The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,9
lies the Forum and the Curia Hostilia where the senate deliberates, and you should thank the gods you lived to get a glimpse of it.” Before getting any nearer, the Roman turned his horse sharply to the left. “Don’t expect to ever lay eyes upon it again.”
We had come onto a wide, flagstone paved street that sloped gradually uphill. “I would not stain the Sacra Via with your unworthy and pestiferous feet, but this is the shortest route.” I could not help but look back the way we had come to stare at the seat of Rome’s power, but my head was jerked around abruptly by the tribune’s pull on my rope. Clearly, my unworthy and pestiferous eyes had lingered long enough.
This new street was also lined with merchants’ stores, now deserted, but these were finer and no doubt traded in goods beyond the reach of any but the richest citizens. Well behind these single and two-story shops we could see the roofs of the homes where those wealthy patrons must live. To my right, a roughly rectangular hill rose a few hundred feet, its base graced by a grove of trees surrounding a columned, circular temple. The top of this hill was studded with many ornate villas, but several of these were now burning. Our route took us to the top of the Sacra Via on the hill opposite. The homes of the wealthy graced both sides of the broad street, but our view was blocked by high walls, broken now and then by the doors and displays of a tabernae catering to the richest Romans. As we approached a pair of tall, iron gates, two guards threw the bolt and gave us access.
It was as if we had passed beyond the veil of the living and entered a miniature Olympus, a place inhabited by immortals. I was at once dumbstruck, and almost immediately thereafter afraid. I did not belong here. The sight of such wonders could only bring misfortune, like Actaeon stumbling upon Artemis as she bathed. The Huntress turned him into a stag, then caused his own hounds to tear him apart. Our tribune broke this dreadful reverie by yanking on my rope to pull me forward into the grounds of the estate. We walked on white gravel paths through rolling greenery adorned by fountains, statuary and flower gardens, the sight of which would calm the most agitated eye. Though I remained uneasy, I was compelled to look. Yet it was not long before another sense conquered my fears and completed the seduction. I found myself stealing great breaths of fragrant air, saturated with a harmony of herbs and flowers that made my knees weak. Suddenly overcome, I fought to keep my eyes from welling.
The tribune led us down and around to the back of the home where we and the soldier’s horse were tied haphazardly to the same column supporting a semicircular balcony above our heads. He took our fragile hands, the ones that held the free ends of the rope, and with his own calloused, giant fingers squeezed with such force that my knuckles cracked. We were admonished in a low whisper that to move or speak was death. The fullness of my belly made me giddy; as the officer strode briskly into the house, I almost called out after him that we would do our best to keep his horse quiet. Sanity prevailed, but was soon to be abandoned.
Chapter III
82 BCE - Fall, Rome
Year of the consulship of
Gaius Marius the Younger and Gnaeus Papirius Carbo
Several men and women were busy pruning and trimming the flowered garden that sloped gently down the hill that overlooked the way we had come. I almost smiled when I realized the view to the northwest looked directly down upon the Comitium. The tribune would have insisted that I avert my eyes. I took great pleasure in allowing my eyes to linger over every building and temple.
Men were talking on the balcony above us.
“… the one at the very top of the Palatine?” a deep voice, well-pleased with itself was saying.
“The one on fire?” asked another. This one sounded much younger than the first speaker, his voice constricted by nerves. I did not know it as I eavesdropped, but I was soon to become a poorly wrapped gift, and Marcus Licinius Crassus the arrogant recipient.
“The very same. That is the ruins of the house of old Marius. I shall build my estate upon its ashes.”