I had set, to bring her husband home. In six or seven months we would see if this tree would bear fruit, and if Crassus would eat of it. For the time being I, along with all the general’s commanders, would be left to wonder why he would arrive at his destination and not pursue his goal.
People, I have observed, are the most unpredictable of creatures. A contrivance of the kind such as I have just described often runs afoul of unanticipated outcomes. Could I rely on my lady to react as I hoped she would? Were there other possibilities I had not even imagined that might sprout from such a seed? My fervent hope was that all would go as planned. I had decided that this was an opportunity I had no choice but to exploit, and was worth the risk. You may be wondering if I communicated this scheme to Livia. Fairly certain that my wife was more predictable than most, no, I did not.
•••
The army tramped down through Tarsus and across the plain of Cilicia, a Roman province which thirteen years earlier had provided a haven for bandits plaguing Roman shipping. Pompeius, approaching the height of his popularity (with the people if not the aristocratic senate), was given command of five hundred ships, thanks in great part to the support of a certain Tribune of the Plebs, one Aulus Gabinius, the man Crassus was on his way to replace as governor of Syria. In less than a year Pompeius had extinguished the piratical flame. As we made our way around the eastern tip of the Middle Sea, Crassus’ only grumbled comment about his rival’s victory was that “the field had already been plowed and planted by Lucullus and Vatia; all Pompeius had to do was harvest yet another triumph.”
We turned south to march down the coast of what the men boasted of as the Roman Sea. The air was moist, oppressive and drained of color. Mountains pressed us up against the still, grey waters. To the southwest, across this filmy, disturbingly quiet void lay unseen Cyprus. The sound of our passing seemed a sacrilege. We slept fitfully that night on the shore, tucked up under the looming hills. The dawn brought no change in the weather, which seemed like no weather at all. There was little conversation as the skirmishers walked their mounts through the camp gates, their horses breathing twin plumes of damp sky. Soon, our fortifications would be abandoned to the impatient gulls.
Before midday we came upon a break in the mountains. We had found the Syrian Gates, and as we climbed up through the narrow, misty pass, I thought of my namesake, the brash Macedonian who three hundred years ago had stood with his back against this same pass to block the hordes of Darius. Now Crassus sought to reenact Alexandros’ victory at Issus; would my master face descendants of those luckless Persians, and would they share the same fate? The clouds dropped low and the mountains leaned in to get a better look at Roman arrogance as it passed.
Having arrived in the friendly Roman province of Syria, Crassus had sent the entire vanguard to the rear so that he could command the very head of the column. Behind him rode the eagle standard bearer of Legion I. After the aquilifer came three horn blowers, then Cassius, his four clerks and Octavius, legate of Legion I. Behind them rode Crassus' personal bodyguard, a cohort of over four hundred handpicked soldiers, including many evocati, retired soldiers who had served with Crassus against Spartacus and who had answered his personal invitation to join him on this expedition. These included Malchus and Betto, though I could not see them.
Dominus either did not know or did not care how he had split both my attention and my devotion by forcing Livia to join the expedition. Though I rode at the spear point of one of Rome’s greatest armies, the nose of my horse a flared nostril away from the tail of the general’s mount, though I was likely never again to pass through this exotic and storied land, every other thought rested miles behind us where Livia walked beside the mules carrying the medical tents and supplies.
Advancing briskly south once we had negotiated the pass, we rode through a wide, fertile valley. Farms sloped up gentle hills on our right, blocking the sea from view. In the distance, a small mountain called Silpios rose sharply on our left.