Still, further nudging was necessary, for domina’s entreaties must be of a nature so sincere, so contrary to their initial plan to ruin Caesar that even Crassus must pay heed. In the next sealed mail packet leaving for Rome, I added my own letter to Tertulla, knowing that by doing so, my life was now as much in her hands as it had always been in my lord’s.
My lady, you know what it means for me to write to you directly without dominus’ knowledge or permission. I have served the Crassus family with honor for three decades, and with this letter I continue my service, even if it means my life.
I write to you so that you may know what we here have witnessed: the journey to Syria has taken its toll on all of us, but on none more so than the general. It grieves me to tell you he has made command errors which have cost unnecessary lives and a dangerous loss of confidence by his legates. His health has deteriorated. He is not the man you last embraced in Rome. I fear not only for the man, but for our mission.
Your husband’s greatest strength has always been his political skill. Let him wage war against Caesar in the senate. There, he has allies in both parties; there, he is armed with the backing of the people. You and I both know that on that battlefield, he will be victorious. Here, we are on unsure, dangerous ground.
If you value my life, you will destroy this letter and speak of it to no one, especially dominus. If you value you husband’s life, you will do what no other can accomplish-write him and turn him aside from this madness. Convince him to return home.
But if, in your next letters there is only encouragement for the Parthian campaign, I shall know I have failed to dissuade you from your original course and will, as I always have, do my best to keep dominus safe.
Faithfully, Alexander
If I knew my lady, and none other than her husband knew her better, she would begin a literary campaign, within the confines I had set, to bring her husband home. In six or seven months we would see if this tree would bear fruit, and if Crassus would eat of it. For the time being I, along with all the general’s commanders, would be left to wonder why he would arrive at his destination and not pursue his goal.
People, I have observed, are the most unpredictable of creatures. A contrivance of the kind such as I have just described often runs afoul of unanticipated outcomes. Could I rely on my lady to react as I hoped she would? Were there other possibilities I had not even imagined that might sprout from such a seed? My fervent hope was that all would go as planned. I had decided that this was an opportunity I had no choice but to exploit, and was worth the risk. You may be wondering if I communicated this scheme to Livia. Fairly certain that my wife was more predictable than most, no, I did not.
•••
The army tramped down through Tarsus and across the plain of Cilicia, a Roman province which thirteen years earlier had provided a haven for bandits plaguing Roman shipping. Pompeius, approaching the height of his popularity (with the people if not the aristocratic senate), was given command of five hundred ships, thanks in great part to the support of a certain Tribune of the Plebs, one Aulus Gabinius, the man Crassus was on his way to replace as governor of Syria. In less than a year Pompeius had extinguished the piratical flame. As we made our way around the eastern tip of the Middle Sea, Crassus’ only grumbled comment about his rival’s victory was that “the field had already been plowed and planted by Lucullus and Vatia; all Pompeius had to do was harvest yet another triumph.”
We turned south to march down the coast of what the men boasted of as the Roman Sea. The air was moist, oppressive and drained of color. Mountains pressed us up against the still, grey waters. To the southwest, across this filmy, disturbingly quiet void lay unseen Cyprus. The sound of our passing seemed a sacrilege. We slept fitfully that night on the shore, tucked up under the looming hills. The dawn brought no change in the weather, which seemed like no weather at all. There was little conversation as the skirmishers walked their mounts through the camp gates, their horses breathing twin plumes of damp sky. Soon, our fortifications would be abandoned to the impatient gulls.
Before midday we came upon a break in the mountains. We had found the Syrian Gates, and as we climbed up through the narrow, misty pass, I thought of my namesake, the brash Macedonian who three hundred years ago had stood with his back against this same pass to block the hordes of Darius. Now Crassus sought to reenact Alexandros’ victory at Issus; would my master face descendants of those luckless Persians, and would they share the same fate? The clouds dropped low and the mountains leaned in to get a better look at Roman arrogance as it passed.
Having arrived in the friendly Roman province of Syria, Crassus had sent the entire vanguard to the rear so that he could command the very head of the column. Behind him rode the eagle standard bearer of Legion I. After the aquilifer came three horn blowers, then Cassius, his four clerks and Octavius, legate of Legion I. Behind them rode Crassus' personal bodyguard, a cohort of over four hundred handpicked soldiers, including many evocati, retired soldiers who had served with Crassus against Spartacus and who had answered his personal invitation to join him on this expedition. These included Malchus and Betto, though I could not see them.
Dominus either did not know or did not care how he had split both my attention and my devotion by forcing Livia to join the expedition. Though I rode at the spear point of one of Rome’s greatest armies, the nose of my horse a flared nostril away from the tail of the general’s mount, though I was likely never again to pass through this exotic and storied land, every other thought rested miles behind us where Livia walked beside the mules carrying the medical tents and supplies.
Advancing briskly south once we had negotiated the pass, we rode through a wide, fertile valley. Farms sloped up gentle hills on our right, blocking the sea from view. In the distance, a small mountain called Silpios rose sharply on our left. Now I could barely contain my elation, for I knew that Antioch lay at the foot of that peak. Our journey was coming to an end. The marching legions felt it as welclass="underline" you could sense the excitement building all down the line. We followed a bright, green river, hidden by waxy, flowering plants and twisted trees that bent to protect its shyness. As if to guard our curious eyes, when we could catch a glimpse of it, the sun threw blinding, silver spears at us from its surface. We made excellent time on a new, wide stone road; evidence of Rome’s recent influence. Palm trees of a variety I had never seen played a high, percussive song as the breeze passed through their fronds. Hundreds of natives intent on their daily tasks parted to let us pass, and though they stared, they did not look afraid. In fact, as we neared the city, many of the locals began to cheer. I was soon to learn that our approach was not the cause of this unexpected good will, but rather that our arrival marked the departure of another.
Peoples unknown to even the great sink of humanity that was Rome paraded on either side of our column. Merchants led both camels and mules laden with what fabulous commerce I could only imagine. Strange headdresses adorned both men and women, although woven baskets filled with merchandise were favored by the women, each offering unique, as far as I could see, to the seller. I must admit their posture was flawless. Attire, outlandish and colorful as the birds overhead, was on display. The unintelligible chatter of the throng was just as raucous. On the crowded river, sleek feluccas with sloping, graceful sails avoided smaller craft whose hulls, so fully laden, bowed to kiss the water line. I hardly knew where to look first, it was all so marvelous.