“Why are you still here?” Crassus stood in our doorway, the portiere drawn aside. His hands were not empty.
Livia and I turned and spoke simultaneously, “Dominus!”
Hanno sat up in his cot. “Father Jupiter! Hug?” At least the boy had learned to ask.
“Not now, Hanno. Father Jupiter is displeased.”
“That’s all right,” Hanno said, completely oblivious of our master’s tone. “I’ll wait right here.”
“I thought,” I said, “to spend one more day with my family before departing for Brundisium.”
“I told you I needed you there by the end of the week. You were supposed to have left today. It was not a suggestion, Alexandros.” Crassus only called me by my birth name when he was truly angry.
“Dominus…,” Livia started.
“The answer is ‘no,’ medicus. I did not send you to Egypt to learn to be a wet nurse. You and your skills will follow the army.” Livia looked at the floor. Thankfully, her unbound hair hid her expression.
“If I leave the day after tomorrow, all will be in readiness for your arrival.”
“You will leave at first light. I will not have you depart the day the cover is removed from the mundus. It will be seen as an ill omen; bad enough we’ll be leaving the city before the Plebeian Games have ended.”
“Yes, dominus.”
“I am sorry to put you through this,” he said, a shade less put out. He peered into the crib like a proud grandfather. I noticed that he was barefoot, and wondered how the coming months would treat his ailing feet. “Your domina will tend to your son as if he were her own, you have my word and hers. He couldn’t be in better care.”
More and more, it seemed my lord was letting words fall from his mouth without permitting them to first pass through his brain. I could feel Livia vibrating by my side.
Crassus opened his hand to reveal a golden amulet on a gold link chain. He held the chain and let the bulla swing free. “Your mistress will keep it for him to wear, when he is older.”
“That is very generous of you, dominus. But a slave cannot-”
“He can, if I will it so.” He dropped the heavy ornament into my hand. I felt the heft of it, then handed it back to him.
“May we all return safely to see it adorn his neck. Livia, these are for you.” He held out two tunics trimmed with wide red stripes, the sign of a senior medicus. For a heartbeat, I thought she would refuse them, but sanity got the better of her and she mumbled gratitude.
To me he said, “I was going to have your mate surprise you with this honor when she met up with you in Brundisium, but I see I shall have to rob her of that pleasure.” He handed me a 4-inch gold disk hung from a broad purple sash. The thick medal was reminiscent of the phalerae, awards centurions displayed proudly on their chests for deeds of valor. This one was inscribed with writing that encircled the entire circumference: “Alexandros, beloved of Crassus. Harm him, harm me. Disobey him, disobey me.” Within the circle, facing each other were two engraved likenesses, his, and my own. Between them was an image of one of the lotus trees from the peristyle at the estate in Rome. On the back, these words were etched:
A face once effective
May one day be erased
For one need having perished
May find it's been replaced
“What does this mean?” I risked asking.
“Should you ever require the knowledge, Alexander, your intelligence will guide you. Now finish here,” he said curtly. “You have an early start.”
On his way out of our room, Crassus detoured to allow Hanno to throw his arms around his true master. The boy never looked so happy as when he had just been given the gift of human touch. After we had given him our own hugs of good night, Hanno settled down and was in blissful sleep within moments.
“I hate him,” Livia whispered after Crassus' steps had receded down the hallway.
“I know that you don’t. Dominus does what he must.”
“You didn’t even argue with him.”
Livia wanted a fight, and I was close, posing no threat. “Argue? With him? Come, let us pour a cup of honeyed wine before bed. The packing is almost done.”
“Finish it then.”
“Livia, would you take Felix with us to Syria and beyond?”
“I would have the right to choose to take him wherever you and I decide.”
“As would I. But such talk is nonsense. Besides, what finer care could there be than that of our lady?”
“The care of his mother.” She stood rigid, her hands at her sides.
“How I wish I could comfort you.” I placed my hand close to hers, without touching.
She was crying softly. “What a fool was that happy, whistling child.” Her fingers slid into mine. “Life is not what she imagined it would be. I was treated less cruelly in the house of Boaz, the slave merchant.”
“Never say that,” I said, kissing her forehead. “Never think it.” We curled into each other’s arms, and Livia let me hold her until her sobs subsided.
“I hate for you to see me cry,” she said, pushing me far enough away from her to hold me by my elbows.
“Why? You will always be beautiful to me, no matter how red and puffy your face.”
“It’s not that, dolt.”
“To say nothing of the glistening of your runny nose.”
“Enough.” She kissed me hard on the mouth. “I don’t care about any of that. I don’t want you to think I am weak.”
I laughed, kissing her eyes and nose, then, between each sentence, with increasing fervor, her mouth. “Concrete is weak. Marble is weak. Even Margianian steel is weak, compared to you. Now come, domina,” I said, tugging lightly at her hand. “Who knows when we will be able to share a bed again?”
A short while later, Crassus reappeared, poking his head through the otherwise closed portiere. Barefoot to ease his bunions, we did not hear his approach, though had he stomped through the hallway in his caligae the surprise would likely have been no less. “I neglected to tell you, Alexander,” he said, stifling a yawn. “In your absence, Lucius Curio will perform your duties as atriensis.
Chapter XX
55 BCE — Fall, Brundisium
Year of the consulship of
Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus and Marcus Licinius Crassus Dives
On the fields to the east of Brundisium, before the troops prepared to board the ships, Crassus assembled the army. There he offered up many cleansed and garlanded sacrifices: seven lambs, seven bulls and seven pigs. Seven sets of three throats to be slit to ensure the safety of each legion. A city augur, proud of girth and unashamed of excess, possessed of such capacious jowls they’d have made a roomy pair of mittens, this practical priest had allowed his mouth to be stuffed with bribes too prodigious for a lesser man to swallow. A positive result having thus been secured, the relief of the gathered thousands was no less genuine when, after the sacred birds had been released, the blessed father interpreted their flight as an auspice that our enterprise was looked upon favorably by the gods.
Crassus had had crafted seven of the most exquisite and opulent standards, taller and richer than any soldier had ever seen, crested with eagles of hammered silver and gold. The priest had blessed and anointed each with sacred oil. They were mounted in a row at the back of a raised reviewing stand, seven sanctified emblems that were the soul and strength of each legion. Beneath them, rustling gently in the slight breeze were many mounted, tasseled, purple vexilla, banners numbered with gold thread and images of wild animals, woven from the finest Tarentum lamb’s wool. Before these flags and standards stood the senior officers of the army, their helms and breastplates shining as brightly as the standards above their plumed heads.