The conscript fathers, their senatorial robes shaking with outrage, had chafed and brandished their fists in vain. Crassus had abandoned his consular duties and marched from the city at the head of one of the greatest war machines ever assembled by a single man. Unsanctioned by the senate, here was a rogue army to match any sponsored by the state. If the people’s coffers had not been opened to pay for this enterprise, how, you may ask, was it possible for Crassus to amass such a force? Before Publius left Rome for Gaul, he estimated that based on existing intelligence reports, three legions would have no difficulty subduing the backward desert dwellers of the Euphrates. “If three will do,” his father responded, “then let us add five to the two already billeted in Syria and thus make seven. Seven will do more, do it faster and do it more safely. And seven,” he said finally, “will impress upon the tribes of Mesopotamia that Rome has come to stay.” Crassus received not a single additional as from the senate or any other source. The entire enterprise was equipped, salaried and provisioned by the Croesus of Rome, Marcus Licinius Crassus.
Since that day, dominus’ enthusiasm had faltered. The general looked out over the rail and sighed as he surveyed his army. “I am not happy to be here, Alexander.”
“Why is that, dominus?”
“I had hoped never to pass this way again.”
“I understand, general. This place holds less than Elysian memories for me, as well.”
Crassus ignored me, but he knew it was through this place that Sulla's army had dragged me from ruined Athens when I was little more than a boy. “When last I saw the plains of Apulia,” he continued, “all those many years ago, they were piled deep with the corpses of those I slew. And for what? For a cause so hopeless it curdles the blood to dwell even a moment upon the monumental waste. Every man of them a fool. Brave, to be sure, but fools nonetheless. Did they think we would allow them to unravel our way of life like a cat with a ball of yarn? Rome could not let it stand. I could not let it stand.”
“Your logic is unassailable.”
“And your impertinence is tiring.” Crassus gave me a sidelong glance. “The Thracian brought his fate upon himself. He could have fled across the Alps, but instead he turned south and what, thought to challenge the might of the Republic? Madness.”
“By then he was cut off. Lucullus had landed here in Brundisium. Pompeius was approaching from the west, you had split his army in two and your own legions were moving in from the north. There was nowhere to run. He had no choice but to stand and fight.”
“And I had no choice but to destroy him. How many did I slaughter that day? Forty thousand? Seventy thousand? For certain, it had seemed as if Pluto had risen from the underworld to reign upon the earth. I left the field thinking so much blood must surely stain the land forever. Jupiter’s gentle rain would never wash it clean. But it is not so. The seasons have returned, the grass has grown green again and to the north fields yield crops sweet and untainted by the gore that watered that soil. So too in time the name of Spartacus will fade to nothing along with the memory of his rebellion.”
Crassus swept his eyes out over the bay so full of men and ships we could scarcely see the water. “His fate will not be mine.”
•••
“Forgive me, sir.” The legate of Legion II had come up behind us.
“Yes, Petronius? Are we ready to sail?”
“Sir, I am come from the council of the ships’ trierarchs. They have asked me to petition you to delay our departure until this freakish weather clears. Not one of the captains advises leaving the harbor now.”
“I understand their concerns, commander, but I must insist that my own need supersedes their fears. I cannot allow that maniac Ateius another opportunity to delay us. Once away, his histrionics will shred and fly apart on this pernicious breeze.” Crassus thought for a moment. “Prepare four oxen for sacrifice. We will satisfy both Jupiter and Mars. Place the altar on the highest of the harbor islands so that all may see. Advise the legates to meet me there. I will conduct the service myself. After the gods have had their portion, distribute the best of the meat to the trierarchs. The men must take heart, Petronius-Parthia awaits; all we need do is reach out with a mighty grasp and take it-for the glory of Rome.”
“For the glory of Rome.” Petronius saluted and left.
“Doubly ingenious,” I said. “Satisfy the gods and forestall the captains by filling their bellies.”
“Yes, I thought it would appeal to your sense of parsimony. It’s a wonder you let me have any pocket money at all.”
“A rich man will not remain so otherwise.”
Together, we slowly paced the deck. Although we were actually the same height, it did not appear so, thanks to the lifts Crassus had had built into his caligae. I wondered how his feet were faring, though I thought it best not to ask. Though he was ten years my senior, he at least had a full head of hair. Only a prematurely greying wreath crowned my otherwise bald pate. My eyebrows seemed to be the only place on my head where hair would grow. Crassus would chide that with my thin nose, close-set eyes and round head, when I raised my bushy brows in skepticism or thoughtfulness, as I often did, I looked remarkably like an owl. If one must be compared to our avian cousins, what better choice for me than brother owclass="underline" noble, wise, silent and ferocious in the hunt.
Upon reflection, I must be honest and content myself with but two of the four analogies.
Still, when Livia’s arms were wrapped about me, and her teeth held the lobe of my ear a willing captive, I far preferred to be called her sweet pelargós than his bubo, no matter how noble or wise. But I must not think of such things.
“Come now,” Crassus said, “you lead a leisurely existence, compared to most.”
“Not if by ‘most’ you mean your twenty thousand other slaves. You put me through twice as many paces as any three of them.”
“Twenty thousand? That is the count? Truly?” Crassus could not keep the pride from his voice.
“Truly.”
“Well, they are lucky, the lot of them, to have such a generous master.”
“Indeed. Not a one of us would fare better on our own. As Aristotle has said, ‘from the hour of their birth, some are marked out for subjection, others for rule.’ I would not trade places with you, my lord, for all the world. Which I dare say is practically within your power to bestow.”
“It is a sign of the times, Alexander. A Roman who would serve his city needs money, not to hoard but to spend. Money breeds popularity, and popularity wins votes. Nonetheless, I have little doubt that your Aristotle would be quick to lump me together with those who ‘turn every quality or art into a means of getting wealth; this they conceive to be the end, and to the promotion of the end they think all things must contribute.’”
“Aristotle might, but I would not. No, in spite of your riches, I know you to be no shallow man. But, how then, shall I address you, if not consul? Praetor, censor, tribune, champion of the Servile War, and now proconsul and governor…you’ve garnered them all.”
“You have me confused with someone else, Alexander,” Crassus said sarcastically. “Pompeius himself wrote to Rome that he had ended the war with Spartacus, and as Magnus speaks, so Rome hears. I am afraid that unlike me, both Pompeius Magnus and Julius Caesar wear glory like an apple wears its skin. I am but a servant of Rome; they are its masters.”
Yet again, I thought to myself. I had heard this tale a dozen times. “What is told and what is true are more often distant relations than identical twins. History will recognize you, even if the senate does not.” A slave from the temporary galley came tottering up with a tray of bread and cheese. Crassus tore them in hunks, handing some of each to me. I had the tented kitchen constructed for Crassus' convenience; it would be dismantled before we sailed.