The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,104

more. The front of the long tunic she wore as a nightdress swung at her ankles with each lascivious stroke. The back of it was mashed up above her thighs, held up by Caesar’s pumping hips. The left shoulder of her tunic was torn. Could there have been a struggle? Or was this just more evidence of their ardor? Her own arms were fully extended, hands gripping the edge of the chest to keep her head from bumping into the wall with each of Caesar’s thrusts. Crassus followed the slender line of her bare arms up to her shaking shoulders, her twisted neck, the ringlets of her hair which half obscured her face. He was so absorbed with cataloging her treacherous features it was a moment before he realized she was looking right at him.

In this instant of recognition, in the one moment when all the gods called out for decisiveness, for retribution, for action of some kind, any kind, Crassus moved not a muscle. His wife’s gaze pinned him like an insect, and although the light was still very dim, he knew with absolute certainty that she saw him standing there. It was hard to tell, but he thought he saw a look of terror pass over her face at the sight of him. This was immediately replaced by an expression of unbearable sorrow.

Crassus wanted to die. The meeting of their eyes was far more terrible than the sight of her rutting. Before this moment, had he accepted the title, he could have claimed the moral high ground of accuser. Now, with each passing second, he became the accused, complicit in their sin, his voyeurism almost paramount to their infidelity. The longer he stood there, the more his shame grew. For every action of theirs for which there was no re-action from him, he lost a piece of himself. Each moment he lingered, shards of the man Crassus fell away and were lost. If she would but close her eyes or turn away, he would be free to move, to act. But she held him with her gaze, and every thrust from her lover was a blow to his shattered heart. Tertulla’s look riveted him to the spot just as surely as the nails that pierced Spartacus’ rebels had fixed them to their crosses.

Cold sweat pooled around the hilt of his dagger till he felt it would slip from his fingers. With immense effort, he broke eye contact with his wife and stared down at the blade. He considered which way to point it. He had three choices and each seemed equally reasonable. Just when he finally decided that it was Caesar’s throat that desperately needing slitting, Tertulla made a small, frantic gesture. She shook her head in a clear imprecation for him to do nothing. Her eyes widened and only because of thirty years’ intimacy with that face, could he see she wanted him to slip away, to depart – to continue to do what he had done since he had come upon them - nothing.

It was a blow worse than any that had come before. Anger, like the bile that had tried to erupt before, rose within him. How could she expect him to do nothing? How could she ask him to do nothing? Her gesture had finally provided the impetus to reveal his presence, but the gesture itself pleaded for silence. His mind cracked like an egg. In his chest, there was a thick knot of rope where his heart had but a moment ago beat only for her. Yet he knew he would obey her. Even in betrayal, it was a reflex of love he could not abandon. And the core of him, already broken in two, found it could shatter into even smaller pieces. He took one step back and let the curtain come between his eyes and hers, between a joyous past and an empty future.

Chapter XXXI

56 BCE - Spring, Luca

Year of the consulship of

Cn. Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus and L. Marcius Philippus

Crassus wandered the drafty hallways, refusing to return to his bedroom, and instead found me. He sent me to find an empty cubiculum. It was difficult to leave him alone, even for a moment, such was his distress. Once I had him resettled, I foolishly asked him what had happened. My master was curt and rude, telling me to tend to my own business and leave him to his misery. I knew it must be something horrible, for even on his worst