who have raised arms against me, he who is now held under siege at Praeneste, holds your leash?”
“This is too pretty a place for an execution, Lucius Cornelius, and far too private for your purpose. What are you playing at? I appreciate the view, but if you expect repentance, I shit on your ignorance. Do what you brought me here to do.”
“The dead make no demands: I give no credence to the words of a ghost. For history’s sake, I will make an accurate accounting. Marius gave you a list.”
“We have it here my lord,” a soldier said. There was quiet as Sulla scanned it.
“And did you ...?”
“To the last senator,” spoke Damasippus. “You’ll find them at the bottom of the Tiber. Togas make excellent shrouds. By the way, you’ll find the high priest Scaevola down there as well. You see, we did try to clean up after ourselves,” the villain added.
“You were loyal, Brutus; you served faithfully, first the father, then the son. This I do not hold against you, for it is this quality I seek above all others in my own allies. You may have truly believed, as did Marius, that the people require more representation than what they already have from the senators whom they have elected. Or maybe you simply gambled that your sword would be wielded on the side of the victor. Either way, you have chosen unwisely. Yet even this I might be inclined to overlook, but for the cruel and vicious streak in you. I take no pleasure in restoring sanity to Rome. I do what must be done. But you, you are ... overzealous. I cannot abide intemperance in any form.”
“Then chide your tongue,” Damasippus snapped. “This endless prattle offends my person more than any blade.” There was a blunt whump and the prisoner became silent. My neck ached. I rolled my head to relieve the strain of looking up, as if that would improve my hearing.
Sulla spoke again. “Marcus, come close. Do you know this man?”
“There is something familiar about his face.” A pause. “YOU!”
“Hold, Marcus.” A short scuffle. “He will be yours in good time. Before I could breach the walls of the city, this traitor had already discharged his bloody commission from Marius the son, but five years earlier, the faithful cur performed the same bloody tricks for Marius the father. I wish these good souls assembled here to know the full measure of his perfidy. Remember, Marcus Licinius; purge yourself of the memory.”
There was silence for a long while, then Crassus spoke hoarsely, but I could not make out the words. Sulla’s stentorian growl, though, fell hard on my ears. “This is the man, Marcus! More than this house, more than any treasure I have yet to bestow upon you, I warrant you will value him as my greatest gift to you. Most of him, that is. I shall retain his head for another purpose.”
Crassus found his voice, each word of the retelling slowly stoking his anger as the memory took shape and form till it was once again a live and twisting thing in his gut. “You were bearded then.” The sound of measured steps fading then returning: Crassus circling Damasippus. “Bless the gods for their kindness – they took my mother the day I was born; she would be neither witness nor victim of that day’s work. My eldest brother, Publius - he too was fortunate. He died honorably, killed in the last war against our rebellious Italian allies.
“But on the day of which you would have me speak, general, the day my family’s honor and life was gutted like a gasping trout, I was the lucky one.” The word came miserable and shriveled from Crassus’ throat. “My brother Lucius had just returned ... .” A breeze blew through the needles of the stone pines lining the garden border and carried his next words away on the chill wind. I pleaded with their great, rounded crowns, swaying like giant mushrooms on spindly stalks, begging them to be still. To my amazement, they heard my prayer and ceased their lofty chatter.
“They never found me,” Crassus was saying. “But through the cracks of the garden shed I saw what happened. Pallus, the gardener and two of his Egyptians had gone there with me to fetch fertilizer and tools. If not for them ....”
“How ironic that my father once supported Marius. He was always a man of the people. But his taste for politics soured once the killing