Felix, Crassus was informed, was healthy and happy. Here were a few dim pictures of our son viewed through a window that was barely older than when we had left him. Tertulla’s latest letter to dominus was dated Martius, when Felix was six months old. He would be almost a year old now. Was he standing? Walking? Did he have his mother’s eyes? It was cruel beyond measuring to experience his first months secondhand. I was halfway through recounting how Eirene had taken him in a basket to his first festival when Livia stopped me. “I don’t want to know, Andros. As long as he is healthy. I’m sorry. We were stupid to be in such a hurry to torture ourselves.” She kissed me and walked quickly to the entrance of the gallery before turning back to me, her smile weak and forced. “I’ll let them know you’ll be back shortly.”
I understood and agreed with my wife’s sentiment. But I still had work to do amongst these letters. If there was a positive reply to the note I had sent over six months ago, it would be in the form of a plea to Crassus to return home. But if I found encouragement for his invasion plans, I would know I had failed to convince her. I scanned every letter, and there were dozens. Yet there was no definitive signal either way. My frustration peaked when I realized that it was entirely possible that Tertulla’s reply to my letter might still be in a courier’s pack on its way here, that I had not allowed enough time for my correspondence to reach her and for her response to return to Antioch. No matter, for in short order, I was to discover that I had no time to wait for my lady’s reply. I had to act, and hope that when my intervention was discovered, reason would prevail.
•••
Crassus had drunk too much wine, such was his joy at seeing his son returned to him. Later, I knocked gently on one of the towering doors to his private quarters to see if he had any last needs before retiring. When I entered, I found father and son together, drinking not wine, but citron flavored water.
“Alexander! Come, join us,” Publius said. He was still wearing his military finery, including a chest’s worth of gold phalerae, nine all told. They reclined on couches by the bathing pool. “Pour yourself a cup of this marvelous drink. There’s honey there if you find it too tart. Father and I were just discussing our departure date.” Publius had thrown his sword belt on the floor, but his father, already in night clothes, had withdrawn the weapon from its scabbard, hefting it for weight and balance. I stood between them, feeling inexplicably ill at ease.
“A gift from Culhwch,” the young Crassus said. “Longer than a gladius, better reach. I’ve had them made for all my troopers. But Father, if things go the way I’ve planned, there’ll be no need for you to draw a sword. You and Alexander may sit, relax, and count the treasure at your ease.”
“The way you’ve planned! Publius, you forget your place.” So, there it is-a clash of hubris in the air.
“Is it not my place to serve you? Will I not do this best by using that spatha you hold in your hands to sever the head of whatever Parthian general they send against us?”
“I have seven legates, Publius, all accomplished commanders. Now, I have eight.”
Laughter is not always a welcome sound, as Publius was now proving. “Accomplished, I don’t doubt it. Within the last decade? Please. There is not a commander south of the Alps with as much fresh experience in the field.”
“I’ll say good night, then,” I said.
“Stay,” Publius commanded. “Tell Father, since wine does cloud the vision, that while it is true that all eight of his commanders have been in the field, only one of them has been conquering the enemies of Rome. The rest have been planting grain. Is it not so, old friend?”
I shuffled my feet and glanced longingly at the door. “Is there anything else you require?”
“Alexander, you have grown useless in my absence.”
“Let him be, Publius. Would you have him set father against son?”
“I’d have him tell the truth. Father, imperator, I did not race all this way from Gaul, driving a thousand Celtic men and their mounts past limits of which even they were ignorant, arriving two months earlier than planned just to put the horses out to graze. Let us go to war!”
“No, my headstrong son. You are right, it is too early for winter quarters, but it is too late in the year to start a campaign. The rains will be here within a month, two at the outside. I will not risk it, especially when there are other conquests more readily at hand.”
“The men could march double-time.”
“The men are not ready,” Crassus said. “Alexander, did you not teach Publius the importance of listening? I’m sure his mother did. Have we written Tertulla today, Alexander? I find myself missing her most acutely.”
My head was swimming. “We have not, dominus, no, not today. Perhaps tomorrow. She will want to hear every detail of Publius’ arrival.”
“Well?” Crassus asked.
“Well…?”
“Did you teach Publius to listen?”
I sighed. “Your son knows a good commander must listen, after which he needs to be heard, dominus.”
“I can only give you half my thanks, Alexander,” said Publius.
“Am I not commander here?” Crassus asked. “Now both of you, pay attention. Alexander, prepare yourself: you will take umbrage with this stratagem.” Crassus turned to his son and said, “You should have seen the color drain from his face at Zenodotium.
“You better than anyone know how much this war will cost, Alexander, and what an extra year encamped in Antioch will mean, provisioning the army and auxiliaries, to say nothing of feed for the animals. We need money. So I have mapped out the perfect solution while we wait for the spring campaign.” Dominus looked pointedly at his son. “It is a three-pronged strategy that will not only restock the treasury, it will keep the cohorts occupied and sharp until we unleash you, Publius, on your next conquest.
“First, we levy contingents from every sizable Syrian town, from Antioch to the Judean border. We don’t need more auxiliaries, so at the first cry of hardship, we will reluctantly accept a fair equivalent of silver as compensation for each village’s lack of patriotism.
“Step two. We march south and pay a visit to the good people of Hierapolis.”
“Dominus, no,” I said, horrified.
“I know this city,” Publius said, his eyes widening to sapphires. “You don’t intend-”
“I do. There sits the Temple of Atargatis, and we shall have it.”
“Now there is a plum worth picking. Father, I did not believe you had it in you.”
“Nor did I. Dominus, it is sacrilege, madness.”
Crassus sighed and pinched the bridge between his eyes. “Why must you continually urinate on the flame of our ambition. You have become short-sighted, Alexander, and frankly, tiresome.”
“I am unhappy,” Publius said, “to see my father vexed by you. Is this how things have changed in my absence? Why should we care, in any case?” Publius asked, nodding to a servant for more citron water to be poured. “What is Atargatis to us?”
“Publius, you are changed if you can no longer reason it out. Atargatis, Astarte, Inanna, Ishtar, Isis, Artemis; these are all one goddess known by many names.”
“There is nothing wrong with my reason, or my memory. Though I do not recall such impertinence from you.”
Publius rose off his couch and wrested the sword from his father, who said, “Proof, then, that you were not paying attention.”