The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Alexander

by Andrew Levkoff

  “I don’t like it when you do that,” he said, his tone unreadable.

  “If my lord will elaborate on the nature of ‘that,’ I shall see to it that ‘that’ never happens again.”

  “Impertinence is unbecoming in a man of your station, let alone your age.” He sighed. “I suppose I must thank you for attending to the little things that maintain my popularity.”

  “In that I have had an excellent tutor.”

  Crassus waved a hand in the direction of the only available open space on the table. “Put it there.” I was carrying sliced melon on a golden tray, which I set down where he indicated. “I should like,” he continued, his attention focused on a letter, “to be able to at least cling to the illusion that I am running this household.”

  Another ‘Crassus compliment.’ He seemed to sense that no matter how high he raised me up, there was only one advancement that held meaning for me. I sagged with the knowledge that the more I earned it, the less chance there was that it would ever be forthcoming. I had been in service to the house of Crassus for twenty-four years, five years more than my age when I was taken.

  Work followed Crassus like a puppy. Scrolls and documents covered the waist-high table. We were in the rear tablinum, the one used as an office, not the larger one where the senator received the daily stream of needy clients who apparently took no holidays, their palms raised in petrified extension. These were the armies of well-wishing men to whom Crassus was patron and on whose votes and favors he counted. They followed him everywhere. The heavy rust-colored drapes were drawn aside so that from his writing table he could look one way into the garden of the atrium and the other out across the northwest terrace to the blue of the bay. His brown tunic was trimmed in gold but he wore no other adornment.

  “What in Jupiter’s name is that?”

  “Melon, dominus. Honey melon.”

  “Not the melon. The tray.”

  “My lady bought it yesterday at the market. In Puteoli.”

  Crassus reached over and hefted it with both hands. “It’s solid gold. How much did she pay for it?”

  “Two thousand sesterces.”

  Crassus shook his head and smiled. “I begrudge her nothing, of course.”

  “It is good to know one’s value,” I said, unable to hold my tongue. I ran a finger along the dully gleaming rim. “It appears this charger and I have equal worth.”

  “Tut, Alexander, you are worth that a hundred times over.” He meant it as a compliment. And to underscore the point he added, “Besides, my wife is no bargain hunter. She overpaid by half.”

  I’m one of the luckiest, I reminded myself, changing the subject. “I see you’ve received a letter from Lucius Calpurnius Piso.”

  “As a matter of fact I have. How did you know that? Have you been spying on me?”

  “Spying would be pointless, dominus. What could I learn that you are unwilling to confide?” He agreed by nodding and raising his graying eyebrows. “The runner came from Herculaneum. Piso retires to his villa there for the season. More telling, when I entered you were wearing that grin peculiar to his correspondence.”

  “And what grin is that?”

  “The one you exhibit when you are about to burst out laughing.”

  “His words do tickle, true enough. He mentions you, you know.” I girded myself. “Yes, right here, he says, ‘Don’t pay too much attention to that Greek of yours. Absorb too much of his philosophy and your brain will become soggy and spoil. You’ll have to purchase a new one in the market.’”

  “Should you write him, tell Piso from me that his love of Epicurus blinds him to other disciplines, like science and the search for truth.”

  “You can tell him yourself. They’re coming to dinner next week.”

  “Are they bringing Calpurnia? What a lovely child, so poised and graceful for a thirteen year-old.”

  “Am I interrupting?” The man who had crossed the atrium and now stood in the archway was slight of build, of average height, with sharp, hawk-like features. His crisp, white tunic was long-sleeved, fringed and loosely belted; in other words, quite eccentric. Not only his face, but what was visible of his chest, arms and legs was hairless.

  “There you are, Gaius! Of course you’re not interrupting. Sit, sit. I trust it was not our engineers that roused you at this hour?”

  “I slept as soundly as if Cato himself knelt by my bedside to whisper sweet and endless orations in my ear.”

  “That is a good night’s sleep.”

  “I have never understood the need of it. As far as I can fathom, it serves no useful purpose, save to give the wakeful advantage. Two or three hours is all any active man should require.”

  “Our wives must disagree, since I have seen neither of them this morning. Please sit. That’s better. Well, my young friend, we’ve come a long way from Apulia, haven’t we?

  “I had no idea you were aware I fought under your command against Spartacus.”

  “I wasn’t. But Alexander here did a little research and pointed out your name in the rolls. Come, tell me the news. And no politics. Let’s have nothing to disturb our bucolic otium, aside from the unfortunate construction. We’ll be forced to shun the gardens and picnic in the country today. How is your family? How fares your niece? I understand she had some difficulty last year with her pregnancy.”

  “Atia has recovered fully, thank you for asking. Octavian will be a year old come September.”

  “Splendid. Alexander, bring our guest some melon.”

  “Just water.”

  When I returned with a pitcher and goblets, Crassus was saying, “I didn’t realize you were a man of such piety.” The remark was rich with sarcasm. I poured the water and receded to my place in the shadows to study this most recent of my master’s friends. Gaius Julius Caesar was in his late thirties, but he sat with an easy elegance as if on a throne, as if nothing he desired could stand against the sheer force of his will to acquire or achieve it. Ambition. You could see it leaking from every pore of his body, but no place more than his eyes. Ambition, and pride, and arrogance. He had the look of a soldier, but a man could rarely be considered great in Rome if he did not have a taste for blood. I had heard him speak on the rostra several years before. He claimed his bloodline to be descended not only from kings, but from the gods themselves!

  What did Crassus see in him? What need of him did he have? Surely it was not a friendship based solely on amity. He set my nerves on edge, and I admit I was frightened by him. In the end, I suppose I should have been more afraid of the love of a husband for his wife, and the misguided lengths to which it would drive him.

  “To serve the people,” Caesar was saying, “they must elect me. To elect me, they must love me. To love me, they must see how the gods favor me. Who is more favored by the gods than the pontifex maximus?”

  “Your logic is appalling. I shall have to hire out Alexander here as your tutor.” Athena forefend. “What the people love are the bribes you spread to secure the election. How else could you have won without a single grey hair on your head? You must be broke.”

  “Not as destitute after the election as I am now.” Crassus cocked an eyebrow. “You know the hill above the old naval base at Misenum?”

  “The tip of the cape with the fabulous view of the bay.”

  “That’s the place.”

  “It’s lovely. Tertulla and I sometimes go there for a stroll. We could venture there today, if you like.”

  “I bought it.”

  Crassus barked a short laugh. “You’re insane! Who did you borrow the money from? You didn’t come to me.”

  “I expect I will. Eventually. My creditors have nothing to fear. When I earn a command, the spoils of conquest will repay all with interest. I’m thinking Hispania Ulterior.”

  “So you’ll be standing for praetor.”

  “No army, no glory. No glory, no gold. But I’ll need your support. Can I count on you when the time comes later this year?”

  “Of course
. Providing, as you plow your way up the cursus honorum, you clear an equally unobstructed path for my own interests as they arise.”

  “Naturally. And you know, I’ve been thinking. As wet a sponge as Hispania may be, from what untapped source do you think the most treasure may be wrung to lay at a grateful Rome’s feet?”

  “Gaul? Britannia? Egypt?”

  “Parthia.”

  “Parthia? Sulla once spoke to me of that wasteland of barbarism. There must be easier coffers to empty closer to home.”

  Caesar shook his head. “Not a wasteland, Marcus, but a richly paved road. Think of it: Rome’s borders reaching to the Indus, perhaps beyond. What a triumph! No door would remain closed to us, no glory withheld, no honor denied to such a man as could deliver the opulence of the East. Where Alexander failed, we could succeed!”

  “I admire your spirit, Gaius, but shall credit such brashness to youthful temerity. The world is already ours; have patience and enjoy what you have, or at least what you’ve borrowed. Besides, the senate would never countenance such folly.”

  “I’m no fool, Marcus. A good stew needs simmering. I’ll be able to stand for consul in three years; that should lend substantial gravitas when I propose the expedition after my term expires.”

  Crassus snorted and shook his head, smiling. “Already won the post, have you?”

  Caesar continued as if dominus had not spoken. “Even then I doubt the senate will issue enough gold to finance the entire campaign. We’ll need additional resources, which is where you’ll come in. But I’m in no hurry. Let’s just keep it in mind, you and I.”

  Crassus was about to say more when an explosion thudded through the morning air followed by a commotion of shouts from outside. We all rushed to the balcony to look down across the five terraced gardens that framed the slopes of the villa to where a jet of water arced up in a decidedly unintentional fountain.

  “I’d better see to this,” Crassus said. Caesar offered to accompany him, but my master wouldn’t hear of it. “Nonsense. Stay here. Have breakfast. We’re on holiday. I won’t be long – I just want to make sure no one is hurt. I’ll take Mercurius with me. If he’s not off napping somewhere. Alexander, see to our guest’s comfort. Bring him anything he desires.”

  Crassus left to check on the disturbance, and fearful for the privacy of my master’s papers, I suggested to Caesar he might be more comfortable in the triclinium. He grinned briefly and without humor, but allowed me to guide him. As I was getting him resettled in the dining room, propping pillows behind his back and exchanging his footwear for dining slippers, Tertulla found us. Her black curls were festooned with yellow ribbons. They matched the color of her tunic, whose sleeves fell just to her elbows. Each of her forearms was adorned with golden bracelets, some studded with rubies, others with sapphires. Over her tunic, she had draped a long stola the color of daisy petals.

  My lady greeted Caesar politely, but when she heard where my lord had gone, asked why I was not with him. I answered that he had commanded me to stay behind to see to the young high priest’s needs. This seemed to satisfy her, and reclining on the lectus adjacent to Caesar’s, she ordered refreshments while we awaited his return. I hovered close by while fresh oysters, chilled mullet from our ponds, slices of honey melon, and Armenian apricots stewed in white wine were served.

  “How is Pompeia this morning?” Tertulla asked, spearing an apricot half with the pointed end of her spoon.

  “As witty as ever I have heard her,” Caesar replied.

  “She’ll be joining us shortly?”

  Caesar dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “She’ll have to stop snoring first.” I glared at the two dining room attendants who were both grinning recklessly.

  “You are unkind, Gaius,” Tertulla said.

  “I am an honest man.”

  “An unlikely and unprofitable trait in a politician.”

  Caesar sipped his water, then retorted, “It is you who are unkind, Lady Tertulla, for your words condemn your own husband as the most colossal liar in Rome.”

  Tertulla let a small smile escape her. “Eat your breakfast, Caesar. Your wit must need frequent nourishment.”

  “My stomach may growl, yet my eyes banquet to excess.”

  “Then I suggest you close them, and I will have a servant guide a spoon to your open mouth.” Tertulla’s smile had vanished.

  “These delicacies before us will not sate the hunger that gnaws at me.”

  “I would remind you, sir, that you are a guest in my husband’s home.”

  “You are right, of course. Let us speak of your husband. And your marriage. It must be tiresome to be saddled with the same old horse for so long without the variety of a new ride now and then.”

  “Think yourself a stallion, Gaius Julius? You are an ass. If your rudeness did not appall, I would find your braying amusing.”

  “What would it take to amuse you, Tertulla? I long to entertain you.” Caesar reached for her hand, but she slapped him away.

  “Incorrigible! Do you honestly think your advances are of the slightest interest? See to your own wife.”

  “I have. Why do you think I am sitting here with you?”

  “Your reputation, Caesar, is like your manhood: it precedes you, crashing blindly about until it is ruined. Does it mean nothing to you that you are speaking to the wife of your benefactor? Does betrayal come so easily to you?”

  “It is no betrayal to compliment your beauty and my friend’s good fortune. And now mine, for Aphrodite smiles on me.” Caesar raised his eyes to the heavens.

  “And why is that?” The hem of my lady’s stola having slid slightly askew, she readjusted the garment and covered her legs below the knees.

  “You imply that were I speaking to you without the constraints of marital propriety, you might succumb to my advances.”

  “Deluded and incorrigible,” Tertulla said, irritated. “You make no advances. You make noise. Must I stop up my ears every time we meet? Are you not afraid I will go straight to my husband with your obnoxious behavior?”

  “I fully expect you will. But you see, dear lady, Marcus loves and trusts us both with the naiveté of a Vestal. He knows you would never betray him, and that I would never seriously attempt to seduce you and cuckold him. An opportunity for the perfect crime, don’t you think?”

  “I know you, Gaius. You are like a child who clamors for a toy, and when he gets it, plays with it for a day, then discards it. I feel sorry for your wife, who sleeps but a few feet from where we sit.”

  “I assure you, fair Tertulla, that were my wife enjoying breakfast here with us right this very moment, she would still appear to slumber.” Caesar tapped the side of his head with his knife. “A comely enough creature, but light as a feather.”

  “Sulla’s granddaughter deserves better than to be matched with the likes of you. But,” she added brightly, “there is always the chance some enemy of Rome will make her a widow. Where are you off to next? Someplace dangerous, I hope?”

  “I warn you, Tertulla, I am nothing if not persistent.”

  “In that case, Gaius, you are nothing. Pray on some other patrician’s wife. Perhaps you’ll even find one who doesn’t love her husband.” Tertulla pointed to a glistening mullet and her myrtle-wreathed analecta selected a fillet and sliced it into bite-sized pieces for her. “I know! Consul Decimus Silanus is in town for the season. He is newly married - I hear his wife Servilia is a rare beauty. I shall throw a party and invite them so you can attempt to slither and hiss your way into her arms. And leave me in peace.”

  “First an ass, now a snake. Women are so fickle,” Caesar mused unfazed. “If I must choose, I prefer the serpent. They glide into dark places with strong, determined muscles.”

  Tertulla laughed out loud. “Don’t tell me that inept flummery actually works on your conquests?”

  “Since you admit their status, you must acknowledge my persuasiveness. Come, Tertulla, you may as well relent. You know your stubbornness only fuels
my determination.” As he spoke, he reached across and slid his hand up her calf.

  My lady had finally had enough. She smiled and leaned forward as if to embrace him. Then she slapped him so hard it turned his head so that for a horrifying second his eyes met mine. He turned angrily away, his hand flinching. For a moment I thought he was going to strike her. Tertulla broke the stunned silence by leaning still closer and spoke softly into his reddening ear. “Down, senator, or I shall convince my husband that his investments will yield higher returns elsewhere.”

  “Are you flirting with my wife again?” Crassus appeared behind me, splattered with mud, smelling of sulfur, his hair disheveled and the hem of his tunic dripping onto the marble floor. “You’ll have better luck conquering Parthia.”

  Chapter XXV

  62 BCE - Summer, Baiae

  Year of the consulship of

  Decimus Junius Silanus and Lucius Licinius Murena

  My lord and lady excused themselves so that Crassus could clean himself up and change his clothes. They left me in the triclinium, standing awkwardly before Caesar. He wanted no more food, so I had the analectae clear. When we were alone, I asked if he would like me to fetch his wife. He replied that if I did, he would have me flogged. For a long while he reclined unmoving, saying nothing, holding me with a malevolent gaze, for nothing more, I assume, than the satisfaction of seeing me finally wilt and avert my eyes. When I did, I saw Livia approaching.

  “Good morning, my lord,” she said, her voice subdued, her head bowed. Caesar ignored her and sipped his water. Protocol and common sense demanded that she ignore me and address the pontifex maximus. But in the past eight years, I must admit to you that I had grown more and more delusional. Time had hewn away the sharpest edges of Livia’s distaste for the very sight of me, and while I never let it show, inwardly I took this for a sign, letting my imagination grow apace with my affection. When she spoke, I imagined no one present but the two of us; in my head I even altered her tone to one of reverence and adoration.

  What a sop.