'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 towards 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. 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 shouldr eturn, give him no more food and shelter. The time for pretences 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!"'
'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 towards 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.
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, josded 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 taming 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.
‘We're burdened with these heavy apples and cumbersome blankets—'
Meto adjusted the load strapped to his back and leaped up the steep, watery path, as surefooted as a fawn. 'Come on, Papal It's not as hard as it looks.'
'Old bones break more easily than young ones,' I grumbled. 'And old feet have a harder time finding their balance.' But I was talking to myself, for Meto had disappeared ahead of me. I raised my knees and put one foot ahead of the other, trying to negotiate a safe way up the slippery rocks and sliding mud.
What had I been thinking when I set out? The answer was simple: I had not been thinking at all. The excitement of the assault on my house had rattled my mind. The elation of not being murdered in my home had blotted out all memory of the agony of my previous ascent up the old pathway. If it had been difficult before — overgrown, rugged, absurdly steep — it was made twice as difficult by the rain, and the burdens we carried doubled the difficulty again. My heart pounded. My feet turned to lead — not only heavy and unresponsive, but clumsy, slipping on loosened pebbles and sliding on treacherous mud. I began to realize that the ascent was not only strenuous but perilous. It was a very real possibility that I could slip and fall down the runnel out of control for a very long way. If I broke my back, would Bethesda be scolding or sympathetic?
The descent would be even more dangerous, I realized, then pushed the thought from my mind. Meanwhile, Meto scurried ahead of me, as agile as a goat and as impervious to the water as a duck.
At last we came to the first opening, where the path joined with the last of the road from Gnaeus's house, and a footpath continued up the mountain. The muddy open space was well-trampled, offering evidence of Catilina's passage.
I shrugged and stretched my shoulders, which ached from the strain of the blankets and the climb. 'The question now,' I said, 'is whether he turned right or left.'
Meto was taken aback. 'Right, of course, up to the mine.'
'Do you think so? A secret connection between Gnaeus and Catilina might begin to explain a few things. The murder of Forfex, for example.'
'How could there be a link?'
'I don't know, and I'm too cold and wet and tired to think it through. But what if Catilina eluded his pursuers, not with the point of reaching the cave, but making his way to Gnaeus's house unseen?'