Dominus threw on two tunics, one over the other to protect against the chill. Mercurius, his ornator, came rushing in holding a heavy but short riding cloak which he proceeded to fasten about his master’s neck.
“Apologies, dominus.”
“You are ill-named, Mercurius. From now on, I shall call you Somnus.”
“Yes, dominus. Thank you, dominus.” Crassus dismissed him, then turned back to the bed. “Not one kiss then?”
“You had your chance.” Tertulla said, ducking back under the covers.
“Hmm. I think I deserve two.” Crassus crossed from the doorway back to their bed, gauged where Tertulla’s bottom was hidden and gave it a not-too-hard whack. She screamed, then laughed and finally cursed him, but I knew he must ignore her muffled baiting. If he delayed, who knew what damage would be done, what opportunities lost. Men and women were now running all over the villa, lighting oil lamps and sconces, preparing baskets of food, making almost as much noise as the rhythmic pounding at the front entrance.
“Would someone please open that door!” Crassus yelled. I snapped a finger and one of the lamp bearers ran off. “Damnation!” Crassus shouted, tripping over one of the only pieces of furniture in the bedroom, the small step stool used to climb up onto the lectus. Although the room was mostly bare, its walls were exquisitely painted with scenes from my own mythology; the floor, for example, had the light been better, would have revealed a mosaic of Xanthus and Balius, the immortal horses that bore Achilles in his chariot at Troy. The chariot was empty. Achilles kneeled in the dust before it, grieving over the news of the death of his friend Patroclus. The horses wept. An odd choice of inspiration for the bedroom. Or any room.
Crassus shouted, “Epimachus! Boots!”
“Can’t you please send someone else?” Tertulla said in a muffled voice, letting a slender leg and way too much thigh slip out from beneath the coverlet. “Must you always insist on playing the hero?” She wiggled her painted toes. The gold ankle bracelet with the zodiac charms he had just given her for her birthday beckoned. For a moment, it looked as if the siren song of their tinkling would be enough to lure him back to bed.
“You’re making this very difficult,” he sighed. “But I must see to this.”
Tertulla sat up. “Come here,” she said. He obeyed. “I want to give you a reminder of why you should hurry back to me.” She slid her arms around his neck and pulled him forward till his mouth met hers. Their kiss was long and languid. I looked away.
When at last they separated, he sighed and replied, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Stepping through the doorway, he glanced at the three waiting men. “That is all of it?”
“Six bags, three thousand, one hundred twenty-five coins in each. A total of eighteen thousand, seven hundred fifty denarii: seventy-five thousand sesterces. Precisely,” I added, my tone daring contradiction.
“Precisely? Surely the count might be plus or minus a denarius or two?” I looked at him and smiled thinly. Crassus met my gaze and said, “My mistake. Foolish of me to bring it up.”
We headed for the front entrance.
Chapter XVIII
76 BCE — Summer, Rome Year of the consulship of Gnaeus Octavius and Gaius Scribonius Curio
What drove Crassus from the arms of his willing wife was the memory of the eight months he had spent hiding in a cave near the town of Tarraco on the Hispania Citerior coast. He swore he would never, ever let himself be forced to live that way again. Cinna and Marius the elder had killed his father and brother along with many others, slaughtering them for no greater crime than their having been born into noble families. Crassus could not help the accident of his birth, but he could gird himself with what, in Rome, was inviolable armor. Money provided far more than just a roof over your head. It would buy influence, friends, arms and men-at-arms, power and protection, and he meant never to be without it. A great deal of it. At thirty-nine, he was making excellent progress toward that illusive, mythical amount: more. Since the day I was made his atriensis, it had been my task to help him achieve his goal.
Outside the vestibule to his villa, his horse was waiting, held by one of six torch bearers. There were also six armed bodyguards who looked like they could handle two or three times their number. Among them was Drusus Malchus, but not Betto, who was more energetic than stalwart. When Malchus caught my eye, he nodded and winked. The young legionary guard from the old slave quarters had grown in girth and strength over the past several years. He was no longer the skinny lad from the latrine, but one of the most massive of Crassus’ fighting men. I was thankful he had taken a shine to me.
Crassus called good morning to the men, each by name. He mounted the black Hispanic stallion by stepping on the prostrate back of one of his stable boys. It was still several hours before dawn, and the streets were empty. Only the foolhardy or those in dire need ever ventured out after dark into the unnamed, unnumbered and unlit streets of the city.
“I can smell smoke, but see nothing,” Crassus said squinting into the gloom. The Urbs spread out beneath us in unnerving silence.
Ludovicus said, “Just across the Forum to the Quirinal. Take the Alta Semita. You’ll see the apartment house as soon as you start up the hill, two alleys north of the temple. Don’t worry, when you get close, you can follow the sound of Septimus Corvinus’ wailing.”
“Corvinus, eh? I’m surprised he has any insulae left. He will insist on making them out of rotten timber and mud bricks.”
“And four and five stories high,” said Ludovicus.
“Hopefully everyone is getting out safely.”
“The first brigade is on their way with two pump carts,” the commander said. “We can use the Petronia Amnis. Plenty of water in it this time of year.”
“Good work. What about the second?” Crassus asked.
“We’ll be right behind you, just in case.”
Crassus turned the reins and patted his mount. “Let’s go, Ajax.” With a kick to the horse’s flanks, he wheeled and took off down the hill at speed.
I climbed up onto one of the two carts and my men handed me the six bags. Lifting the seat of the storage bench, I secured the money in their hiding place and nodded to Ludovicus to proceed.
Crassus had little difficulty finding the location of the fire. By the time the rest of us got there, the top two floors of the apartment were glowing like paper lanterns and smoke was billowing above the flat roof. It was indeed a mud brick and timber building, four stories tall. At any moment the flames would erupt. The first brigade was standing a safe distance away having already prepared the hoses from the nearby stream and primed the pumps. Crassus nodded to the lead slaves of the two pike crews who rushed not to the burning insula itself, but the two adjacent buildings. With their ladders and long, hooked poles they began dismantling the now-vacant buildings.
The narrow streets were full of hundreds of spectators who acted as if they were privileged guests at a ludi put on just for them. Yet closest to the pumps was a large knot of anxious onlookers in anything but a festive mood. These were the people who actually lived on this street. They were being held in check by a semi-circle of armed men belonging to Crassus. With one exception, no one in the growing crowd had much hope anything would be left come morning: they all knew that poorly constructed buildings like these were almost impossible to save, either from the flames or the intentional demolition. The exception was an obese man stomping up and down amongst them, gesticulating wildly. His toga was unraveling and his hair stood out at odd angles. His face was made more florid by the glow from above. He was followed, back and forth, by several bodyguards who looked menacing but helpless.