The king stood, spreading his hands up and out to indicate no action was to be taken. Crassus glowered, but said nothing. He still looked a little pale. “And who might you be?” Deiotarus asked in a voice reserved for royal pronouncements.
Hanno looked up, overwhelmed by the sound and sight of this tall, white-haired man wearing a gold crown, long fur-lined robes and a necklace made of links of metal squares that would have bowed lesser men. Hanno may not have absorbed much in his young life, but as a person of no consequence, he had learned the only lesson of weight: to recognize and respond to authority. Remembrances of the mighty, one in particular-his mother spreading his fingers while his father drew near, opening and closing the sheep shears-were snipped permanently into the softer flesh of his simple mind, in spite of the kindness shown him in the house of Crassus.
Fear and compliance overcame him, closing his eyes even as they opened his mouth. He shifted back and forth on his feet as he spoke, big head rocking, maimed hands ungloved and flailing like unpetaled flowers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I’m really sorry because Brenus promised he’d take me for a ride like he did when we were in Rome but then it got dark and he was gone and I thought he went to get a chariot but then he didn’t come back so Livia said stay but I didn’t because Brenus promised. I’m really sorry are the chariots yours would it be all right if he could take me I know it’s dark now but maybe tomorrow?” Hanno opened his eyes and pointed with a thumb. “That’s Brenus right there hi Brenus, he has red hair like Livia but Livia’s is prettier except not now. Brenus is sitting next to Taog hi Taog but Taog can’t take me because he’s too big he’d tip the whole thing over.”
Octavius was glowing with anger, flailing the Celts with his eyes.
“Well,” said the king. “You are a remarkable young man. Tell me your name.”
“Hannibal my name is Hannibal. But my secret name is Hanno.”
King Deiotarus shielded his mouth, lowered his voice and said to Crassus, “You never miss an opportunity, do you?” Crassus' look of incomprehension held more impatience than query. “The grotesque’s name,” the king supplied. “Someone’s idea of a cruel joke?” Before Crassus could deny that he had anything to do with it, that it was, in fact, his wife’s generosity that had given the boy life and a home, Deiotarus had turned his attention back to Hanno, who was practically dancing on the floor before the king. “I am afraid, young Hannibal, though I would be happy to permit it, the decision does not rest with me.”
The king looked to Crassus, and Hanno followed his eyes. He saw dominus and me for the first time. “Father Jupiter! Master!” Off like an arrow he ran around the high table and into the unyielding grip of Octavius.
The legate lost control. “Concealing non-military personnel,” he shouted. “Amongst the legion? I could have you all executed for this!”
Crassus caught his host’s wry expression and knew he had no choice but to interject, “Easy, commander.” He held up a hand while he drank more water. “The blame here lies with me. It was I who invited the boy to come along. It slipped my mind to have him added to the roster.”
A very ugly scene was thus averted, or at least postponed. Octavius fairly brimmed with contradiction, but knew better than to voice it in this, of all places, or anywhere, until he had calmed down. Crassus motioned for him to release Hanno, who spilled immediately into dominus’ arms. A slender arm shot out in my direction, beckoning, but I dared not move. Crassus untangled himself, uncomfortable under the amused scrutiny of his host, and Hanno jumped up to spring into my arms. Would I be whipped or worse for returning his hug? I had a son whom I hoped to see again one day, and a wife standing not twenty feet before me. My hands had no choice but to remain fixed to my sides while Hanno pressed his forehead to my chest and locked his arms around me. The lie of my immobility was unbearable. It was matched only by the horror that he was here, now, with us, instead of safe at home.
Crassus commanded Livia to remove Hanno. She padded behind the dais, mumbling apologies until she stood before me. All the while she cooed to him and pried his arms free, I forced my sight to remain fixed on the front of the hall. Hanno was under no such constraint. He looked up at me as Livia pulled him away and said, “Master, come watch me tomorrow. If you’re feeling better.”
King Deiotarus turned in his seat to wonder at another member of the Crassus menagerie. Thankfully, there was no time for further interrogation, for dominus got to his feet. He made curt thanks, then made his excuses, cutting the evening short. A shame, really, for among the several diversions Deiotarus had prepared for us were trained, performing dogs, which I very much would liked to have witnessed, but dominus waved me ahead to wait at the three steps at the end of the platform. In case a shoulder were required to steady him.
Just as Crassus reached the end of the high table, King Deiotarus said, “Father Jupiter, eh? That’s one even Pompeius Magnus has not discovered.”
“Do you not worry, your highness,” Crassus answered, knocking my arm aside as I was trying to pin his cloak with its fibula, “that you have left the construction of this mighty fortress to the twelfth hour? It would be a shame for you to miss its completion.” The chatter in the hall fell as fast as a traitor thrown from the Tarpeian Rock. My master, as fine a diplomat as had ever been bred by his city, had uttered an inexcusable insult to his host, under the man’s own roof. My hands hovered in mid-air. It was an affront that made no sense, for King Deiotarus looked little older than my own age, and I was ten years younger than Crassus. However, upon reflection, mention Pompeius in a positive light to Crassus, regardless of the subject, and you are apt to find yourself left alone in the dark.
Into the silence, the king laughed. “General,” he said, “are you not marching off to war at an equally late hour? What a pity it would be were you unable to visit me when I am done with Blucium, and Parthia is done with you.”
My face burned as our party walked briskly down the center aisle and out into the night. What had Brenus and Taog done? What had Livia done? The light rain still fell. We pulled our cloaks up over our heads and made for camp. When the other legates had said their brief good nights, I approached dominus, thinking to help him wrestle with his daemons and perhaps discover how many I would be facing on the morrow. He read my mind. “Don’t! Go to your woman and see to that boy. I will not send him back, but do not trouble me with him. We will write Tertulla tomorrow and put her mind at rest. Better he march with us than be a trial to her.”
What? Should I be happy to have that poor young man with us, as if Hanno could somehow even the scales for our removal from our own son? One of many responses that came to mind, those that would not see me flogged, required me to thank my master. I turned and walked into the wet night without saying a word.
Chapter XXVI
55 — 54 BCE — Winter, On the March
Year of the consulship of
Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus and Marcus Licinius Crassus Dives
Livia had only just discovered that day that the two Celts had smuggled Hanno on board their trireme by claiming he was their servant, when in fact it was they who worshipped him. It had not been difficult to spirit him away: all Brenus had to do was tell the boy they were taking him to see Livia and master and Father Jupiter. Livia, once she had exhausted herself verbally stripping the woad, skin and flesh from their bones, had been watching him for the Celts while they went off to the king’s dinner. He had spied a chariot and bolted, running through the rain to search them out with the news.