“General?” Octavius asked.
“Where is Cassius?”
“On the Campus Martius, taking inventory, laying in the last of our stores.”
“Good. The senate, as you heard, has dismissed us.”
“Why stay where we are not welcome?” the legate said. I liked his sense of humor. It had a certain ring to it.
“Precisely. Alexander, you will leave for Brundisium the moment you are able to prepare for the army’s arrival and accommodation. We will follow in haste.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence. Crassus never rode to the forum; he always walked. Walking, he claimed, was the best exercise. If true, the months ahead would make many tens of thousands fit indeed. My disposition leaning naturally toward the morbid, I thought of those poor, fit souls who, when our labors were through, would never make the return trip, and prayed their number would be few.
Crassus bid his lictors and lieutenants enter the domus with us, rather than make them wait in the street. After they greeted the lady of the house, to their delight and our surprise, her handmaidens ushered them into the great hall where domina had prepared a feast of rare foods and wines in honor of our imminent departure. We left them toasting each others’ success and returned to the first atrium, where I took up my primary post as a silent ghost. The room, lit by a mote-flecked bar of sunlight from the rectangular opening above the impluvium, was done in Carthaginian marble of the deepest reds and yellows. Quite rare, quite expensive. It was, however, purchased at a substantial discount-Crassus owned the quarry.
Tertulla’s image was reflected in the atrium pool, hands demurely clasped and folded in front of her. She wore a plain, white peplos held by two gold brooches at the shoulders, and once again had abandoned her stola in favor of a second tunic. It was dark green, artfully hung off one shoulder before falling to her ankles. The matrons of society had clucked behind her back at her refusal to dress respectably, but she dressed only for dominus. One thing they could never reprove was her loveliness. A belt of golden threads cinched her waist and gave form to her figure. She wore her hair in the style Crassus favored most: black curls arranged to frame her pale forehead and cheeks. Longer wisps spiraled in front of her ears, which were adorned by the slender gold pendant earrings her husband had just given her for her forty-sixth birthday.
“I’ve heard complaints,” Crassus said, taking her hands in his. She cocked her head, completely unalarmed. “Indeed. I have heard it whispered that your eyes are too blue, too large for such a perfect oval of a face.”
“I’m ashamed to admit it is true.” She scrunched up her expression and squinted. “There, is that better?”
“Don’t bother, it only helps a little. There is more: your grooming is too carefree, your hairstyle disheveled. But to me,” he said, “everything about you is as perfect as Plato’s forms.”
They stepped into each other’s arms, gripped by an awkward hesitation before their lips met in an unsure kiss. I had never seen them so tentative before. Thankfully, their embrace was interrupted by servants led by Curio entering with refreshments which they set before Crassus.
“Wonderful. Thank you, Lucius,” domina said. He nodded, taking his place against the wall opposite mine.
“Ah, plums,” my lord said, biting into one whose tartness was instantly apparent. “My favorite,” he said, wincing.
“Everything is your favorite,” domina said.
“Alas, I am a politician.”
“I wish I could convince you to remain a politician. Remain, husband.”
“What’s this? Now comes a change of heart?”
“Every day steals hours from this moment until the instant of your departure and pushes them between us and Caesar’s offense, making it more distant. Revenge is close upon us. It is real and terrible, and Luca fades. I am afraid, Marcus.”
“Now, now, we cannot falter, columba. We must be strong.”
“Is there no other way?”
“It is the way upon which we have agreed. It is the way for which we have planned since Luca.”
“The senate has denied you.” Her voice was a stew of regret and hope.
“It is of no consequence. As proconsul and governor of Syria, my commission is invested with imperium and absolute authority over both civil and military decisions. We leave for Brundisium.”
“Allow me, then, to travel at least that far with you.”
“No, love. Let us say our goodbyes here, in our home, surrounded by things familiar and cherished. I would rather my memory paint your face in this setting, than bid farewell to you among strangers.”
“In that case,” she sighed, “I have a surprise for you.” Her voice was bright, but brittle. She held out her slender fingers and for the most imperceptible of moments, Crassus hesitated to take it. He did, of course, but by then it was almost audible-the sound of another stone being set in the wall that had been rising between them, keeping them from being at ease with each other. Ever since that night.
Caesar, the silent mason.
We followed them out through the tablinum into the smaller of the two peristyles, the one framed on all sides by the portico supported by eighteen granite columns. The tangled vines of wisteria that clung to the gutters were bare, a gnarled and forlorn beard framing an open rectangular mouth. How different they would seem in summer: clusters of fragrant, pale purple hiding the ugly bones from which they always sprang with such elegant enthusiasm. I would not see their blooms next year, or ever, but I did not know that then. Like these vines, we cling to the rhythms of what we know. Change is never without its perils. I could do with less of it.
When we walked past the lararium, I could see that Tertulla had made an offering of honey cakes and wine in the little alcove, arranging them at the foot of the image of the paterfamilias. Dominus smiled at her and she graced him with a look I hadn’t seen in months. I followed them out into the open courtyard, past the near fountain and the painted marble statues spaced between the symmetrical rows of rosemary, silverbush and planters of passiflora.
Tertulla’s personal servants had carried the master’s couch from the dining room and set it among the six lotus trees that mark the center of the peristyle. Their leaves rustled, tugging at the smooth, grey branches. Every now and then a glossy, golden spear would heed the whispering wind, forsaking its anchor to sail in its first and final spiral to the ground. I watched the leaves take the only journey they would ever know and wondered, is there freedom in death or, as the leaves learned each autumn, death in freedom?
Once again, Curio and I made ourselves inconspicuous beside opposing pillars, both to our masters, and each other. Where was Hanno? He would usually come running for a hug and a head scratch the moment he heard I was in the domus. He was probably with the stable master; still, I felt an acute need for one of his hugs. I worried about Hanno being left on his own. I worried more about leaving little Felix behind, and most about Livia not being able to stay safe with him at home. We would be gone so long our own son would not know us upon our return. So many choices over which to fret. My mind was clogged with worry. And the culprit once again: change. Did perturbation increase in direct proportion to the amount of change? I think it must be so.
Before the lectus was a low table holding an amphora of Falernian wine, a wheel of warm bread, a variety of cheeses from Trebula and date plums which had ripened on the bows above our heads. A large wooden chest sat nearby on the gravel. Tertulla bade dominus sit, and he reclined on the couch reserved for the head of the house, while she arranged herself on the pillows at its far end, lying on her right side so she could face him. She nodded at a ministratore who broke the clay seal on the wine and poured it through a strainer into a mixing vessel. My lord and lady looked grateful for the formality and familiarity of the serving rituals to put them at their ease. The slave added half as much water to the wine and poured the diluted mixture into two silver drinking bowls. Another servant tipped a ewer of perfumed water over their hands, then dried them with a soft towel.