The guests had arrived. The house and garden resounded to the ringing voices of nine-year-old Sempronia and five-year-old Tiberius. This was the first time they had come here. Cornelia, Scipio's daughter, showed them around the estate and told them of their grandfather. Polybius followed her around, too, picking up a word here and there, and gaining a new insight about that great Roman. 
At dusk, having put the children to bed, Cornelia invited Polybius to the tabli- num, the repository of her father's records. The historian looked at the young woman as though he was seeing her for the first time. 
Catching his attentive gaze, Cornelia blushed. Not wishing to appear impertinent, Polybius explained: "Forgive me. I am about to write a history and I want to see its characters as they were alive. Otherwise I'll produce a gallery of stuffed, lifeless figures. And you, I have been told, bear a strong resemblance to your father". 
"You want to see Father in me?" Cornelia asked. "It is hard for me to speak ot him. But you — you I will speak to". 
She stood up, crossed the room, then returned to the armchair. 
"Each morning, clad in his toga, Father made a tour of the estate along the in- ner side of the wall. The long hair that fell upon his shoulders was only lightly touched with grey. He was straight-backed, leaning a bit on his knotty staff as he walked. Everyone in the villa was accustomed to this ritual. The paths were swept the night before, and if it was autumn, all the leaves were raked into piles. Complete silence reigned. Nothing was to interfere with Father's daily inspection. Everything this side of the wall was his Capitol, his Forum, his Rome. No one in the house ever spoke in his presence of the Rome he had saved from Hannibal's armies. Such was Father's will. He refused to hear anything about the envious Senate and the ungrateful populace. After touring the villa before breakfast, Father withdrew to this tablinum and wrote. None of us knew what he wrote about, because the tablinum was his own particular domain. We had no access to it." 
Cornelia fell silent and put the palms of her hands on the table. A golden ring sparkled in the light. Bending over, Polybius saw a gem with the likeness of Scipio. 
"Thank you so much," he said emotionally. "Now I can begin writing my history. Your story has given me more than your father's letters, even more than his di- ary. I have just seen Scipio as if he were alive." 
"Alive?" Cornelia muttered, shrugging her shoulders. "But I haven't finished. I will tell you of an episode. You can insert it in our history "
Polybius exclaimed that he would be sure to do so, and Cornelia continued: 
"One morning, after Father had completed his tour of the villa and retired to his tablinum, the silence was broken by the hum of voices. I looked out of the window and saw a crowd of armed men approaching the walls. It was clear that they were the band of robbers who had been terrorising the neighbourhood for some time. Our neighbours had asked the praetor to send legionaries from Rome, but they had failed to find any trace of them. I could not place any guards around the estate, for the appearance of men from Rome would have robbed Father of his calm. I rushed into the yard. Young slaves had taken stakes and were running towards the gate, which was already being badly shaken by the battering from outside — not just with boots, but also logs. 
"That moment Father appeared. He walked with a slight limp, for he had not taken his usual staff. Mother hurried after him, but he brushed her aside. " 
"Open the gate,' Father said. 
"The slaves froze in their tracks. They could not understand what was wanted of them. Father never raised his voice against anyone. He was always eventempered and affable. But at that moment he shouted: " 
"Open up, you cowards!' 
"The bars were removed, and the copper-bound gate, sparkling in the sun, was flung wide-open. Father walked towards the robbers, who had stopped in their tracks. Imperiously, he said: 
"I am Scipio. What do you want?' 
"The silence lasted a few seconds. To me it was like eternity. At first I saw the log that served as a battering ram being dropped to the ground. One of those who had held it — probably the chief—fell at Father's feet, crying: 'We came to see you.' 
"The others followed suit. What a spectacle it was! Cutthroats armed to the teeth lay on the ground heads raised to gaze upon Scipio. Father stood motionless, majestically, as though he was again accepting the surrender of a captured city in the name of Rome and was bestowing mercy upon the vanquished. 
"Then, saying 'Well, you have seen me!' Father turned abruptly and walked back to the house. None of us saw how the gate was closed. We only heard the brushing of the bars against the wood, while a delighted roar went up outside. Walking past me, Father said sadly: 'That was my last triumph, daughter."
 "Here, take it back. And don't ever do business with the vili us again. It'll ruin you. 
The young man said a few partmg words, climbed on to his cart and whistled shrilly. The mules set off at a gallop.  
Cato motioned with his finger for the vilicus to approach. The man took a few steps forward, and prostrated himself on the ground, showering kisses the Cato's sandals. 
"You're a thief," Cato said, kicking him 
Turning to the driver of his carriage, Cato told him to taKe the man to the mill and tie him to the millstone. "There's a place empty there"
"Mercy," the wretch cried in horror. My wife's health is bad, and what will happen with my twins ?"
"You need not worry about your wife," Cato said curtly. "She'll be the wife of the vilicus I will send to replace you." 
He turned to his driver again and said he would go to Rome by himself. "Meanwhile, you'll be manager here —after you tie this one to the millstone. Let Xanthus out of the ergastulus. Tell him to teach the boys Greek." 
Seating himself in the driver's place, he shouted over his shoulder: 
"And this one's children —put them with the rest of the young."

Alexander Nemirovsky, "Tales Of The Ancient World"

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