“You look well,” I said. “What’s that on your eyes?” Livia’s eyelids were brushed with a powder the same color as her belt.
“You never wrote.”
“No. You never gave me the chance to talk you out of going. The only thing I could think to write was, ‘come home.’”
“That would have been something.”
I stared at her, sure that my heart was beating hard enough to make my tunic visibly pulse with its rhythm. “So, you’re a doctor now?” She nodded. “Most physicians I know don’t smell as…fresh.”
“It’s a perfume made from cardamom and myrrh. Good for keeping the flies away. Is that grey in your hair?”
“A little. Still mostly blond, but Crassus manages to whiten a strand or two each week. Doesn’t matter—I’ll be bald in a year or two. I understand Baltus did not return.”
She shook her head. “Went for a swim in the Nile and never came back.”
“You don’t look as if his passing was mourned.” Livia shook her head while pursing her lips, a mischievous expression. “I never knew him well, but thought him competent. Well, that’s a shame, then.”
“Pity.”
We looked at each other. “He did love a good soaking, though,” I tried.
“Scrubbed himself pink, he would.”
“Not his color now, I should think.”
“Greenish brown, I’d guess. A better match for his eyes, if he kept them.”
“I’d rather not imagine.”
“Bloated before he went in,” she persisted. “More so now.”
“Come now. A learned man. He’ll be missed, surely.”
“Not by me,” she said. I cocked an eyebrow. “Nothing was worth studying unless he discovered it first.”
“Trying his hand at ichthyology now, is he?”
“He guessed I was about to develop an interest.”
“And took the plunge to beat you to it.”
“Now the fish are trying his … hand.”
“You are delightful, aren’t you.”
Livia stretched, long and luxuriously. “It feels good to be back in the familia.”
“You’ve been away too long. The fault is mine and I feel awful.”
“No you don’t.”
“No, I don’t.” Bless you, Baltus. May the gods forgive us. Thank you for putting us at our ease. Tonight I’ll make an offering in your honor. “Wine?” I said, reaching for the amphora.
“Can’t. Dominus told me to get you an inventory of what I’d need for the clinic by supper.”
“Did he now? Who appointed you the new medicus? You didn’t even know you wanted to apprentice the day before you left.”
“Dominus promised it to me. Besides, I’m smarter than any of the rest.”
“I see. Well, I suppose then, you’d better pick your staff and let me know who needs to be reassigned.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Don’t start that again.”
She laid a list on the table between us. I smirked. “Confident as ever, I see. Just like your mother.” Curse me for a fool. Oh, to have a brain that operates faster than my mouth.
“As ever,” Livia said, her lively tone gone serious. “How goes it here? Everyone seemed a little, I don’t know, tense.”
“It’s not good,” I said, lowering my voice, even though I knew Crassus was not in his tablinum, adjacent to mine. “I’ll tell you later. You must be tired.”
“Don’t tell me what I must be,” she said with a curl of her lip.
“Gods, it’s good to have you home,” I said before I could stop myself.
Livia stood, and I rose with her, deciding not to upend the table between us so I could crush her in my arms. I probably couldn’t have lifted it anyway, at least not without her help.
Chapter II
56 BCE Fall, Rome
Year of the consulship of
Cn. Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus and L. Marcius Philippus
Our home was not the same after Luca. Rumors of what had happened there spread like weeds. It was my task to uproot and dispose of them wherever I found them, but for every one culled, three more would sprout. How could it be otherwise, for it is one of the rare joys peculiar to those who serve to conjure outlandish stories regarding their masters. If our lives are destined to be plain, at least we may pilfer a little color, however impermanent, by rubbing up against our betters.
In the slaves’ quarters it was whispered that Pompeius Magnus, our master’s lifelong rival, had tried to poison dominus. Dominus had slept with a dining room slave. Domina had found a lover in the stables. Caesar had broken with dominus. Crassus had slept with Caesar. Each tale was more preposterous than the last. Yet every now and then I would be forced to laughingly dismiss a rumor that was not gossip at all, but a stab that cut sickening close to the truth. Caesar had had, or was still having an affair with my lady. Dominus was either impotent, ignorant, or plotting his revenge.
Here is the truth. At Luca, at a gathering of vultures dressed as senators come to pick and tear at the choicest bits of Rome, Julius Caesar raped my lady Tertulla. No good can be born from the coupling of lasciviousness and political ambition, and Caesar fairly bubbled with both. Caesar had called the meeting at Luca because the deteriorating situation in Rome threatened his own political future. Crassus and Pompeius had to stand for consul for a second time to protect the interests of all three, but Caesar’s most of all.
Crassus saw no need to put himself through the frustration of another term with Pompeius. He needed neither the prestige nor the aggravation. When Caesar saw Crassus’ commitment wavering, he knew his campaign in Gaul and his plans for dominion over Britannia and Germania were in jeopardy. My lord Crassus had confided to Caesar that he always harkened to the advice of his wife. Assaulting her was his craven insurance that, as always, Caesar would get what he wanted. If she did not convince her husband to take the consulship and thus, with his tremendous influence, push through the law that would extend Caesar's command another five years, Caesar would make public her "transgression." One more scandal would hardly stain his own reputation: he was already known as a defiler of both men and women. But the house of Crassus was one of the most dignified and respected in Rome. If Tertulla failed to convince her husband to seek the consulship, Caesar would see them in disgrace, destroy her marriage and topple her husband's life's work.
What the villain did not know was that there was a witness to his crime. Crassus himself, exhausted and full of too much wine, came upon them in the dark. To his eternal shame, my master did not act, even when Tertulla’s stricken gaze met his own. Fearing for her husband’s life, Tertulla begged him to withdraw with a silent plea. Caesar would surely have been the victor in a physical contest with the much older man. Unseen, Crassus slipped back into the shadows, rage and shame growing with each step. Their marriage almost ended the next day, but Tertulla convinced him that what he had witnessed was not infidelity, but rape. From that day forward, Marcus Crassus was filled with but one thought: to avenge himself upon Gaius Julius Caesar.
•••
We went about our business quickly, heads bowed, avoiding eye contact, speaking little, as if a stiff, winter wind blew through the halls. One evening, not many weeks after their return, as dominus and domina were taking their couches in the dining room, Eirene, who had been with us since the old days, set a bowl of pomegranates down too quickly, dislodging two pieces of fruit. They rolled off the table and one overripe globe burst upon the floor. Tertulla blinked, keeping her eyes shut an instant longer than was natural. Everyone froze, as if the dear serving woman had shattered one of the family death masks. My new assistant, Lucius Curio, shouted Eirene’s name just as you might bellow at a dog who had defecated on the masters’ bed. I thought the poor woman’s feet had left the ground, she started so.
Before Eirene could get an apology from her quivering lips or her knees to the floor to begin cleaning, Crassus had reached down and just calm as you please, scoop
ed up some of the pulpy mess. He leaned over his couch and smeared a dripping handful of fruit across his mouth. Looking like he’d taken a sword thrust through the mouth, he chewed thoughtfully. We were all mesmerized by this performance, including my lady. At last, I gestured to a dining room attendant who handed dominus a towel. Wiping his face and hands slowly and deliberately, Crassus said, “That was perfect, Eirene. See if you can find me another as ripe as this and I shall ravish it in the more traditional manner.” Most of the familia thought the master’s humor mollifying, but I winced at his choice of words. A moment later Tertulla rose, and crying quietly, fled the triclinium. Crassus cursed softly and quickly followed, leaving us to clear and preserve the untouched platters in brittle silence.
I asked Curio to walk with me and found an empty room lit by a single lamp. “Lucius,” I said, “how are you settling in?”
“My quarters are exceedingly adequate,” Curio sniffed, examining his perfectly manicured nails. “Does that amuse you?” he asked, depressing an errant cuticle on his thumb with the nail of a forefinger.
“No, not at all. I smile only because you remind me of myself when I first came to this house.”
“Why is that, Alexandros?” he asked, studying his hands, “What affectation of personality do you find we have in common?”
“Honestly, the one that comes to mind at the moment is insubordination. Lucius, I am obligated to give you a word of kind advice.”
“Then I must be obligated to give heed.”
“Please begin to do so,” I said in as even a tone as I could manage, “by looking at me when I am addressing you.” Lucius Calpurnius Curio raised his gaze and smiled benignly at me. His eyes, grey or pale blue depending on how the light hit them, were now steely and devoid of color. The bridge of his nose was broad, and I found my focus flicking back and forth between his own unmoving stare. In an instant I felt that I was the one being scrutinized and deconstructed, like a heap of Lucretius’ elemental ‘atoms.’ I cleared my throat and pressed on. “I am aware that when you served Lucius Calpurnius Piso our positions were of equal rank. I am sensitive to the difficulty this must pose for you now, working in a much greater house.”
Without taking his eyes off mine, and with a look that suggested complete attention to my every syllable, as I spoke, Curio braced the lowest joint of the middle finger of his left hand between the thumb and forefinger of his right; with a smooth, round motion he pulled up upon it until there was an audible crack. He kept at this with his other fingers until I finally had to ask him to stop.
“Lucius, I am unaware of any offence done to you as a result of my behavior, but if any such blunder exists, I humbly apologize.” Curio’s open face, slightly raised eyebrows and half smile was the perfect engineering of flesh and bone to make me feel as foolish as possible for even suggesting such a thing. “All right, we’ve both work to do. Let’s get down to it, shall we?” I said. “Until I give you leave to do otherwise, when we are both present among the staff, it is not your place to chastise any servant not directly under your purview. I am speaking of your treatment of Eirene. And when I am not present, Lucius, learn from dominus. Be gentle, be lenient, be understanding. Our master did not cultivate the largest, most skilled, educated army of servants in Rome by being feared. The Palatine estate may be served by hundreds, but we are all still familia. I want you to be a part of it. Is that understood?
“You have my solemn word that I will follow your instructions to the best of my abilities.”
“Good. Very good. One last thing. You have been with us almost two months. I would like two lists from you in my office by the end of the week: one—any physical items or training which you feel you lack in order to perform you current list of responsibilities to your highest capabilities; and any personal grievances or issues that you and I need to address in order to have the best possible working relationship for the benefit of the house we now both serve. You may go.”
I never received either list, and to my discredit, I never asked for them again.
•••
After the incident with the pomegranate, a change came over our lady. She refused to keep to her room, dressing with desperate elegance after fretting over each detail of her makeup and attire. She threw frequent and elaborate dinner parties, arranged poetry readings and plays in the atrium; one night she amazed her guests by unveiling a caged tiger from Asia Minor for their inspection. Alone, though, those who knew her well would note she spent more time before our household gods, lighting incense, sprinkling salt over fresh barley cakes, murmuring prayers with an urgency she had never demonstrated before.
Crassus was courteous, soft-spoken and as solicitous as always. He never failed to take his wife’s hand as they walked through the house; he brought her little trinkets and made sure to compliment her on her hair or a menu she had prepared. But his voice was just a little too loud, her gaiety a little too forced. The genuine affection of decades, a vase of subtle and delicate craftsmanship, had cracked and chipped. We watched as our lord and lady toiled to glue each tiny fragment to the whole with kindhearted routine and time-worn habit. Every one of us prayed that they would succeed at their task, and that when their work was done, no one would be able to see the imperfections. We prayed, because we knew better than to hope.
In Junius, having been at home less than two months, we fled the city, a month earlier than most, taking refuge in our Baiaen villa to escape not only the heat, but the extravagant parties that preceded the aristocracy’s departure just after the elections were announced in Quintilis. So it was that my lord made himself unavailable to stand for consul as he had agreed with Caesar. Pompeius, too, was absent, having sailed for Sardinia, Sicily and Africa to negotiate the purchase of desperately needed grain to feed the 300,000 mouths of Romans citizens who depended on the state to sustain them.
We tarried in Baiae and did not return to the city until October. Livia stayed behind, asking and receiving permission from Crassus to remain in Rome over the summer. The city suffered its worst bouts of illness in the heat and humidity of the season; my brave healer would do what she could in our master’s clinic, opening its doors to all, with his blessing. Crassus left both guards and provisions to feed and heal the sick, and though his name was imprinted on every sack of grain and every ampulla of medicine, I cannot believe his sole motive was selfish.
Fate had just returned Livia to me and now, laughing, was dragging me away from her again. Oh, it must have been great fun for the immortals to play this foolish game of hide and seek, concealing Livia from me, then allowing me to find her, then pulling her away again. Thus it had been ever since we had met, she as a child, me newborn to the house of Crassus. I pined for her when we were apart, and wept when we were reunited. Since that first kiss under the statue of Apollo in the garden of Crassus, a memory twenty years old yet fresh as a new-picked flower, I was no longer master of the heart that beat inside my own breast, but slave to a desire postponed and never satisfied.
Oh, for the love of reason! Surely you who read these scrolls must agree this kind of hand-wringing whining is utter drivel. Can love and wisdom coexist? Do not think it for an instant. It is widely known that Aristotle defined love as “the composition of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.” First of all, he was talking about friendship, and second, I have it on good authority that at the time he uttered those words, he was falling down drunk.
One has to be at least as ancient as I am now to see that if you try to make sense of life, if you look for patterns and meaning, not only are you bound to be disappointed, you are likely to waste a good deal of precious time.
•••
As we neared the city late in the day, the tombs of the wealthy sprang up like mushrooms on either side of the Via Appia, each vying for prominence, crowding up against each other until the left side of the road succumbed to the shadows of these tall and lavish castles of the dead. A bulwark of beggars, arms waving like undersea flora in the tide of our passing
, hugged the curb on the opposite side, still awash in the warming sun. Only those few creatures too sluggish of thought or foot were left almost unseen in the gloom.
Riding at my place just behind dominus, I was applying needless energy with helpless gusto worrying over something over which I had no control. As you may imagine, this was a pastime I visited with zealous frequency. Presently, I was ticking off the preparations Curio would have had to oversee and complete within the hour to adequately, which is to say, perfectly prepare for our homecoming. Had the furniture been cleaned? Had the masks of the ancestors been dusted? Was the house warm enough? What about supper? Had the gardens been pruned? Were there fresh flowers in every room? Had the house gods received their offerings? The list went on and on until even I began to tire of my finikin disquiet. Why should I fret? Lucius was a younger version of myself; left to maintain our Roman residence while we sought the cooler breezes of Baiae, I knew I would find everything in pristine order. Which is precisely when a more insidious thought crept in to harass my better self. Wouldn’t I love to find just one small thing with which to find fault: a lamp wick untrimmed, a corner not swept, a pillow not plumped, something to chide the ever-flawless Lucius Calpurnius Curio? Of course I wouldn’t.
I diverted my mind’s energies to screwing tight the taps on my mind’s caustic, leaky faucet and concentrated instead on nothing at all. I had only a moment’s rest from myself when, from her raeda, lady Tertulla leaned out a window and called the procession to a halt. Being closest to her carriage, I leapt off Apollo, my dark brown bay, and inquired how I might assist her. “Follow me,” she said, opening the door and stepping down onto the road. Immediately surrounded by a troop of guards, she brushed them aside and headed for the shadowed curb. Only Crassus seemed unperturbed. He did not know what she was up to, but was not about to come between her will and her objective. His six senate-appointed lictors crowded about him, their eyes busy.
Tertulla approached a boy who looked no more than twelve (I later learned his small frame had suffered in this world for fifteen years). He was wrapped in rags, sitting on the curb with an empty begging bowl between his legs. His hair looked as if it had never been cut, or washed. Something about his eyes was off and unsettling—they were too far apart and their focus lagged behind whatever drew their attention. In addition, his head struck me as too large for his frail shoulders. These defects, however, faded to insignificance in the light of the boy’s startling, beatific expression. He was looking up at us with the most innocent, guileless smile I had ever seen upon man or woman. He positively beamed, as if he had been sitting there waiting for this precise moment his entire life. The effect was multiplied by his outstretched arms: they did not seem so much a supplication for alms as an urgent wish to be picked up and held.
A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow of Heaven Page 3
