“You must forgive my appearance,” said Aulus Gabinius, Roman statesman, general, tribune of the plebs, propraetor and proconsul.
“Why must I?” asked Crassus.
Gabinius tilted his head to the side. The gold in his ringlets made a pretty sound. “I should think professional courtesy.” Marcus Antonius hopped off the desk and offered his pelt to Gabinius. As this would have been useful only had he donned the garment backwards, the ex-governor declined.
“Professional courtesy would be the last thing to raise between us, I should think,” dominus said pointedly. He looked around him. “What has been going on here?”
“When I could not access my rooms, I took my exercise.” Crassus waited, uncomprehending. “I dance. To music.”
“You are the same Aulus Gabinius who suppressed the recent revolt in Judea?”
“Who welcomes you to Antioch.”
“Our welcome, Gabinius, was notable only due to your absence. I trust you’re packed?”
“With your permission,” he said, bowing deeply, “I shall leave for Rome directly after the games. You and I have much to discuss. About Syria. About Parthia?”
“I will not deny the people their games, but you will be gone and on your way back to Rome before the last team has been unharnessed, bandaged and brushed.”
•••
People had been streaming across all five bridges onto the Regia’s island since sunrise. The racing track had been completed thirteen years earlier, built so that the governor and his guests could take a short stroll through his gardens, under guard of course, and enter the broad red and black arch of the Proconsul’s Gate into the arena. Every one of the 80,000 seats in the hippodrome was occupied, though defended might be a more appropriate word. The Circus Maximus may have taken twice as many Romans to its bosom, but these clumps of blue and green flag-waving Antiochenes expressed an even greater joy to be held there. The track itself was an oblong almost 1,500 feet long by 220 feet wide. Down its center ran an 850 foot long by 24 foot wide spina only a few feet tall around which the chariots ran. Bronze statues of rearing horses reared thirty feet in the air at both ends, and in the center a red granite obelisk, forty feet tall and just delivered from Alexandria lay on its side waiting to be erected. I cocked my head, but the gold-painted hieroglyphics engraved up and down its spine made as much sense to me either way. Feeling for a moment like a schoolboy, I half-wished that the Egyptians had covered their gift with execrations and scatological humor at the Romans’ expense.
We had just taken our seats in the governor’s box; the noise became so loud at our arrival it precluded conversation. I took note that at our approach the volume of cheers increased in equal proportion to the number of boos. Somewhere high above us, Livia must be laboring mightily to restrain Hanno from leaping into the aisle to tumble twenty rows to the railing for a better view. After gaining dominus’ permission, the only way we had agreed we would allow the sixteen-year-old to attend was if we tethered the two of them together. What with the unbridled-I beg your pardon-enthusiasm of the crowd, I was relieved that Malchus and Betto had graciously agreed to be their escorts.
For this special occasion, Crassus looked particularly resplendent, wearing a laurel wreath upon his brow and a gold-bordered purple cloak over a double tunic of black and gold. I was wearing my best tunic, which was simple and black with no ornamentation, but I was very fond of it. Marcus Antonius, Octavius, Petronius and Cassius joined dominus and Gabinius in the box, and Melyaket had been included at Crassus' insistence, but King Abgarus was curiously absent. Cassius was miserable, as usual, and dominus had thought it best to leave him out of his plans for the Parthian to keep his reactions natural. They were very ‘natural’ this morning. Mercurius and I sat behind our masters among the wine and food servers. Luckily for the generals we were outside the pomerium, for the heat of this climate and the strict tradition of the toga would have undone many a noble. Lucky for all, Gabinius, though ostentatious, was at least fully clothed.
Gabinius stood to give the signal for start of the games, but as soon as the masses saw him, whether green or blue, a throat-swelling of disapproval rose all around us. Crassus shouted up at him, “It would seem you’ve stolen one denarius too many from this province, Aulus.”
Unfazed, Gabinius made an exaggerated show of pointing to the new governor of Syria sitting next to him, motioning for him to stand. When Crassus rose, the cheering grew louder than the noise from any triumph. It was clear that dominus was deeply moved. There was no speech he could give that would be heard, but he greeted every corner of the stadium with broad smiles and raised arms. Every time he turned, that section of the hippodrome went wild. Was it this sound he had been waiting for all his life? I hoped it would never end.
And then he ruined it.
“They don’t know me,” he shouted, taking his seat. “They simply have had quite enough of you.”
Gabinius flicked a hand and horns draped with the red and black of Antioch were raised on either side of us. Their fanfare announced the parade of charioteers. From the red granite arches of the starting gate at the south end of the track came five blue team chariots and five green. Four matched beauties pulled what could only be called an insane driver, for in any contest of speed, power, inertia or stress, the horses were likely to win out over the frailty of the two-wheeled platform on which he balanced.
Gabinius stood. Mingled with the cheering for their favorite drivers, several dozen knights in the best seats above us started booing again. “Let’s take a walk through the shops in the colonnade,” he said, ignoring them. “We’ll be able to talk there. The chariots parade twice around. It will take the cleanup crew half an hour to rid the track of garlands and curse tablets, not to mention the odd fish head and sow’s nose.”
“That’s why the teams are all drifting toward the center island,” Mercurius added helpfully.
“After that there’s the procession of the gods. If we’re lucky, no one will miss us.”
Everyone rose. Crassus said, “Melyaket, I’m afraid I must ask you to stay here with Cassius Longinus. I’ve given it some thought, and well, we mustn’t take chances, must we?”
“I completely understand. It’s an honor to be invited here today. May the legate and I share a cup of wine while we wait?”
“I insist,” dominus said, staring meaningfully at Cassius, who was wrestling with looking both disappointed and gratified simultaneously. “Get to know each other. We shan’t be long. The races cannot start without the dropping of an orarium, and I’ve already seen how this crowd reacts when they are angry.”
We stood and I looked up behind me to scan the upper reaches of the stadium for a glimpse of my friends and wife. I could not find them, and decorum prevented me from waving madly. Besides, everyone else was already doing that.
•••
“Shall I buy a flag?” Crassus asked after we had made our way down beneath the stands. He reached for a pendant of green to the amazement of the stall’s owner, but froze at the shout of alarm from Mercurius, who almost leapt from his painted slippers.