I took the proffered papyrus, wound about its thin spool of polished ebony and tried to imagine how many zeroes were cavorting with one another beneath its seal on the letter of credit. “Surrender it into tribune Cato’s hands alone,” Crassus said. “Take Betto and Malchus with you.”
“Malchus!” Hanno cried.
“That’s right, Malchus,” I said.
“I like Malchus.”
“I know you do.”
“Not Betto. He makes me confused. He talks too fast.”
“That’s enough now. Let dominus and me finish our conversation. Afterward, we’ll go to the kitchen and find some grapes.”
“Green or red?”
“Hannibal!” Crassus snapped.
Hanno dropped his head, pulled the brush from his belt and drew it over and over again through the tail of his hair. Two large wet circles appeared on the tiles at his feet. “Excuse me, dominus,” I said. I padded naked to the wall where the boy stood.
“Father Jupiter defend me!” Crassus cried.
Hanno threw his arms about me as I comforted him, assuring him that dominus meant no harm. I looked back to where Crassus stewed. “I’m certain lady Tertulla would be grateful if you apologized.”
Dominus’ eyes narrowed. “Apologies, Hannibal,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have shouted.”
I stepped aside, holding Hanno’s claw of a hand. “That’s all right, Father Jupiter,” he sniffed. “I forgive you.”
“Now, just a …”
“There now, feeling better, aren’t we?” I said, stifling a laugh. “You wait here, Hannibal, while Father Jupiter and I finish talking, then we’ll go to the kitchen as promised. There’s a good fellow.”
I sat down smiling.
“You are never to call me that, do you hear?” Crassus said under his breath.
“One can see how the boy might be confused.”
“Never,” Crassus hissed. “And you are never to speak of it.”
“By the Vestals, I swear,” I said, still working at ironing the grin from my face. “Where were we?”
“About to bribe the tribune of the plebs to forestall the elections.”
“Yes. We will continue,” Crassus said, “to thwart Lentulus as often as we must till his term expires.”
“And then an interrex? But who?”
Crassus nodded. “Who knows? A man who will put our case before the comitia with more enthusiasm than our diligent but misguided consuls.”
“The interregnum can last no more than five days. How long can this persist?”
“Until we find an interrex who sees things our way, but I should think that by the end of Januarius, the people will have had enough of the upheaval this regrettable ploy is bound to ignite, and will rise up to plead for a return to normalcy. I ask you, who in this city is more a bastion of normalcy than I?”
Abruptly, Crassus’ bearing relaxed into almost childish excitement. “Now, prepare yourself for the best news of alclass="underline" Publius returns within a week!”
“Dominus!”
“Arrange for a banquet during the festival of Jupiter. A perfect occasion for a celebration.”
“How did you manage to pry The Bane of Aquitania away from Caesar?”
“The legions are preparing to take up winter quarters; the great general can spare my son, surely. What?”
My incredulity was showing. “Dominus, Caesar would never release his most celebrated lieutenant for a family reunion, no matter how well-deserved. The tribes of Gaul are as yet unsubdued.”
“As are the people of this city.”
So that was it. “I see. And how many will be in Publius’ party?”
“A goodly number. Caesar writes that he rides at the head of twelve cohorts, something more than five thousand legionaries.”
“Something more than five thousand votes, if I take your meaning.”
“Bright as ever, bright as ever,” he said. As he rose from his chair, Crassus tousled my hair. I hated it when he did that. “Don’t tell domina,” he said, bending to scoop up the folds of his toga, carrying it in both arms like a pile of laundry. “She could do well with a surprise such as this.”
“Help dominus,” I told Hanno. He leapt from his post at the wall, but Crassus shook his head.
“Tend to your master,” he said, winking at me. I hated it when he did that, too. “He looks wet.”
Somehow, within a day, everyone in the familia had heard about Hanno and Father Jupiter. It is inexplicable how fast confidential news such as this manages to travel.
Chapter V
56 BCE Fall, Rome
Year of the consulship of
Cn. Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus and L. Marcius Philippus
“You used to be skinny,” I said to legionary Drusus Malchus as we walked down the Clivus Victoriae off the Palatine. Malchus was stuffing the remains of a meat pie into his mouth.
His voice was pleasantly irritating, like a stroll over crushed gravel. “You used to be handsome,” he said, “but you don’t hear me casting insults at you, do you?” He licked each of his fingers, one at a time.
“We just did,” said Flavius Betto. Far shorter than either Malchus or myself, legionary Betto took almost two strides to our one to keep his place between us. His pace was additionally hampered by his struggle to keep his short sword hidden behind his cloak.
A third guard, Minucius Valens, dressed like the rest of us in inconspicuous tunic and cloak, prodded Betto from behind. “Move smartly, Betto. The girls are waiting.”
“May I assist you, Flavius?” I asked, trying to be helpful.
“I’ve got it,” he said, yanking his baldric across his shoulder.
“That’s why Betto can’t get laid without reaching for a few coins,” Valens said. “Under the coverlet, his girlfriends keep asking the same thing.” He sang in high-pitched mimicry of an annoyed woman, “‘May I assist you, Flavius.’ He never could figure out where to put it! Maybe you’ll have better luck with your gladius, but it looks like the only thing you’ll penetrate with that sword is your scabbard!” Valens, a stocky man no taller than Betto, but thick of arms, chest and wit, thought his jest hilarious.
“You’ve missed your calling, Minucius,” Betto replied calmly. “With the amount of pigeon shit coming out of your mouth, you’d have made a superb ornatrix, bleaching the hair of dainty ladies.” Valens stopped laughing, and the rest of us did our best not to start.
“Gentlemen,” I said, looking pointedly at Minucius Valens. “There will be no time for fraternization. We make the delivery to the tribune and return as quickly as possible.”
I did not know Valens well; he had been among Crassus' guards for a year at least, but there were just so many servants in dominus’ employ, it was impossible to know everyone on a personal level. Not so Drusus Quintilius Malchus and Flavius Salvius Betto. I had known these two estimable characters ever since coming to the house of Crassus.
Malchus’ calm and sage counsel had seen me through many a difficult night in my first frightened and perturbed days in servitude. He poured home-grown cold reason on my overheated despair: a slave I was, but in Rome, there were slaves, and then there were the slaves of Crassus. I should make offerings, he had said, to whatever gods or goddesses who watched over me that I had washed up on this patrician’s shore. From the look of me when first I was brought to the auction block, I would not have lasted a week had I been sold to one of the big farms, or the mines, or any one of a thousand crueler masters. I was one of the lucky ones, he had said, and I had better learn to be content with my lot.
It was true, Malchus had been lean and lanky in those frantic days, just like me, but after a year living the softer life of a guard at the Crassus residence, the man who had helped acclimate me to my fate had been thoroughly consumed by his consumption. I had never seen anyone so in love with food. Because of his height, he could not be called ‘fat,’ but the man had become big. To those that called him ‘friend,’ and there were many, he was known as Malchus the Mighty. But he was gentle and kind, and his calm was almost impossible to penetrate.