The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,10

have called me to the Carinae? As lovely as the view is from this hill, I must see to my Spaniards.”

“Good men all. My best medics are already on their way to your camp to tend to the wounded. Relax, Marcus. I’ve a special surprise for you which should be here any minute. Take a cup of wine. It’s from your vineyards after all.”

“Sir?”

“This home has been abandoned by the previous owner, along with all his property and wealth. Not coincidentally, he abandoned the field of battle as well, his tail well-tucked. A coward such as Carbo deserves no finery such as this. I doubt he’ll be making any claims from Africa. Today, I give all his possessions to the hero of the Colline Gate.”

“Words cannot express my gratitude, general. But my father, may he rest peacefully in Juno’s arms, would never approve of such a display of immoderate wealth. Our family home was a third as large.” The man’s barely contained joy was proof that he was not his father.

“And your father,” the first man countered, “could have afforded an estate ten times as grand, so let us consider this a fair compromise. Come Marcus, we must begin to rebuild the wealth Marius stole. We take back only that which rightfully belongs to you. My mind is set on this – though of plebian ancestry, the Licinii Crassi have sacrificed more for the sake of Rome than most nobles: a father and the two eldest of three sons? It is enough. You must make your mark for their sake.”

“My lord ...”

“No. You have your own family to consider. How fare your wife and son?” Evidently there would be no further argument.

“Sons! When I left Tertulla in Lavinium last year to join your campaign, she was with child. Her letters have yet to find me; I pray Mercury lends mine swifter wings. Girl or boy, I know not which, the next Crassus should be a year old by now. Young Marcus will turn three next month.” Even from my lowly vantage point I could hear the pride in his voice.

“This is magnificent news. You honored the memory of your brother when you took Tertulla in.”

“She was just a child. Only thirteen and married to Lucius less than a year the day he was cut down. I do honor his memory, but I would have seen it served in any other way than this. Thanks to the gods that Tertulla was visiting her parents, or her name would have lengthened the list of the dead. It is a marvel, but these past five years I have come to cherish her as if I had been the first to woo her. Yet that is of no account. What I did is unremarkable; any decent Roman would have done the same.”

“Decent Romans,” the older man mused. “Roman decency is a rare commodity nowadays. For proof, one need but take a stroll through almost any neighborhood of the city.” I grimaced with disgust; the man was oblivious to the fact that at least half the carnage in the streets could be laid upon the edge of Roman swords. The senior officer continued. “Wait a few weeks before summoning Tertulla back to the city. A woman’s eyes ought not to lose their sparkle from the sight of what men must do to keep them safe. Although it’s never too early for the son of a Roman to begin his education.” I prayed to Reason that no son of Rome would ever call me father. As it turned out, Reason would attend. The boy I grew to think of as the son I never had would hail from quite another quarter, a fugitive who would find his home with me.

There was a short silence after which Marcus Crassus appeared to acquiesce tacitly to his benefactor’s generosity by changing the subject. “So, Carbo escaped, then?” he said.

“Don’t trouble yourself. I’ve sent young Gnaeus Pompeius after him with his three legions. Do you know him?”

“We’ve never met. I hear his ability to command far outstrips his years. Wasn’t it he and Metellus who engaged Carbo in the north? It makes me feel unworthy being the recipient of such bounty.” My ears strained to catch each word of this lofty conversation.

“Look there. That villa will be his upon his return. You’ll be neighbors! Be at ease, Marcus, it has at least one peristyle more than yours. Will that give Pompeius his due? Fine. It is settled then. Let’s eat