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There was just a waning crescent that evening, but its late was enough to light up the decumanus, which Lucius was walking along muffled up in a sheepskin jacket. The wind had dropped in force and carried with it, from the tops of the Apennines, the clean smell of snow. At the crossroads with the thistle a clearing opened up which two small buildings side by side overlooked: the first was a shrine dedicated to Jupiter Optimus Maximus, while the second was a chapel with a Christian cross above it. On the other side of the clearing a construction of laminated plastic and aluminium which housed the restaurant.
Lucius entered and immediately saw Letitia sat at a table, in the company of Clementi and a personality well-known to me. It was Biagio Piacenza, professor of Ancient History at the Federal University.
“I think you already know Professor Piacenza,” the woman said.
“By repute. I think I’ve read everything you’ve written over the last three decades. It’s a great pleasure for me to meet you, professor.”
Piacenza seemed struck by Lucius’ words. He wasn’t in fact used to receiving such unreserved tokens of esteem, he who was a completely heterodox and independent character. This hadn’t caused him few career problems, but his fighting nature and his undisputed scientific background had nevertheless led him to stand out.
“This evening I’ve had a special dinner prepared for you. So you are let off from queuing up at the cafeteria, like all the others… but only for this evening,” Clementi underlined, while he briefly beckoned to an attendant.
“So,” said Piacenza “what do we owe such an important visit to. A mission ordered directly by the Minister. It’s not an everyday matter.”
“Well, I think you have heard of the, professor.”
“Ah, yes, of course. The Orations Against Catiline, a kind of Neverland. And which many would have liked to remains as such, instead…”
“Instead it appears island isn’t there at all.”
“Indeed, like I preached for about half a century. At first against everyone’s opinion, then, in the course of time, against everyone’s opinion… those who count. I say this, because, as you know, Dr. Licatani, I am the author of many popular books and I have to say that everyday readers, those not pompous, in time followed me in greater and greater numbers and supported my theory. Soon they will be pleased to know that they were right, even before me, because I claimed my theory with the help of science, while they did with only the help of common sense, that which my opponents have shown they don’t have.”
“Of course common sense, sometimes we forget even its existence and instead, it could be the simplest key to resolving complicated problems, like perhaps the puzzle of the tomb of Orations.
“That’s right, the tomb of Orations, what do you think Clementi of naming it that? We hadn’t given it a name a yet.”
Clementi nodded amused by the turn that the discussion was taking.
“So,” Piacenza continued, “you were talking to me about the puzzle…”
“Yes, about the fragments of the frieze above the door of Hades.”
“With the means of science, it will take a long time to work out what it is. Now, however, I want to put scientific rigour aside somewhat and use just common sense. Let’s see if we can analyse what we found to be strange in that tomb: an amphora containing nothing less than the four Orations Against Catiline. And who could this character be to whom such an important gift had been made? A friend of Cicero’s? I don’t think so. No burial was granted to Cicero’s friends. They were all executed along with their leader and their ashes scattered by order of Catiline. So nothing remains but the other hypothesis: that it was a friend of Catiline’s. A very close friend, to whom he owed a lot. But even Catiline’s friends remained a small group. All executed by Cicero, before the battle of Pistoia, or they died in the battle itself. By a strange concomitance, tomorrow is 5th January, the anniversary of the clash out of which Catiline came out defeated and miraculously escaped death with a handful of companions, in circumstances not yet clear. So, I think this person could belong to that group of survivors. We have to look right among them, and that’s how the puzzle of the frieze will be solved.”
“You have outlined a quite original course, professor: solving the puzzle of the frieze… leaving the puzzle to put itself back together!”
“Well, I would describe it as a very desirable hypothesis,” remarked Letitia.
“Like the dinner I see arriving,” Clementi intervened, joking, while the waiter approached with a trolley full of all sorts of good things.
“This is garum flower of the highest quality,” he pointed out a cruet of light blue glass with a stopper of sealing wax, “it comes from Spain. It’s a numbered cruet. Well, we can start with chicken with olives, seasoned with aromatic herbs, vinegar, oil and honey, what do you think? Or would you first like some lettuce with leek, to prepare the stomach?”
His table companions exchanged quick looks of approval, then Letitia spoke up: “I think we all agree to skip the vegetables and start directly with the chicken.”
“Whoever wants to, can flavour the chicken with the garum flower. Do help yourselves,” Clementi prompted, as he removed the sealed wax from the small bottle and ecstatically smelled the scent that came out of it.
The waiter began to pour out some Albano wine mixed with salt water, which everyone drank with pleasure. Then he brought a large dish of pumpkins, with a side dish of peaches in syrup, dates and honey, then some patina with dentex with oyster sauce and several sauce boats containing oximeli, oxiporium and oxigarum.
They ended dinner with minutal fruit, accompanied by honey wine with snow.
“An excellent dinner indeed, fit for the great Apicius,” congratulated Lucius.
“Dear Clementi, despite your anarchic streak, you are proving to be very fond of tradition…” Letitia prodded, stirred and perhaps even vexed by the indifference with which the man had always treated her, proving to be immune to her indisputable appeal.
“Perhaps because we all owe a lot to an anarchist called Catiline; am I wrong?”
“No, you aren’t, and the four Orations Against Catiline could come to your aid…”
“That’s why I think they’ll never be published!”
“Why, of course, be sure of it, Clementi! I assure you myself. The Minister is determined to do so. I don’t think an old democracy like ours has to be afraid of the past.”
“No, Letitia, it’s not a question of a small event in the past, but of the foundations of our democracy. In the Orations Against Catiline Cicero describes his adversary as a bad lot, an adventurer, womaniser and drunkard, without moral rules and thirsting for power. The complete opposite to what he proved to be: Catiline was in fact an honest man, completely different from those who rule us today. A man who had the courage to row against the general trend, at a time when public morals were in complete dissolution. Usually dreamers like him, those who put the values of dignitas above the logic of ambition and money, are doomed to defeat. Catiline, on the other hand, came out victorious, against all expectations, but the destruction caused by the revolution was so extensive and profound that he had to refound the whole of society completely.”
“I can’t imagine what world we would be living in now, if Cicero had won,” remarked Piacenza. “Of course, society then could have regressed towards authoritarian forms of government. In a study I published as a youth and which few remember, I conjectured Catiline’s defeat and the possible return of the Roman State to the monarchy through Caesar, with catastrophic results for the history of the entire West. Starting with the fact that the failed suppression of slavery would not have led to the development of technology, as in fact happened. Quite quickly, the Roman State broke up and this was followed by a very long era of instability and decline in every field of human knowledge. At the time, however, no one considered my study which was regarded like the exercise, a rather bizarre one, of a recent university graduate. There’s no reason for excluding that Catiline might have thought, even for only a moment, of self-appointing himself dictator for life. Who would have stopped him? Instead he confined himself to electing Decemvirs, with two-year mandate, who would see to the reassignment of land to the plebs who were hungry and reduced to misery by the big landowners, usurers and that mass of unscrupulous money-makers and profiteers for whom Cicero was spokesman and advocate. He cancelled 75 percent of debts and…”
“… and he established a tribunate for women, dear Piacenza, don’t forget that,” Letitia interrupted. “This was the biggest change, the real epoch-making turning-point. For the first time in history political representation was given to women, and not only that. Not satisfied with this first innovation, Catiline turned to those to whom until then not even the dignity of being humans had been recognised: the slaves. With the Lex Sergia de servis the process was started of gradual suppression of slavery, completed two centuries later, when our order acknowledged Christian principles. Catiline refused honours and riches and, after restoring the Republic, he retired to private life on a small estate on the Island of Ischia, accepting only the honorary title of Founder of the Republic. To avert any suspicion of authoritarian intentions, he decreed that the Prima Lex, drawn up in his own handwriting, be promulgated only after his death.”
Clementi laughed sardonically: “We all know the story, dear friend, and we know that the Prima Lex is an unparalleled monument of Roman law and the basis itself of our State. We do know however, even better so, the propaganda that speculates on this… But tell me Letitia, do you think politicians who cover their intrigues by hiding behind the virtus catilinaria, will ever accept the publication of speeches delivered by Cicero against the Founder? Are you under the illusion perhaps that the Orations Against Catiline will be read at the foot of Catiline’s statue on the Altar of Rome on the Capitol?”
“I don’t think it will come to that, because there’s no reason to exaggerate an event that starts with an almost normal procedure in politics: defaming the adversary. And nor do I think the scrolls have been burnt. On the other hand, if Professor Piacenza’s hypothesis is true, not even Catiline did it, who, instead of destroying them, handed them to a trustworthy friend.”
“Hypothesis, only hypothesis… Where’s the truth?”
“Perhaps… beyond that door.” Piacenza hadn’t finished uttering these words when he had already regretted saying them.
But Lucius didn’t miss the opportunity: “Which door?”
“The door of Hades, on the back wall of the tomb, of course.”
“Beyond that door there’s only tuff, tuff and tuff. There’s nothing else, Piacenza”! exclaimed Clementi sarcastically.
Piacenza smiled, then he took off his glasses and slowly cleaned the thick lenses with a napkin.
“Did you see those two figures watching over the door?”
“Monsters to scare the dupes,” underlined Clementi.
“I’d be more exact: monsters to deceive the dupes, including those with a fine degree…”
“What do you mean by that? Explain youself.”
“That those two characters, Vanth and Charun, watch over the door, because they also have the keys to it. And these are thrust before everyone, so obvious… that no one sees them!”
“There’s no need to have the keys to the door of Hades. Those living are not interested in going there, those dead, on the other hand, go there immediately.”
“Provided that that is only the door of Hades and not another door, for example the door of wisdom, or rather, of the Holy Etruscan Science, the discipline.”
“There’s no concrete evidence as to the existence of this supposed discipline.”
Like there wasn’t any for the Orations Against Catiline. The fact that there are no documents on an event doesn’t mean that the event never happened…”
“All right, all right, I remember the refrain. Right, let’s come to the point and tell us which are these keys, if you ever knew them.”
“I think it’s interesting to refer to alchemic symbology, paying attention to the instruments held by the two daemons. So, Vanth, winged creature, clasps a torch and some snakes, while Charun, underground divinity, a hammer. Vanth represents what is volatile, while Charun what is fixed. Charun’s hammer serves to break a hard shell, from which what is volatile will have to be extracted, and that can give both wisdom: the snakes, and spiritual light: the torch. This action done, one will be able to cross the door.”
“You’ve explained everything and you haven’t explained anything, my friend.” Clementi shook his head.
“I have give a more plausible explanation than yours, as you only talk only of superstitious and meaningless rituals. They also weren’t so stupid, the Etruscans. Do you want me to go on explaining?”
“Go on, if you can.”
“Well, Charun, with his brutish face, represents the subconscious, the unknown, the irrational, what is settled beneath our conscious and which we prefer to pretend to ignore, because it’s beyond our control. To free these primordial powers, however, a violent act is needed, that breaks the shell of the deep self and that makes us evolve. The hammer itself represents this violent act. The shell of the subconscious breaks and the powers break free: from fixed they become volatile, like Vanth, and risk being beyond our control and overwhelming us, but, with the right initiation, they can be controlled an channelled to our advantage. The snakes of Vanth symbolise the initiation itself, that will lead to the enlightenment, represented by the burning torch. Following this phase, a human being becomes perfectly aware of himself and can prepare to pass the door of the discipline, which will open up at once.”
“Not bad for an alchemic-pyschoanalytic explanation, nevertheless all remains to be proved and maybe it will never be proved.”
“That depends on us. Every solution lies within us. We mustn’t look outside, but have the courage to plunge into ourselves, by overcoming our fear of the unknown.”
The restaurant room had meanwhile emptied and the attendants were busy cleaning and tidying up.
“I think it’s time to go,” said Lucius, “otherwise they’ll throw us out unkindly.”
“Yes, and it’s also late. It’s time to go to bed. Tomorrow morning a very early rising awaits us,” confirmed Clementi.
Hut number 3 was very comfortable and warm. Each bedroom was provided with a stereo and satellite television.
Lucius said good night to Letitia in the doorway of her room.
“Professor Piacenza’s remarks have troubled me a lot, maybe because I’m going through a particular time in my life.”
“We’re all going through particular times, Lucius. Our kind of society leads us to use up mental energy much more than our ancestors, who struggled with the problems of daily survival. Piacenza knows this well and uses certain topics to impress people. If you want a piece of advice, take everything he said with a pinch of salt and… good night!”
Letitia promptly shut the door in Lucius’ face, without him having time to retorting.
He went into her room, sat down in a comfortable armchair with a reclining back and handled the remote control. He flicked through several satellite channels in the Celtic language, then tuned into a television station in Nova Atlantica, the biggest metropolis in the Free Western Union, which stood on a few islets in a bay at the mouth of the Aurelian River. It had been Manlius Christophorus Aurelianus, the discoverer of the New Continent, who gave his name to that river, five centuries before.
“Let’s here what these settlers are saying!” he cried out intrigued.
The thing that most amused him wasn’t so much the news that came from Overseas, but the language and the accent: a mixture of neo-Latin and Celtic.
He laughed heartily listening to the television news delivered in that strange language which now and then reached heights of comedy for its puns and ambiguities which were created unwittingly.
Lucius has almost dozed off, so much so that he didn’t here the first two knocks at the door of his room. At the third knock he straightened his back with a start:
“Who is it?” he asked with a furred tongue.
“It’s me, Piacenza.”
He immediately opened the door: “Professor, I wasn’t expecting this visit from you…”
Piacenza smiled slyly: “During dinner you spoke little, but, despite this, I felt the echo of your questions and doubts.”
“You’re right, professor, the theories you upheld struck me deeply.”
“Then listen. I have to add another important thing, which I withheld during dinner and which Clementi thought well not to reveal: under that spur of rock there’s a small valley that’s not visible from up there. The ground is always hot and vapours come out from underground. People have named it, for centuries now, Devilcharmer.”
“Superstitions…”
“I’m not certain of it. Traditionally, the devilcharmer is a very powerful magician, perhaps originally he is mixed up with the figure of the shaman. Most probably, in the days of the Etruscans that place was for divination. The shaman used the exhalations of natural vapour that came out of the ground to go into a trance and to more easily reach the other dimension. Perhaps the tomb actually belonged to a shaman.”
“If you are convinced of what you claim, take me there immediately!” Lucius uttered these words before he even realised he had thought them.
“At this hour, with the cold outside… We’re at the beginning of January!”
“The fourth of January, professor, the day before the battle of Pistoia. In any case I won’t be able to sleep a wink. As for the cold there’s no problem. I’ll wrap up well.” He took his sheepskin jacket, a woollen cap and a heavy scarf from the wardrobe: “I’m ready.”
Piacenza could but consent. On the other hand he had been the one to provoke him.
The elderly professor, followed by Lucius, made his way among the dead bushes lighting up the way with an electric torch. After a couple of kilometres the path started to descend, until it stopped at the start of a calyey widening.
“This is the Devilcharmer, if you try to touch the ground you’ll feel the heat rising from underground.”
Lucius obeyed and placed the palm of his hand on the ground.
“It’s true, it’s hot. This place floats on hell!”
“The hot water gushes continuously from underground. There it must be about 80 degrees.” He turned the beam of light towards a pool of water with a clayey bed from which thick vapours rose.
“It smells of sulphur!”
“Yes, they say this mud is a cure-all for arthritis. I will have to try it, one of these days. A bit further on there’s a cave. I think the devilcharmer, or rather, the shaman awaited the trance here. High up, on the ridge, there’s another cave. Who knows whether it’s ever been inhabitated?”
Lucius didn’t let Piacenza finish the phrase, as he had already gone in the cave and sat in the middle with his eyes closed, while waiting for a supernatural event.
“I don’t think it works exactly like that. It’s likely that the shamans dissolved some special hallucinogenic substance in the pools of water. As soon as the atmosphere became charged, they would begin their journey outside their bodies.”
“Maybe the didn’t use any magic powder.” Lucius knelt down at the edge of the pool of water and took out of his pocket a small camping kit, from which he selected the spoon, which he filled with hot water. He blew until the water became cooler and drank. “It’s disgusting, it’s pure sulphur… No, it doesn’t work. So let’s try this way.” He plunged the spoon into the clay which covered the bottom, he left the substance to dissolve, then he closed his eyes and swallowed it.
He only had the time to see the astounded expression on Piacenza’s face, then a black veil settled over his eyes.
He found himself thrown inside the tomb of the unknown person, without anymore corporeality, prey of dark and uncontrollable forces. The door carved on the rock of the hypogeum changed colour and texture, while the two daemon images became, suddenly, real. Lucius was seized by terror and tried to protect himself with his arms, but in vain, because the two daemons leapt on him and gripped him pushing him violently towards the door. Lucius expected to hit the rock, instead he was cast into a universe full of lights and colours. Comets with iridescent tails crossed a space without boundaries which teemed with stars and galaxies of varied size with dazzling colours, which were exalted by exploding into a myriad of supernovas. He felt a sensation of peace and contentment and hoped to stay forever in that place, outside time and space, in an eternal present. The eternal present, he realised that this expression didn’t come from his mind but from a secret entity that had suggested to him. The eternal present, a pressing thought, which took the place of every other thought, overcame his being and grew just like the light of a small star which, motionless before him, became bigger and bigger and more blinding, until it took possession of the whole universe and his very spirit. Light only light. His mind was alert and aware of himself and not only himself, but also of an unknown world that was about to be revealed. His face emerged from the light, like from the surface of a pond and, nearby, that of another man with his head surrounded by the corona laurea*. He recognised him immediately, although the official iconography had changed some of his features over the centuries: it was Lucius Sergius Catiline, the Founder. Then the man’s face fused with his and became just one. Only then did he realise. He couldn’t go back anymore…
_____________
*laurel wreath
Copyright © 2003 by Mario Farneti. All rights reserved