

In the next instant I heard a crashing noise of splintered wood from within the house. I swung around. Bethesda looked toward the hallway to the library and screamed. She clutched Diana more closely to her breast, while Diana struggled in a panic. The men were within the house. I ran through the atrium, knocking over the brazier. Bethesda clutched at me, and Meto pressed against my back. Aratus appeared from somewhere, his face a mask of confusion and fear. There was another crash from the kitchen, and Congrio came running toward the center of the house, bellowing in fright.

A bolt of lightning splintered just above the house, casting everything into stark light and shadow. The thunderbolt followed without a pause, a booming blast that seemed to shake the floor. It quieted into a crackling rumble that rolled around the house like a giant grinding stone.

Above the din of the rain I heard the noise of tables overturned, the clatter of metal pans knocked across the floor, the crash of breaking pottery. From either side of us, men poured into the atrium, bearing long daggers in their fists. We shrank back while they rushed to the front doors, unbolted them, and swung them open.

The leader jumped down from his horse. Mud and water splashed about his feet. He drew his dagger and came toward the house, taking high steps to pull his feet clear of the sucking mud. He was so tall that he had to stoop to enter the doorway.

He walked past the overturned brazier, kicking it out of his way.

"Gordianus the Finder?" he said, shouting to make himself heard above the rain and the continual crashing and clatter inside the house. Diana began to wail.

I stood as tall as I could and pulled Bethesda closer. Meto moved from behind me to stand by my side. "I am Gordianus," I said. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

Because of his cowl I could see only the lower half of his face. He grinned broadly. "We want the wily fox we've run to earth. Where is he?" "If you mean Catilina, he isn't here," said Meto, his voice cracking slightly.

"Don't lie to me, little boy."

"I'm not a boy!"

The man laughed. I recognized the laugh, if not the man; it was the laughter of exhilaration that comes when men give themselves over

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to pillage and plunder, the cruel, barking laughter that comes at the climax of a chase or in the thick of battle. It turned my heart to ice.

Men continued to swirl around us, their daggers flashing amid the glinting raindrops. A few had pushed back their hoods. They were mostly young and clean-shaven, with glittering eyes and tightly pressed lips. A few faces were vaguely familiar. Where had I seen them before?

Meto pressed his lips to my ear. "Cicero's bodyguards!" he hissed.

"That day in the Forum—"

"What are you whispering about?" the man bellowed. "Where have you hidden him?"

"Catilina isn't here," I said.

"Nonsense! We know this place is his refuge. We've followed him all the way from Rome. The fool thought he could slip away unseen!

We've come to take him back—one way or another."

"He isn't here. Not in the house, anyway. Perhaps the stable—"

"We've already searched the stable! Now hand him over!"

One of his companions ran up and spoke in his ear.

"Impossible!" he shouted. "They're hiding him somewhere."

"But there were at least ten men in his party," said the other in a strained voice. "They couldn't hide ten men and ten horses in a house like this—"

"Ten men and nine horses," said the leader. "You forget the one we found riderless on the road." He turned toward me. "For hours we've chased him. He had a good lead when we started, but soon we were nipping at his heels. Never mind that the night's as black as pitch and as wet as a lake. Up the road a bit there was a break in the clouds, just one tiny hole, and we caught a glimpse of them under starlight ahead of us, like ants in the pass between the mountain and the ridge. Then the hole in the sky closed and blackness swallowed them. By the time we caught up with them, they'd vanished—except for a lone horse, wandering on the road without a rider. Was it Catilina he threw? Is that why they stopped here, thinking they'd be safe and we would pass them by? Where is he? Hand him over!"

The man was shouting, but the desperation in his voice made me feel safer than when he had laughed. He was no longer a huntsman caught up in the ecstasy of the kill, liable to do anything; he was a bedraggled, drenched pursuer whose game had eluded him. He was furious, but also miserable. Weariness was catching up with him.

It was his weariness I sought to play on, echoing it with my own voice. "Catilina never stopped here tonight. Don't you think I'd tell you if he had? Have I not been as loyal to the consul as you have? If you know my name, and if you also know that Catilina has taken refuge here in the past, then you must also know the part I've played for Cicero.

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What will he think when he learns of the mess you've made of my home, of the fright you've given my family? Catilina isn't here, I tell you! We haven't seen his face for many days. He's given you the slip. If you hope to catch him, you'd better set out on the Cassian Way at once."

The man stamped his feet and shook—with rage, I thought, then realized he was shivering from the cold. He pushed back his cowl and roughed his sopping hair with his hands. Despite his height, he was quite young.

The tumult in the house had gradually quieted. The party of men began to gather around us in the atrium, waiting for whatever was to come next.

The leader looked at me from under his brows. "Catilina's henchmen tried to murder the consul yesterday morning. They came to Cicero's house at daybreak, pretending to make a social call, thinking they could fool the slaves into letting them inside and then fall on him with daggers.

But the consul was warned ahead of time and wouldn't let them in."

If only I could be so lucky at keeping armed men out of my house, I thought, but bit my tongue.

"Today Cicero convened the Senate in the Temple of Jupiter and exposed all the details of Catilina's crimes against the state—such a speech, they say, it threatened to shake the temple apart! Catilina huddled in a corner with his confederates while every senator with a shred of patriotism shunned him. Whenever he tried to speak, they shouted him down. He saw the fate in store for him. Tonight the scared rabbit bounded from his hole."

"You called him a fox before," grumbled Meto, as surly to the stranger as he had ever been to me. I sucked in a breath and held it.

"Did I? Well, no matter. He'll be skinned soon enough, and a rabbit's pelt is as fine as a fox's." He turned to his companion. "You searched all the buildings? Circled the pens?"

The man nodded. "No sign of them, not even fresh hoofprints in the mud."

The man pulled the hood over his head again and gestured for the others to return to their horses. "Quickly!" he said.

He pulled his cloak around him and looked at me gravely. "If Catilina should return, give him no more food and shelter. The time for pretenses is over. Catilina is as good as dead, and so are all his followers.

No one could have said it more eloquently than Cicero did today to the Senate, right in front of Catilina: 'The time of punishment is at hand.

Alive or dead, we will set them aflame upon the altar of the gods, in retribution without end!'"

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"No, no, no!" said Bethesda. "You are not going out, either of you! Are you mad?"

Shortly after the men had left, and once we could see that they had turned onto the Cassian Way heading north, Meto and I began to get ready to go out into the night. We were of one mind and one intent, and had both come to the same conclusion without speaking of it; it felt good to be in accord with my son again. That good feeling went a long way toward mollifying the shock of what had just happened.

Bethesda, however, was not mollified. She stood with her hand on Diana's shoulder, pressing the child against her. "Take off that heavy tunic, husband! Meto, put away that cloak! Where do you think you're going?"

"If Catilina and his party were seen at the pass between the ridge and the mountain—" said Meto, ignoring her.

"Then suddenly vanished—" I said.

" "And then one of their horses was found riderless—"

"They must have taken refuge somewhere off the road."

"That open space concealed behind the big rock—would it be large enough to conceal nine horses?" said Meto.

"I think so. We'll know soon enough."

"You cannot invite him to come here!" said Bethesda firmly. "What if his pursuers give up the chase and turn back? If they should return and find him here—you heard what the man said: give him no more food and shelter. Think of your daughter!" She pressed Diana more tightly to her.

"Food!" said Meto. "I almost forgot. What can we take to them?"

"I forbid it!" said Bethesda.

"Wife, think of handsome Catilina and the beautiful Tongilius.

Would you have them wither to skin and bones for want of a few bites from Congrio's kitchen?"

Apparently my facetiousness struck the right note. Bethesda wavered and softened. "We have some bread that was baked this morning,"

she said begrudgingly. "And there are plenty of apples—"

"I'll fetch them," said Meto.

Bethesda pursed her lips. "The men will be cold and wet. A dry blanket or two . . . "

"There are blankets on our bed," I said.

"Not those! We have others that are worn and need mending. Here, I'll get them myself."

And so Bethesda was suborned into helping with our mission.

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We avoided the open road that went out to the Cassian Way, and cut across fields and orchards instead. The ground was muddy and grew rocky and uneven along the foot of the ridge. I feared that one of our horses might stumble in the muck and break a leg, but we reached the highway without mishap. The hard, flat paving stones of the Cassian Way, spangled with falling raindrops, clattered beneath the horses' hooves. There is nothing so well made and impervious to the elements as a good Roman road. We made our way to the trailhead we had found before. I had thought it might be impossible to find it amid the dark, dripping underbrush, but we rode straight to it, so easily that I thought the hand of a god must have guided us. We dismounted and slid between the trunk of the oak and the great boulder, not without difficulty, for a bundle of apples and bread was strapped to Meto's back and a bulky roll of blankets was strapped to mine. We pulled our horses after us. As I had expected, the little clearing beyond, hidden from the highway, was filled with horses tethered to tree trunks, rocks, and branches.

There was a burst of lightning. The bright white glare pierced the naked branches and shone like flames in the horses' eyes. They snorted, jostled one another, stamped their hooves. The thunder pealed above us. The horses threw back their heads and whinnied.

I counted them. There were nine.

The floor of the little clearing was stony, and instead of turning to a morass of mud it had become a veritable pond. The horses stood in water above their hooves. My own feet were completely submerged. The reason for so much water was clear enough. The broken path that led up the mountainside had become a runnel. I looked at the rushing water and the mud and rocks on either side of the sluice and shook my head.

"Impassable," I said.

"But Catilina and his men must have hiked up it," said Meto.