A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow - By Levkoff, Andrew Page 0,21
like a blanket. I rose as well, shocked. I held the huge garment at arm’s length, standing naked before him.
“No, dominus. I cannot wear this. Hanno, fetch my tunic. Hanno!” The boy pushed himself off the wall and took off at a sprint, which for him could be more likened to a leaping hop.
Crassus sat back down, dropping the toga in a heap on the floor. “As you wish,” he said, sounding like a child rebuffed after offering to share his dearest toy.
I retrieved my hand towel, then let it fall again. “Dominus,” I felt compelled to say, “it is a most generous offer. But that garment is not meant…”
“What, for the likes of you? Do you think I am unaware of the honor I do you? By Athena’s robes, Alexander, I do not understand you. Even when I extend my outstretched hand, you refuse to take it. Is the gap between us so great?”
I sat in wondrous silence for a moment, crafting my answer. “The fissure is broad and deep, dominus. Your gesture is well-meant, but can you not see that the gulf is widened by it, not bridged?”
“You will take nothing from me, will you?” he sighed. Hanno returned with my clothes and I quickly tied and wrapped my subligaculum about me and threw the tunic over my head. As I dressed, I shook off the muddled feeling that it was I who should have sympathy for Crassus. Let us return to politics, I thought, a less dangerous and more straightforward subject.
“I don’t understand, dominus. Why all this subterfuge?”
“Ah, Tranio!” Crassus exclaimed. “Always a welcome intrusion.”
The wine steward entered with two assistants, the first of whom handed each of us large, double-handled silver cup. “I have a nose not only for the best vintages,” Tranio said, “but for where in the house they are most needed.” The second assistant approached and filled a third of each cup with water, and finally Tranio himself, cradling the amphora as if it were a baby, completed the ceremony. He waited, a barely restrained puppy, while dominus drank. Crassus knew his steward well enough to feign a heart attack of joy before dismissing the man. Even when the wine was mediocre, the praise might yet be effusive, for their was nothing more glum than a pouting Tranio.
When the steward had left, humming contentedly, dominus asked to be reminded where we were in our conversation. “Why not throw your support to the optimates?” I said. “They have had their man for months. Domitius has promised to recall Caesar if elected and strip him of his army and provinces. Isn’t that what we want? Why aren’t we supporting him for consul?”
“I cannot break with Caesar; my preparations are not complete. Caesar could return from Gaul and easily stir up a majority of senators to retake control of the senate. Or worse, if he thinks our alliance is broken and that he cannot rely on my influence, he might come back not as a politician, but as a general at the head of his army. He wants Parthia, but Gaul has not yet been subdued. I must give him no reason to abandon the West. Let him keep his focus on the Moreni and the Menapii while I take the initiative to deprive him of the East. The only way to accomplish this is to feign amity between the three of us until Pompeius and I are consuls.”
“Then what is holding the optimates back? If your names have not been taken, why does not Lentulus simply call the election without you? The year will soon be over and he will have to lay down the fasces.”
“Precisely. Alexander, I don’t think you’re spending enough time at the baths.” Crassus’ grin was vexing.
“Dominus?”
“Lentulus plans to call for elections before the month is out. His intentions must be frustrated. Do you know the baths of Numa?”
“A small balnea that caters to mixed bathing. A disreputable establishment.”
“The tribune Gaius Cato is a regular patron.”
“So are thieves and whores.”
“We will not debate the man’s morality, but rather applaud how he chooses to interpret it.”
Understanding dawned and I said, “The tribune of the plebs may veto any call for elections.”
“It is his habit to take the waters daily at the seventh hour. Meet him there,” Crassus said, extracting a scroll that protruded from the pile of senatorial wool on the floor, “and give him this. Discreetly. He’ll know you by your plaque.”
I took the proffered papyrus, wound about its thin spool