The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,89
citizen, considering the consequences.”
“I did consider them, but only afterwards. In the moment, there was only reflex. It was over before I could think about how or whether to act. Had you been there, you would have had done no less. In fact, one may interpret my behavior as acting on your behalf.”
“You are not going to talk your way out of this. For even if you are correct, old friend,” Crassus said, conscious of the leather-bound handle of the whip in his sweaty palm, “you will find my ‘gratitude’ stingy.”
“I beg you, dominus, do not confuse friendship with dominion.” Sarcasm and fear wept from my voice like the fluids that would soon seep from under the stripy lacerations on my back.
“Damn you, man, for putting us through this. Damn that girl, too.” I looked at him, not understanding. “She’s a sorceress. Don’t think I am blind to your feelings for her. Had it been anyone else, we’d be on our way to Misenum by now.”
“I am sorry to inconvenience you. And I have acted with nothing but propriety every day since you sent her mother away.”
“Sabina would still be with us if you’d just left well enough alone. You and that insufferable redhead would have had a half dozen little, horned Greek daemons running in and out of the impluvium by now.”
“And Tessa would still be dead, gone to Dis without a cloak of justice to warm her passage.” I sighed. “Ignorance is a wonderful thing; look at the word – it is not so much a lack of knowledge as it is disregard for the facts before our eyes. I wish I possessed more of it.”
“We must all live with the consequences of our choices, voluntary or not. Myself included.” He eyed the whip. “I should have listened to Tertulla years ago and sent the girl away.”
“Do that now, and what you do next will undo all.”
“Damn it, Alexander! Word play and riddles at a time like this.” I was hurting him, and I did not wish to do so, truly. For a time, we walked in stinging silence, letting words blow away like leaves covering a forest floor, their soft blanket now removed, revealing a grim, bare floor gnarled with roots and worms and things scuttling from the light. The kitchen loomed close. “Forgive me,” Crassus said finally, staring straight ahead. “The medical staff is standing by to tend to your wounds.”
Odd how he referred to injuries not yet inflicted by his own hand. Just stop. Could we not just stop? In the dark hall, the smell of baking bread and pungent garum rushed out to greet us. Crassus halted and turned to me. “Alexander, before we go in, what you did ... I’m glad you were there. You have my thanks.”
There was nothing I could say. Certainly not ‘you’re welcome.’ I hoped for both our sakes he would find his humanity, but knew he would not. He could not. We walked in silence through the culina. As we passed the brick burners, wash basins, chopping boards, cauldrons and charcoal ovens arrayed everywhere in chaotic order, the staff turned to bow to the master and watch our passing. I could feel their eyes upon me. My bare feet padded silently on the tiled floor. I longed for sandals. I hated the thought of anyone seeing my ugly, ungainly feet. Why, you ask, did he not take me to some private corner of the villa, away from the wide eyes of those I had commanded yesterday and would again tomorrow, or perhaps the day after? The great general had calculated our route, my garb, even our destination with precision. Humiliation was the spice that made this dish memorable.
“Atticus,” I said suddenly, “see to your staff. The pigeons are overcooking! Come, come, attend to your duties, people. Adriana, if you interrupt the beating of those eggs, that omelet will fall short of fluffy. The house of Crassus does not accept insipid omelets!” My voice found a new and rusty register. I was about to say more, pointing a shaking finger at the round, scored loaves of black bread cooling on racks. My cloak slipped from my shoulders and the staff turned away from my nakedness, their heads bowed. Crassus readjusted the palla about me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Courage,” he whispered. I fell silent. My lord stared straight ahead as we passed among his people. His face was ashen, grim and stricken with dreadful anticipation. Only