A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow - By Levkoff, Andrew Page 0,6
grew upon the good doctor. Tertulla said, “Dominus asked to see you when you were well, but don’t tax yourself now. He will explain everything to you.”
I asked forgiveness from my lady as I stood, sat down, then stood again, wincing as my wounds complained from far too many places. I steadied myself against the scrollwork of the couch’s arm, breathing through my nose, lips pursed, refusing to take my eyes off domina. At last she relented and told me he was in the tablinum, nodding for Flavius to assist me. I shuffled through the house and as Tertulla had promised, found Marcus Licinius Crassus in his study. “You let her go!” I cried. “To Memphis!”
My owner looked up from his work.
“In Egypt!” I said.
Dominus asked Gaius Flavius in a voice which incontestable power had made soothing, almost seductive whenever he addressed those over whom that dominance was wielded, “Should he be up?” The doctor, standing nervously at my side, supporting me gingerly, glanced at the dressings on my back and shrugged, a gesture which would have him seeking new employment as soon as I was well enough to tend to the matter. I gripped the back of a chair for support and told Gaius Flavius to see to his other patients.
“You sent her to Egypt,” I repeated when the healer had retreated to wherever it was he went to practice being inconspicuous.
“Calm yourself, Alexander. In fact, it was Livia who begged me to let her go.”
“And you agreed to this?”
Crassus rose from behind his worktable and bade me walk with him in the peristyle. “Do you remember that first day when you were brought before general Sulla as a gift for me? It must be 25 years or more. You burned as hot as the eternal flame in the Temple of Delphic Apollo.”
“Yes. As I recall, Sulla extinguished that flame and sacked the temple about the same time his soldiers seized me in Athens.”
“He may have done, but that is irrelevant to my point, which is that you were in a frenzied state that only an arrow could subdue.”
“Lucky for us someone had one handy. Can you stop her? I am begging you to bring her back.”
“Hush. Look at you now. Time has softened your resolve to murder every Roman citizen in his bed. One might even say that after all this time, you are content.”
“I live only to serve.”
“If only that were true.” Crassus sighed. “But then, a gladius would be worthless with a dull and blunted edge.”
“It may not be too late, dominus.”
“You are the penultimate proof, my old friend.” My look was blank, peppered by twitches of frustration. “To test my intellect,” he explained, “I understand that those who surround me must also test my patience. But once again you have steered me from my intended harbor.”
“Your point is clear, dominus. Give her time, give her time. I have given her twenty years! We fell in love, barely more than children, but then her mother murdered Tessa. When I proved it so, the light in Livia’s eyes turned to ash. For years, we toiled beneath your roof as strangers; I kept my distance, but my heart, once given, could not find its way home. I followed your advice. I waited. Waited, while she formed a contubernium with that sculptor; waited as she buried him a year later. She was twenty-five. Afterwards, the years were kind to me; Livia did as you predicted, her regard softened and we became friends once more. But it was not until now that I dared hope she felt something more. And she is gone.” I sagged, unable to bear the weight of Roman will that pressed in upon me.
Crassus held my shoulders as gently as he could. “She will return, my friend. I promised her that if she studied hard and proved herself able, she could assume her mother’s duties in the clinic.”
“Why did she go?” I whispered. “Why now?”
“Perhaps the answer lies in here, my lovesick atriensis. Go, read it in private, then return to me before the fourth hour. The senate is still spluttering about Catiline’s surviving supporters, and I promised the conscript fathers I would appear by lunchtime to hear more of Cicero’s pathetic attempt to ingratiate himself with the senate after his exile. I’d sooner bite the head off an uncooked mouse, but there it is.”
Crassus handed me the letter; I tripped three times in my gangly haste to find the privacy of my rooms.