'I had no choice. Something I've learned in battles before — if you take a bad wound, the worst thing to do is stop. That's the one thing you mustn't do, because then the pain'll come crashing down on you all at once and that's the end of you. I've seen many a man die from a wound that shouldn't have killed him, just because he stopped what he was doing and gave in to the thing. No, you open your mouth in a scream to let the Furies come inside you, and you plunge into the thick of it. That way you never even feel the wound at all, and you don't bleed to death either, because all the blood rushes into your head and your sword arm, instead of pouring out of the cut'
Meto stared at him, awed.
'You know, they say there were Amazons fighting with the Albanians in that battle, though I didn't see any, and there were no women found among the dead. I'm no t sure I'd care to go up against a woman in combat… But here I am talking about myself, as usual, when this day belongs to young Meto! What a sight you make in your manly toga! Why, I remember when you were a small thing, running about the villa at Baiae, carrying messages and pestering the other — the others…'
The last word came out oddly. 'Other slaves,' he had meant to say.
I saw again the strange look that had crossed Meto's face on Mummius's arrival. So long as Mummius carried on in his usual bluff manner, boasting of his battles, Meto could simply listen in fascination, but as soon as the conversation turned to the past, Mummius became a palpable reminder of the very circumstances from which he had rescued Meto long ago. Meto's cheeks turned red, but not as red as those of Mummius, who realized that he had trod upon uncertain ground. He attempted a hasty retreat, but found himself mired.
'I mean to say — do you remember what Gordianus said of you then — that you were the eyes and ears of the household? You slipped about hardly noticed, seeing and hearing all An arm of Nemesis, he called you afterwards, for the part you played in saving all the other — the others…' Once again, like the general who finds himself lost in a fog and unwittingly circles back into the same ambush from which he had fled, Mummius stumbled over the forbidden word. I groaned.
'The other slaves,' Meto said, very quietly.
'What?' stammered Mummius, who could hardly have failed to hear.
'The other slaves, you meant to say,' said Meto. 'You were speaking of my part in saving the other slaves — meaning the others who were slaves, like myself, of Crassus.'
Mummius twisted his mouth into various shapes. Was he ever this tongue-tied when addressing his troops? 'Well — yes, I suppose that's what I'm trying to say.' Or trying not to say, I thought.
Meto lowered his eyes. 'It's all right, Marcus Mummius. There's no point in obscuring the truth; so my father has taught me. If we hide what is true, then we see only what is false.' He raised his eyes, and his gaze was steady and strong. 'We have all been many things on the way to becoming what we are. This toga does not hide what I was; that is not its purpose. It clothes what I am. I am the son of Gordianus. Today I become a man and a full citizen of Rome.'
Mummius drew back and raised his eyebrows. Then his face burst into a smile. 'Splendid!' he cried out. 'What a splendid way you have with words! You shall do us all proud in years to come, I know it!'
The tension was broken. There were smiles all around. Eco gripped Meto's shoulder and squeezed it. My sons have never been very physically demonstrative with each other, and this spontaneous gesture of affection gratified and surprised me.
'You must be very proud,' said a voice dose to my ear.
I turned to see the handsome face of a young man with a bland smile and a mischievous glint in his dark eyes, framed by a chin-strap beard and a fashionable haircut. The face was out of place and its owner most certainly uninvited; for a brief instant I was disoriented, hardly believing he was there.
'Marcus Caelius! What are you doing here?' I glanced over my shoulder. Meto and Eco were talking together in low voices. Mummius and Apollonius had turned to pay their respects to Bethesda. I seized Caelius's elbow and took him aside.
He raised one eyebrow. 'If I were of a sensitive nature I might think you were unhappy to see me.'
'Spare your wit for the Forum, Caelius.'
'Really, Gordianus do you think I would waste my wit on politicians? I find that poets and prostitutes appreciate it far more.'
'I don't think you were invited here today,' I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
'No, but Cicero was. Your elder son Eco made sure that the consul received an invitation months in advance. But Cicero cannot come today. Too busy taking advantage of his last chance to harangue the voters down in the Forum before tomorrow's election. And of course he could hardly be seen attending this party, given the fictitious state of discord between the two of you. I've been doing my best to sow those rumours of grave unhappiness between Cicero and Gordianus — all to convince Catilina that he can trust you, of course.'
'That's all over now, Caelius. Or will be with tomorrow's election.'
'All over, Gordianus? I think not. Just beginning, I imagine. Anyway, Cicero sends his regrets, knowing that you'll understand why he can't come himself. Officially, of course, to anyone who should happen to ask, I'm here on behalf of Catilina, to extend his respects on the occasion of your son's coming of age.'
'How many masters do you have, Marcus Caelius?' I used the word 'master' deliberately to insult him, but Caelius was unfazed.
'Catilina knows that I'm loyal only to him. So does Cicero. But with Cicero it happens to be true.'
'I wonder.'
His face changed. The crooked smile, like that of a schoolboy with a secret, faded from his lips, and the mischievous glint in his eyes vanished. He lowered his voice. 'Forgive me, Gordianus. We're all wrought up after the last few days here in Rome, especially those of us closest to Cicero. Imagine what it's like for me shuttling back and forth between him and Catilina, pretending to serve them both. I tend to behave facetiously when the strain becomes too great.'
'Marcus Caelius, why are you here?' I asked wearily.
'For the reasons I've just stated. To convey regards from Catilina, who believes I represent him when in fact I do not, and to give to you Cicero's apologies for his absence, since the pretence of your estrangement from Cicero must be maintained.'
'Maintained? But why? I've done as you and Cicero demanded; I opened my doors to Catilina, though for what purpose I still don't know. Tomorrow the voters will decide Catilina's future, and then I'm finished with all of you, for good. Whether Catilina wins or loses, I'll have done as you asked. My debt to Cicero is discharged, and that's the end of it.’
'Not quite,' said Caelius.
'What do you mean?'
'I mean that things are not as simple as that, Gordianus. I mean that tomorrow's election — if indeed Cicero doesn't manage this afternoon to convince the Senate to postpone it again — is only the opening gambit in the contest to come.'
'What contest? Are you saying that Cicero still expects me to carry on this charade of being friendly with Catilina?'
'Your cooperation is more important now than ever before.'
'Marcus Caelius, — you're beginning to make me angry.'
'Forgive me, Gordianus. I’ll depart.'
'Caelius—'
'Yes?'
'Caelius, what do you know of the body that was left in my barn?'
'A body?' said Caelius, without expression.
'Right after your visit to my farm, right after you posed a riddle about bodies without heads, and heads without bodies. Catilina's riddle, you called it. And then the body appeared on my property. The body without its head.'
Caelius wrinkled his brow. Was his consternation real or feigned? Under my scrutiny the light seemed to fade from his eyes so that they became entirely opaque, and I could no more discern the truth in them than I could by looking into the painted eyes of a statue. 'I know nothing about a body,' he said.
'Would Cicero say the same if I asked him? Would Catilina?' 'Believe me, Cicero would know no more than I do. As for Catilina 'Yes?'
He shook his head. 'I see no reason why you should suspect Catilina of such an atrocity.'
'When I hesitated to respond to your demand that I play host to Catilina, the body appeared, headless, as in the riddle — as if to persuade me.'
'Gordianus, I know nothing about this, I swear to Hercules. It makes no sense…'
The harder I looked into his eyes, the more impossible he became to fathom. Was he lying? And if so, on whose behalf?
'But if you wish to hear Catilina's riddle complete…'