CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The lightless days went on relentlessly. Then one morning a clerk came to Marcus and said, with excitement, “The noble Julius Caesar is here and wishes to speak with you, Master! And with him is the great patrician, Lucius Sergius Catilina!”

Marcus was seized with a powerful revulsion and sickness. He shook himself. He warned himself not be be ridiculous. Catilina, who had saved Quintus’ life, had merely accompanied Julius out of idle friendship. But was it possible that Catilina had forgotten the old enmity, the old hatred? No, it was not possible. Marcus motioned to his clerk to admit his visitors, and stood up.

It was still early spring, but the sun was hot and the office was flooded with golden light and warmth. Julius entered, flamboyant as always, and full of smiles and affection. “Greetings, Marcus!” he cried, embracing his old friend. He was magnificently attired in white and purple; his laced shoes, purple too, were decorated with gold. His dancing black eyes beamed upon the lawyer. Then Marcus saw Catilina over Julius’ shoulder.

Catilina was dressed as a captain, in full brilliant armor, with a helmet shining like the sun and embossed, and inlaid with colorful enamel. His short sword swung at his side. He was as beautiful and as stately as a god; he was a young Mars, but beardless. His extraordinary blue eyes were like glowing jewels. His limbs were clean and marvelously wellformed, like a statue’s. His shoulders were broad, his neck faultless. He wore a short crimson cloak over his armor, and there were golden armlets on his arms and rings upon his fingers. He glittered. He exhaled an air of power and splendor and dissolute casualness. He merely stood in silence and studied Marcus. If he felt enmity or contempt he did not reveal them.

Marcus could say nothing at all. Then Catilina, who was subtle, smiled. With an expression of candor he held out his soldier’s hand to the lawyer. Mechanically, Marcus stretched out his own hand. But in the second before encounter both hands paused in mid-air and did not touch. Both dropped their hands. The space between them was like an unsheathed sword, glimmering with menace.

“Greetings, Cicero,” said Catilina in his musical voice. “How is our dear Quintus?”

“Well,” said Marcus. His own voice sounded thin and distant in his ears.

“I must visit him,” said Catilina with ease.

Marcus forced himself to speak louder. “I have never thanked you for saving his life, Lucius.”

“We are soldiers,” said the other. Catilina smiled again. “And, I love your brother. He is artless and of a single mind. He is a true soldier. General Sulla sends him his affection.”

It was unendurable to Marcus to speak of his brother to Catilina. He turned to Julius, who had nonchalantly seated himself, and who, during this exchange between the two enemies, had been examining the briefs on the table with no apology and no attempt to hide his curiosity. “Dull,” he said. “Here is a shopkeeper suing another man for thirty sesterces! Thirty sesterces! A vile little sum. But vile little lives are engaged with them.”

“To a hard-working shopkeeper thirty sesterces are not vile,” said Marcus. His cheeks felt hot and stiff. Julius sat back in his chair and beamed again on his friend. Then his face lost its smile and became grave.

“We are here on a matter of importance, Marcus,” he said. “You are the tenth lawyer we have visited this morning. Gods! It is very hot today, and the stenches are richer than ever. And, we are weary.” His black eyes suddenly were amused in spite of the severity of his face. “Will you not offer us wine to refresh ourselves?”

“You are in difficulties? I trust,” said Marcus, striking the bell on his table.

“Always the jester,” said Julius. “No, I am in no difficulties that should concern you or fill you with solicitude. But then, have we not always loved each other dearly?”

“Have we?” said Marcus. He kept his eyes from touching Catilina who still stood at a little distance. He said, “You have told me I am the tenth lawyer you have visited today. What? Do you find the others inadequate for your purposes?”

“They had no information for us,” said Julius. Syrius entered silently with wine and goblets. He poured the wine and offered it first to Catilina, then to Julius, then to Marcus. The other two men drank deeply, but Marcus could not bring himself to drink with Catilina. He merely touched the rim of the goblet to his lips, then laid the vessel on the table. “What is the information you require, Julius?” he asked.

“The matter of a will. Or possibly of a will not made,” said Julius. He glanced quickly at Catilina who was negligently sipping more wine and indicating, by his expression, that his opinion of it was not excessively appreciative.

But Marcus’ heart had jumped violently. “Whose will?” he demanded.

“Your taste in wine has improved, dear friend,” said Julius, refilling his goblet. He remembered, at last, to pour a little in libation. “To my patron, Jupiter,” he said in a religious voice.

“Whose will?” cried Marcus. Catilina, like the leopard he resembled, moved closer. Again, Julius glanced at him, and now as if in warning.

“It is a sad story,” said Julius. “I shall be brief. The will of Lucius’ wife, Livia Curius Catilina.”

Marcus sat down abruptly. Catilina’s face became intent. Julius licked drops of wine from his lips, but his gaze tightened on Marcus.

“You know of such a will?” he asked in a gentle tone.

Marcus could not speak for a moment. He knew they were watching him like tigers. He knew they suspected something. He reached out a trembling hand for his goblet and he put it to his mouth and forced himself to swallow. He said at last, in the ominously sharp silence that filled the room, “I know of no such will.”

But the two young men still gazed at him, Julius with renewed kindness, and Catilina like a soldier faced with a sudden enemy and prepared for attack.

“You were never a liar, alas,” said Julius. “Therefore, I must believe you.” He looked at Catilina, and again the warning lit his eyes. “Is it not incredible, Lucius, that there could be a lawyer who is not a liar and a thief? Behold our Marcus. He is probity, itself, and he would not lie to us.”

“Why should I lie?” said Marcus. “If there had been a will I should have not said, ‘I know of no such will.’ I should have said, ‘My clients’ affairs are confidential and not to be discussed.’” He felt foolish and ridiculous, a countryman and awkward.

“So,” said Julius, and lifted another brief carelessly and scanned it. He burst out laughing. “A lady wishes to divorce her husband because he has dallied with her sister! She is certainly of a small mind, and trivial. After all, it is a family affair!”

“Put down my briefs!” exclaimed Marcus, with sudden fury. Julius stared at him with affected surprise. “Accept my apologies, dear Marcus,” he said. “I was always curious; it is an old vice of mine.”

“Old vices frequently kill,” said Marcus. Julius folded his arms and relaxed at ease, but his stare was hard on Marcus.

“Not one of the other lawyers, dear friend, had been visited by Livia. Were you?”

The question was sudden and fierce for all its quiet.

Marcus blurted before he could restrain himself, “How could it be possible for the Lady Livia to visit me, when she is not in Rome?” A second later he was aghast.

Again something flashed between Julius and Catilina. But it was Catilina who spoke softly. “Why should you think that? It is true that she was on one of the family farms for a time. But she returned. How did you know she had been absent?”

“Rumor,” said Marcus.

Catilina arched his brows in innocent wonderment. “They speak of Livia?”

Marcus did not reply. Julius was regarding him closely, and with a faint and inscrutable smile.

“Why should Livia be of importance to you, that you should hear of her?” said Catilina. “Did you know her?”

Marcus wished to kill him, as he had wished before. But he said only, “I have seen her.”

“And you have talked with her?” The patrician voice probed at him like a dagger seeking his vitals.

“When we were children,” said Marcus. He clenched, his fists on his knee. “She was visiting in Arpinum, and she came to my paternal island.”

“The sweet memories of children,” sighed Julius with a sentimental smirk. He saw Marcus’ emotion, and he wished to spare him further pain. “Lucius, let us go. There are other lawyers to question.”

“I believe,” said Catilina in a cold and deadly voice, “that this lawyer with us now knows something we do not know. I desire him to tell us.”

Marcus lifted his eyes to that beautiful face and his hatred and loathing were vivid upon it. “I have told you all I know. I have four cases before the magistrate within the hour. I must request that you leave me in peace.”

But Catilina said relentlessly, “Did my wife visit you here?”

Marcus got to his feet and faced his enemy. “Had she done so I should not tell you.”

“Then she visited you,” said Catilina, and his hand stole involuntarily to his sword. “What did she say to you, Cicero?”

“Are you threatening me, you?” cried Marcus, shaking with rage. “Do you wish another engagement, Catilina? This time I shall not withhold my hand!”

Julius put his hand quickly and soothingly on Marcus’ arm. “Do not be reckless, and foolish, dear friend. You must forgive Catilina’s abruptness. He has suffered a great sorrow.”

Marcus started violently. He looked from one man to the other. “Livia?” he whispered.

“Have you not heard?” asked Julius, and now there was genuine compassion in his tone for Marcus. “The unfortunate wife of Lucius has been mad for many years, perhaps even from birth. Did she not appear strange to you, even as a maiden?”

Marcus could hardly speak. “She is not mad. That is a lie. She was a lonely orphan, the child of young parents who had died tragically. She told me of it, when we were children together, on the two occasions I saw her at Arpinum. It is a lie,” he repeated. “Livia is not mad.”

Julius pursed his lips in an expression of sadness. “Doubtless she told you that when her young mother died her father killed himself on his wife’s breast? Doubtless she also told you that one of her aunts also committed suicide, and her grandmother? Livia was mad. It is possible that her young son, and Lucius’, had also inherited the taint.”

“No,” said Marcus. Then he became aware of a peculiar atmosphere in the office. It was as if something inimical had centered upon him.

“You are no physician,” said Julius. “But Livia’s own physicians have said that she was mad.”

“I am a lawyer,” said Marcus. He had a sudden thought. “I have known Livia. I saw her in Rome, on two occasions, both in a temple. My reputation for prudence is well known, and my considered opinion. If I were to swear that on my own knowledge Livia Curius Catilina is sane; then my word would be taken.”

The quivering sense of danger increased about him. Catilina’s face was malign. Marcus thought: I see it now. He intends to bring a divorce action against Livia so that he need not return her dowry. He thinks to succeed in that action; he has only to swear that he will keep his former wife in quiet seclusion, and it will be enough.

“Your concern is commendable,” said Julius, sighing. “Nevertheless, Livia had been under the care of family physicians for a long time, because of her aberrations. They will swear to her condition. In truth, they have already done so, before the praetor.”

So, the action had already begun. Marcus’ teeth shone in his bitter smile. “Who would take the word of slave physicians against mine, a citizen of Rome, a lawyer?”

“They were not slaves,” said Julius. He put his hand behind him to hold off Catilina who had already half-drawn his sword. “Marcus, you are a man of prudence and sensibility and intelligence. Do not, I beg of you, embroil yourself in this.”

“Why should he, except out of vulgar hatred of me?” said Catilina. “I saved the life of his brother. However, he is not grateful. He would destroy me for a whim, for he is but a plebeian and he is envious. What it is to be base!”

“Marcus is not base-born,” said Julius, with reproof. “He is of the Helvii. His mother is the friend of my mother. Let us not exchange insults, Lucius.” He regarded Marcus with pity. “As one who has loved you from childhood, dear friend, I advise you well. Do not engage in controversy out of vengefulness. It is beneath your dignity, and will bring you nothing but regret. It is too late for Livia. Two nights ago she poisoned her son, the son of Lucius, then attempted to poison herself also. Apparently the poison was too slow, and she feared she would live. So she stabbed herself, and she died.”

Marcus listened. He felt nothing at all, except that a great silence and stillness surrounded him. It was as if he stood in a pool of icy water that extended all about him, and nothing moved. The water rose, numbing all his body. It reached his lips and froze them. It reached his eyes, and he was blinded. Then he heard a far and mournful drum beating in the air, in his ears, in his throat, in all the universe, and he did not know it was his own heart. Now he could see Livia again in the forest, seated beneath a tree; a scarlet leaf, like a stain of blood, lay on her bosom.

He could think again, and he thought, I can no longer live in a world that does not contain Livia. Then he had another thought: She is at peace, at last, that strange and sorrowful girl.

He found himself seated again. His head was bent on his chest. Julius was pressing a goblet of wine against his lips. He lifted a hand like iron and motioned it aside. He did not hear Catilina say with incredulous savagery, “Is it possible that this slave dared to touch Livia?”

“Quiet,” said Julius. “I know Marcus well. If he loved Livia, it was as a distant nymph, not to be seized, not to be known. You know this is true, and it does you little credit to pretend to believe otherwise.”

She is at peace, Marcus thought. The ice and grief were heavy within him, but there was also a great quietude which he did not know as yet was only despair.

Julius seated himself opposite Marcus and put his hand on the other’s knee. He spoke gently. “Slaves have repeated that for several nights before Livia slew herself and her son she muttered ceaselessly. She spoke of lawyers, and her will. Then one day she disappeared from her house, and from under the very eye of her anxious guardians. She returned in a state of incoherent distress. She never spoke rationally again. Therefore, you understand, dear Marcus, it was necessary for Lucius to discover if she had indeed consulted a lawyer and had made a will. Who knows what sad absurdities she had written in it, what baseless accusations? What dishonor! It would be an embarrassment to Lucius, as her husband. She had no fortune to leave. She, like so many others of us, had been ruined by the wars. It is a measure of her madness that she did not know this.”

Slowly, Marcus’ head rose from his chest. But he looked only at Julius, and his eyes were stretched wide with horror. Julius patted his knee, sighed again, and appeared more sad.

“I see that you understand, Marcus,” he said. “It is a frightful matter.”

Marcus turned his monstrously heavy head to Catilina, and he spoke only to him.

“Yes, it is a frightful matter. Livia wished to divorce you. She planned to dispose of her dowry in the event of her death, after her divorce, for she knew that you would have to return her dowry. But, you had already dissipated her dowry. You had no money at all, except the gifts of Aurelia Orestilla. Livia’s public action for a divorce would have revealed all this, to your dishonor and the punitive action of the law. And to the loss of Aurelia Orestilla, who is a rich woman.

“Therefore,” said Marcus in a hoarse and laboring voice, “you had to prevent Livia’s action for divorce, until you could bring your own action against her for madness. But Livia, you learned, had tried to consult lawyers. What was left to you? But murder?” His voice rose like a screaming eagle’s. “You murdered her!”

Julius stood up as if shocked to the heart. “Marcus!” he exclaimed.

But Marcus pointed at the silent Catilina. “Look upon him! Guilt is red on his face, in his black heart! He killed his wife and his son for the sake of a woman who is wanton, and who is rich! The poison was sufficient for your son, was it not, Catilina? But it was not sufficient for Livia. You dared not let her speak in her agonies. So you plunged your dagger into her innocent heart, and then placed it, crimson with her blood, in her hand!” He stood up, still pointing at the soldier. “What did you do then, base and murderous Catilina? Did you flee silently to friends, who would establish that you had been in their presence while your wife and child were dying? Did you suborn those friends?” He swung to Julius. “Are you one of them, willing to swear that Catilina was with you when his wife and son were dying?”

“He was indeed in my house!” exclaimed Julius. “And so was General Sulla.”

“Then he came to you, red-handed, after he murdered his wife and son!”

“Libel!” said Catilina. “I call you to witness, Julius, this utterance of vicious libel, this malevolent accusation, this vindictive lie of a man who has always hated me!”

“Let us be calm,” said Julius. But his lively face had paled excessively. He looked for a long and considering moment at Catilina, and his mouth had an unreadable expression.

“Yes, let us be calm,” said Marcus in a trembling voice. “Let us consider the case of a murderer who must be brought to justice. Livia is dead. But I shall be her advocate.” He turned to Catilina. “Have you been turned to stone, murderer, by the Gorgon’s head? Or were you born of death? Is there no quiver in you of guilt, of shame? No. You are not a man. You are a vulture, a jackal. I look upon your face and I know you, with all the instincts of my soul, and I recognize what you are. You speak of libel, Catilina. There is a redress for libel. Will you bring suit against me, Catilina? Will you dare let me speak before the magistrates of what I know? Or, will you arrange my ‘suicide’ also?”

Now he looked at Julius Caesar. “Is it possible that you are a murderer also, in your heart? Will you connive to hide a murder? I have loved you since you were a child, though I have not been deceived by you, Julius. I have thought that you loved me also. I beg of you that you stand with me and speak the truth.”

Julius said, “Marcus, I swear to you that Lucius was with me, and General Sulla, and others, at my house when his wife was in her dying agonies, with her child beside her. I swear that a messenger came to us while we were dining, to deliver the message that Livia and Lucius’ son had just expired, by poison and the dagger.”

“And when,” said Marcus, “had Catilina arrived at your house, Julius?”

Julius was silent. He looked at Catilina for a long moment. Then he said in a voice shaken and slow, “He had been with us for several hours.”

“You lie, Julius!” Marcus cried.

But Julius said, looking into Marcus’ eyes, “I am prepared to swear, and with honesty and honor, and others with me, that Catilina had been with us from the late afternoon.”

“Then,” said Marcus, “this has already been discussed among all of you, before you even came to me.”

He lifted his arms with a slow motion of despair, and held them upright.

“Is there no God to avenge this crime, this murder of a young woman and her child?”

“He is mad, the dog,” said Catilina. His handsome face was tense with evil and cold rage. “Let us seek a writ for him, that he be confined in the sanitarium on the Tiber, lest he do a mischief in his madness.”

But Julius said to Marcus, who stood like an invoking statue of wrath, “You have uttered a calumny, dear friend, a libel against a gentleman of great family in Rome, against an officer and soldier of Rome, and you have uttered these things on no substantial evidence save your own emotions and your own grief for a girl known long ago, who did not remember you. It is one thing to be romantic and stricken with sorrow, and another to accuse where there is no evidence. I have known Livia for many years, and not in fleeting moments as you knew her. In her calmest moments she was not as other women. In her more excitable—and these I have seen also—she was irrational and distraught. It was not her marriage to Catilina which made her so, for I knew her from my childhood. It was a byword for us boys to say to our sisters, ‘You are as mad as Livia Curius.’

“As for Catilina’s attachment to Aurelia Orestilla, he has not sought to hide it. His marriage was a calamity to him. When he returned to Rome, eager for the arms of his wife, for the embraces of his son, he discovered that Livia did not even recognize him! She shrank from him as though from the jaws of Cerberus. Seeing this strange affright of his mother’s, Catilina’s son became wild also. It was a bitter welcome to a hero of Rome. He had hoped his wife had recovered.”

“She had reason to be afraid,” said Marcus, in a groaning voice and dropping his arms to his sides. “I saw her last in the temple of Vesta, during a thunderstorm. She told me of her terror, of her fear for her child, of the accusations against her of madness. I saw her agonized face, her dead and lightless eyes. She feared, above all things, the return of Catilina, and she feared in truth.”

He looked into Julius’ face. The younger man’s black eyes were flickering in a most peculiar manner, and the black brows were drawn together.

“Julius,” said Marcus, extending a hand to him, “in the name of honor, in the memory of our long friendship, stand with me to bring a murderer to justice.”

Julius took his hand and held it strongly. “If murder had been done, I should stand with you, Marcus. But the murder of the child was done by his mother, and she in turn killed herself.” A veil, like a cast, drew over his eyes. “I am convinced of that truth. And Catilina was with us when these sorrowful crimes were committed. Let the unhappy girl rest in peace, with the ashes of her fathers. To shout out intemperate accusations, which you in calmer moments would be the first to decry, will do Livia no service. We, the comrades of Catilina, have given out, this day—with the assent of the physicians—that Livia and her child perished inadvertently of tainted food. This was done to preserve her own honor. We told you the truth, trusting in your discretion. It is possible that it was an imprudent thing to trust you.”

But Marcus said, “Who else perished of that food?”

All Julius’ features narrowed and lengthened, and he was like one whom Marcus had never seen before. “Two slaves,” he said.

“Four murders,” said Marcus.

He turned to face Catilina, who was now leaning languidly against a wall and staring with indifference at the opposite wall. “Behold,” said Marcus, “the grieving husband, the sorrowful father! Mark his tears, the lines of sadness on his face!”

Julius said, smoothly and coldly, “He is an aristocrat, Cicero. Would you have him rend his garments in public like an indecent pleb, a slave, a hysterical woman of the streets?”

But Marcus hardly heard him. His lawyer’s mind, even over his anguish, was informing him that he was impotent, that he had no proof of any murders, that these men were stronger and mightier than he, that should he denounce Catilina he would put himself not only in danger of punitive laws but of Sulla’s anger.

“Catilina is here with me today, searching for a ridiculous will which would sully the honor of his family, for the sake of Livia, herself, and his child. He had no other purpose.”

Marcus once more gazed at Julius. “I knew you, Caesar, but never did even I, who was not deceived by you, dream that you would condone the murder of a helpless woman and a little child, who had done no wrong, who had lived their lives in fear. I have a Jewish friend, whom you know, Noë ben Joel, and he has told me of what is written in the Sacred Books of the Jews, and the wrath of God. ‘He who lives by the sword shall die by the sword.’”

He glanced at Catilina again. “Long ago I had a premonition that Livia would die as she died, when we were young together on my paternal island. And now I say to you both: You will die as Livia died, in your own blood.”

His white face blazed. Catilina lifted himself from his position against the wall. Julius stepped back rapidly from Marcus. As Romans, they were both superstitious. They were transfixed by Marcus’ wide and eloquent eyes, by his attitude of an oracle.

Then both made the hasty sign of protection against the evil eye, and Marcus laughed aloud in his despair to see it. They fled from him and he was alone.

He sat down and leaned his elbows on his table and dropped his face into his hands, and he wept.

That night Marcus called his mother and his brother to him. He sat behind a table like a judge, and not as a son and a brother. He told them of Livia’s death, and the death of her son, and he spoke quietly for all his face was haggard with suffering.

Then he raised his eyes to Quintus and said, “You are my brother, and I love you more than I love my life. You have not spoken Catilina’s name to me, for you knew of my passion for Livia, and my hatred for Catilina. And now I tell you, Quintus, though you are dearer to me than even my parents, I can wish that you had died on the battlefield than to owe your life to such a man.”

Later as he lay sleepless on his bed he remembered old Scaevola’s wise words, counseling him that for such as Catilina death was not sufficient and was unavailing. There was only one just revenge on Catilina: the destruction of what he desired most.

And, I shall set myself to discover what it is, if it takes all the years of my life, Marcus vowed to himself, lifting his hand in a great oath.