Free Catilina's Riddle by Steven Saylor Page B

and nodded. "A woman to be reckoned with. A woman who demands respect. Do her own slaves respect her?"
    "Of course." Congrio shrugged. "Although . . ."
    "Yes? Speak up."
    He wrinkled his plump brow. "I'm not sure that they feel much affection for her, as some slaves do for their masters. She is quite demanding, as I have learned for myself. Nothing must go to waste! Every part of every beast must be rendered for whatever it's worth; every seed must be picked up off the floor. Some of the older slaves swear that they owe their bent backs to her and not to old age."
    "The very fact that she owns slaves old enough to have stooped backs speaks of a compassionate nature," I said, thinking of all the farms where slaves are treated worse than beasts of burden. A slave's hide, unlike that of a cow, has no value after death, and thus many masters see no reason not to cover it with scars; and the flesh of slaves, unlike the flesh of beasts, cannot be eaten, and so these same masters see no need to feed them more than the bare minimum. Wise old Cato would certainly have had no wizened slaves about his farm; his advice is to cull out the sick and weak and to stop feeding a slave once he grows too old to do his full share.
    Done with the slaves, I dismissed them, but as Congrio was stepping through the door (he had to turn a bit sideways, I noticed, to maneuver his bulk through the passageway), I called him back.
    "Yes, Master?"
    "This family conclave of the Claudii was mostly about the upcoming Actions, I understand."
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    "I think so, Master, though I imagine they also discussed matters of more immediate concern to the family."
    "Such as their unwanted neighbor and what to do about him," I said glumly. "Did you overhear any rumors of how the Claudii plan to vote? In the consular election, I mean."
    "Oh, in that they were unanimous. They will back Silanus, though they appear to have no great respect for him. 'Anyone but Catilina,' was the phrase I heard again and again. Even the slaves had picked it up."
    "I see. 'Anyone but Catilina.' You may go now, Congrio. Bethesda will wish to advise you about this evening's meal." After he left the room, I sat for a long while with my fingertips pressed together, staring at the wall, lost in thought.
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    C H A P T E R S I X
    or the next few days I put aside thoughts of politics and Rome and the great world beyond the farm. I even managed to banish the troublesome Claudii from my mind. No more messengers arrived from the city; no more insults were hurled across the F stream that bordered my estate. The city folk were busy with electioneering, and my neighbors were no doubt occupied, as I was, with the haymaking. The sun shone bright and warm, the slaves seemed content at their labors, the beasts dozed in their pens.
    Meto and Diana seemed to have made peace with each other, at least for the time being, and Bethesda, her maternal nature aroused by the budding spring, took them to gather wildflowers on the hillside. In my idle moments I played at designing the water mill that had been the dream of Lucius Claudius.
    The nights were warm but pleasant. I went to bed early, and Bethesda and I made love three nights in a row. (The chance appearance of a handsome young visitor like Marcus Caelius in my household seemed often to have this stimulating effect, but I did not question or object.) I slept well and deeply. It seemed to me that a great peace had descended on my own little plot of land in Etruria, no matter what wickedness was brewing in the world beyond. Thus do the gods sometimes deceive us with a respite before the storm.
    The bad news began at mid-month, on the Ides of Junius. Early that morning a slave came running to my library, saying that Aratus wished to see me in the fields. From the boy's uneasy countenance I saw trouble looming.
    I followed him to a place at the northern edge of the farm, near the wall that separated my land from that of Manius Claudius. Since this
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