A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow - By Levkoff, Andrew Page 0,67

war for the glory of Rome. The young legate’s eyes glittered at the prospect as he said, “Gaul is cold and wet, and I have no desire to suffer more of the same in Briton. Father, enough of stories. Let me demonstrate in Parthia with lance and sword the qualities of which your son is made.”

In his office, Crassus paused before speaking, emotion clogging his throat. “No father could be more proud than I. But is such a thing possible? Caesar will never release you.”

“Release? I am practically my own man in Gaul. Caesar is but half its conqueror, his letters to the senate notwithstanding. I tell you truly, and I make no boast, I have done more with one legion than he has with six. Did he guide my hand while I conquered all Armorica? Where was he during my conquest of Aquitania? The war against Ariovistus, King of Germania, would have gone quite differently for our legions had not my cavalry charge broke the enemy lines and dispersed them in disarray. 120,000 heathens learned their final lesson that day. What a fine sight to see what was left of their ranks fleeing back across the Rhine, their tails tucked beneath their hairy behinds. Now don’t misunderstand me, Father,” Publius said, “Caesar is a decent general. For an old man.”

“Do not discount the wisdom of age and experience, my young hero.”

“Father, for age, I shall rely on you, but for experience, you must admit no commander twice my age has more.”

“I certainly can think of none with more self-confidence. Well then, we shall make a fine pair of generals, old and young. But how will you get away? I must sail before the end of the year. Gabinius, the man I am replacing in Syria, would like nothing better than to lay claim to Parthia; we must make haste.”

“Why worry?” Publius said. “If he is but a governor and no king, let him try. According to Caesar, Parthia will still be ours for the taking when your Gabinius fails.”

“I’d rather not give him the opportunity, despite Caesar’s confidence in the Sibyl. You and I are true kings—rulers of our own destinies. We cannot help but succeed. But you have not answered my question.”

“If you let your dog run without a leash, you cannot blame the dog if it runs away.”

Crassus swept a grey lock from his forehead. “I don’t follow.”

I said, “You strike me, young master, as more wolf than cur.”

The old Publius would have winked at me. The new Publius glanced at me sideways, a rebuke for interrupting. He continued to his father, “I am practically autonomous in Gaul. My men follow me, not Caesar. I will return to Gaul and make my peace with him; honor demands it. But as I pass through the north, I will tarry. There are thousands of Pompeius’ men breaking their backs in rocky fields, as suited to farming as a whore is to marriage. One whisper in their ears of a march to glory and you will hear the sound of scythes dropping and sword belts tightening from Vercellae to Ravenna. By summer’s end you’ll have enough men marshaled on the Campus Martius to conquer a dozen Parthias.”

“One is all that I require.”

“Master! Father Jupiter! Look at me!” Hanno shouted, galloping past the entrance to Crassus' tablinum on the shoulders of the Celtic giant, Taog.

“Hannibal! Taog!” I snapped. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s all right,” Crassus said. “Your mistress is visiting lady Cornelia today.”

“Play outside, then. Where’s Brenus?”

“In the workshop,” Taog said, making a final turn around the impluvium before ducking carefully through the atrium doorway.

“Father Jupiter?” Publius said, his eyebrows reaching for the black curls of his hairline.

“It’s nothing,” Crassus said, reddening. “The boy is tainted.”

“I can’t get him to stop calling me master, either,” I added. To Publius, the explanation was insufficient. “I have told Hannibal over and over again that dominus is master, not I. With his muddled logic, he reasons that if I am, well, who I am, then dominus must be a god.”

“And neither of you did anything to discourage this?”

“A little,” Crassus said, avoiding his son’s eyes. “Let the lad have his delusions. I don’t mind, really.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t,” Publius said, then burst out laughing.

“Once Hannibal gets an idea in his head…” I said, my voice trailing off to wherever feeble excuses go to die.

“Oh this is rich,” Publius said. “Why didn’t you bring the thing out at the party? Have you taught