“What happened to your career in farming?” I asked.
“Let me put it this way: the army beats shoveling shit onto a field that’s already covered in shit. I quit that latifundium in Cremona and joined the engineers over ten years ago. Then I discovered I enjoyed swinging a sword more than a hammer. Next thing you know I’m with Pompeius fighting pirates in Cilicia. That was great fun, that was. Bit of a lull after that, but then I heard, along with everyone else in Latium, that Crassus was building an army, and here I am.”
A part of me wanted to hate this mountain of muscle, but it was a small part. Even with cause, he was a very hard man to dislike. Some would say, if only in an indirect way, I had cause enough. But the truth was, Livia’s mother was to blame, not Ludovicus. Sabina had loved the brigade commander with singular ardor; none of us ever imagined the depth and breadth of her jealousy until it was too late. It had never been proved that Ludovicus was cheating on Livia’s mother with Tessa, the gardener, but Sabina had all the evidence she needed. Before she could be stopped, Tessa was dead, Sabina was on her way to the mines in chains, and Livia had taken back her heart and left me devastated and alone.
“You two!” a very unhappy voice yelled from below. It was Lucius Vinicius, primus pilus of Legion V, a position of high honor. He was smacking his vine stick into his hand so hard it whistled. The sound made me think of Livia. Which proves that almost anything could remind me of her.
Vinicius was transparently unhappy with his posting; he had hoped to be awarded primus pilus of Legion I, but that honor had been given to Vel Corto, an Etruscan, which rankled even more. He hadn’t even been assigned as high as Legion II. To him, it was a disgrace. But he had been told that in Crassus' army, tradition was followed to the letter, unless merit proved the old way the wrong way. For the same reason, there were no military tribunes on the general’s payroll. Crassus called them “ducklings.” They were the darlings of the senate: their downy chins were too young to have gained any real experience, they made lots of noise and waddled around in circles without doing much of anything. Useless on the battlefield.
“Mercury’s feathered testicles, centurion, what kind of example are you setting for your men? You, slave. On your way or I’ll have you striped!”
“Sir!” Ludovicus saluted and gave me a look that said, we’ll continue this later. Go.
“Centurion,” I said, turning around to face him. I wasn’t wearing my gold disk of immunity, for there was little need of it in camp. I hated wearing it, hated even more making use of it, for what was a slave doing with a vine stick, even if it was round and gold? Besides, it was heavy, clanked against my “identity” plaque and in any case, everyone in the army knew Crassus' first slave, Alexander. “I sincerely hope it won’t come to that. I shall descend on the instant.”
To his credit, when he recognized me, Vinicius did not wilt. “Sir, you have no business on the palisade. These men are on a tight schedule. You’re obstructing the completion of the fortifications. However…I apologize. Sir. From behind I thought…you look just like…”
“No need to apologize,” I said. “It is difficult to distinguish between one six-foot-one, balding slave in a tunic and another. The camp is overrun with us.”
The centurion opened his mouth to speak again, thought better of it, turned on his heel and walked away. We could hear the slap of his vine stick against his thigh fading down the rampart. I pitied the next underling who crossed him, and knew that the only thing that stood between me and a flogging or worse was the universal knowledge that I was the general’s personal, inviolable pet. I would never earn that centurion’s respect, but I had been wrong not to try. Oh well.
“That was both surprising and gratifying,” Ludovicus said. “Vinicius is cruel. His men hate him.”
“Then Legion V is weak. Shall I tell the general?”
“Don’t bother. From what I hear, these Parthians are nomads, scattered and disorganized. Even Vinicius will distinguish himself. Now, what was I going to ask you? Oh yes, I remember-let’s hear it, Alexander, have you joined the brotherhood of men since I saw you last? Or are you still paying visits to the left-handed whore in your tent?”
I was too old to blush. I think. “It is comforting to find that some things never change, Ludovicus. Like your manners.” I suppose my cheeks did color. A year or so after I had first been given to Crassus, Ludovicus had volunteered to pay for my entry fee into the world’s most non-exclusive clubs at one of his favorite brothels. The outing had the unintended consequence of underscoring both my ignorance in all matters amorous and the certainty that I would die a virgin.
“Livia and I have formed a contubernium,” I said. “We have a son.”
“You and Livia?” Ludovicus’ look was one of suspicious incredulity. “But you…her mother…”
“That was twenty-five years ago. We fell in love, once in youth, then again as man and woman. I am the most fortunate of men. So, to answer your uncouth question, in my entire life, there has been only Livia, and Livia only has filled my life entire.”
Ludovicus laughed and shook my hand. “If you could tame that firebrand, perhaps it is you who should have been teaching me about women. I am well-pleased, Alexander.” Thinking more on it, he added, “Isn’t she about half your age?”
“Yes, if I were twenty-four and she were twelve. She’s here, you know. Or will be soon.” The centurion’s grey eyes widened. “She’s a medicus,” I said, “like her mother. Crassus insisted she work in the camp hospital.”
Ludovicus frowned. “In that case, I’d better pray to Mars I don’t get wounded and wind up under her knife.”
•••
An hour south of our encampment, in the shade of Mount Vermion, with directions from a villager in the town of Mieza, I found the Nymphaion. Approaching the glade with reverence, I slipped from Apollo, and while he grazed, walked slowly along the path to the base of the escarpment. It seemed impossible that the place had been abandoned, yet the columns of the portico were overgrown with vines of orchid, the stone benches crowded round by beds of mossy campion, as if their pink stars, now extinguished by the season, had huddled close, straining to hear the echoes of words spoken here three hundred years ago. Spikes of mullein, their yellow blooms now brown and sere, stood like withered sentinels; Nature would still pay homage to this place, even if man did not.
My feet walked where he had walked. My lungs inhaled the same air that he, with each exhale had imparted the wisdom of physics, politics and ethics to his young charges. A father had sent his thirteen-year-old son to this untroubled spot, away from the bustle of the capital, to study for three years with the great philosopher. It is said that this Alexandros, one greater than I or any other who ever shared that name, would in later years never go to his rest without two comforts beneath his pillow: the unsheathed dagger of the vanquished Darius, and a copy of The Iliad, edited and annotated by his teacher, Aristotle.
I could not tarry, for the sun had already descended to the stony brow of the mountaintop. I bowed my head to let this place of reason and science infuse me with its neglected peace and hope that somewhere along the road ahead the same would lie in store for me and those I loved. Apollo came when I called, and we made our way back up toward the Via Egnatia. The path was narrow and the trees grew thick; I did not see them till they were upon me. Scouts, Roman, their lances lowered, surrounded me almost before I could give the password chosen when the army split. If it was a full turma there would be thirty-two of them, led by a decurion. By the look of them, these men were as high-strung as their mounts.