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LOVE CHASE For whatever reasons Mr. Shaw had to bring along an entirely different tale, I did not know at the time. The only link I surmised was again four major characters: Cicero, his wife, the slave girl Elena and Catiline. His tale, thus far included, if not proposed that Caesar would be a main ingredient also. But then, what would a Roman story be without Cicero? Or without Caesar? Naturally, I tried to relate these four or five with those of Ahutu. Surely the ladies were Meka and Sheba but which was which? I needed a key to decipher. Terentia might symbolize Meka, as they both were logical household individuals. Cicero was to be praetor of Romea kingleading me to connect him with Tanu. To stay true with his first tale, Tanu must be with Sheba. Thus this led me to suppose Terentia probably imaged Sheba. Then again knowing how depraved Roman life was; Elena, the slave, could have been also. I needed to watch carefully as the tale unfolded. Also his setting puzzled me. The original dreamscapes of his problems were rustic, uncultivated and remote. Why now did it move into the sublime, cultivated and historical? Perhaps, I thought, he tried to tell me the problems lied only with the people involved. Scenery meant little, if anything at all. Frustrated I wrote out my notes then readied for my next patient. Oddly enough he was Mr. Bliss who held many degrees in language. Mr. Bliss appeared nothing of a scholar. When he entered a room, he wore it. His build and youth reminded one of Indiana Jonesa professor one moment, an adventurer the next. I thought him not unlike myself in that fashion, I too had an adventurer crawling around inside of me. He seldom made himself known and then only to me during a pleasant reading of a predictable yawn, sometimes within stray fantasies. Certainly this is where Mr. Shaw had me over a barrel. Tanu was also my alter ego! And I knew before he went far into his second tale that I would be standing in Cicero's sandals. I greeted Mr. Bliss kindly then allowed him to review a particular behavior problem he offered up the previous week. The man discovered his life designed for teaching and little else. He came respected as a teacher; indeed I recognized his ability to communicate from the start. However, he found he too often ignored what others tried to communicate to him. At first, friends and family excused him as absent-minded and distracted. Until, in close relationships, it became apparent he just did not listen to others carefully enough. He would interrupt others early in conversation before a thought even presented itself, not a rare problem among quicker minds that have crossed my path. Naturally the solution was to slowly instill in the man an appreciation of his fellow humans. The manner in which he paid excessive attention to his textbooks he needed to share with everyday, sometimes ignorant people. The cause of his particular problem stemmed from an outside influence. So many problems do. He, like so many patients, believed his problem to be exclusively devised by his own rational. A deliberate, maybe sometimes, off handed gesture on his part to run from people who may prove him at fault. Knowing his background I had him pegged. His father was a very over bearing individual who rode Mr. Bliss constantly. By doing so, his father pushed the man through an excellent formal education. He was prodded and forced to study. If he slacked off, his father turned against him. Where the father failed was in his dealing a heavy hand. Too often parents instill in their off springs a feeling of guilt even where none should exist. The child expects to do wrong regardless how right he may be. Such people are easily prosecuted simply because, when accused, they forever wonder if they really are in the wrong. Such outside agencies can cause much trouble for impressionable children and all persons in general. Simply because you cannot identify affects within yourself that are not of your personal make up; unless a professional, objective view is taken. As Mr. Bliss spoke I realized I had a question to ask of him. In fact, custom made for Mr. Bliss. I let him finish then asked straight away, "Could you interpret the word Ur-u for me?" He cocked his head a moment while repeating then spelling out the weird word. "Where did you come across that?" he asked with a frown. "My wife had come by it and has grown fond in using it in jest." I did not lie. "Sounds Mesopotamian." He grimaced while stroking a clean-shaven chin. "But the break, the sharpness makes it very ancient." "Ancient?" "I would think it pre-Assyrian, originating by some influx from Africa." His answer floored me! "Can you translate it?" I begged. "Oh, no." He shrugged. "Such languages have been lost for thousands of years. Only a guess at different sounds exists." A chill rushed up my spine. I didntI couldnt fit his explanation into my reasoning system. Could it be just a made-up word? Say; like ugh or duh? Some kind of moniker to annoy her hubby? Not the way you pronounced it, Doctor. He repeated it for me then pointed out that modern tongues would swallow the last syllable. You need the mouth cavity, teeth and bone structure of a northern Africa circa eightten thousand years ago. I offered a wry smile for Mr. Bliss to go on with other conversation. Fortunately he carried the remainder of his hour as I just sat back and wondered. After he left, I still sat with my head spinning. I thought it time to unravel Dennie's dream and strange nocturnal raving. But I needed a sounding board. And it sure would not be Martin Shaw. By my request Yvonne wiggled her way into the chair before my desk with her inquisitive blue eyes. I left the desk to pull over a spare seat in order to sit beside her. This behavior always signaled to Yvonne that I came to her not as a boss but as a friend seeking her advice. She sat quietly erect while stroking long finger nails while her eyes never left mine. Slowly I brought to her my dilemma. I began by explaining the mysterious manner of Mr. Shaw's self-therapy. But to her, not being a psychiatrist, it all sounded exciting but little else. It mattered little also. Surely I wanted her to know all the facts. But what I really wanted from her was how she thought Dennie would react if I dared mention that I suspected strange forces at play between Mr. Shaw's tales and Dennie's sleep world. I explained to her Mr. Shaw's first tale. I wondered aloud why Dennie would dream of a lion hunt when Mr. Shaw's story riveted around such events. Why Dennieor evenhow Dennie used language suspiciously regional to Ahutu? Typically methodical Yvonne heard me out to the very last word. Then she silently, with eyes far away, re-thought her answer. An answer, I'm sure she had arrived at early into my conversation. "Coincidence," she shrugged, tipping her head to me. She showed sympathy for me but also a conviction for her reply. "How could Mr. Shaw's tales ever be known to Denise?" "Perhaps I talk in my sleep." I debated, "And Dennie is creating dreams from what she hears me say." "That argument only confuses the issue, though it may be true." She waved the idea away. "You don't speak African, do you?" "Well, then you're saying I should not bring the subject up to Dennie?" "Nor let it bother you at all, Bob." She placed a warm, kind hand upon mine. "Denise is a flaky gal sometimes. She may only dive deeper into this thing. That will further confuse everyone and everything. How will you do Mr. Shaw any good with this further craziness going on?" I heeded Yvonne's advice and tried to treat Mr. Shaw's stories as separate from Dennie's dreams as night to day. So when Mr. Shaw came for his next session, and requested it be a double, I sat back and observed only his tale and their meaning to him. "We are now at the senate," he began. "The vote is on the floor. We see Cicero quiet the senate from his honored seat in the center of the large, brick hall. He stands and moves into a clearing. Senators hush and give undivided attention as scribes turn their ears to the lean, tall Cicero. As was usual, Caesar was present for the voting, though he could not vote in the senate. But as a sharp politician, Caesar found a home and source of information in the Roman senate… You are about to chose who will consul Rome this next year. Cicero's eyes scanned the senate until they fell upon Catiline. Cicero's stare forced Catiline's gaze to drift about aimlessly. Cicero thought this a victory. Catiline was twice his size. He stood like a soldier rather than a politician. He was a man of the dark, damp streets of Rome, a man who lived and rutted with the scum and the poor. But Cicero stood thin and sometimes with a feeble posture. He sought the finer things in life, the softer amenities. Cicero stood as the best of Roman success. Refined, intelligent Roman of the new class. A man formed by the power of money. And he knew himself to be the better man for his will easily out measured Catiline's. Still watching Catiline he spoke with a bitter tone, 'He is a quilt stained soul at odds with gods and men, who finds no rest in either waking or sleeping!' He lifted a narrow finger and directed it at Catiline. 'Look at the man! His blood shot eyes, his gait now fast now slow, his pallid complexion, his endurance of cold, hunger and thirst; in short, a madman!' Some applause came from the senate but so did many mumbles. Cicero dramatically spun at the side of the room where most mumbles arose. 'This scum has the heart to ask of us to vote him consul? Have we forgotten his attempt upon the lives of our past consulates? Is this the method Catiline thinks to gain power in the greatest state in the world, by the knife?' Where Catiline sat the air grew thin as senators edged away from him, some even left for less suspicious seating. Two remained close to Catiline, Orcus and Titus. Orcus was a thin, young man who outwardly wore the feelings of rebellious youth. He was from a line of light skinned Romans with wide blue eyes below a long brow that led up to very dark hair. He was of the new class but loved Catiline and his ideas. He saw the mob as a suffering voice reaching out for the sympathy of their fellow Romans. He could not shake Rome by the throat in order to hear these cries, he blamed his youth, but Catiline was very willing to strangle anyone who stood in his way. Titus had a decade on Orcus. His dark skin and Grecian features wrinkled and grayed next to the younger men. Titus turned casually to Catiline. He slings mud only, he shrugged with a whisper. Orcus thought it more meaningful. And it hurts. He watched the other senators. Catiline showed no reaction at all. Cicero continued in a softer tone, a tone that led the senators to wonder as their consul did. Catiline would have us open our doors to plebes? Then his voice boomed with authority, No! The entire mob of Rome would find their seats beside our own. What a perfume this forum would have indeed! Cicero broke many moods with his jest. Only two emotions colored the air, respect for Cicero and hatred of Catiline. And why does this man associate with such low life? Why? Because no men with any wit would follow his insane ideas! This aroused mumbles again. Nervous laughter came from those who outwardly opposed Catiline. Cicero carried on not to have anyone dwell on pure insults alone. He stands on a platform he calls novae tabulea - a new record! Who needs a new government? We can't even run the one we have! Cicero's remark sparked laughter and smiles, even to the face of Catiline. Cicero stroking their egos now sounded as if he pleaded to their intelligence. While holding his wry smile in order to bring what sour grapes he could to his statement. Senators, this man, Catiline, is an ingrate. Sulla gave his fortunes unselfishly to him. Yet he will destroy all that his benefactor worked hard and died for. Catiline is also a pervert! He associates with that element. He was accused of raping my half-sister, a Vestal Virgin! And had not his plans been known of his assassination attempts, he would have surely murdered our past consuls just as he murdered his own son and desires to take control of Rome and murder her! This caused much commotion not favorable to Catiline. Catiline sat stern against the growing applause. Orcus turned angrily toward a nearby bench of cheering senators. Cicero speaks only of ill gotten myths! he retorted. But Catiline, with a strong hand, stopped him by pulling Orcus around. "Go lie about Cicero. Titus motioned for Catiline to take the floor. Catiline stood. Like a wave moving out from his person, the senate grew silent. Keeping his face high, he walked to the center of the room as Cicero victoriously took is seat. All eyes fell on the rebel of Rome, Catiline. My fellow senators and Romans, he began. His voice carried no eloquence, as did Cicero's. It was his one voice, loud, heavy, but sincere. Cicero is a clever statesman with a tongue, as we all know to be as long as the Appian Way. This, at least, broke the hard, embittered stares of the senate. Catiline, like Cicero, knew to capture the senate's heart one first had to entertain it. 'My statesmanship is for the people of Rome and my tongue does not lie! As Catiline spoke, one of Cicero's slaves - Elena - entered the forum unnoticed at first. She held a message from Cicero's wife Terentia. Anxious to fulfill her mission she hurried her tiny, young frame through the senate. Many eyes followed her path in order to capture, if just for a moment, the exquisite beauty she revealed in each step. Elena was sold to Cicero's wife from a trader of slaves who specialized in Grecians. Greeks made popular slaves for Romans. Not only did their olive skin sensualize the proud beauty of this race but also, as a bonus, Greeks often spoke the language of Rome and were well educated. Elena possessed the best of all worlds. She was a dark, almond beauty who hailed from a good family lineage. However, her family had lost favor with the gods while Elena was just a youngster. Even if they knew of her whereabouts, they wouldn't ask for her return; she was better off with Cicero and Terentia. Proudly, under shimmering locks of black hair, she passed the drooling senators and made her way beside Cicero. Cicero did not see her at first. Sitting beside him was Cato, a short fat senator who tried always to be Cicero's shadow so long as personal gain came from the relationship. Which it often had. Cato picked up on the sweet perfume from behind him. With a raised brow he turned to see Elena. He half smiled to silently greet her and half frowned knowing she stood off limits to his adulterous heart. At least while Cicero hung about. Turning to his consul Cato leaned close to his master's ear and whispered of Elena's presence. Cicero nodded and with a wry finger ordered her to approach in silence. Elena delivered the paper message and stood back to await further instructions. Shortly, Cicero merely motioned her to return home. Bowing, she headed toward the senate's exit. She would have reached it in moments had not her ears slowed her pace and, as if by magic, turned her attention to the speaker. Cicero noticed her reaction. He studied it through a locked stare. Her gaze reminded him of his own hidden lust for the slave girl. He turned his sights back to Catiline but saw only a vision before him. It took place in her bath two days before the general elections. She was bathing while humming a tune made popular by a recent play, a hedonistic tune filled with the lush passions of the god Pan and spirited by the attraction a maiden would find in the arms of a Hercules. The earthy melody captured the consul's ears as he strolled by the bath. He had been sampling the lore found in his wife's ancient manuscripts filled with magical rituals designed to gain money and power; just a lot of trash to Cicero, but a wonderful distraction from the fury of the elections. The pages had turned cold with the setting sun. Terentia's chamber fire remained unlit and Cicero wrung his long hands as he sought a warmer room. From the darkened hallway he heard her sing. It paused him as he turned an ear then advanced to the door of the bath. The closed door cloaked the hall in darkness. It incited bravery from him as he stole an ear to it. It cracked open and he explored the light glittering on the humid air. He saw her then naked and toweling herself. His eyes lowered not being those of a man who took advantage of such an opportunity. But she was so beautiful he had to look again. This time around he watched her as she wrapped the towel in her hair, her arms high exposing the tenderness of her form. A dry gulp clicked in his throat and his eyes refused the urge to blink. Cicero was not a man absent of passions nor was he really a feeble man. He took hold of the door and opened it fully. Elena spotted him and drew herself behind hanging drapes. Master! she cried and retorted at the same instance. Cicero anchored himself to what he imaged himself to be and pardoned himself. He moved as if to close the door and leave, however, his fancy for the beauty that stood before him pulled him back. The insistent emotion played havoc with the usually reserved man. It angered him, made him mad. Never leave the door ajar when you bath, Elena! He ranted, I forbid you to tempt me! Elena blushed and hid further into the drapes. She apologized but didn't really know what for. I thought I had closed it, master. The madness surged; as he balled a fist at her. Never again will you show your body to me or I will demand to have it! For you raise the crime of adultery in my heart. I will not allow that. I will murder you first! The incident left both of them feeling like fools. Cicero desired to talk it out with her but felt it below his station. Elena regarded it as an honest mistake on her part and realized men were easily aroused; she should have known better. That her master longed to seduce her never entered her thoughts before or after. She saw the manner that he watched her differently after the event as his disdain for her. He on the other hand felt his lust for her growing ever more intense. Soon, he knew, he'd have to taste the fruits of adultery or, as he said, destroy her, remove her from his life completely. To adjust the situation so that he could never have her and never will. Catiline spoke more directly now. His words paced and targeted at the senators. Cicero! Cicero expects me to waste your time with defense of things he says I did. He paused long. All eyes were on him, some doubtful, some prejudging him, some observing a presupposed image. Elena's eyes were swallowing him whole. She never beheld such a man. His dark, animal eyes crowned themselves against the ivory Roman skin of his strong face. His hair curled wildly around his ears and cheeks in a manner she thought extremely exciting. No less exciting, as she watched him speak, was his firm body standing tall and teeming with life. This man was all Roman, she thought. This was the symbol of Rome, which the rest of the world translated as 'Roman'. For the entire world saw Romans as they saw the gods of Romeearthly, rooted in the home yet idealistic. Contrary to all the true gods the rest of the world worshiped. That I stand here before you never imprisoned or convicted of any crime is my proof! Catiline snapped straight at Cicero. Then turning into the senate continued, So I will not waste your time. What I do seek to do as a citizen of Rome and as your consul is to restructure Rome. Again he paused for effect. Rome and revolution have come to mean the same thing. Why? Because the people are not heard and none are heeded. This visibly upset the senate. One senator shouted, Spartacus! Another cried, The mob is fed! A simple scrap of food is not fed! Catiline bellowed in return. And I speak for Romans, not slaves as Spartacus did! His clamoring voice hushed the senate, muscled down the people present into lowering their eyes, all but Elena's. Catiline's confident snap sent tingles through her tender frame and touched something very deep inside her. Something recognizable yet she could not identify it. A manservant tapped at her shoulder. Startled, she looked as he motioned her to leave the forum. Realizing her place she began to exit but stole one last look at the heroic speaker. She knew his features would not expel themselves from her mind and would fill her fancy for no short time. This man is contrary to all the gods,' she said to herself. 'Therefore he is unique among all men. Catiline struggled with strategy. He did not want to plead. That was below his station and senseless with senators, men who saw weakness as an excuse to strike their prey. Still his consulship needed to be founded upon what he believed to be the voice of the people. Senators, ever since the state fell under the sway of a few powerful men all influence, rank and wealth have been in their hands only. The people are left with danger, defeat, prosecutions and poverty. What have they left save but the breath of life? Is it not better to die valiantly than to lose our wretched and dishonored lives after being sport of other men's insolence? His words only brought an unsettling silence. The hall sat momentarily on a crucial edge. Cicero captured the mood and opportunity. He jumped from his chair, crying, Rebel! Instantly the senators clamored against Catiline for they mistakenly thought he attempted to destroy the manner of life they had come to be comfortable with. "I am no rebel! he screamed with fists high. But unless the rulers of Rome do not heed the cries of its people, rebellion will bloody the streets and lay low everything Rome stands for! This incited anger from the senate as a great majority rose loudly up at Catiline. Caesar remained seated with his assistants and senator friends. He feared for Catiline and knew the man stood no chance. Such words served no cause but for alarm. With sorry eyes Caesar shook his head wondering what would come of his liberal friend now. Catiline did not surrender to the hollering mass. With dangerous eyes he stared Cicero back down into his privileged seat. Turning back to the senate, Catiline pushed them to silence with a riot of words. Senators, we can not go on ignoring the masses. We have the Sempronian Law, which states that these are fellow Romans. They should and must enjoy the fruits of Rome. Their voices must be heard and their needs attended to. We have heard enough! Cato yelled as the senate rushed in an agreement. Sit down, Catiline, the people of Rome have elected Cicero as consul. Now we must make the final vote. Catiline saw no other tactic but to yield. Enraged yet keeping a quiet composure, he returned to his seat aside Orcus and Titus. Cato motioned to the scribes and announced the voting to commence. The voting proceeded while Catiline and his little troop sat in earnest distress. A manservant approached Catiline and handed him a note that Catiline half-heartedly opened. It read: Cicero will win and send assassins for you. It is time to stop playing at the rich man's game. Naturally, it wasn't signed but he knew it came from Caesar. Catiline refolded the note. Placing it beneath his toga, he turned to Orcus and Titus. Let us depart before my blood is wasted on this floor by those who betray Rome. It is time we move on to Etruria on the wings of an eagle. Amid stares filled with banishment they left the senate. By evening the news of Cicero's election drew interest from every quarter of Rome. Celebration filled the houses of the nobility with banquets teeming with song, food and adolescence dancers. In the streets and on the door steps of the common folk people lost all hope for a secure future. Almost everywhere the homeless, members of the mob, clutched together in miserable groups failing to understand how the state they helped to build could so easily fling them aside. Through these damp, smoky streets Catiline hurried under a dark hood toward Caesar's house. His eyes dashed from groups of men to dimly lighted homes and beyond out of fear for his life. He had few friends at that moment. The nobility wanted him dead and the mob felt he had betrayed them. He walked quickly catching every shadow he could encounter until, from a corner group of street people, an argument caught his attention. A lowly slave with uplifted fists cried out in Catiline's defense. Others ridiculed the slave. Some spat at him. No love did they have for Cicero but less for Catiline. He too would be the thief in due time, a man shouted. We all know and can deal with the thief in power! For his own safety he ignored the tussle and moved within the shadows the tall brick structures of Rome afforded. Amid these shadows he met Elena. Elena had been hurrying back from delivering a message to the house of Cethegus. Pulling the edge of her hood across her face, she found no attraction in the noisy streets of Rome filled with vendors, whores, minstrels and robbers. Seeing the argument involving the slave who defended Catiline only heightened her fears. Carefully watching the group grow slightly violent, she sped up her pace only to run head on into Catiline who remained tied to a memory. Elena went right down with a cry. Catiline stood shocked only for a moment then hurried to gather the young woman to her feet. I am sorry! He pulled her straight up and held her before him at arms reach. It is my fault, sir, I am in... While collecting herself she recognized the man standing with his hands at her shoulders. It is you! Her face rushed from confusion into full sigh of admiration. Not knowing what the girl spoke of, but thinking the worse, Catiline pulled her deeper into the shadows of nearby buildings as he glanced worriedly around. You know me? he asked as he held tightly her arm. Elena's eyes filled with glee to be so close to the man who had captured her every thought since first she saw him. Yes! I heard you in the senate today. It was a great speech you made! Her voice flowed with love for the stranger. Catiline could not see Elena's face at first hidden within the hood. But he figured her a simpleton not to realize the great speech came only to be his undoing. He almost laughed if not for the grimace pulling at his face. I am a slave taken from my home in Athens... she began as Catiline pushed her hood aside to better see this simpleton. I am maiden to the lady.... But before she could say any more she noticed Catiline's reaction to her exposed face and it thrilled and embarrassed her. Speechless for a moment, Catiline finally remarked, This is no face of a slave. Instinctively he brought a huge hand to her cheek. It caressed her slowly and with a passion Elena thought she could never allow in her life of servitude. This is the face of a queen! Catiline looked deeply into her eyes wondering how such a beauty could ever call herself a slave. No man could enslave beauty like this, only be enslaved by it. His comments thrilled her but also drew fear to her, from somewhere distant inside her. She pulled away and bowed to him. The glow of surprise and happiness had vanished. I must return to the house of my master. Catiline nodded as he also had somewhere to be. Still, with shy hesitation, Elena stepped slowly at first from him as he stood watching her like a young lover not wanting to part from his object of desire. She turned and moved on. Catiline wanted to call to her. To ask her name but she quickly left his sight around a corner. At Caesar's house a servant escorted Catiline into a waiting room. The servant walked away into a maze of rooms as Catiline sat and thought of many things, mostly the slave girl. He felt that he knew this woman. Knew her name. But he could not place her. Surely she must be the most beautiful woman he had ever met so why could he not remember seeing her before? It is late, my friend, Julius entered in his nightclothes. I expected you earlier. Catiline skipped the explanations and informed Caesar that he would be leaving for Etruria. Why leave? Caesar appeared annoyed at his friend's decision. Cicero will not hunt you. He has what he wants. In fact to grace you would be more his brand of cunning statesmanship. I go to raise an army, Caesar. Next October I will make certain that the enemy of the people will not have his way. Next October I will be consulate. Caesar motioned the servant, who stood by in a doorway, to leave. The servant lit two candles for better light in the room then left the two alone. Lucius, do not do this thing. Caesar came close to Catiline. He placed an arm about the big man's shoulders. Caesar's thin arm felt the strength of Catiline's back through the man's garments. Just then he worried for what those shoulders thought to bear. Rome is beset with worries. Problems, which no one man, can be blamed for. The aristocracy blames the new middle classes who blame the senate who blame the mob who blame men like Cicero who will toss away the old traditions. But no one can take hold of one man and wring his neck until all our fears die with the villain. Caesar moved from Catiline. He stood a long while looking to see how his friend was taking the advice. Seeing just a mere listening ear, Caesar drew from plainer sources. The young man in the street looking through the night for a wife would love to find the villain who freed women of their virtues and sent them to seek office, business and visit the abortion centers every time a swollen belly can not name its father. Estranged husbands with children and burdened with impossible mortgages lie awake night after sleepless night wondering who they can slaughter to correct their ill destined lives. The mob longs to behead authority so they can be free. Authority merely wishes the mob would go away so that public funds could go to hard working Romans. Lucius, all of Rome is looking for the villain. And if you gather an army against us, you will be that villain! Insistent as ever! Catiline quarreled, I seek to restore Rome to save her! Caesar called for the servant and ordered wine poured. Catiline refused as he took a seat across from where Caesar deposited himself. Caesar took a goblet from the servant then bid him to retire. Turning to Catiline he asked, Why do you tell me this; about Etruria? You have always aided me. I truly need you now, Catiline almost begged. An army? Against Rome? Caesar shook. That is a lot of money, Lucius. Besides, I'm not certain I can support you with this idea. I would never impose on you, Julius. We are old friends. I only ask as a fellow Roman. Caesar tested that friendship for a moment as he added, Cicero and I are old friends also. We grew up together. You were in our old circle of friends also. Remember? And now Cicero is consul. Such a friend should not be crossed. You would not turn your back on Rome, Catiline knew Caesar too well. No, I wouldn't. Caesar nodded in agreement, paused to sip at his drink and think hard on the situation. If the consequences were not so life threatening to Rome and his old friends, Caesar would have thought it all so romantic. Cicero, Catiline and Caesar had grown up together hailing from a poor section of Rome. Cicero, the oldest of them, had a wise lawyer for a tutor and a hard working mother who catapulted the family into the middle class. He was the weakling of the crowd with noble ideas, but full-bellied noblemen only hear noble ideas. In contrast, Catiline was ever the roughneck. He was Julius' age and a great diversion from Caesar's more highbrowed friend. Catiline's family had always been wealthy and Catiline well educated. An educated nobleman cannot forever remain noble especially once he realizes his nobility was created off the backs of less fortunate men. And Julius was the boy in the middle. He would tell of how the family of Julii was once kings of Rome, which they sometimes were, but the wealth had gone from them. Yet he would restore the family honor one day. He strove endlessly to regain that family honor. Together these three grew up in the Roman streets. Together they hounded vendors and chased girls. And, now, together they may be destroying the world they have come to love and every thing within it, including them. You are a brave man, Lucius Catiline. Caesar petted his old friend on his thick leg. "But, I fear, you will be called the villain of this state. Unless I march upon the elections and bring this chick-pea, Cicero, to his death." Surely you wouldn't march on the Senate! Caesar seemed rattled at the thought. Never! Catiline waved off the remark. The general elections at the Field of Mars. Do I have your support, Caesar? Caesar rose from his seat. He strolled to a spacious terrace under Catiline's watchful eyes. Gazing out at the Roman night he changed the subject to gain more time to consider Catiline's request. I have heard some gossip today concerning Cicero's other pairs of eyes and ears, Cato. Julius mused. Catiline realized what his old friend was up to. He forced the little patience he had and grunted for Caesar to reveal the worthless news. A thorny rumor indeed. Caesar moved into the Roman evening. It's said he chained a girl slave from Gaul to his cellar wall to be used as his perverted passions swayed him. She hung there for twelve days in that damp and rat infested place. Hung there while Cato and nameless others slowly dismembered her. Caesar turned fully to Catiline who already visibly abhorred the tale. With a demented gleam in his eye Caesar finished the gossip, They cooked and ate her parts. Devouring her flesh right before her horrified and dying eyes! Catiline passed no judgment as he turned from Caesar. He stared into the starry sky wondering if Caesar told him the terrible tale to incite more hatred for Cato and his sick leader or to shore-up Caesar's own disgust of the men. At best, the gossip merely supported his already ardent hate for Cicero's form of leadership. 500 talents, no more, Caesar's voice changed into the seriousness of a businessman. And a promise to hold our secret dear. Nothing else, my friend. I ask nothing more. I must take my leave now.
Mr. Shaw's story left me doing a lot of thinking between sessions. I began losing intrigue to the act of comparing the first tale to the secondyet incomplete. Time and time again I discovered the same characters playing different roles. What struck me about these roles was the way they evolved from the first tale. Think of it as I did: I saw Catiline and Cicero as friends who went their separate ways due to Cicero wanting to be the father of his people and Catiline being drawn away by the insistent call to democracya call to arms sort of speaking. Tanu and Karut built the foundation for this plot in Africa. Shaw's tale led to something all on its own. What? I didn't know. I tossed guesses around. Thought that frustrated sexual feelings were seeking a path into the open while describing their history to me. The scene in the alley pointed starkly at that! It pitted Catiline? Tanu? Shaw? up against this dark god. But what bothered me about the scene was Catiline's rejection. Yes, as a doctor, I approved of a man untying the knot of emotional entrapment, doing away with his youth. However, was he untying it or suppressing it? And again, was I following him rightly? Perhaps I judged that stony god too subjectively by sighting it as a symbol of his youth. So many thoughts went through my mind, so many questions that I began ignoring Dennie. Oh, she made mention of it which lead to one relaxing evening. But I soon pushed leisure aside. Mr. Shaw did have a goal, I felt sure of it. He led to something through characters that were gaining strength; building armies. I feared for him and for society. Mr. Shaw greeted me kindly then without any loss of time he returned to his tale… Catiline left his family in Rome and went to Etruria. With Orcus, Titus and a handful of others he began to build an army. The winter came down hard on his little troops. Food rations were low and only the most dedicated remained while the others returned to Rome with information most interesting to Cicero, Caesar and the powers of Rome. Soon Rome grew divided as the issue of Catiline's rebellion filled the streets with gossip and found its way into every Roman's conversation. Occasionally Catiline needed to sneak back into Rome for added funds and to size up the impending battle. On his last trip back to the eternal city during September of the following year, Catiline again encountered Elena. Catiline was making his way through a busy street washed over in autumn's waning sunlight. Horse drawn chariots and vendors selling everything from silk to fish blocked paths. Storekeepers cried of their wares from open doors of brick and wooden timber built shops. While whores clung to the endless facades of stores amid the luster of colorful fabrics and useful artifacts inviting passer-bys into sin's embrace. Children of nobility and slaves alike ran between their parent's legs and under merchant's counters in merriment. They chased each other, tempted passing horses with spices and some stood aside listlessly. Ignoring the entire spectacle while their elders bargained loudly with greedy merchants. The air teemed with life. It was a warm day even for September so all concerned were busy buying up what they could before cooler weather sent the street merchants to warmer climes. In this bubbling of human affairs Catiline caught sight of Elena, who stood arguing with a fruit vendor. You must drive your master to amusement and back again, the vendor shouted at her with a half-witted smile across broken and snaggled his best price. I am a very good slave, street merchant! She rallied back, And I will not pay for this rotten fruit! Catiline smiled beside himself. He had not forgotten the slave girl in the least. His heart desired to fling his body through the mass of scurrying people to come straight into her arms. But he carefully strolled toward her. Watched as she pursed her ruby lips and battled with the vendor. Soon he stood directly behind her with his huge arms folded and a smile brightening a face, which hadn't worn one in months. The vendor noticed Catiline, and in fact recognized who he was. He pulled back fearing the enemy of Rome and thinking Elena to be his slave. The vendor ignored the fruit he picked for her and quickly replaced it with the finest he had. Take it. No charge. Just be off with you. He turned away to Elena's delight and wonder. She stood a moment in awe then with an amusing pout turned to go. Instead she came face to face with Catiline. Her eyes popped. You! She stepped back in surprise. Nature took over as she dropped the fruit, lounged forward and fell into his arms. You are alive! She held him, adored him, and clung to him as if they were long separated lovers. Suddenly she realized her brazenness. Pulling away and swiftly gathering up her basket of fruit her face flushed red. Then, as if who they were and where they were acting out their fate meant entirely nothing, she paused. Looking up at him, her eyes glassy, she said in a voice so tender it kissed Catiline's ears, I am a fool to say so, I have thought of nothing else but of you since first I saw you. The scurrying mass all around them vanished and transformed into quiet foliage within a garden where only the two sensed the impact of its music. Catiline took her softly by her arm. Taking the basket from her, he leaned down close to her sweet face. I have had many thoughts. Each has been matched with a thought of you, my dear slave girl. Smiling wide, he added, I do not even know your name! Elena, she proudly answered. Elena, He savored the rhythm of her name, drew it in on all his senses. So fair it sounded, so right. Come then, Elena. He pulled as well did he motion her into a nearby doorway away from the shoving crowded street. The doorway held many shadows along with a wooden bench where they sat themselves close together like children hiding away in a lonely grotto. I am thrilled that you remember me, Catiline smiled handsomely. All of Rome talks of you. But some say you have been killed. Others say you will come to kill all of Rome. Catiline heard her words but his fancy fell upon the woman. The autumn light sought every inch of her woolen garments. Where shadows from the doorway soothed the sight of her course robes, it caressed her. Then exploded as if with joy where the sun discovered her exposed flesh. He took her shopping basket from her then took her small hand into his. So soft they were to this rebel who knew lately only the brutal touch of renegade life. I am the villain of Rome, they say? Some say so, she replied. Others call you a savior. I only know that you left a deep impression on me. Bowing her head, she appeared to struggle with a passion that brewed within her. I suppose you attract all women in this manner. This amused Catiline. On the contrary, I have often thought you must draw men in such a fashion. Not I! She recognized a mutual ground between them. I am still unblessed by the gods. Meaning that she retained her virginity. You are not unblessed, Elena. He caressed her hand. She felt the stern life in his hands. She wondered how she would tell him that she was his archenemy's slave. Elena thought this over numerous times when fantasizing about the rebel Catiline. So often she tried to forget him, to turn her back on the boiling feelings tearing at her. Now he sat beside her, his muscular thigh sending waves of desire through her, his hands engulfing hers, his eyes leaping into her wanting eyes. You wear perfume. Catiline reveled in the sweet air although he did wonder why a slave perfumed herself. I am a slave to a powerful man, she explained. I have rights other slaves do not. She feared he would ask which powerful man. It came as the obvious question. No man should enslave you. I can't see how any man could. What a welcomed turn, she thought. The sound of a sympathetic voice, his kind words, his very presence moved her toward passion. She did not reply. With eyes down she forced a smile but wrestled with the emotions swirling inside her. Catiline, on the other hand, readily noticed Elena's effect on his heart. He never truly knew love. It was a luxury of the poor. He married by betrothal and allowed any manifestation of affection to find its source in the Roman state. Now he sat in the glow of a living, breathing woman, a creature so tender and wonderful that, just by her asking, he would turn tail on Rome to become domesticated. He knew for certain what his heart felt for it felt that way for Rome all his life. Catiline squeezed her hand to bring her eyes to his. In the damp shadows of the hallway he kissed her lips. To whom must you buy back your freedom? Elena did not know how to answer nor react to his question. Such words could be a proposal of marriage orjust as good to a common slavean offer of transferal from one master to another. Happily her heart leaped. She whole-heartedly desired to stand beside this mountain of a man whether as a slave or wife. But how could she come to tell him that her master was the one man in Rome bent on destroying him? Catiline noticed a struggle within her. He retained her hand but moved an inch from her. I am too bold. No! She returned him nearer. She wanted this moment to never flee. I just need some time. That I have little of, Elena. His heart sank a bit. However, I will give all the time the gods grant me to you. He meant what he said. Endearing as the words were, it only mounted pressure on her. I must leave the city. I will not return until October. Falling into his arms she cried, Then make love to me now, here. Passion gripped her soul; it spoke above her solid upbringing and commitment to the house of Cicero. A passion that boiled her blood with a one mindedness: to have him, to share each other. Please, take me now. Take me for my master also has eyes for me. Take me to Etruria with you, I belong with you, I feel it. I know I belong at your side! Make me your slave and I will give you such pleasures that you will forget about Rome and undo the schemes of its consul! Catiline's arms held her. His heart desired nothing but her. Yet his mind wondered at many things. Was this beauty a spy? Was she right in the head? Could she really be feeling the burning emotions that sped through his veins? What exactly was happening? Making love in a doorway was not strange to the minds of Romans; however, people would take notice if only for sport. And such a sight it would make to see the villain of Rome taking his pleasures before battle! He kissed her deeply then pulled her from him. Standing, Catiline looked long as her eyes rushed up at his, begged his, cried out for his affections. I feel love for you, Elena, I do. However, I have things to do in Rome. Taking in a great breath he turned toward the street and dropped her hand. His hand only wanted to return to hers. It did not. Bowing to her he said, Tell me from whom I can purchase your freedom. I will do it this day. Then we can continue as one. I will get word to you, Lucius. She broke his heart. I know how to send word to you. Please be patient; you will come to understand my delay. Please, give me time. Elena regained her temperament. She then tossed a lovely half smile at him. She reached out for his hand. She held it, rolled her fingers over his as though they were made of delicate feathers. But the creature within she knew was made of iron. You are so contrary to the gods. Catiline forced a smile and left. The episode rattled Catiline to no end. He knew since their first meeting that once they stood face to face again he would fall hopelessly in love with her. He found it difficult to believe she also felt the same for him. He cautioned himself. But his heart ignored any advice. Catiline needed to find Caesar before returning to Etruria. Caesar was, at that moment, in the senate. A place Catiline cared little to be at. However, he did not intend to remain in Rome much longer so chanced the visit any way. Pulling up his hood and hiding within his locks of dark hair, he entered the senate and stayed out of sight. Waving to a young scribe, Catiline handed him a note and paid the boy to deliver it to Caesar. Cicero had visited the assembly as was customary before the senate sat in attendance. He dismissed his bodyguards and closed his heavy robe against an unkind breeze while he journeyed up the stairs to the senate. A group of admirers hailed him from the street and he turned to acknowledge them. He was a wise gather of votes indeed. However, as he turned back he spotted Catiline racing from the senate halldirectly toward Cicero. Anger curdled with diplomacy in his veins when he watched the rebel lift his eyes to the consul. They froze, both men looking at the other. All emotions dashed away as only one lay between them. Cicero was looking at the man whom once he called a friend, and so was Catiline. Yes the hair was grayer, the eyes smaller and more defined with the lines of time but here they were in each other's view no differently then in their youth. Yet the friends in youth did go separate ways. Cicero held to the belief that the wealthy guide the fates of men best. Catiline upheld a democratic ideal, and their pal Caesar who seldom spoke his mind clung to the idea that kings were ordained by divine proclamation. They were three men walking the same path into history and each with his back turned against the other. Catiline stepped up to Cicero. A sigh stuck firmly in the throats of each man. Salutations came hard to men who desired to grab hold of the other and shake hard. Shake the other until one confessed where he had gone wrong, when he made the fatal decision to turn his back on Rome. Good day, Consul. Catiline broke their mood. At the onset of the words hatred slowly surfaced from the men. It moved aside their perspectives until only two men stood facing each other, neither thinking of the future, both forgetting the past. A man from the street recognized Catiline. Taking hold of another's arm and motioning to those who hailed Cicero he shouted, Look! There is the rebel! Many stood amazed to see hero and rebel standing high on the steps before them while others climbed with their curiosity within earshot. What business have you in Rome, Rebel? Cicero asked. His voice boomed, they gathering crowd needed to hear him. Below them more people gathered. Catiline! It is Catiline!' A haggard woman ran from a nearby building, her arms outstretched in a matronly fashion. Those who supported Cicero turned on the woman whose cry drew more of the rebel's followers into the street. Roman stood against Roman in angry groups beneath the austere facade of the senate. The homeless guarded their territory of the street against fashionably dressed lawyers and businessman. The poor were the greater numbers and demanded to pass in order to touch their hero, while the wealthy stood firm to their right of position. Emotions ran high and vapid causing a visible landscape of turmoil in the street. Slaves cursed at noblemen, children at elders, businessmen at clients. A brawl arose from within the crowd though many avoided the scene and caused human boundaries between the differing points of views. This is my home. Catiline glowered at Cicero's question of why he returned to the city. Then without the slightest hesitation he began to walk away. Cicero's eyes followed him and he shouted, drawing attention to the scene, I will destroy you, hateful criminal! I will bury you and your kind! Cut you from the sight of Rome and burn your very ashes! Stillness overcame the scene as Catiline halted his steps and turned again to face Cicero. Hundreds watched and waited. Moving slowly back to the consul Catiline spoke from a heart that drew from life long memories, from comparisons between the old friends, from the landscape of where the two built the enigma of their lives. Jealousy will be your undoing, my friend. I of you? Nonsense! What have you gained, Catiline? You have the mob. You have powerful enemies. You have a life that seethes with danger. You have nothing but yourself! Catiline smiled proudly saying, All it takes to kill that jealousy of yours is to admit you will never have what I hold here. He balled his fist at his chest. You do not hate me, Cicero. You admire me! People began voicing their opposing sides. Hands, longing to touch Catiline's robe, engulfed him as he stepped from the senate stairs onto the street. The rich stood aside in bitter silence though Catiline paid them no mind. He continued walking away in awe over the emotions that burned at his soul stopping only to acknowledge his supporters. A woman carrying an infant rushed to his side. Cicero denounces the voice of the assembly! She cried. He offers Rome a law forcing the poor out of the city! What manner of beast is this Cicero? He took the hand of the woman who wept within her child's embrace and looking back up at Cicero he sadly commented, Here was my friend, my enemy. Inside the senate Caesar sat among many senators listening to a fellow senator argue a law presently on the floor of the assembly. They did hear the commotion from outside and, for the most part they ignored it. Protests and skirmishes were a daily occupation near the senate. Those senators around Caesar half listened and half gossiped about what was to come in October. They spoke not to Caesar because he knew all too well what October would bring and if asked, only gave a wry smile and shrugged. The scribe delivered the note, bowed then left. Caesar read it, looked toward the senate entrance then buried the note deep in his toga. Sitting back with an ear to those speaking he watched Cicero storm into the senate. The manner of which the consul hugged his outer robes tightly to his body amused Julius. He read Cicero well all his life. The consul had angry thoughts annoying his mind. It showed even more when he dropped into his seat and froze his eyes at the entrance doors. Then Cicero turned to Cato who sat loyally at the consul's side. Pitching his body at the senator, Cicero hid a whisper behind a bony hand. They fell into a discussion. Cato flushed and looked uplooked squarely at Caesar! Suddenly from across the hall Cato cried out, Caesar! You are a traitor! Caesar and those around him looked up. The others appeared shocked by Cato's accusation but Julius Caesar, cleverer than the lot of them, merely watched Cato with dull surprise. Cato rose from Cicero's side and walked briskly across the senate floor to stand eventually before Caesar. There is an army forming against Rome in Etruria. Roman law strictly forbids armed troops on the peninsula of Italy. All the senate drew their attention to Cato. He spoke from an open wound in Rome at the time. Everyone watched and waited to see what this rebel army was up to. They wanted to know whom, besides Catiline stood behind it. So Cato's words had caused all ears to fall on his bellowing words. Its general is that villain, Catiline! You, Cauis Julius Caesar, financed this venture of treason! Did you not? Caesar answered not. He thought silence the better weapon at that moment. It served him well all the same. Some senators began thinking about how powerful this senator really was while others pondered over his available wealth, large enough to finance an entire army. Are you not Catiline's co-conspirator or is he your general doing the dirty work for you? From beside Caesar a senator named Silanus, who hated Cato, spoke loudly, Cato, if you have proof of this, present it to us. Treason is a heavy charge. Cato swung his fat little body right up to Caesar. Pointing to Caesar's toga he cried, 'that note, gentlemen. The note he now holds in his garments will convict this senator of the people of his alliance with Catiline. Show us that note! Caesar reached into his toga and pulled out a note. He held it so all could see it. With a slight smile he said, This note? Then he pretended hesitation. Cato rushed for it but Caesar waved it from him. Give me that note just handed to you! Cato tried for it again. Caesar popped his eyes and shook his handsome head. Cato, you do not want to read this note I assure you, Senator. Cato tasted victory. He turned to Cicero. You see! What I say is true! This man is an enemy of Rome! Cicero, from his throne announced, Cato should read it. Caesar, give it to Cato or action will be taken against you. Caesar stood up directly in front of Cato. Looking him squarely in the face he remarked so all could hear, Cato should not be so curious. But if it favors the senate...' He handed over the note. Cato eagerly opened it as he headed back toward Cicero. Suddenly, upon reading it, he stopped dead in the center of the floor. Cato's face burned red as he felt a hundred eyes studying his every motion and guessing his response. Angrily he looked back at Caesar who stood casually with a wide smile. Silanus called out, Read it aloud, Cato. Read it before you return to your seat, least we suspect you switch it for a false one. Not that you would. He brought whispered laughs across the senate. Cato turned from Caesar. I was wrong. His voice cracked in the admittance. It is nothing at all. Scattered laughter along with groans of confusion rummaged through the senate. Cicero rose from his chair. He knew the note was handed to Caesar by Cato's testimony and agreed with Cato that it was from Catiline. Why else would a scribe deliver it? Why else was Catiline at the senate? Cato? Cicero called. But Cato merely shook his head in warning. This did not satisfy the consul. Caesar, what does the message read? Caesar shrugged, Nothing, consul. Nothing at all. Rising and moving swiftly to Cato, Silanus grabbed the note from his chubby fingers. Quietly Silanus read it as Cato rushed to Cicero's side begging him not to have it read aloud, but too late. With a wild smile, Silanus announced to the senate, Dear senators, I can not dare to read this for it is a love letter from Cato's married sister to our amorous senator Julius Caesar. Caesar sat back down while all but Cicero and Cato had a good laugh. Late that same afternoon Catiline and Caesar met at the house of Cethegus. Cethegus played as a lame duck consulate in Rome at the time. He supported Catiline's rebellion because he figured once Catiline took the reigns Cethegus would be needed to singularly run the state because Catiline did not truly come across as a king. His only opponent would be Caesar but Cethegus believed Caesar desired behind the scene activity rather than the chancy visible position as ruler. 'This is a dangerous meet, Julius said as he entered and glanced for signs of spies. You are too risky, Catiline! Caesar pretended more anger than he felt. An admiration actually played upon his mischievous soul. What if your note came to light today? Catiline's mind took seriously his old friend's comment yet his affections for Elena painted all other things as mere routine. I heard of Cato's accusation. Did I worry? I knew you'd have many such notes on you at the time. Tell me, Julius, do the senators hand deliver love notes from their wives to you? This broke everyone's mood with laughter before heavier talk forced the meeting forward. Cethegus offered wine and fruit as they settled into large couches in his parlor. Catiline held a large piece of fruit and requested wine while his memory jogged to Elena. I met the most exciting women today at a fruit stand, he remarked as the others looked oddly at Catiline. The rebel seldom spoke of women and never in such an exciting tone. A great discovery! Caesar popped his brow. Women are enchanting things. Leave the topic alone. Cethegus pursed his lips and pushed the issues at hand. What are we to do with Catiline's army? Caesar shrugged. What? All Rome knows he is in Etruria. They have their spies. Catiline has his. We all have to wait for October. Then? Catiline took his clue. I care little for violence against Rome. My army will escort me to the polls as a show of force only. Once the people see they have a clear choice; that the powers in Rome cannot command their vote, they will vote freely. They will vote for me! The two thought on this. Cethegus replied, And if the vote does not go with you? It will, the people long for a change. Who can suffer this Cicero and his kind any longer? I think Cethegus has a point, Lucius. What if, by chance, you fail? Caesar asked. I can not fail. He insisted. But if I do.. he hesitated, I will challenge Rome. Neither Cethegus nor Caesar cared for his answer. The sole purpose of Catiline's army was to encourage the people to vote as they wished. Rome needed no bloodshed, especially drawn from fellow Romans! If blood had to flow, let it happen on the Fields of Mars or in Etruria. If the Roman consulship had to be decided by arms then let it occur outside the city away from all that the people had labored to build. These thoughts filled their heads when Catiline changed the subject to what his mind toyed with. Which nobleman allows his slave to wear perfume? The two looked from Catiline to each other then back again. They were awe struck to think he could bring in such a topic. Caesar found it a bit amusing, however, and replied, Very few. A lovely slave girl named Elena. Both Caesar and Cethegus remarked together, Elena! Yes, do you know her? Lucius, Caesar groaned and moved forward from his seat. That is Terentia's slave. She is of the house of Cicero! Catiline dropped his wine without the slightest acknowledgement to the act. He felt stabbed through the heart. He felt spied upon. |
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