'So then, Gordianus, what are these crimes for which I'm so notorious, except so much dust blown into the races of the voters by my enemies, who would destroy a man's reputation with no more thought than swatting a fly; When a man is brought to trial again and again, it leaves a taint, I know, but to what crime should I confess, except that I'm a fly in the Optimates' ointment?'

I squinted at Catilina and saw only an uncertain head above half-submerged shoulders, an obscure island floating on the mist. 1 was thinking of other crimes, Catilina, offences of a different order altogether.'

'You're too wise a man to believe even half of what you hear, Gordianus, especially from the venomous lips of Cicero and his brother Quintus. I don't pretend to be humble or meek, but I'm hardly the monster my enemies portray — what man could be? Oh, I know the rumours and insinuations. Very well, let's begin with the worst: when I sought to take Aurelia Orestilla as my second wife a few years ago, she refused, because she wouldn't marry into a household that already had an heir, and so to please her I murdered my own son. You're a father, Gordianus. Can you imagine the anguish that lie has caused me? Every day that passes, I mourn the death of my son. If he had lived, today he would be a man, at my side in my struggles, a comfort and an inspiration to me. He died from fever, yet my enemies call it poison, and they use the tragedy of his death as a sordid weapon against me.

'They also say I married Aurelia for her money, to get myself out of debt. Ha! That only shows the depth of their ignorance, to so vastly underestimate my debts. They also underestimate the bond between Aurelia and myself, but that is none of their business, and none of yours, either, if I can say so politely.

'And then there are the tales of my sexual exploits, some of them true, some of them totally fantastic — really, the next thing you know, they'll be saying I raped my own mother and thus fathered myself! What does it matter which of these tales are real, anyway? No one cares about such things except dried-up moralists like Cato and Cicero with their black hearts and their black tongues. Honestly, I have never been able to understand why men who have no appetite should feel such spite for men who eat with relish!'

'A pretty phrase, Catilina, but enjoying a hearty dinner is one thing, while taking a girl's virginity and mining her chances for a good marriage is quite another, as is convincing young men to ruin their credit on your behalf, destroying their own careers in the process.'

The lamp had almost burned out. From the dim haze I heard a sigh. 'Alas, Gordianus, I can no longer see your face, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you smile as you speak such outrages, knowing them to be nothing more than slanders concocted by my enemies. Oh, yes, I confess that I have a weakness for the young and innocent. What man with a healthy appetite does not appreciate a blushing fruit plucked fresh from the tree? And in a world so corrupted with machinations and lies, what man would not find a special appeal in those of an unworldly character? Where else can sweetness be found in this bitter world except among the young? But I don't force myself on others. I've been accused of murder and theft, but never of rape — even my enemies credit me with being able to attract my partners without coercion. Nor do I merely take and give nothing in return. They give me their innocence and in return I give them my worldliness, the commodity I possess in greatest abundance; each gives to the other what the other lacks and desires.'

'And what did you give to the Vestal Fabia?'

'Adventure! Pleasure, excitement, danger — all the things her drab existence denied her.'

'And was that worth the chance of snuffing out her existence altogether? What if the affair had ended with Fabia being buried alive? It could very easily have ended that way.'

'Blame Clodius for that, not me.'

'You shrug off your responsibility too easily, Catilina.'

He was silent for a long moment, then I heard him stir in the water. He stood, causing the water to splash against the lip of the tub and the vapours to whorl and part before him. His skin was reddened from the heat. Beads of moisture clung to the black hair flecked with silver that matted his chest and ran down to his sex, which floated heavily half in and half out of the water. His shoulders and chest were broad, his belly flat. He was an uncommonly virile-looking man. No wonder his lovers appreciated him, I thought; no wonder constipated, thin-limbed, plain-faced men like Cato and Cicero so despised his physical and sexual prowess.

He seemed to read my thoughts. 'You're a fit-looking man yourself, Gordianus. The active life of the farm obviously suits you. Men grow soft and fat in the city — it's one thing to grow old and quite another to grow soft, eh? But I think you're a man of strong appetites yourself' He stood gazing down at me with a thin smile, as if he expected something from me. His gaze made me uncomfortable. 'Well,' he finally said,

'I've had enough of this heat! Will you join me in the cool plunge, Gordianus?'

'No, I think I'll stay here a while longer. Perhaps I'll follow Tongilius's example and simply dry myself and gp to bed.'

Catilina stepped from the tub. He took his towel from the niche in the wall, but did not bother to cover himself. He paused at the door to the cooling room 'Shall I call for a slave to bring another lamp?'

'No,' I said. 'The darkness suits my mood.'

Catilina nodded and shut the door behind him A moment later the light dwindled and died. I lay in the darkness, ruminating on Catilina and his crimes.

I must have dozed for just an instant, for suddenly I was awakened by a faint creaking noise, not from the door through which Catilina had just exited but from the door that led back to the warm bath and thence to the rest of the house. It was just such a noise as might be made by someone leaning against the door without meaning to. At the same instant a thin crack of light appeared at the top of the door frame.

Perhaps the door had moved on its own, swollen by the humidity and heat. Still, my heart began to beat more quickly, and the languid drowsiness of the hot bath was instantly dispelled. Perhaps it was Tongilius returning, I told myself — but why should he be skulking? Perhaps it was a slave come to replenish the extinguished lamp — but then why did the slave not enter?

I listened and heard nothing more from beyond the door, but I was convinced that someone stood there, waiting.

I rose from the water as quietly as I could and stepped from the tub. I reached for my towel, but not to cover myself. A simple towel, wound tightly like a rope, has many uses — as a shield against daggers, as a means of binding an enemy, as a weapon good for strangling or breaking necks. I walked on tiptoe to the door. I reached for the wooden handle, hesitated for a heartbeat, then pulled it open.

He tumbled towards me, staggering. I caught him in the twisted cloth, pinned his arms to his sides and spun him around. He tripped and lurched, but didn't struggle. He tilted his face towards mine.

I hissed a curse and released the towel. My captive stepped free and sucked in a quick breath, and then, as if what had just happened had been nothing more than a game, whispered, 'So Catilina did sleep with the Vestal!'

'Meto!'

'Sorry, Papa, but I couldn't sleep. My feet hurt from climbing the mountain! When I came to the door, I heard the two of you talking. It didn't seem right to step in on you, but I had to listen. You wouldn't have said anything different if you'd known I could hear, would you? And Catilina might not have said so much if I'd been in the room. I was awfully quiet, wasn't I? Did you really not know that I was there until just now? That was a mistake, leaning against the door like that…'