“Livia, come to me,” Tertulla said. “These brutes want to take my husband from my bed.”
“My lady,” Livia said, her enunciation constrained by Crassus’ gentle grip on her jaw, “it would seem they have been successful. Dominus, my lady calls.”
Crassus raised Livia’s head to meet his gaze. Her eyes widened like a doe’s. “Does she indeed?” he said softly. “Then you must answer.” Abruptly, Crassus’ tone changed and in his deep, authoritative voice he said, “But first, answer me. Quickly now, whose side are you on?”
Livia’s eyes grew wider still, her face still held captive. “Surely, I am on the side where my master commands me to stand.” Crassus narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know, dominus. Yours?” she tried.
Crassus shook his head sadly and released her chin. Livia tossed her red hair from her eyes without moving her hands from her sides. The gesture had an air of defiance.
Crassus sat back down on the bed. “Well then, child, let me assist you. Attend me, and learn. When you are with your mistress, you are on her side. When you are with both of us together, you are also on her side. And when you are alone with me, whose side ...?”
“Domina’s, dominus?”
“That’s right, Livia, you always take the side of your domina.”
“See how well I have him trained?” said Tertulla.
“Like a Phrygian bear,” I said. “Dominus, must we not make haste?”
“Columba, see? My master calls. I must depart.”
“Go then!” Tertulla said melodramatically, a forum actress, “go, and do not return!” She threw her arm across her forehead. She was only twenty-four; young enough to be excused, perhaps.
“Alexander,” Crassus said, serious for a moment, “are you prepared? How much did you lay out?”
“The usual. Seventy-five thousand.”
“Too much. It’s always too much.” Crassus eyed Tertulla’s favorite. “Well, Livia, since Mercurius is obviously sleeping in a corner somewhere, would you mind doing the honors?” He opened his arms, palms outward to illustrate the state of his undress. Livia ran out of the room smiling. “Happy girl, that,” he said. “Why do you suppose that girl is so happy? Anyone? Alexander?” he asked pointedly.
My eyes took a turn at inspecting the floor. Crassus winked, and I exhaled. Then, with resignation he said, “Bring it all.”
Tertulla sat up and reached for the peplos thrown haphazardly over the edge of the lectus. As she drew it over her head, her pale nipples disappeared behind falling fabric. Her husband said, “Reminds me of lids closing over tired eyes. An apt analogy, considering the hour.”
She caught his look and said impishly, “You can have them now, and everything that goes with them, but not later.”
“Alas, business before pleasure.”
“Your business is your pleasure,” Tertulla said, pouting as she dropped back down on the bed.
Livia returned balancing a huge pile of clothing in her arms, using her chin to keep it all from falling. I said, “Dominus will suffocate if he wears all of that.”
“I’m only following your example.”
“I beg your pardon,” I said.
“Did you not just bring to dominus more money than he will need, as a precaution?”
Crassus laughed as Tertulla clapped, “That’s my girl.”
“He’s not going to wear the money,” I muttered.
“Thank you, Livia,” Crassus said. “I prefer a large selection when I dress. You may go.” Livia raised her chin at me as she passed, a look of superiority more triumphant than the one she usually wore. As she reached the doorway Crassus added, “And try not to smile so much, dear. It is unbecoming of a slave.” A year or two earlier, my gut would have clenched to hear Crassus speak thusly, even in jest. Now, I felt only a pinch of sadness that even his words had lost their sting. We were what we were.
Dominus threw on two tunics, one over the other to protect against the chill. Mercurius, his ornator, came rushing in holding a heavy but short riding cloak which he proceeded to fasten about his master’s neck.
“Apologies, dominus.”
“You are ill-named, Mercurius. From now on, I shall call you Somnus.”
“Yes, dominus. Thank you, dominus.” Crassus dismissed him, then turned back to the bed. “Not one kiss then?”
“You had your chance.” Tertulla said, ducking back under the covers.
“Hmm. I think I deserve two.” Crassus crossed from the doorway back to their bed, gauged where Tertulla’s bottom was hidden and gave it a not-too-hard whack. She screamed, then laughed and finally cursed him, but I knew he must ignore her muffled baiting. If he delayed, who knew what damage would be done, what opportunities lost. Men and women were now running all over the villa, lighting oil lamps and sconces, preparing baskets of food, making almost as much noise as the rhythmic pounding at the front entrance.
“Would someone please open that door!” Crassus yelled. I snapped a finger and one of the lamp bearers ran off. “Damnation!” Crassus shouted, tripping over one of the only pieces of furniture in the bedroom, the small step stool used to climb up onto the lectus. Although the room was mostly bare, its walls were exquisitely painted with scenes from my own mythology; the floor, for example, had the light been better, would have revealed a mosaic of Xanthus and Balius, the immortal horses that bore Achilles in his chariot at Troy. The chariot was empty. Achilles kneeled in the dust before it, grieving over the news of the death of his friend Patroclus. The horses wept. An odd choice of inspiration for the bedroom. Or any room.
Crassus shouted, “Epimachus! Boots!”
“Can’t you please send someone else?” Tertulla said in a muffled voice, letting a slender leg and way too much thigh slip out from beneath the coverlet. “Must you always insist on playing the hero?” She wiggled her painted toes. The gold ankle bracelet with the zodiac charms he had just given her for her birthday beckoned. For a moment, it looked as if the siren song of their tinkling would be enough to lure him back to bed.
“You’re making this very difficult,” he sighed. “But I must see to this.”
Tertulla sat up. “Come here,” she said. He obeyed. “I want to give you a reminder of why you should hurry back to me.” She slid her arms around his neck and pulled him forward till his mouth met hers. Their kiss was long and languid. I looked away.
When at last they separated, he sighed and replied, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Stepping through the doorway, he glanced at the three waiting men. “That is all of it?”
“Six bags, three thousand, one hundred twenty-five coins in each. A total of eighteen thousand, seven hundred fifty denarii: seventy-five thousand sesterces. Precisely,” I added, my tone daring contradiction.
“Precisely? Surely the count might be plus or minus a denarius or two?” I looked at him and smiled thinly. Crassus met my gaze and said, “My mistake. Foolish of me to bring it up.”
We headed for the front entrance.
Chapter XVIII
76 BCE - Summer, Rome
Year of the consulship of
Gnaeus Octavius and Gaius Scribonius Curio
What drove Crassus from the arms of his willing wife was the memory of the eight months he had spent hiding in a cave near the town of Tarraco on the Hispania Citerior coast. He swore he would never, ever let himself be forced to live that way again. Cinna and Marius the elder had killed his father and brother along with many others, slaughtering them for no greater crime than their having been born into noble families. Crassus could not help the accident of his birth, but he could gird himself with what, in Rome, was inviolable armor. Money provided far more than just a roof over your head. It would buy influence, friends, arms and men-at-arms, power and protection, and he meant never to be without it. A great deal of it. At thirty-nine, he was making excellent progress toward that illusive, mythical amount: more. Since the day I was made his atriensis, it had been my task to help him achieve his goal.
Outside
the vestibule to his villa, his horse was waiting, held by one of six torch bearers. There were also six armed bodyguards who looked like they could handle two or three times their number. Among them was Drusus Malchus, but not Betto, who was more energetic than stalwart. When Malchus caught my eye, he nodded and winked. The young legionary guard from the old slave quarters had grown in girth and strength over the past several years. He was no longer the skinny lad from the latrine, but one of the most massive of Crassus’ fighting men. I was thankful he had taken a shine to me.
Crassus called good morning to the men, each by name. He mounted the black Hispanic stallion by stepping on the prostrate back of one of his stable boys. It was still several hours before dawn, and the streets were empty. Only the foolhardy or those in dire need ever ventured out after dark into the unnamed, unnumbered and unlit streets of the city.
“I can smell smoke, but see nothing,” Crassus said squinting into the gloom. The Urbs spread out beneath us in unnerving silence.
Ludovicus said, “Just across the Forum to the Quirinal. Take the Alta Semita. You’ll see the apartment house as soon as you start up the hill, two alleys north of the temple. Don’t worry, when you get close, you can follow the sound of Septimus Corvinus’ wailing.”
“Corvinus, eh? I’m surprised he has any insulae left. He will insist on making them out of rotten timber and mud bricks.”
“And four and five stories high,” said Ludovicus.
“Hopefully everyone is getting out safely.”
“The first brigade is on their way with two pump carts,” the commander said. “We can use the Petronia Amnis. Plenty of water in it this time of year.”
“Good work. What about the second?” Crassus asked.
“We’ll be right behind you, just in case.”
Crassus turned the reins and patted his mount. “Let’s go, Ajax.” With a kick to the horse’s flanks, he wheeled and took off down the hill at speed.
I climbed up onto one of the two carts and my men handed me the six bags. Lifting the seat of the storage bench, I secured the money in their hiding place and nodded to Ludovicus to proceed.
Crassus had little difficulty finding the location of the fire. By the time the rest of us got there, the top two floors of the apartment were glowing like paper lanterns and smoke was billowing above the flat roof. It was indeed a mud brick and timber building, four stories tall. At any moment the flames would erupt. The first brigade was standing a safe distance away having already prepared the hoses from the nearby stream and primed the pumps. Crassus nodded to the lead slaves of the two pike crews who rushed not to the burning insula itself, but the two adjacent buildings. With their ladders and long, hooked poles they began dismantling the now-vacant buildings.
The narrow streets were full of hundreds of spectators who acted as if they were privileged guests at a ludi put on just for them. Yet closest to the pumps was a large knot of anxious onlookers in anything but a festive mood. These were the people who actually lived on this street. They were being held in check by a semi-circle of armed men belonging to Crassus. With one exception, no one in the growing crowd had much hope anything would be left come morning: they all knew that poorly constructed buildings like these were almost impossible to save, either from the flames or the intentional demolition. The exception was an obese man stomping up and down amongst them, gesticulating wildly. His toga was unraveling and his hair stood out at odd angles. His face was made more florid by the glow from above. He was followed, back and forth, by several bodyguards who looked menacing but helpless.
“Is everyone safely away?” Crassus asked, riding up to the pumps. He remained mounted to be sure that the crowd could see him.
“Crassus! What are your men doing? They’re destroying my buildings!”
“Compose yourself, Septimus Florius. They’re following my orders.”
“Your orders?! Are you crazy, man?! My apartment house is burning!”
“We can’t have the adjacent buildings ignite, now can we? No, of course we can’t. Now tell me, Corvinus, does the whole complex belong to you?” The fat landlord nodded frantically, wiping sweat from his forehead with a perfumed kerchief. “The whole block? Oh dear,” Crassus said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how we’re going to be able to save them all.”
“If you’d stop talking and start doing something ...”
“You’re quite right, of course. Men, man the pumps!” With well-rehearsed choreography, Ludovicus and his team flew into action, adjusting regulators, shouting at each other, tightening connections, checking hoses, readying the buckets and doing … nothing.
“Septimus Florius,” Crassus said thoughtfully, “it occurs to me that no matter how successful we are, at least two of these insulae, possibly three will be forfeit. I am devastated that I could not get here quickly enough. I will make it a point to address this neglect of civil responsibility in the Curia. I feel personally responsible. Awful, just awful. Perhaps the best thing now is for you to cut your losses. It’s not really my area of expertise, but I would be willing to take this block off your hands for ... say ... eighty thousand sesterces?”
“Pumps two, three and four primed and ready, sir!” shouted Ludovicus. The first hose team approached the smoking apartment house while the pikemen continued to destroy the buildings on either side, pulling debris away from their incandescent neighbor. Two other groups of Crassus’ slaves hauled the rubble away to a safe distance almost as fast as the pikemen could create it.
“What? What?!” squealed Corvinus. “I don’t want to sell my buildings. I want you to save them!”
“Wait a minute!” Ludovicus shouted. “We’ve lost pressure!” As he spoke, there was a dull thump from the top floor. Wooden blinds blew out of two corner windows in a shower of sparks, and flames exploded out the smoking holes. There was a sharp intake in hundreds of lungs as the crowd quickly pressed back against the storefronts opposite the fire. Corvinus slapped pudgy hands to his face, pushing his fleshy lips out like a beached fish.
“Goodness!” Crassus exclaimed. “I was afraid that would happen. I don’t think it’s possible now for me to offer full price. The best I could do ... he sighed laboriously, “would be sixty thousand.”
“I think we’ve got it now,” Ludovicus called.
“Sixty thousand?! They cost me over a hundred.”
“And I have no doubt you squeezed the most from every sestercius. Although, I hear they’re doing marvelous things with concrete and fired bricks these days. A little more up front cost, but well worth it, I should imagine.”
At that moment, one of the firefighters closest to the building called out. “I heard something! I think someone may be inside!”
Immediately, Crassus dropped his play-acting, leapt off his horse and grabbed a torch from an onlooker. “Stay back!” he yelled to Ludovicus. He dashed across the unpaved street into the building. His men stared at each other in disbelief. Ludovicus didn’t know what to do. If he turned the pumps on the burning floors, the weight of the water might cause the already weakened structure to collapse on our master. If he ran in after Crassus, he’d be disobeying a direct order, and his back would bear witness to his insubordination. He settled on selecting several men with full buckets to wait with him a little closer to the doorway.
Crassus had given me no such order. I gave Ludovicus a look that said ‘watch the money.’ He nodded and I jumped off the cart and raced to follow my master into the building. I bypassed the tabernae on the ground floor, knowing we had only moments to search the upper floors. Crassus was already at the top of the stairs. Smoke hung in the deserted hallway, and the air was thick with the smell of burning wood as I joined him.
“Vulcan’s prick, man ...!”
“I’ll take the left,” I shouted above the roaring and ran down the narrow hall. I might get a beating for it later, but at least now I could honestly say I never heard my master give me an order to leave. I was relieved to hear the thump of Crassus’ boots h
eading in the other direction.
I ran into each apartment, calling out as loud as I could. With little furniture and only one or two rooms, they were easy to search. The second floor was empty. Crassus met me at the central stairway; as we bounded up to the next floor he threw me a glance but said nothing.
The heat grew alarmingly with each step. By the top of the landing, we could no longer stand. Fire flowed in waves across the ceiling of this hallway like an upside-down river. Crassus threw his cloak over his head and motioned for me to do the same. We called out again but it was almost impossible to hear anything above the noise of the fire and our own racked coughing. It was like inhaling the smoke at the top of a clay oven. There was a constant, deep rumbling over our heads. I remember thinking how ironic that it should remind me of pounding surf. If there had been anyone on the fourth floor, they were gone now.
These thoughts took but a second. We inhaled a lungful of air through the fabric of our cloaks and scrambled down opposite ends of the hallway, crouching low. The cenacula on this floor were empty as well. The heat from above pressed down on us like the hand of Hephaestus, forcing us to crawl. It was too hard to hold onto our torches, so we abandoned them. Looking for survivors was no longer our mission. Now our task was simply to make certain we would be counted among them.
We were scrambling toward each other on our bellies through thick, slowly curling smoke. Like me, Crassus held his cloak over his head with one hand and dragged himself forward with the other. His clothes were ruined, his face soot-stained, his eyes tearing. Another strange thought struck me: at this moment it would be hard to tell us apart.
My lord reached the stairwell just ahead of me. It couldn’t have been more than a second that he hesitated, waiting for me to join him so we could descend together. That’s when a section of the floor above came crashing down. A smoking plank hit Crassus in the back. It knocked him down the stairs to the lower landing. The hole in the floor above exposed an inferno. It wasn’t bravery that made me leap from where I stood to the landing below. I was moved urgently and instantaneously by the overwhelming instinct to get away from that searing heat. Crassus was dazed and struggling to his feet as I landed hard, tripping and falling onto him. We tumbled down to the ground floor, rolling over burning wreckage.
The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Alexander Page 14
