A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow - By Levkoff, Andrew Page 0,69
Crassus' secrets, the expedition to Parthia.
I left my office and with Hanno in tow walked to the next one down the hall, the large but spare tablinum of my master, who was at the curia in session with the senate. Before I could lay the letter on dominus’ table, we were intercepted by Brenus, who was smiling like a father. Hanno ran to him and said, “Is it done? Is it?”
“It is indeed, young master.”
“I am not master. Master is master.” Hanno laughed, coaxing smiles from us as easily as one would pluck a daisy.
“Here,” Brenus said, handing the boy an oilcloth chunky with its contents. “Try them on.” The Celt’s broken nose had shrunk to something recognizable as such, and the colors were fading beneath his freckles. Hanno fumbled with the string and finally extracted two strange-looking gloves. Brenus helped him get them on his hands with difficulty, Hanno was so jumpy with anticipation.
“Surprise! Surprise, master!” he said, waving what appeared to be a set of brown leather, two-fingered gloves. The pinky fingers were absent, but the thumb looked normal enough. It was the middle finger arrangement that drew the eye, as if the three fingers adjacent to thumb had been fused into one broad digit. Hanno put both hands so close to my face I had to back up to focus on them. He was flexing the middle “fingers,” which bent in an almost natural motion. “See? See, master, see? Hannibal has all his hands now.” He turned and flung himself into Brenus’ arms and hugged him in that fierce way he had.
“It’s all right lad,” Culhwch’s son said, patting Hanno on the head. “You go an practice with ‘em and don’t worry, I’ve made an extra pair just in case.”
Watching the boy dance away, waving his new prosthetic, I said, “That’s a fine piece of work, Brenus. How did you do it?”
“He slips his third finger into a ring; when he pulls down on it, it carries with it articulating blocks of wood inside the leather attached here, and here. He will not have the same grip as real fingers, of course, but with practice, it should help him grasp objects with more ease.”
“You’ve just made a friend for life.”
“The boy is holy,” Brenus said. “Lugos commands we watch over him.”
“Surely not you personally?”
“He makes the sign.”
“Yes, I have seen it. If Hanno could choose between the sign and six more fingers, you would find nothing in him to revere.”
Brenus spoke as if I were a child. “Use your eyes, Alexander. The choice has already been made. The boy belongs to Lugos.”
“What you see is coincidence, not religion. Look around you, Brenus. Hanno is quite well-looked after right where he is.”
“You are not Druid.”
“No, we are not. If the sign is so important to you, why then did you give him those gloves to cover it up?”
“A man may wear shoes and still know he has feet.”
I sighed. “Understand, everyone recognizes that you and Taog have been very kind to Hanno. You have befriended him and made him very happy. He is fond of both of you. He talks of little else. But be reasonable, Brenus, you cannot seriously be suggesting he’d be better off with you?”
“We would protect him.”
“No. Where you are going, there will be war. Not even your gods are powerful enough to guarantee his safety. On the battlefield, only one god decides who lives and who dies. His name is Chaos, and he is heartless and inconstant. But here, in Rome, another god holds sway: he is Crassus, and in his house, he alone can keep Hanno safe.”
•••
One morning the following week, Tertulla came to me almost frantic. She could not find Hanno. Leaving her with promises that calmed her like sleet on snow, I gathered help and searched the house. When he was not found, I asked Betto if the Celts were drilling. “They’re up on the Campus, shattering decent Romans’ nerves with the din from their chariots. I’ve been telling myself that the roaring in my ears is from the bath water that lodged itself there yesterday, but it just might be the sound of their wheels crashing around in my head. They’re wasting their time, if you ask me. Are you asking me? I’ll tell you anyway. Has anyone told them where we’re going? I can’t wait to see what happens when those chariots drive through a foot of sand.”