A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow - By Levkoff, Andrew Page 0,177

here and there, it has been an honor, Marcus Licinius Crassus, to serve you.” Then, as loud as my bruised face and terrified heart would allow, I said, pointing to the parchment in his hand, “Follow along, if you like. ‘Rome has need of you, the signs are strong for your return. The Tiber has overflowed its banks, drowning crops and causing much wreckage in the city. The people blame the manner of your departure and the curse of Ateius. I, too, have dreamed of a great river, not of water, but of sand.’ Shall I go on?”

“There,” Publius said, “he proves his own guilt.”

Petronius, his eyebrows furrowed, said, “This is no proof, Alexander.” I’ve always been fond of Petronius. “Lucius Curio says he found a draft of the letter in your room. It is possible for you to have read the letter and committed it to memory.”

“You are a good man, Petronius,” I said, “and I wish you and every legionary in the army of Crassus a safe and speedy return home. What folly it would be for me, however, to find the note, and instead of returning it immediately to its owner, which you know I would do, to read it, commit it to memory, crumple it up once more and drop it onto the floor of my room. Additionally, I think you will find that the crumpled draft is incomplete. The excerpt I recited can only be found on the final letter.”

There was some additional bickering, several more well-meant attempts to undo what was perceived as my self-sacrifice, but in the end there could be no doubt, and with a crowd that smelled and demanded blood, Crassus was forced to give it to them.

He rose and walked to the edge of the dais. “Alexander, slave of house Crassus,” he said, in a tone that disturbed me almost as much as the words themselves. He spoke as if this were merely another intellectual game played between us, where as usual, I was outmatched. “I find you guilty of forgery, manifest theft of the identity of a Roman citizen, with intent to subvert another citizen. According to the Law of the Twelve Tables, the penalty is death.

“So that all present may know that Rome is a fair and equitable administrator, even within its own house, I pronounce sentence upon you. Tomorrow, two hours before the setting of the sun, you will be taken to the hill outside the northern gates of the city. There you will be crucified.”

Publius rose to address the crowd, who having received the portion of Roman justice for which they hungered, now found themselves a little queasy at the thought of having to swallow it. “Below your feet let a sign be posted: ‘Roman Law Prevails in Antioch.’ Let no man remove the body upon pain of taking its place. All must know that fairness has returned to Syria.”

My legs, having decided they preferred the Great Hall to any place I might now be taken, had ceased to function. My old arrow wounds chose this time to twinge and trip me up. I was trying to cooperate, trying to be the model condemned prisoner, but Publius’ guards were forced to practically hoist me off the ground with each step. We had therefore traveled only as far as Curio’s place on the bench when he stood up. “Before we conclude these proceedings, may I make a brief statement?” The way Lucius said it, with his upturned chin and pursed lips, he made it sound more like a demand than a request.

Crassus told him to be brief. “I have noted,” my replacement began in high nasal form, “the reticence of these good officers to find negative intention harbored in the bosom of the accused. I would like to set their minds at ease by submitting a further piece of evidence proving the prisoner’s attempt to subvert my lady Tertulla many months before the general’s arrival in Antioch.”

Publius said incredulously, “How many times would you like to see the man executed?”

“I act solely to assuage the peace of mind of those who may have any lingering doubts.” Curio handed Publius a piece of parchment, who in turn handed it to his father.

Crassus held the letter at his side, making no attempt to read it. “Did you write this letter…curse my memory…Curio!”

“Yes, dominus, Lucius Curio. I am your atriensis.” The strength in my legs was returning, and I was becoming vaguely aware of my surroundings, enough so that my