The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,47
a lock on the cabinet,” Tertulla commanded.
“There was, domina. It was broken.”
“Find a stronger one.”
“Yes, domina. As soon as the shops open tomorrow.”
Crassus asked about the staff that had been poisoned.
“All are resting comfortably, dominus. I sacrificed a goat, roasted its bones and gave everyone a dose of bone black. Because Alexander ate half the bowl all by himself, I forced him to drink the bone black, plus a reduction of mulberry leaves boiled in vinegar. Everyone should be fine by morning.”
“This makes no sense,” he said. “Why sicken, but not kill? Why hurt others, if it was Alexander Pío was after?”
“I think,” Sabina answered, “he thought he could get away with the murder. Alexander’s love of figs is no secret. Pío wanted to make it appear like bad fruit had killed him. That’s why he couldn’t break his neck or stab him. He could leave no mark. If others ate the figs and became ill, so much the better: it would help mask the truth. Except that I chanced upon him in the act.”
“And for that we thank you,” Crassus said without emotion. “Do you always carry your scalpels with you?”
“Always. I never know where I’ll be when I ...”
“Have to slit someone’s throat?”
“Dominus, it was a miracle you did not return to find two corpses instead of one.”
“A miracle, yes. How do you come by such fighting skills?”
“No skill, only luck.” Crassus looked skeptical. “Why did you not flee?”
“I could not leave knowing Pío would finish what he had set out to do. I would never have been able to get help in time.”
“So you killed him.”
“I am deeply sorry, dominus. I meant to cripple, to incapacitate, not kill. I know how much Pío ...”
“And why,” Crassus said, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose, “why have you been bringing flowers to Alexander’s room? Do you wish a contubernium with him?”
“What? No! It was ... for Livia.”
“Ah. I see.” Crassus did not press her. “It is late, and we all need rest. Go to your beds.”
***
Crassus looked in on me before he retired. I was groggy and my limbs still tingled, but the ceiling had lost its animation. He rested his lamp on the nightstand and sat on my pallet just where Pío had of late been visiting. Putting his hand on my shoulder he asked if I recognized him.
“Of course, dominus. I am sorry.”
“For what? It is I who must apologize to you. I am glad you are still with us.”
“I am tougher than I look.”
“I doubt that. Until I think of a more permanent solution, I want you to become my new atriensis. I’ll go over what is required, but I need to know if you think you can handle the responsibility.”
I was struck, not dumb, but witless. In times of stress and shock, when mouth outpaced mind and completely overran good manners, I fell back on my old standby, pedagogery. “Is not the original meaning of atriensis,” I stammered, “one responsible for the care of the atrium? Later, as well-to-do Latin homes grew, it came to mean chief steward, but the modern meaning is hardly more significant than hall monitor?”
“Calm yourself, Alexander. We are not in your classroom. If you must know, and I see that you must, I prefer the role as defined by my father and his father before him: as my atriensis you shall be master of my household, responsible for everything and everyone that in any way touches my home or my family. Or would you prefer being elevated to hall monitor?”
If only he were serious. “What of the school?” I asked.
“You will hire a new grammaticus.”
“I am certain I would make a better teacher.”
“As I say, it is a temporary post.”
I expelled a deep breath. “Then I am honored to accept.”
“Of course, there is the matter of Nestor’s chastisement. Nothing today has changed my will on that score.” He saw the appalled look on my face. “You’re right. Not a fit assignment for your first day on the job. Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”
And he did.
Chapter XIV
80 - 76 BCE - Rome
Year of the consulship of
Gnaeus Octavius and Gaius Scribonius Curio
I was very quick to make myself indispensable. My accounts balanced to the as, the larders were always full and my promotion was begrudged little, mostly because there was none but myself remotely suited to the post. Like the mark upon Nestor’s brow, the shock of our tragedy receded to a dull throbbing, but never