A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow of Heaven

by Levkoff, Andrew

  Since that day, dominus’ enthusiasm had faltered. The general looked out over the rail and sighed as he surveyed his army. “I am not happy to be here, Alexander.”

  “Why is that, dominus?”

  “I had hoped never to pass this way again.”

  “I understand, general. This place holds less than Elysian memories for me, as well.”

  Crassus ignored me, but he knew it was through this place that Sulla's army had dragged me from ruined Athens when I was little more than a boy. “When last I saw the plains of Apulia,” he continued, “all those many years ago, they were piled deep with the corpses of those I slew. And for what? For a cause so hopeless it curdles the blood to dwell even a moment upon the monumental waste. Every man of them a fool. Brave, to be sure, but fools nonetheless. Did they think we would allow them to unravel our way of life like a cat with a ball of yarn? Rome could not let it stand. I could not let it stand.”

  “Your logic is unassailable.”

  “And your impertinence is tiring.” Crassus gave me a sidelong glance. “The Thracian brought his fate upon himself. He could have fled across the Alps, but instead he turned south and what, thought to challenge the might of the Republic? Madness.”

  “By then he was cut off. Lucullus had landed here in Brundisium. Pompeius was approaching from the west, you had split his army in two and your own legions were moving in from the north. There was nowhere to run. He had no choice but to stand and fight.”

  “And I had no choice but to destroy him. How many did I slaughter that day? Forty thousand? Seventy thousand? For certain, it had seemed as if Pluto had risen from the underworld to reign upon the earth. I left the field thinking so much blood must surely stain the land forever. Jupiter’s gentle rain would never wash it clean. But it is not so. The seasons have returned, the grass has grown green again and to the north fields yield crops sweet and untainted by the gore that watered that soil. So too in time the name of Spartacus will fade to nothing along with the memory of his rebellion.”

  Crassus swept his eyes out over the bay so full of men and ships we could scarcely see the water. “His fate will not be mine.”

  •••

  “Forgive me, sir.” The legate of Legion II had come up behind us.

  “Yes, Petronius? Are we ready to sail?”

  “Sir, I am come from the council of the ships’ trierarchs. They have asked me to petition you to delay our departure until this freakish weather clears. Not one of the captains advises leaving the harbor now.”

  “I understand their concerns, commander, but I must insist that my own need supersedes their fears. I cannot allow that maniac Ateius another opportunity to delay us. Once away, his histrionics will shred and fly apart on this pernicious breeze.” Crassus thought for a moment. “Prepare four oxen for sacrifice. We will satisfy both Jupiter and Mars. Place the altar on the highest of the harbor islands so that all may see. Advise the legates to meet me there. I will conduct the service myself. After the gods have had their portion, distribute the best of the meat to the trierarchs. The men must take heart, Petronius—Parthia awaits; all we need do is reach out with a mighty grasp and take it—for the glory of Rome.”

  “For the glory of Rome.” Petronius saluted and left.

  “Doubly ingenious,” I said. “Satisfy the gods and forestall the captains by filling their bellies.”

  “Yes, I thought it would appeal to your sense of parsimony. It’s a wonder you let me have any pocket money at all.”

  “A rich man will not remain so otherwise.”

  Together, we slowly paced the deck. Although we were actually the same height, it did not appear so, thanks to the lifts Crassus had had built into his caligae. I wondered how his feet were faring, though I thought it best not to ask. Though he was ten years my senior, he at least had a full head of hair. Only a prematurely greying wreath crowned my otherwise bald pate. My eyebrows seemed to be the only place on my head where hair would grow. Crassus would chide that with my thin nose, close-set eyes and round head, when I raised my bushy brows in skepticism or thoughtfulness, as I often did, I looked remarkably like an owl. If one must be compared to our avian cousins, what better choice for me than brother owl: noble, wise, silent and ferocious in the hunt.

  Upon reflection, I must be honest and content myself with but two of the four analogies.

  Still, when Livia’s arms were wrapped about me, and her teeth held the lobe of my ear a willing captive, I far preferred to be called her sweet pelargós than his bubo, no matter how noble or wise. But I must not think of such things.

  “Come now,” Crassus said, “you lead a leisurely existence, compared to most.”

  “Not if by ‘most’ you mean your twenty thousand other slaves. You put me through twice as many paces as any three of them.”

  “Twenty thousand? That is the count? Truly?” Crassus could not keep the pride from his voice.

  “Truly.”

  “Well, they are lucky, the lot of them, to have such a generous master.”

  “Indeed. Not a one of us would fare better on our own. As Aristotle has said, ‘from the hour of their birth, some are marked out for subjection, others for rule.’ I would not trade places with you, my lord, for all the world. Which I dare say is practically within your power to bestow.”

  “It is a sign of the times, Alexander. A Roman who would serve his city needs money, not to hoard but to spend. Money breeds popularity, and popularity wins votes. Nonetheless, I have little doubt that your Aristotle would be quick to lump me together with those who ‘turn every quality or art into a means of getting wealth; this they conceive to be the end, and to the promotion of the end they think all things must contribute.’”

  “Aristotle might, but I would not. No, in spite of your riches, I know you to be no shallow man. But, how then, shall I address you, if not consul? Praetor, censor, tribune, champion of the Servile War, and now proconsul and governor…you’ve garnered them all.”

  “You have me confused with someone else, Alexander,” Crassus said sarcastically. “Pompeius himself wrote to Rome that he had ended the war with Spartacus, and as Magnus speaks, so Rome hears. I am afraid that unlike me, both Pompeius Magnus and Julius Caesar wear glory like an apple wears its skin. I am but a servant of Rome; they are its masters.”

  Yet again, I thought to myself. I had heard this tale a dozen times. “What is told and what is true are more often distant relations than identical twins. History will recognize you, even if the senate does not.” A slave from the temporary galley came tottering up with a tray of bread and cheese. Crassus tore them in hunks, handing some of each to me. I had the tented kitchen constructed for Crassus' convenience; it would be dismantled before we sailed.

  “Thank you, Simeon.” He nodded to the servant, who departed, then turned back to me. “This is in the distant past,” he continued. “Pompeius has always loved the adoration of the crowd. Let him sing for it. Though I admit, it pleases me to remember his most recent miscalculation in his courtship for the people’s love.”

  “The elephants.”

  “Remind me, upon our return, to purchase a pair. I should like to keep them as pets, and as a reminder of that day.”

  “May that day arrive swiftly.”

  “Come, come, Alexander. Show a little spine. Does not your philosophy require observation? War is part of life. You must see it to understand it. Think of this adventure as my gift to you for the advancement of your studies.”

  “I would rather hear about it from the forum crier.”

  “At this moment, he is probably detailing the chaos of my departure.”

  “Yes, I am sorry to have missed it. I hear it caused quite a stir.”

  “You do not know the half of it. But I was pleased to find all in readiness for my comfort at the port, thanks to you. I regret the need to separate you from your son, but you are the only member of my household I would trust for such a task. You’re a good atriensis, old friend. Half my friends would p
ay seven figures to steal you away for their own houses. I’ve had offers, believe me. Curio won’t do near as well, but it can’t be helped. I need you with me.”

  “He’s quite competent. I’m sure he’ll make an excellent replacement.”

  “Now don’t pout. It’s only temporary. You are foremost among my slaves, Alexander, and always shall be. You know what that means, don’t you? To do what you have done, you could just as well have governed a good-sized town.”

  “When you grant us our freedom, general, I shall find a village and run for mayor.”

  “When I give you your freedom, Alexander, I shall be a poorer man by half.”

  It was a game we often played, but in thirty years, I had never won a round. My abilities were my curse. Crassus would never release me. But then, maybe Curio would prove to be so efficient, dominus would have no more need of me, and he’d release both me and my family. A faint and ironic hope. “You were about to tell me what happened at the forum,” I said, trying to ignore the intermittent spatter of the agitated waters against the hull.

  “As you know, my old friend Marcus Cato had already tried to convince the senate that my candidacy for the consulate was a sham, meant to accumulate more wealth and armies. The man is as blind as Homer. I have no more need of wealth than he has of purple-hemmed togas or parchment for his speeches. As for armies, I already own one; two would be gluttony. Nevertheless, he convinced the senate to withhold its sanction for a war against Parthia. And our noble collection of accountants and lawyers agreed. Why pick a fight, they asked, with a country who has harmed us but little? They missed the point entirely.”

  “If the political reasons were relevant, they would be many,” I countered, knowing the darker motives which moved my master. “Orodes seems content to stay within the palace walls at Ctesiphon. And although he is king, his dominion is not much more than a patchwork of loosely confederated states. They do not seem capable of posing much of a threat, even if they should wish to expand their borders. They tried for Armenia, but she is now under Rome’s patronage, and as a client state bent to Rome’s will, Armenia is an effective buffer should the East awaken.”

  “Thank you, Alexander. You have made my argument for me. It is for these very reasons that Parthia is ripe for the plucking, and why the senate should have rushed to drape the paludamentum of command about my shoulders. Orodes is newly crowned; wet behind the ears. Our spies say he is completely preoccupied with simply keeping his throne, let alone ruling from it. He cannot possibly mount an adequate defense. We will sweep along the Euphrates like a honed scythe through dry wheat. Rome has many mouths to feed, Alexander. What flows from the breast of war but the milk of tribute, spoils and slaves? Rome is an ever-hungry infant that needs constant suckling. I will see to it, through this conquest, that its growth and health continue undiminished.”

  There was no point raising the objection that Rome had existing treaties with Parthia, and that breaking them would weaken the Republic’s integrity throughout its sphere of influence. The light in my master’s eye would brook no argument; it would only be extinguished by his success or, gods forfend, his failure. Politics aside, I had no desire to be whipped, as dominus had threatened. Once a lifetime is sufficient for any man.

  “Where was I?”

  “Cato.”

  “Yes. You would not believe it, but he convinced his co-conniver, that lunatic Ateius to reverse my proconsulship of Syria. Thankfully, his veto was overturned by another more ‘reasonable’ senator, who at this moment is on his way to inspect his new estate in Puteoli.” The general winked. “Occasionally, excessive wealth has its uses, if only to let it flow where it is most needed.”

  “Do my ears deceive me? Or did I just hear you define your wealth as ‘excessive’?”

  “In the hearing, Alexander, you are not deceived. But in the interpretation, most beguiled. To the casual observer, my wealth may appear…extreme. To me, however, a denarius is but a tool, ten thousand denarii the means to many ends. And as any good carpenter knows, you can build anything if you have the right tools. Now stop trying to goad me to argument, or do you not wish to hear the end of the tale?”

  Bowing contritely, I bade him continue.

  “I left the senate, gathered my lictors and entourage, and was preparing to leave the city when this vaunted Tribune of the Plebs shows up again. This time Ateius, failing to incite the crowd to detain me, attempts instead to have me arrested!”

  “I understand Pompeius intervened on your behalf?”

  Crassus’ expression darkened. “It is true, and it rankles deeply that I was forced to accept his assistance. Like it or not, he does have a following, and with his soothing words and paternal smiles, he parted the crowds in the comitium as a liburna under full sail cuts through hospitable seas.

  “Why would he aid you? With respect, your enmity is mutual.”

  “Why else? To hasten us out of the city and so out of his thinning hair. Our alliance is broken. Both Pompeius and Caesar would like nothing better than to see me fail, or if the gods might grant their secret, special prayers, to find themselves on the speaker’s rostra draped in black and reciting the laudatio funebris in my recently departed honor.

  “Are you certain, my lord? Did not Caesar write from Gaul to encourage you?”

  “Of course he encourages me! Think on it, Alexander. He believes my failure is fated, because I do not meet the requirement of the Sibylline oracles. I will fail because I am not a king. And when I do, the senate will grant him as many legions as it takes to avenge me; they will withhold nothing from him, including a crown.”

  “And so he allows Publius to slip away, to become another martyred hero?”

  “I believe that is his thinking, yes.” Crassus tilted his head toward the roiling sky. “Once I counted him an ally and I had thought, a friend. I believed I could take the measure of any man with but a glance, but it shames me to think how blind I was to his true nature. If I could be so wrong about Caesar, who is to say the image I hold of myself is not equally warped and contorted?”

  “For that answer, you need only look into the eyes of your wife and sons.”

  “My wife, yes.” Crassus' eyes drifted away, then refocused. “You were present the night Caesar became my enemy. Publius must never know. As for Marcus, my eldest, he is an accountant, not a warrior. Let Caesar keep him as quaestor to guard his swelling treasury. The general has little to fear from him, and I frankly, have little use for him in Parthia. He will stay in Gaul to be our ears in Caesar’s camp.

  “Do not look so dismayed, my old friend. I mean to turn their scheming to advantage. As much as Caesar and Pompeius think they will benefit from my departure, how much more then, will their stars fall when I return triumphant? I am no virgin legionary on his first sortie. Orodes cannot throw against us but a fraction of the army Spartacus managed to put into the field. And what became of him and his rabble?”

  The memory made me grimace. “I have seen the fate of six thousand of them—survivors caught and executed after the final battle. For more than a year after the war, unless you had a fast horse, a stomach made of Margianian steel or a wagonload of ampullae filled with Egyptian perfume, you could not travel the Via Appia between Capua and Rome without retching. A brace of nailed corpses every hundred feet for sixty miles, the sky black with crows for months—dominus, the horror and cruelty of it was too much.”

  “Because I love you, Alexander, and because I know that in matters of education and philosophy, you are at least my equal, I will not have you beaten for what I would consider impudence in any other man. Leave politics to the politicians. The crucifixions were a harsh but necessary deterrent. If I had it to do all over again, I would change nothing. And that is the point, is it not? By executing the survivors in the most ignominious, dishonorable way possible, I have insured that ‘doing it all over again’ will never be necessary. And mark me, Alexander, I will deal just as severely with Orodes, should he have the temerity to face me.�
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  I stopped and turned a resolute face to my master. “I have served you, Marcus Licinius, for more years than I probably have left to live. I believe that, save for your wife, I know your heart and mind better than any man. I have seen your cunning, your intelligence, your business acumen and your political savvy. I know you to be a man of extreme generosity, good humor and loyalty. I cannot imagine what it must have been like as a young man to see your father and brother slain before your eyes. I know this is why you are so passionately protective of Tertulla, Marcus and brave Publius. You have suffered greatly, yet you have persevered and gained the world. In your heart, there is goodness, and in your mind, the desire to do the right thing. I do not believe that you are a ruthless or barbaric man, for I understand that the subtleties and intricacies of great sculpture must first endure the insults of chisel and hammer.

  “All I am asking, dominus, is that you allow me the freedom to be absent should you ever speak again of the necessity that forced you to adorn the Via Appia with such stern politics.” My voice was like the slow, persistent squeeze on the neck that extracts every drop of venom from the cobra’s fangs.

  Crassus was silent. The game piece had been moved. We never spoke of it, but each knew the rules. I would push the limits of my master’s patience, or his tolerance, see how far and how often I could bait him until finally he snapped and reverted to the basic, fundamental nature of our relationship. Even if I lost, I won, for I would see the victory of pain in his eyes as he witnessed whatever punishment he imposed upon me. But it was a dangerous game, for men like me were cheaply bought by men like Crassus, and the silver mines were always hungry for more human fodder to chew and choke. Yet I was compelled. I had nothing that was not given me, nothing that could not on a whim be taken away. Except this. My prize was a shred of dignity that covered nothing but my naked shame. His prize, if he kept it, was a shred of humanity which he shared with no one.