some resistance and we were forced to thin them out – the house translators were among the dead. I’ll shoot this one and get you another. There has to be a more compliant candidate left alive in the city.”
“A shame,” Crassus said. “His Latin is perfect.”
“Archer!” I called. “Do you love your vocation?” And in Greek, “I hope so, for ‘pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work.’”
“Aristotle!” cried Crassus. Then, almost apologetically to Sulla, “I am an admirer.” I got the first look of my master as he appeared at the railing. A soldier in his prime: hair close-cropped, brows knit over a slightly bent nose; thin lips, strong chin and eyes care-worn yet masterful. Like most of the men peering down at me, he looked worn out, yet comforted by the mantle of victory. He leaned over the rail and called to me in Greek, “Apologize, and you yet may live.”
“If you are a true student of philosophy, good sir, you will not interfere,” I said. “You will know that ‘the very best thing is not to have been born, to be nothing. The second best thing is to die soon.’”
“As much as I admire the Greek thinkers,” Crassus said, “Aristotle missed the mark this time. Live awhile and prove me wrong.”
“Sulla!” I implored desperately. “Will you let all these witnesses make you a laughingstock?”
“You have spirit,” Sulla called. “But there’s no meat on your bones. What good is a weakling, insolent slave? I can’t let this go, Marcus. Archer ....” I closed my eyes. The bow overhead voiced a single, creaking complaint as the string was pulled back.
“I like his impertinence,” Crassus pressed. “And with all humility, may I remind the general why it was you had him found? If you still intend him as a gift, perhaps the lorum will tame his arrogance. Will this suffice?”
Sulla considered. “See how he perplexes me? I had quite forgotten. Well ... he is yours now; the decision belongs to you as well. But damn it, Marcus, I cannot allow any man to speak to me thusly with impunity. And this ... I mean look at him. Archer, shoot him in the leg. And somebody bring me my head!”
Chapter IV
82 BCE - Fall, Rome
Year of the consulship of
Gaius Marius the Younger and Gnaeus Papirius Carbo
A word of advice: if you can possibly avoid it, do not get shot. The arrow pierced my right thigh and exited out the back of my leg with force enough to spin me off-balance. My wounded leg flew backward, tripping up my other leg as I twisted from the impact. I was screaming before my fall broke the feathered shaft as I hit the ground face down. Unable to stop my momentum, I rolled over until the protruding iron arrowhead stabbed the back of my other thigh. I’m told the complaints streaming from my mouth were insufferable; Sulla ordered a legionary to rush up and knock me on the head with the butt of his sword.
***
Now that I have told you how my new master ruined my first and only attempt at escape from bondage, I return to the events that happened only moments before. They concern the condemned man whose blood Crassus refused to allow to be washed from the balcony’s stones for as long as he lived in that place. So let us go back to the moment he was dragged before Sulla and Crassus.
***
There was a commotion at the front of the house: the slap and murmur of leather armor, the clamor of studded caligae, the stumble of an out-of-step gait shoved from behind. “Your next gift approaches,” Sulla said to Crassus. As this procession marched out onto the balcony, the sound of a sword being drawn was accompanied by these words from the general: “Lucius Junius Brutus Damasippus, I accuse you of the murder of Quintus Mucius Scaevola, pontifex maximus. In the blinking brightness of day. In front of scores of witnesses. In of all places the most sacred Temple of the Vestals. A crime so bold and heinous it is a reeling affront to everything for which Rome stands. Do you deny it?”
There came a coarse cough of laughter, then a new voice spoke with venom made potent by the hopelessness of his plight. “I deny nothing. I cut the priest’s throat with my own puglio and watched his blood run down the steps of the temple.”
“And do you deny that Gaius Marius Minor, the last holdout of those