'An ideal candidate for revolution. He sounds sane enough, if not very charming.'
'He casts a spell nonetheless, over those who are susceptible. He appeals to well-born young men like himself who distrust rhetoric and hate the slow hand of politics, who find themselves shut out by the Optimates and who lack the money to launch successful careers but have a craving for power nonetheless.'
I picked up a twig and poked at the ground. "These are the principal conspirators?’
'Yes. Lentulus because of his perseverance, Cethegus because of his energy and daring.'
"These are the legs, you said.' I scratched two lines in the dirt. 'And Catilina is the head.' I drew a circle. 'But between legs and head there must be a trunk. Not to mention arms, hands, and feet.'
'I thought you'd had enough of physical metaphors.'
I shrugged. 'And I thought I wanted to know none of this, but I'm asking you nonetheless.'
'Very well. The trunk would be the people of Rome, of course. If Catilina could persuade them to follow him, if Lentulus and Cethegus could carry the plot forward, then the body would be powerful indeed. As for the arms and hands, there are a number of men in regular contact with Catilina and his friends — senators, equestrians, men who were once rich and now are not, men who are rich and want to be richer, as well as common citizens and freedmen. There are some who seem to be attracted by the simple excitement and danger of the enterprise, and others who seem to be fascinated by Catilina himself I suspect there are even a few high-minded idealists who think they are about to change the world.'
'Eco, you've become as jaded as your father. Perhaps they are about to change the world, though who can say if for better or worse. Names, Eco!'
He recited a lengthy list. Some of the names were familiar. Others were not. 'But you will know the names of Publius and Servius Sulla,' he said.
'The dictator's grandsons?'
'The same.'
' "How are the mighty fallen" ' I said, quoting one of Bethesda's Eastern maxims. 'Unless they land on their feet.'
"The Sullan connection runs deep. Among Catilina's most fervent adherents are the dictator's old soldiers who were settled in farming colonies up north. Most of them have fallen on hard times; they chafe at the yoke, so to speak, recalling the grand old days campaigning with their master in the East and helping him wm the civil war at home. Once all the world was at their feet; now they find themselves knee-deep in mud and manure. They think that Rome owes them better than they received. Now that their current champion, Catilina, has lost his bid to become consul, not once but twice, they may be ready to take up arms for what they want. They're busy rummaging behind ploughs to find their old armour; they're polishing their breastplates and greaves, sharpening their swords, fixing new points on their spears.'
'But can these aging veterans really stage a revolution by arms? I should imagine those old breastplates are getting a bit rusty, not to mention tight across the belly. Sulla may have once commanded the world's best army, but his soldiers must be getting a bit grey and soft.'
'Their military leader is an old centurion named Gaius Manlius. He's the one Catilina keeps running to Faesulae to confer with. He's represented the veterans' interests for many years and become their leader. It was Manlius who headed the veterans when they came to Rome on election day to vote for Catilina, and it was Manlius who kept them from resorting to violence when Catilina lost. A bloodbath after the election would have been premature; Manlius kept discipline in the ranks. He has hair the colour of snow, but he's said to be in superb health, with shoulders like an ox and arms that can bend a steel bar. He's been drilling the veterans and secretly storing up arms.'
'Is Manlius really up to running an army?'
The conspirators down in Rome think so, though perhaps it's only another of their delusions born of despair.'
'Perhaps they're right. Sulla did have an unbeatable army, once upon a time. They fought for glory and pillage when they were young; now they'd be fighting for their fortunes and their families. Who else supports Catilina?'
'There are the women, of course.'
'Women?'
'A certain set in Rome — mostly women of high birth who have an appetite for intrigue. His enemies make out Catilina to be hardly more than a pimp for such women, connecting them with his young friends in return for jewels he can sell, or secrets about their husbands. But I suspect that many of these women — wealthy, educated, exquisitely bored — crave power no less than men and know they will never attain it in any ordinary way. Who knows what sort of promises Catilina makes to them?'
'Politicians without a future, soldiers without an army, women without power,' I said. 'Who else supports Catilina?'
Eco hesitated. 'There are hints and rumours, vague indications that there may be men far more important than Lentulus and Cethegus involved, men considerably more powerful than Catilina himself.'
'You mean Crassus?'
'Yes.'
'And Caesar?'
'Yes. But as I say, I have no evidence of their direct involvement. Yet among the conspirators it's taken for granted that they'll both support whatever Catilina decides to do.'
I shook my head. 'Believe me, Crassus is the last man who would benefit from an armed revolution. Caesar might, but only if it served his own specific ends. Still, if they're involved, or even if they only tacitly support Catilina…'
'You see how the scale of the thing changes.'
'Yes. like a trick of the eye — a low hill capped with white flowers turns out to be a distant snow-peaked mountain. No wonder Cicero is nervous and covers the city with spies.'
'Cicero always knows about everything that happens in the city, and I do mean everything — they say the consul is never taken by surprise, whether the crisis is a riot at the theatre or a slur against him in the fish market. He has a passion for gathering intelligence.'
'Or an obsession. The mark of the New Man — nobles don't need constant surveillance to feel secure about their station. And to think that it started with me, when I investigated the case of Sextus Roscius for a rising young advocate with a peculiar name. I suppose I was the first agent in Cicero's network. And now you,' I said sardonically. 'Who are the others?'
'Cicero is too clever a spymaster to let his agents know of one another's identity. Because I report to him, Marcus Caelius is the only one I'm sure of-'
'If indeed we can be sure of him'
'I think we can, unless he's even more clever than Catilina and Cicero put together. For that, Caelius would have to be a god come down in human form to play havoc among us mortals.'
'At this point even that would hardly surprise me. The whole business stinks. Give me a good, honest murder any day.'
'It's the times we live in, Papa.'
'Speaking of time, how imminent is this crisis?'
'Hard to say. Like a pot on a flame, it simmers. Catilina is cautious. Cicero bides his time, waiting for his enemies to make some slip that will give him irrefutable evidence against them. In the meantime, Marcus Caelius says you've agreed to do as you did before, letting Catilina stay here if he wishes.'
'I never agreed to that.'
'You refused Cicero when he came to you in the city?' 'In so many words,' I said.
'To Cicero anything but an outright "no" means "yes", and even "no" means "maybe". He must have misunderstood. Caelius seems certain that you agreed to continue as before. Papa, do what Cicero asks of you. Catilina may not return. Or he may, and when he does you need only give him shelter. It's such a simple request. It doesn't even require you to take sides. I've cast my lot with Cicero, Papa, and you should do the same, if only by your passive assistance. In the end it will be for the good of everyone you care about.'
'I'm surprised at you, Eco, advising me to put everyone on this farm in danger because it will somehow make them safer in the long run.'
"The course of the future is already set. You said it yourself) Papa: you can't completely avoid danger, any more than you can give up your search for the truth.'
'What about my search for justice? Where does that stand in the midst of all this confusion? How will I know it, even if I find it?'
To this he had no answer, or at least no opportunity to give one, for at the moment a strangely garbed visitor strode over the crest of the hill behind us. We both looked around and drew back in surprise. 'What in the name of Hercules!' I said, while Eco threw back his head and laughed.
Diana marched down the grassy slope with as pompous a gait as Cicero had ever affected, her chin held high. Her haughtiness was compromised by a few awkward missteps; the sandals she wore were much too big for her tiny feet. Wrapped around her and dragging on the grass behind was a thin coverlet from her bed, tucked and folded in imitation of a toga.
'It's my birthday!' she announced. 'Now it's my turn to put on a toga and take a walk.'