The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,58
before it, grieving over the news of the death of his friend Patroclus. The horses wept. An odd choice of inspiration for the bedroom. Or any room.
Crassus shouted, “Epimachus! Boots!”
“Can’t you please send someone else?” Tertulla said in a muffled voice, letting a slender leg and way too much thigh slip out from beneath the coverlet. “Must you always insist on playing the hero?” She wiggled her painted toes. The gold ankle bracelet with the zodiac charms he had just given her for her birthday beckoned. For a moment, it looked as if the siren song of their tinkling would be enough to lure him back to bed.
“You’re making this very difficult,” he sighed. “But I must see to this.”
Tertulla sat up. “Come here,” she said. He obeyed. “I want to give you a reminder of why you should hurry back to me.” She slid her arms around his neck and pulled him forward till his mouth met hers. Their kiss was long and languid. I looked away.
When at last they separated, he sighed and replied, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Stepping through the doorway, he glanced at the three waiting men. “That is all of it?”
“Six bags, three thousand, one hundred twenty-five coins in each. A total of eighteen thousand, seven hundred fifty denarii: seventy-five thousand sesterces. Precisely,” I added, my tone daring contradiction.
“Precisely? Surely the count might be plus or minus a denarius or two?” I looked at him and smiled thinly. Crassus met my gaze and said, “My mistake. Foolish of me to bring it up.”
We headed for the front entrance.
Chapter XVIII
76 BCE - Summer, Rome
Year of the consulship of
Gnaeus Octavius and Gaius Scribonius Curio
What drove Crassus from the arms of his willing wife was the memory of the eight months he had spent hiding in a cave near the town of Tarraco on the Hispania Citerior coast. He swore he would never, ever let himself be forced to live that way again. Cinna and Marius the elder had killed his father and brother along with many others, slaughtering them for no greater crime than their having been born into noble families. Crassus could not help the accident of his birth, but he could gird himself with what, in Rome, was inviolable armor. Money provided far more than just a roof over your head. It would buy influence, friends, arms and men-at-arms, power and protection, and he meant never to be without it. A great deal of it. At thirty-nine, he was making excellent progress toward that illusive, mythical amount: more. Since the day I was made his atriensis, it had been my task to help him achieve his goal.
Outside the vestibule to his villa, his horse was waiting, held by one of six torch bearers. There were also six armed bodyguards who looked like they could handle two or three times their number. Among them was Drusus Malchus, but not Betto, who was more energetic than stalwart. When Malchus caught my eye, he nodded and winked. The young legionary guard from the old slave quarters had grown in girth and strength over the past several years. He was no longer the skinny lad from the latrine, but one of the most massive of Crassus’ fighting men. I was thankful he had taken a shine to me.
Crassus called good morning to the men, each by name. He mounted the black Hispanic stallion by stepping on the prostrate back of one of his stable boys. It was still several hours before dawn, and the streets were empty. Only the foolhardy or those in dire need ever ventured out after dark into the unnamed, unnumbered and unlit streets of the city.
“I can smell smoke, but see nothing,” Crassus said squinting into the gloom. The Urbs spread out beneath us in unnerving silence.
Ludovicus said, “Just across the Forum to the Quirinal. Take the Alta Semita. You’ll see the apartment house as soon as you start up the hill, two alleys north of the temple. Don’t worry, when you get close, you can follow the sound of Septimus Corvinus’ wailing.”
“Corvinus, eh? I’m surprised he has any insulae left. He will insist on making them out of rotten timber and mud bricks.”
“And four and five stories high,” said Ludovicus.
“Hopefully everyone is getting out safely.”
“The first brigade is on their way with two pump carts,” the commander said. “We can use the Petronia Amnis. Plenty of water in it this time of year.”
“Good work. What about the second?” Crassus asked.