Lucius sat stiffly, feet flat on the floor. “How can you abide to have that thing scuttling about beneath your legs all day long?” I looked up to make certain no one was actually pinching his nose.
“Hanno is a member of the familia,” I said.
“I mean really, why wasn’t the poor creature left out in the woods as an infant?”
“He was.”
“Then I am at a loss. It’s not yours, is it?”
“Let’s get on with those requisitions, shall we.”
“Your productivity cannot help but be negatively impacted.”
“Remember that when domina comes to you with a request you predict will negatively impact your productivity. Lay out your reasons and I am certain she will withdraw her application.”
“The house should think of its reputation, then. Word is bound to get out.”
“Have you no empathy whatsoever, then?”
“Empathy is a luxury for patricians, priests and women.”
“I see. I’ll bear that in mind should you ever incur the ire of the master.”
Curio gave a short laugh, and I had to agree with him, there was little chance of that. “I for one, do not intend to have children,” he said, curling his upper lip as he handed the first account across for my perusal and counter-signature. “The pleasure gained compared to the effort required appears paltry by comparison.”
“You sound like your previous master, Lucius Calpurnius Piso, a staunch follower of Epicurus.”
“Former master. You don’t see a slave plaque hanging around my neck, do you?” Curio’s eyes, grey or pale blue depending on the light, smiled benignly at me. Just now, they were cold and empty of color.
“Humble apologies. I misspoke. To be fair, you don’t see one hanging about mine, either, do you?”
“No, and I won’t, but that is of little consequence, since you are only required to don yours when you leave the grounds.”
I could have shown him my slave plaque, unique in all the Roman world, but it was becoming clear that nothing I could do or say to this man would put me on an equal footing, so why bother? It was also dawning on me that the ground upon which he stood was no place where I wished to stand.
I held out my hand for another scroll. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you, why is it, since Lucius Piso has given you your freedom and you have taken his name as is the custom, that you are not his client and he your patron? What brings you to the house of Crassus?”
“Have you ever been to Macedonia? Piso’s been governor there since his consulship, and every step since our departure has been a stride taken in the wrong direction. How I have longed for the art, the culture, the speeches from the rostra, the games, the baths, the forums. I’ve even missed the smell.”
“You are a true Roman.” Imagine the burning sarcasm I could not quite extinguish.
It went unremarked, for Curio was far more interested in the words about to come from his own lips than the two he watched, impatiently waiting for them to stop moving. “Piso is a man of his word. I was born into his house. He swore to my mother that on my 30th birthday he would give me my freedom, and this he did. A shame she did not live to see the day.”
“I am sorry for your loss. And what of your father?”
“I did not know my father.” A nerve unintentionally struck, Curio’s voice failed to hide unmistakable shame. My mind began its inevitable calculations, and could not help but wonder how close senator Piso and Curio’s mother had been.
“Forgive my intrusion,” I said.
Curio’s mask of imperturbability was back in place before I had finished speaking. “Governor Piso agreed that Thessalonica was no place for my ambition. He wrote your master who graciously gave me a place in this household. Lucius Piso formally released me of my obligations of respect and gratitude, and Marcus Crassus has done the same.”
“Very generous of them both, and most unusual. I find it strange, though, that dominus never spoke to me about it beforehand.”
“Or to me, that I would be taking direction from a slave.”
That put the hammer to the egg. “I see. There are many freedmen employed on this estate, or on several dozen other properties. Would you be more comfortable in some lesser post?”
Curio’s nasality rose a muffled notch. “I should confer with your dominus before I did anything unilaterally.”
“Be very clear about one thing, Lucius. Whether, when you stroll into town, your neck is free of obligatory ornamentation, or like me, for the past thirty years, you have devoted every waking moment to this man and his family, everyone in this household is a servant of our dominus. That includes his slaves, his freedmen, his children, his wife, me and most importantly as regards this conversation at this very moment, you. Is that understood?”
We completed our business in silence, and I almost apologized for my rant, born as it was not so much by what Lucius had said but by what he had implied: dominus wanted the man right where he was, and that frightened me. Later, when I asked Crassus about it, he responded by inquiring if it was now his duty to delay every decision he made until after he had laid it upon my table to receive my seal. Then he added that the day he actually gave me my own seal he might consider it, but neither circumstance was very likely. It was a short discussion.
Chapter IV
56 BCE Fall, Rome
Year of the consulship of Cn. Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus and L. Marcius Philippus
I never gave the scars on my back much thought anymore; the tug and pull of the pale ridges had drifted into the background of my consciousness. One can get past just about anything, given enough time, even when one shouldn’t.
Hanno was the only member of our society who regularly saw the ugly stripes. He became accustomed to the sight, but the first time it happened, unsettling for us both, he was assisting me with my bath. I had been looking forward to the moment since mid-morning; had I been paying attention I would have prepared him for such a lurid unveiling. I had folded my clothes onto a shelf and had turned from him to enter the calidarium. He emitted such a gasp of pain I thought he had accidentally stabbed himself with a stilus. (This was quite possible-he was constantly picking up whatever caught his eye for inspection, testing, even tasting.) Not this time. I whirled to see a look of horror on his face that slowly melted into one of pain, then sorrow. Tears welled as he came to me. He put his hands on my bare shoulders and made to turn me around. When I realized what he was doing, I stiffened and pulled away.
Hanno looked puzzled; he held up his mutilated hands to my face. “But Alexander,” he said. “Look.”
“No!” I said, slapping his hands away. “We are not the same.”
After half a month of explaining, then apologizing, he still had not forgiven me. In the end, only an unfeigned recognition that our scars did indeed make us brothers brought a smile back to his face. It also brought a number of restless nights to my bed chamber as I contemplated my admission.
Now, Hanno was warming scented oil and wiping down an iron strigil with a towel and the heel of his hand while I soaked in the steaming waters. It was just past the ninth hour. There were at least two hours before sundown; plenty of time to clean up after the day’s work before Crassus returned from the senate, which would not sit in session after dark. Romans take advantage of the light-even for the privileged class, the day begins soon after dawn and ends at sunset. As we were in the heart of winter, each of the twelve hours of the day were markedly foreshortened compared to summer, with the result that the entire city moved at a much brisker pace, not from the cold, but from the need to cram as much as possible into the shorter workday. That morning, Crassus and I had risen in the dark, before the first hour, to review by lamplight the notes for the day’s speeches. He was in the forum by the time the rest of us were having our morning cup of water.