That evening, the weather was cooperating only in that it was not snowing: it was bitterly cold and getting colder, it being near the twelfth hour of the day. Fortunately, the company need not rely solely on their own conviviality to keep warm: the furnaces were stoked and hot air was blowing beneath their slippered feet, heating not only the floors but the walls themselves. There were so many people filling every public room of the Crassus home that the triclinia, of which there were three, accommodating 27 diners, had been abandoned in favor of an endless buffet and an army of servants offering drinks and treats. The front entrance looked like a bootmaker’s workshop, piled high with all manner of footwear.
Dominus and domina, the elegant heart of Publius’ homecoming celebration, were followed wherever they strolled; just now they stood in the main atrium, pressed upon by dozens of well-wishers, eavesdroppers and a few junior senators who I am certain had received no invitation. One who was conspicuously absent: Gnaeus Pompeius had declined, claiming his young wife, Julia, Caesar’s daughter and Pompeius’ fourth wife, was unwell. She was often ill; the excuse was not entirely implausible.
In time, Pompeius would marry yet again, as one tragedy heaped itself upon the one beneath it. The gay and carefree nymph he would later claim as his fifth bride was in attendance this night. But that day was yet to come. Tonight, her eyes and heart were fixed with unshakeable attention upon another. Children-their untroubled, idyllic vision of the future is almost always shattered. Sooner or later they learn what all youth must-that life is the cruel fate that awaits them while they make plans for a tomorrow that will never be.
•••
I looked for Livia in vain. She had told me she would not attend; when I balked, she gave me two highly rational proofs. “First, you will be in your element, fussing over every detail.”
“I do not fuss,” I sniffed.
“Second,” she said after an exaggerated inspection of the ceiling, “I love the way you look at me, and so will everyone else should they see us together. We have not yet presented our affiliation to domina and dominus, and you are incapable of keeping that boy-who-has-found-a-little-fox look from your face.”
“It is a most wondrous and beguiling vulpecula,” I said, my face relaxing unconsciously into the very expression to which Livia alluded.
“This is Publius’ day. Let him have it.” There was no logical response to that, but Livia did invite me to bring her a plate of pastries when the last guest had departed.
•••
“Father, guess where Caesar intends to march his armies next? Go on, guess!” Publius popped a globulus into his mouth, a fried ball of cheese curd and semolina rolled in honey and toasted sesame. He licked his fingers, held his hand aloft and a dining room slave stepped forward to wipe each finger clean with a damp cloth.
“Forgive me, son, but I am too old to play guessing games.”
“You won’t believe it. Parthia, of all the wind-swept, graceless places on earth. But that isn’t even-”
“What!” Crassus almost choked on a hard-boiled egg dipped in honeyed garum.
Tertulla gave him water to sip and whispered urgently, “Husband?!”
“I know!” Publius said. “If it hadn’t been Marcus who told me, I would never have-”
“Wait. Marcus, your brother?”
“Who else, Father?” Publius said, impatience snapping into his voice like the whipping of a wet branch. The boy at play in the dirt had grown into a soldier unaccustomed to interruptions, even by his own father, the holder of patria potestas. “He stopped me just before I rode for Rome.”
“What did he say?” Tertulla asked.
Publius could only laugh. “Mother, Father, I am trying to tell you.”
“Perhaps we should wait and speak of this later,” Crassus said. “This is your homecoming, not a campaign.”
“Do you,” Publius said slowly, his voice spiked with exasperation, “or do you not want to hear the bizarre words of Caesar?”
“Yes,” said domina. “No,” said dominus in the same instant. Though the law favors the paterfamilias, sometimes a look may overrule the highest court. “Go ahead, then,” Crassus said. “But try not to shout.”
“My brother, Marcus,” Publius said, explaining for lady Cornelia’s benefit, “hardly ever leaves the general’s side when he’s in camp.”
“Possibly he believes it better to have a Crassus beside you than behind you,” said my lady.
“That was unkind, sweetheart. Caesar is our friend,” dominus said.
“What do you mean, lady Tertulla?” lady Cornelia asked.
“She jests,” Crassus said flatly. “Publius, continue.” Dominus looked at his son as if to say, later.
Publius and everyone else within earshot wondered at my lady’s remark, and when Crassus' son spoke again, it was as if each word were a stone poorly balanced in a crocodile-infested stream. “Marcus is the general’s quaestor and paymaster: it is fitting they should converse frequently. Here is the heart of it: Caesar told Marcus he had consulted the Sibylline Oracles and had discovered an entry stating that ‘the kingdom to the east will never be conquered save by a man who wears a crown.’”
“Extraordinary,” Crassus managed to say.
“So,” lady Tertulla spat, her face pinched with self-control, “he fancies himself a king now, does he?”
“There is more. Caesar then turned to Marcus and said, ‘your father will try, but he will fail.’”
“Outrageous,” lady Tertulla muttered.
There were murmurings all around, and Crassus tried to drown them out with a laugh, saying, “Either you misheard, Publius, or else Julius referred to another enterprise, perhaps political, like my campaign to offer assistance to our provincial tax collectors.” Too late. The dormice had scampered from the kitchen.
“How dare he make such a villainous prophecy?” Cornelia Metella said, after an extended sip of wine. Her goblet was refilled almost without her notice. She had staked out her place beside the young commander and was not about to yield it to any rival. Publius seemed well-pleased by her attention, a fact which later would be happily noted by his father and mother, who also cleaved to their son like flowers following the course of the sun.
Publius said, “My lady Cornelia, forgive me for exposing possibly the only two things you, with your superior education and intellect do not know: first, you cannot know what you are talking about, because you do not know what I am talking about. And second, you cannot know what I am talking about, because I myself am baffled.”
“Ignorance is an underrated virtue, my lord. I could give a fig for your reasons,” she said, choosing a cheese-stuffed fig from a passing tray. “If something has been said against the house of Crassus, a home where my entire family has found hospitality and friendship in equal measure, then I am that man’s enemy. Even if it be your commanding officer, the noble Caesar.”
“Imagine how you’ll feel,” Publius said, “when you’ve known us more than a week. Lady, may I take your wine?”
“If you’re thirsty, find your own,” lady Cornelia said, twisting away from his proffered hand. “I know my limits.”