A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow - By Levkoff, Andrew Page 0,38

captive, chins lowered, gleaming hand extended. Herclides relinquished the box.

While we waited for the women to dress, I looked in on the balneator. The guard was just regaining consciousness and the manager of the establishment was nursing a purpling bruise on his tanned bald pate. A pile of coins, restored by the villains under the watchful eyes of Betto and Valens, lay on the table in a heap. As soon as the old man saw me, he put a protective arm around the money.

“The deal’s off,” he said. “You can take your custom elsewhere.” He tossed two sesterces to my side of the table.

“None of this was my doing,” I protested. Not that I had any intention of returning.

“Look behind you,” he said, patting a damp cloth to his temple. “You see that?” There was nothing there, but I could not resist the urge to turn my head. “That’s trouble. It follows you like a three-legged dog. You get to be my age, son, you get to trust an itchy chin. Didn’t at first. Ignored it when my first wife said she was going off to visit her folks in Herculaneum. Dido, you know, she made a bit of a racket of an evening, if you get my drift. The night she left, I heard an awfully familiar song. Turns out she was only three doors down and one story up.” He leaned forward, put his forearms on the table and laced his fingers. “Let me tell you, when you came through that door, the sudden urge to scratch was a powerful thing. But your gold made me stupid.”

“For your trouble,” I said, placing five silver denarii down next to his two coins. Do not say it. I know what you are thinking: the crafty balneator coaxed those coins from a gullible dupe. Perhaps. The thing is, time and again I had seen Crassus wave his lictors aside to empty his purse into the dirty, straining hands that reached for him every time he climbed the senate steps. Could I do any less? The irony is not lost on me. Observing my master year after year, one of the more lasting lessons I have learned is that generosity costs nothing in the end. Then again, Crassus may simply have been trolling for votes.

Chapter IX

56 BCE Fall, Rome

Year of the consulship of

Cn. Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus and L. Marcius Philippus

I found Crassus in the main kitchen, pestering the cooks and dipping a long bronze spoon into this and that for a taste. It was almost the twelfth hour and the sun was setting. Lamps were being lit throughout the house; shafts of flecked gold slanted in through every western window, hitting their marks of floor and furniture with unerring accuracy. It was growing cool; dominus wore two tunics, the plain one hidden by his favorite when at home, a fine wool affair with sleeves past the elbows, dyed in broad light and dark blue stripes. In recent years, to alleviate the discomfort of the irritating appearance of bunions, he had taken to walking around the house barefoot. He wore no belt, setting free the few pounds that old age and a less rigorous lifestyle had earned him. From the familia, he kept few such secrets; from Rome, his vanity would never countenance such informality. A statesman must always look, and more importantly, play the part. On the other hand, most statesmen wore a gown so ponderously shapeless that it obscured all but head and feet from scrutiny. Congratulations to the inventor of the toga, who realized that a Roman’s life was often not as abstemious as his Roman statues would have us believe.

From the pantry at the opposite end of the sweltering workroom, Curio entered, scroll and pen in hand. “Alexander, I’ve been looking for you. The boar you ordered is tainted. I’ve sacked your merchant and have a list here of replacements.”

I ignored Lucius, strode in and stood opposite dominus across the main work table. “A word, dominus?” I blurted with enough emotion to cause Eirene to stop stirring the pea soup. Heads turned, then froze like a crowd before the priest’s knife descends upon the sacrifice.

“Oh my,” Crassus said, taking the topmost deviled egg from an otherwise perfectly arranged tray. He took a bite, hummed his appreciation, and with his mouth not quite empty said, “Your atriensis is cross with me. Ladies and gentlemen, I must leave your good company, for I cannot bear to suffer my chastisement publicly. Come,