A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow - By Levkoff, Andrew Page 0,20
Great Alexander: Antioch, Hierapolis, Seleucia?”
“A tempting offer, my lord, but traveling in the company of so many legionaries is bound to bring up too many disturbing memories. If you could manage to leave them behind?”
Crassus answered by reaching for another olive.
“One thing puzzles me, dominus,” I said. “If you must win this coming election and thus be granted Syria to govern after your year’s term, why have both you and Pompeius refused to announce your candidacies?”
“Lentulus, who now serves, is a good and honest consul, and a hardened conservative. He will not be bullied by any extra-legal decisions made by us at Luca. He has refused to take our names—the deadline for declaring is long past. His co-consul, Philippus, favors Caesar and the populares, and therefore badgers us to run. But he is not a man who can see beyond a single move on the board. I will not risk declaring myself a candidate while the mood in the city is fractious and uncertain. The senate will follow us, but between the grain shortage and the few but vocal optimates crying out against us, the outcome of a vote now would be uncertain.”
“You are stalling.”
“I am doing what I must,” he said, his voice rising. “Time shoves rudely at my back, but I must not move too soon. I have this one chance, no more. I see that look on your face. Do not lecture me on legality or ethics, Alexander; it pains me more than you can know to abandon my principles, once inviolate, now doughy with expediency.” His words were spoken with shaky conviction; agitation creased his brow. He stood and paced back and forth in front of my chair. He grabbed another olive and destroyed it in his mouth.
“Dough will rise,” I said, “and harden when baked.”
Crassus turned to me and slammed a fist down on the arm rest of my chair as he spoke. “This is no time for your wit, Alexander!” He spit the olive pit onto the floor. I resisted the urge to pick it up. I glanced nervously at Hanno. He had put away his brush and now stood by the wall, his ruined hands before him, nervously linking, separating, then re-linking his four digits in two interlocking circles. He was swaying from side to side, aroused by Crassus' tone. I prayed he would not speak.
“When the people are alarmed, they look for stability,” I said. “The people love you, dominus. I was in the forum when Clodius took the rostra before half the city. ‘Who is murdering the people with famine?’ he asked, and the people responded, ‘Pompeius!’ ‘Who wants to go to Alexandria?’ he asked, and they shouted, ‘Pompeius!’ And when Clodius said, ‘Whom do you want to go?’ with one voice came the thundering reply: ‘Crassus!’”
“His armies are disbanded,” he replied dismissively, “and the man needs an occupation. Grain merchant suits Pompeius’ abilities. Let him negotiate with the Egyptians. As sweet a fruit as Egypt is, I must leave it for others to harvest. With Parthia’s riches we will buy the grain of ten Egypts, and Rome’s praise will be everlasting.”
“What of the senate and the people, dominus? You are the rock upon which they both depend.”
“You exaggerate to the point of transparency, Alexander. But, fine, for the moment, I shall be a rock. Caesar, then, is a comet that has struck our world, knocking it off-balance. What, then, can this rock do but be dislodged and roll down whatever slope his shaking sends it? It will take all my art to set things right again.
“To begin, the people will need a hero. I am not that man. Not yet. Pompeius has played that role more successfully than I, certainly to more applause. Let Pompeius find the grain and wallow in the cheers of the crowd. It is what he loves best, so we will let him have his moment.”
“I am surprised to hear you say it.”
“Let him sweat to regain his popularity; it serves my purpose now. His theater is almost complete; it will be a monumental diversion.” I smiled at his unintended pun. “And when the grain starts to flow once more, sated citizens will make for pliant voters.” He suddenly looked at me as if I had just appeared in a puff of smoke. “Why are you shivering, Alexander? Here, take this.” Crassus undraped his senatorial toga, exposing his purple striped tunic, further sign of his rank. He stood and meant to drape the toga over me