'He wasn't born in Rome?'
'Hardly. From some backwater up north; Verona, I think. Clodia met him the year Quintus was governor of Cisalpine Gaul and they were stuck up there.'
'Then there is a connection between Clodia and this man Catul-lus?'
'There used to be. That was finished before Catullus left Rome last spring. Finished on Clodia's side, anyway. You think he was following you?'
'Yes. Any idea why?'
Clodius shook his head. 'He's a strange one. Hard to make out. No interest in politics; thinks he's a poet. Clodia thought so too; half of his poems were about her. Women love that sort of crap, especially from fools like Catullus. The sort who bleeds from love; a walking hemorrhage, and bitter about it too. I remember him reciting from this very stage one summer night, standing where the Ethiop is standing now, with the beautiful young poets and their starry-eyed admirers gathered around, crickets chirping, moon above. He'd lull them with words like honey, then stir the pot and show them the worms at the bottom. Self-righteous, foul-mouthed, long-suffering. He even made one about me.'
'A poem?'
Clodius's jaw tightened. 'Not much better than the doggerel Milo's gang comes up with, and considerably nastier. So he's back? Clodia will hear from him soon enough, I imagine. If you catch him following you again, my advice is to give him a good blow to the jaw. He's no fighter. His tongue is his weapon. Good for making insults and poems, and not for much else, according to my-according to those who have reason to know. Look, this little bit of food has only made me hungrier, and the sun's getting low. I'm not leaving until I see Clodia. Stay and have a proper dinner with me.' I hesitated.
'I told you, she may show up at any moment. She'll want to know exactly what happened at the baths, from your lips. If I try to tell her, I'll either get angry and choke or else laugh in all the wrong places.'
Slaves came to clear away the wine and cakes. I asked one of them to fetch Belbo from the foyer. He came lumbering down the steps, peering up at the monstrous statue of Venus with a proper expression of awe. Then he spotted the Ethiop across the way. The two of them flexed their shoulders, dilated their nostrils and exchanged suspicious glances.
'Yes, Master?'
'Take a message to Bethesda,' I told him. 'Tell her I'll be dining elsewhere tonight.' 'Here, Master?'
'Yes, here, at Clodia's house.' I winced, realizing how it would sound to Bethesda. If she only knew that I was dining alone with another man to the sound of singing eunuchs, with a giant Ethiop playing chaperon!
'And then shall I come back, Master?'
Before I could answer, Clodius raised his hand. 'No need, Gordianus. I'll see that you get home safely.'
He gave me a cool look, challenging me to show distrust. I shrugged and nodded. 'No need to come back afterward, Belbo,' I said. 'I'll find my way home.'
Belbo cast a final suspicious glance at the Ethiop, then turned, craning his neck to take in the full, frightful splendor of the Venus as he walked up the steps.
Twilight fell. With a mad crescendo of tambourines and shrill piping, the chanting of the galli abruptly ceased. A serene silence followed.
'Well,' said Clodius, 'I suppose even eunuchs have to eat. It's a warm night. Now that the racket's over, shall we stay in the garden to eat?'
Couches were brought, along with lamps. The dinner was simple but exquisite. Clodia's pleasures apparently included those to be had from owning a fine cook. It was a meal to be eaten slowly and savored, accompanied by leisurely conversation.
'The galli!' said Clodius, sipping noisily at his fish soup. 'What do you know about the cult of Cybele, Gordianus?'
'Not a lot. I sometimes see the galli in the streets on the days of the year when they're allowed to go begging in public. I've heard the invocations to Cybele at the Great Mother festival. And of course I've met your sister's friend Trygonion. But I've never heard anything like the music I heard here this afternoon.'
'The cult has been in Rome a long time, yet most people don't know much about it. It's an interesting story, how Cybele first came to Rome.'
The wine and food had put me at ease. I was almost able to forget the glowering presence of the Ethiop, who stood cross-armed on the stage and watched us eat. 'Tell me.'
'It happened back in the days when Hannibal was rampaging through Italy, and no one could drive him out. The College of Fifteen Priests consulted the Sibylline Books, and found an oracle: if an invader should take root in Italy, the only way to expel him would be to bring the Great Mother goddess to Rome from her shrine in Phrygia. At that time King Attalus ruled Phrygia, and happened to be our ally. Still, the goddess herself had to be consulted. When her Phrygian priests put the question to her, she shook the earth and told them, 'Let me go! Rome is a worthy place for any deity!' So King Attalus agreed to make a gift of the statue of Cybele, along with the great black rock which fell from the sky at the dawn of time and first inspired men to worship her.'
'How do you know all this?' I said.
'Gordianus, you impious man. Don't you know that I'm a member of the College of Priests? I'm privileged to look at the Sibylline Books. I sit on the committee that regulates the galli and the worship of the Great Mother. Which is fitting, since there's a family connection going all the way back to Cybele's arrival in Rome.'
'You mean the tale of Claudia Quinta,' I said.
'You know the story?'
'Only vaguely, and never as told by one of the great woman's descendants.'
Clodius smiled. 'The ship bearing the sky-stone and the statue of Cybele arrived at the mouth of the Tiber and sailed inland to Rome, attended by great crowds along the riverbank. But when the ship pulled alongside the dock to unload its divine cargo, it sprang a leak and began to founder. The dignitaries on the dock were thrown into a panic. Just imagine: a group of politicians out for a day of impressing the masses suddenly find themselves in the midst of a catastrophic omen-the Mother Goddess sent to save Rome from Hannibal is about to sink into the Tiber! More honeyed wine?' 'Not for me.'
'A bit more, surely.' He gestured to one of the slaves to fill my cup- 'Anyway, it was my ancestress Claudia Quinta who saved the day. Only the purest virgins and most upstanding wives were allowed to wel-come the Great Mother to Rome, and there had apparently been some grumbling about letting Claudia Quinta take part in the ceremony. Some-thing about her loose morals and the bad company she kept-does this sound like someone we know? But that day she was vindicated. She stepped forward and seized the mooring rope, and miraculously the ship began to rise again. Thus Cybele showed her divine approval of Claudia Quinta. The pious say this proved her purity. Of course, when you actually picture the scene-a woman reaching out and grasping a slick rope, the big boat bobbing up like a swollen wineskin-well, Claudia Quinta must have had an amazingly skillful touch.
'The mud-spattered sky-stone and the statue were unloaded from the ship and cleaned up-the ritual bathing of the statue is still a part of the annual festival. The Temple of Cybele was built here on the Palatine and dedicated with great ceremony, with Claudia Quinta as the guest of honor. Just as the oracle had promised, Hannibal was driven from Italy. And today, generations later, we have to put up with the singing of the galli here in Clodia's garden!
'What must they have thought, our staid, dour ancestors, when they got their first look at the Phrygian priests who arrived with Cybele, with their outlandish costumes and jewelry, their long bleached hair and high, lisping voices? Or when they saw how the priests worshiped Cybele, with whirling dances and wild frenzies, and secret ceremonies in the middle of the night? Or when they learned that the consort of the Great Mother was a beautiful, castrated youth called Attis? Not the kind of consort to give a female much pleasure, I should think. Perhaps Cybele prefers a woman with a skilled hand, like Claudia Quinta. I prefer Venus myself. There's no ambiguity about what Venus wants from Adonis, is there?' He gazed up at the towering statue. 'When they got a taste of what the Great Mother's cult was really like, our stern, stiff-jawed ancestors must have felt rather queasy.
'But then, Rome has a way of gobbling up anything that lands on her plate and shitting it out as something acceptably Roman-art, cus-toms, habits, even gods and goddesses. That is Rome's genius, to conquer the world and adapt it to her convenience. The cult of Cybele was simply cleaned up for popular consumption. The Great Mother festival is just like every other festival, with plays and chariot races and animal shows in the Circus
