A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow - By Levkoff, Andrew Page 0,34

into my embrace. Her hand held the back of my neck, her knees bent, prodding me closer. Once she had been mine, and I had broken her heart. I was not deserving of this moment, but I would not give it up. Wetness pushed against the eyelashes of my closed eyes. The musk of the perfumed oil swirled lazily around us, moving as slowly as our mouths. But like all infinite moments, this one, too, proved itself false.

There came the sound of a scuffle at the entrance to the balnea, then shouting. I heard someone bellow something that sounded like ‘the enemies of Clodius!’ I broke from our embrace. “Lady Cornelia, call your man.” The look in my eyes won any argument she might have raised. She shouted for him, but there was no response, at least none that we could hear about the growing tumult. Patrons were running for the entrance, but the way must have been blocked. I watched as lady Cornelia’s masseur bolted for the back of the building. “There must be a back exit. Wrap those towels about you as best as you can. Quickly.”

I unhooked my cloak and threw it about Livia’s shoulders, forgetting my duty to serve the highborn lady Cornelia. We followed the path of the African, who had crossed the palaestra just in front of the empty frigidarium, disappearing into the hallway leading to the calidarium.

“What’s happening?” Livia asked.

“Anarchy,” I replied.

Chapter VIII

56 BCE Fall, Rome

Year of the consulship of

Cn. Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus and L. Marcius Philippus

From behind us, a voice called, “Mistress!”

“Buccio! What has happened?!” lady Cornelia cried. I have noted how often questions escape our mouths when the answers are known to us even before we begin to speak. It is my contention that we do this in order to let our minds catch up with our brains. Or perhaps it is the other way round. In any event, we stopped to give the old slave time to catch up to us. He held one hand to his head and a bundle of his lady’s things under his other arm.

“Your pardon, lady,” the little man said. “I did my best.” Lady Cornelia grabbed her clothes from him.

“There’s no time to change, lady—” I started.

“Shut up,” she said, pressing a fine, yellow tunic to her man’s bleeding head. I deserved that, I did.

In a voice full of apology, Buccio said, “They beat me when I tried to conceal your jewels.”

We had not yet skirted the pool when a familiar voice boomed out, “Hold!” Familiar, as in recognizable, but not in any way sociable. It was the man I had heard calling the name of Clodius. We turned with sinking hearts to see a knot of unsavory fellows armed with clubs striding across the palaestra. Their leader, a man with bushy eyebrows and a full beard was the least appetizing of all. Behind these ruffians, several more had herded a dozen or so of the balnea’s patrons together into a frightened huddle.

“What is the meaning of this, sir? How dare you detain representatives of senator Crassus?” I heard myself say. Someone must have pushed me to stand in front of the women, for there I suddenly stood. Behind them, there was only a foot or two of dirt to the edge of the pit that was the empty swimming pool.

“That’s a fair question,” the heavyset fellow said, thoughtfully tapping the end of his thick club into the palm of his hand, as if to consider it. “And it deserves a fair answer, but let me ask you one first. Who the fuck put you in charge?” he said, jabbing the club into my stomach. My knees discovered the ground of their own accord, but my breath was undiscoverable. Livia dropped and put her arms around me to help steady me.

Through my wheezing, I heard another man lisp, “Crassus? He’s frenss with that ophtimate bastard Gnaeus Phompheius! Clodius said…”

I tried to speak again, but a wave of nausea overtook me. The leader interrupted his accomplice, giving me time to collect myself. “Calm yourself, Palaemon. Does this look like the curia to you? We’re not here for politics; we’re here for fun.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call them friends,” I managed to whisper.

“Hey, I know that man,” a voice called from the back.

“Yes, yes, I know him, too. He’s Crassus' man, Alexander.” He reached down to pat my head, the swine. “But these two,” he said, swinging his club between Livia and lady Cornelia, “I don’t believe