“I cannot bear this,” I said.
“I would have killed him then, had I been able. His gladius was in the corner and I ran for it, but blood was getting in my eye and I tripped.”
“Please, Sabina, let’s go inside.”
“Some head wounds look far worse than they are,” she continued. Her eyes were focused on a sight I could not behold, on the memory being reborn as she spoke it. “If only I could have killed him,” she said wistfully, “none of this would have happened.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That man tried to bandage me, but I preferred to bleed rather than have him touch me. He boasted he had gone to the forum to find the most reputable of merchants. It was Boaz. By the darkest sorcery, Livia, my flesh and my heart, had been transformed into a lifeless pile of cold, worthless coins. He tried to explain how well off we were; showed me the money that would be left after he paid off his creditors. Even tried to put the coins in my hand – the equivalent of 4,000 sesterces in forty small gold aureii. 12,000 sesterces for my daughter to pay 8,000 in debts. He gambled away almost nine years’ wages. The sorry bastard I married had only served for ten.”
“How could he get so much money on a soldier’s wage?”
“Where do you think? Over half of it was mine; money I’d saved working as a healer. Foolishly I thought my girlish love would pave the road to infinite trust. I gave him the money to manage. The rest he must have borrowed. A clever snail, he was, I’ll give him that. He put a false bottom in the small money chest that held our savings. When he needed to take out more than the 925 sesterces he was putting in each month, he’d raise the floor to make the level of coins look unchanged. That’s how he stole from us.
“He actually thought he was being noble, giving me charge of all that gold. But he left me with but a third of what I would need to buy Livia back, and that was only if Boaz would make the exchange profitless. I took the coins, cupped them in my hands and spit on them. Then I flung them in his face as hard as I could. I cut him, and hit him in one eye, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough. Within the hour he had left to rejoin his legion. I never saw him again.
“That night I awoke with a start and lit a candle. I crawled on the floor till I had collected every aureus. I put them in our water bucket and the next day bought another one slightly smaller. I broke the staves and set them aside, muffled the coins with a rag, pressed them into the false bottom and calked it.”
“Your husband’s trick in reverse. Ingenious.”
“Then I put it under the basin stand and prayed to our house god to keep it safe. I kneeled by our hearthside lararium till the flames became embers. My prayers twisted into thoughts of how I might undo my husband’s betrayal and reclaim my daughter. I awoke on the floor, cold and alone.
“My biggest regret is that he had not died that day, for while he lived, my fate worsened. I was taking work anywhere I could find it: baking pies to sell to the troops, sewing, anything. I starved myself trying to save every as. But it was taking too long. It would take forever. Then Sulla marched on Rome. My husband was among those defending the gates.
“Four months ago, two men came to my door. They weren’t his friends, and they weren’t soldiers. They showed me the leather bag from his kit. It bore the mark he had carved on the flap. There was a large tear on the front that went through to the other side. There were dark stains on both sides.”
“Shall I offer condolences?”
“I wouldn’t accept them. Anyway, he was killed, but not before he had gone into debt again. I was so stupid; legionaries, whoring, gambling – just different names for the same word. Those men had come to collect. They showed me the contract; his mark was on it, there was no denying it. And they knew about the forty aureii. I tried to stop them, but they came in and found the hiding place within minutes. I thought I had been clever, but they had experience. We save anything that might be reused – I never discarded the broken staves; they found them in my trunk. But how had they found me? Before the battle my husband must have told them he had given me the money. I hope they tortured him.”
“Why do you insist on calling him ‘husband?’ It borders on profanity.”
“I do it with purpose. He was my husband. Our marriage was not arranged. I chose him, Minerva help me. Livia is gone because I could not govern her father. I call him ‘husband’ to remind me.”
“If you hadn’t chosen him,” I said quietly, “she would not have been born.”
“She would have been better off.” Her tears came now.
“You cannot think so.”
“I can. And do. Look at the world I have given her.”
“It was never yours to give.”
“I am her mother. I am responsible.”
“You are not a goddess, Sabina. If every bride stopped to think upon the odds of their family’s future, there would soon be none left to risk the vows. You can only do so much.”
“Say what you will. I have not done enough.”
I wanted to find more words of comfort but did not know where to look. They were not within me, of that I was certain. Her story had made me feel like a scoured gourd.
“You do not yet know the worst of it,” she said wiping her eyes and composing herself. “The forty in gold was not enough to settle this new debt – he owed four thousand sesterces beyond what those men stole from me. My loving husband’s estate, his gift to me upon his death,” she said bitterly.
It took me a moment to digest this new information. Suddenly, it dawned on me. “Tell me you did not do this thing.”
She glanced at me, then away. “I did. I went to the slave merchants quarter. I found three, but none would give me more than two thousand sesterces. Pretty young girls fetch so much more than mothers in their thirties. Finally, I found Boaz. He was not hard to locate; he supplies the finest houses in the city. I was wrong about him. He tried to talk me out of it; getting in, he said, is so much easier than getting out. For me, the choice was simple. In the end, he gave me twice what I was worth – four thousand sesterces. I was his for less than a week, then he resold me to the house of Crassus.”
Sabina, indentured by her own hand. Such love and sacrifice; how I envied her steel-edged purpose. And how I despised this life! “But your healing skills, surely they were worth a premium?”
“I may not be voluptuous and my hair may be cropped close, but I should like to think I have not fallen so far that a buyer would mistake me for a man. Most Romans insist that included among their doctors’ salves and instruments one may also find a pair of balls.”
I laughed, or tried to. “Then why did Crassus take you on, if not to use your skills?”
“As a wet nurse for the baby.”
“Then your debt to your husband’s creditors is paid.”
“In full.”
“Which leaves you?”
“A little more than half of what I sold myself to Boaz for: twenty-three hundred sesterces. It’s not as bad as it seems. He has taken pity on me, Hera knows why. If I can but raise a total of eight thousand sesterces, he will sell her back to me when he can and take the loss.”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
“Who knows? I never stopped to question him, only to fall to my knees to kiss the hem of his robe. Are not all men sons?”
“I hated him when I saw him take her away.”
“There are many things to hate in this city. This man should not be counted among them.”
I found that hard to believe; how could you not despise such a person? Every new admission of Sabina’s gave me more to ponder. "Perhaps he is fond of you."
"I have no interest in men."
"But if he were, might he not free your daughter himself?"
"Do you think I have not begged him? There are contracts; leases with clients for ... for Livia ... which he must honor. She must be available a certain number of days each month."
"When do they expire?"
"I could not bri
ng myself to ask."
I shook my head. “Tell me, is it permissible for a ... for you to buy Livia’s freedom before your own?”
“No. But what good is flour, water and salt to a baker without an oven? First things first: the money.
“5,700 sesterces, Sabina. How can we raise such a fortune?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find a way.”
“I’ll try to help if I can.” Empty, hollow words. I thought of the girl, and of the future she faced.
Sabina sat uneasily with that barely restrained tension of hers, her hands palm down on her thighs. I took one of them in both of mine and held it. I had no idea how to comfort her. It was such a clumsy act it forced a smile from her. Encouraged, I said the only thing I could think of to turn both our thoughts away. “When did you learn the healing arts?”
Sabina gently reclaimed her hand and patted my own. “My husband’s father was a doctor.”
“Truly? Surely he would help if he knew your plight.” Words came racing ahead of thought. She would not have left any option untried.
“You are right. They would have done anything for their granddaughter. But they sided with Marius.”
“Ah.”
“Otho was an unusual man, nothing like his son. He believed aptitude deserved nurturing wherever it settled because to him, it was a gift from the gods. If they saw fit to bestow it upon a woman, who was he to argue? When his son was off with his legion for months on end, I learned from him. Sometimes my father-in-law was called away to an accident or to perform a complex surgery. He would grab me and yank me out the door, all excited about the chance to show me something new, or to try something new himself. Livia would hold up my kit for me to take, tears streaking her little face. She broke my heart, she was so sweet, so brave. My mother-in-law would shoo us on our way, promising she’d look after her. I was torn; now I wish I’d stayed with her those few extra hours, just to have had them.”
“Sabina,” I said, a thought suddenly furrowing my brow, “how is it that Livia spends as much time with us as she does? Wouldn’t Pío have to approve, and make the arrangements?”
She didn’t answer, but pointed with her chin to the other side of the peristyle. The man himself was heading this way. That was twice I had asked her about him without getting an answer. An awful light revealed something I desperately did not want to see. “Leave it,” she whispered urgently, then stood and walked briskly away from both of us. I tried not to look where my imagination tugged, but sometimes our minds are our worst enemies. Pío beckoned to me impatiently and I rose to do his bidding.
Chapter IX
81 BCE - Spring, Rome
Year of the consulship of
Marcus Tulius Decula and Gnaeus Cornelius Dolabella
Over the next several months a change came over the house. Many profited by it, others suffered. I refer, you understand, to everyone excluding the family. Crassus, his wife and children never faced anything more troublesome than a boring houseguest or a hangnail. Both the start and the culmination of this transformation were each marked by an absence. The first was cause for celebration; the second spurred me to an unthinkable confrontation. It all began with Nestor’s bed.
Some days life was easier to bear than others. This had been one of the difficult ones. It was near the end of Martius and Livia had been reclaimed by Boaz that morning. After a week’s stay helping to prepare for and then cleaning up after the festivities surrounding little Marcus’s fourth birthday, we were just getting used to having her around. I’m not much of a drinker, but that night I had four cups of lora. I might have shown more restraint had not the mistress herself set two pots of honey out for us, surplus from the party. With this nectar, the wine was made less bitter, but not I. Euripides said “wine is the happy antidote for sorrow,” yet I retired both foul of mood and stomach. I doubt a libation as insipid or as astringent as lora had ever passed the playwright’s lips.
So it was that late that night I rose to relieve myself and perhaps find a scrap of bread to sop up the choppy seas of my gut. Nestor was snoring lightly. Down the hall in the opposite direction from Pío’s room lay the female servant’s wing. Midway between, running at right angles was the short hallway leading to the men’s latrine on the right, women’s on the left. A trench four inches wide and almost as deep ran down the middle of that floor; you could hear the gurgle of fresh water from the aqueduct running through it as you approached. Crassus’ Palatine villa was richly appointed: normally such luxury was reserved for the master suites.
Sleeping in a sitting position on his small cushioned bench at the intersection of the two hallways was our young guard. An oil lamp stanchioned in the wall flickered above his head. Malchus had a room to himself, but when he wasn’t patrolling he preferred to rest here. The hallway was so narrow no one could get past without stepping over him. He woke at my approach.
“Salve, Malchus,” I said quietly so as not to wake the rest of the house.
The lanky soldier wiped his mouth and looked up at me appraisingly. “Too much lora,” he said. It wasn’t a question. I nodded. “I’ll join you if you promise you won’t puke.” I told him life held few guarantees. He shrugged, stood up and took the lamp out of its holder. Stretching and yawning, he left his short sword by the bench and followed me to the toilets. The small room was divided by the fresh water channel and fed from a spout extending a foot off the floor of the far wall. On either side of the trench were two benches with hinged lids; each had two holes on top for sitting and two smaller openings on the front for cleaning. On the floor were two large covered buckets and two taller, narrower ones with long handles protruding from their open tops. Malchus lifted each covered bucket by its handle to test its weight.
“This one’s full,” he said, tapping it with his foot. He opened the other one and we urinated into it together. I finished first; when Malchus was done I closed and latched the lid. Malchus reached up under his tunic, pulled down his subligatum and took a seat on the bench nearest him. “So what’s troubling you, translator?”
I sat down across from him, letting my bad leg stretch out before me. The limp was barely noticeable now. “Why should anything be troubling me? Troubles are for adults; children need only obey. I am a carefree child.”
“You know, my friend, your face won’t shatter if you manage a smile once in awhile. I see you, don’t think I don’t, moping around the house all day. That’s not going to make things any better.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” I said, smacking my forehead. “I simply have to look happy to be happy. Genius.”
“Think about it – your lot could be a lot worse.”
“Really?” I felt myself beginning to mope, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing it. The best I could manage was a crooked, tepid smile.
Malchus, however, was the type who would grasp at any sign of encouragement, even a false one. “That’s better,” he said. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the place in time. Crassus is a good man. I’ve been with him since he came back from Hispania, going on three years now. Betto and I joined up when he passed through Perugia, our village.”
“He’s never around. Do you think he even knows what goes on in his name?”
“Oh, so that’s it. Can’t you just stay out of Prick Pío's way?”
“As easily as I can avoid the air. It’s not just for me, you know ...”
“Dominus owes Pío a debt of honor. Hang on.” Malchus’ face glazed with concentration, then relaxed. There was a soft, wet thud beneath him. “Ahhh ... a thing of beauty. Where was I. Pío. Yes. Unless he murders someone, my friend, Crassus will never give him up. Pass me the spongia, will you?” I pulled the dripping sponge stick out of the cask of fresh water and gave it to Malchus, handle first. He turned it around, inserted it through the small hole between his legs and cleaned himself.
“You could help us, if you’d a mind to.”
“No chance. Pío’s shit, my friend, if you’ve ever ha
d the luck to be in here when he’s about the business of making one, smells like mountain laurel and columbine. And he knows it. I’m not saying I’d do the same as him in his place, but you know the old saying: swing a big cock and somebody’s gonna get fucked. That’s just how it is.”
“So you do see how he treats us, then?”
“I see it. And do you see it’s got nothing to do with me?” Malchus stood, dropped the spongia back in its receptacle and rearranged his clothes. He saw the look on my face and said, “Look, it’s rotten luck, but let me tell you something my father taught me. The world is always changing, right under our noses, even if you think it’s not. Most of the time it happens so slow you’ll miss it if you’re not paying attention. That’s the trick, see. You’ve got to pay attention so you know when something’s changing.”
“An interesting theory, but what use is it to me?”
“I wish I could help you, translator, but I’m just a sword for hire. I’ve got a skill and I get paid to use it. You’re smart, you’ll think of something. Hey, it’s the ones who can think that come up with most of the change, right? Just make sure when you go mixing things up you leave me out of it. I like my job; Things are fine just the way they are.”
***
In the servants’ kitchen, I found half a loaf of something under the breadbox. It was fresh enough for me to tear off two chunks, one of which I chewed upon thoughtfully as I padded barefoot back to our sleeping quarters. I turned into our wing, passed Pío’s and my room and found Malchus back at his usual post on the bench in the hall. He had covered himself with his cloak; his head was tilted back against the wall and his mouth hung open. I dropped the other hunk of bread into his lap. He opened one eye, grinned and said, “You’re a good man, translator. From now on, I’ll ignore what everyone says.”
The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Alexander Page 7
