A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow of Heaven (50 page)

We
stood and I looked up behind me to scan the upper reaches of the stadium for a glimpse of my friends and wife. I could not find them, and decorum prevented me from waving madly. Besides, everyone else was already doing that.

•••

“Shall I buy a flag?” Crassus asked after we had made our way down beneath the stands. He reached for a pendant of green to the amazement of the stall’s owner, but froze at the shout of alarm from Mercurius, who almost leapt from his painted slippers.

“Apologies, proconsul,” the little man said, “but that would be unwise,
unless you were to buy equal amounts of both colors.”

“E
ven if one or two of the good citizens of Antioch are color-blind, none of us are likely to leave the hippodrome alive,” said Gabinius. “Best leave the flags, and the betting, for the true fans.”

“
Green is favored by the local Aramean population,” Mercurius explained. “Blue by the more conservative Greeks and Romans. Should they ever grow too far out of balance, we shall have to introduce more colors.”

“Let me give you some practical advice about your administration,” Gabinius said as we continued our stroll.
Crassus, ever the politician, made certain to smile and notice everyone he passed. Now and again he would even stop to chat with a mother and child or a shopkeeper. Most of the signage everywhere we looked was trilingual:  Aramean, Greek and Latin, yet
dominus
quickly found that the language with which he was most successful was Greek.

“
Truly, Aulus,” he said, reverting to Latin, “anything you might teach me about governing a province would be a lesson in negatives—what
not
to do. There is only one subject upon which you may instruct me, and it does not lay within the confines of Syria.”

“I can and will tell you much about my experience in Parthia
,” said the departing governor. “Don’t underestimate them, my friend, and don’t ever let them catch you out in the open. But first, there are things you should know about what is available to you here in your new home.”

“
How can you treat your own troubles with such indifference? Do you not know that you are being tried for treason
in absentia
? Cicero practically foams at the mouth in expectation of your return.”

“I am always being tried for something, aren’t I? That’s what bribes are for, Marcus. You practically invented the practice, did you not?” My master bridled at the inference, or perhaps at
its being spoken aloud. “Between my money and your friends, I have every hope of acquittal from every vicious charge, whatever they may be.”

“What do you mean,
‘my friends?’”

“Pompeius has promised to speak up for me, even to bend Tully’s arm if need be. And Caesar, well, Caesar.” Gabinius laughed aloud, then suggested we turn about and return to our seats.

“What about Julius?” Crassus said as evenly as he could. We began retracing our steps.

“I’ve accepted a posting with him,” Marcus Antonius said. “I’ll travel with Aulus as far as Rome, then on to Gaul.”

“Don’t forget your lion skin,” Crassus said.

“I know!”
Marcus Antonius said. “No more balmy Judean winters for me.”

“What was this about Caesar?” Crassus pressed.

“You know how he loves to wriggle beneath the
peplos
of any noble’s wife who’ll let him?”

“What?!” Crassus shouted.

“General,” Petronius whispered, putting a hand on his arm.

“Calm down, man
,” said Gabinius. “All Rome knows about his insatiable Cyclops.”

“Haul yourself out of the gutter, sir.”

“Please, Rome
is
the gutter. Or can’t you see it from the Palatine? Come now, Marcus. This is a marvelous story. I knew putting Ptolemy back on the throne without the senate’s blessing would put me in the deep end of the pool, but what can you do when Pompeius asks and Egypt loads so much silver in my ship it lists? Gabinius must answer.

“
As it happens, your friend Caesar proved my savior. You’ve never met my wife, Lollia. Strange that she and your wife have never socialized.”
Not so strange.
“She’s as stunning as the statue of Diana in her Aventine temple, and just as cold. She’s even more beautiful than I am.”

Gabinius stopped and balanced gracefully on one leg, bringing his raised heel to rest across his
other knee. Mercurius hurried over, lifted his master’s painted toe and removed a pebble caught between sandal and foot. Crassus asked, “Does this have a point?”

We carried on. “Of course. Lollia and I share a mutual hatred of each other, so I was delighted to return from the senate early one afternoon to find her splayed across the dining room
lectus
with Julius between her thighs.”

“Outrageous. What did you do?”

“Just that—appear outraged.
I sent Lollia to the baths. Then, after some fine tragedian acting and wringing of hands, promised to avoid a scandal if, in return, Caesar would swear that should my case ever be tried, he would write on my behalf. Which he has. Illicit sex, Marcus, drives at least half the decisions of the modern world, wouldn’t you agree?”

“
What a bankrupt and reprehensible philosophy.”

“
Yet Pompeius now awaits to appear in court on Caesar’s behalf with a letter stating that not only should I not be on trial, the senate should confer upon me a
supplicatio
, thanking me for bringing Egypt back into the fold, and for all my victories in Judea. I may have a statue in the forum before this is done. All thanks to Caesar and that magnificent shrew. A victory all around, don’t you think?” 

“If you hate your wife so much
, why not just leave her?”

“
Why leave her, when I can leave her in misery?”

“I think I’ve heard quite enough.” We had arrived at the steps which would take us back up to the governor’s box. “
Octavius, walk with me back to the Regia. I’m feeling tired.”

“
Dominus
, I’ll come with you.” Crassus' eyes were already somewhere else, more than likely Luca.

“No, Alexander, you stay and watch the races. I’ll be fine.”

“Marcus,” Gabinius said, “We need to discuss Parthian tactics and weaponry.”

“Tell it to my legates. I’m done with you.
Alexander, wait. Take this.” Crassus unbuckled his long purple cloak and fastened it about my shoulders. He laid the wreath on my head and stuffed the handkerchief in my hand and my slave plaque down my tunic. With little enthusiasm he said, “Something little Felix can tell his grandchildren about someday.”

“You’re joking,” Gabinius said.

“I never joke in front of people I despise.”

“Despise me all you like,
but hear me out if you seek to finish what I began across the Euphrates.” Gabinius saw with rising panic that this public arcade beneath the vaulted columns of his stadium was likely to be his final audience with Crassus. He took hold of the new governor’s arm. Crassus recoiled. “Listen to me!” As
dominus
was stepping away, I leaned in, straining to hear whatever it was this man who’d actually faced the enemy we planned to engage was trying to tell us. But the crowds were thickening, their holiday babble amplifying off the bottoms of the concrete seats rising above our heads, and I could not comprehend every word. Two phrases were all that came through clearly:  “Armenia’s mountains” and “using the rivers.”

Crassus may have understood more, for he answered,
“Why would I take advice from Pompeius’ torch bearer, a man who dances naked and lets loose a viper like Julius Caesar beneath the bed sheets of his own wife? Why should I listen to anything a man like that has to say about anything?”

“Because he’s right, you stubborn fool.” But
Gabinius was already shouting at the back of his replacement.

Aulus Gabinius left the following morning for Rome.
His advice regarding the Parthians was never heeded or even heard. The senate tried him on three counts of treason. He was acquitted on two, but convicted for extortion, with special reference to the ten thousand talents of silver he had accepted from a province that was outside his governorship. His property was confiscated and, like Cicero before him, he was sentenced to the worst fate a Roman citizen could suffer and still live:  exile. Five years later, however, Julius Caesar called him back to fight in the civil wars, but Gabinius would raise no hand against his old patron, Pompeius. He died of illness two years after returning from exile.

Chapter
XXX

54  BCE   -   Spring, Antioch

Year of the consulship of

Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus and Appius Claudius Pulcher

I was shaking badly as we made our way back up to our seats. Mercurius had to give me a little push from behind on the final step. The waiting crowd exploded into a roar when they saw the purple of my cloak. It was hard to say whose jaw dropped further, Cassius’ or Melyaket’s, but it was Marcus Antonius, following me up the steps who was first to laugh. “I know!” he said. “Can you believe it?”

Gabinius
cornered Cassius Longinus and Petronius, insisting that the two legates meet him in the gallery after the evening meal. There were things he needed to impart to
someone
of intelligence before he left for Rome, or the army would be ill-prepared to meet Parthia’s defenses.

“What do I do
now?” I asked, still standing. Apparently, I was doing it, for the horn blowers played another fanfare and two drivers came onto the field, this time riding in two-horse rigs. They pulled up to the starting line and waited for the signal.

“Hold up
that handkerchief, you idiot,” Gabinius hissed. I did that.

“Now
drop
it!”

When I let it flutter out of my hand, four flag bearers on both sides of the track lowered their poles and the
first race began. Each heat of this first contest was two laps, then another pair raced till their were five finalists. These five then raced against each other to discover the winner. By the start of the final race of this first contest, I was becoming quite proficient at raising and releasing my handkerchief with aplomb. Following this first event, there would be two more races, a three-horse contest, and the wild and most dangerous finale, where the drivers would ride chariots pulled by four horses.

While we watched, Mercurius
pointed out a charioteer with bright red hair. His name was Varro. He was eighteen, slave to the largest stable owner in the city, and if he won the grand prize today, he’d have enough to buy his freedom. He rode for the greens, but today he was everybody’s favorite. In Aramaic, they called him The One Who Sings.

“Do you ride?” I asked Melyaket. The race was very close. Three greens and two blues were all within a chariot’s width of each with only one lap to go.

“Oh yes. Every day, if I can. My people practically give birth on horseback. And you?”

“The same.
We build our schools, write treatises, prepare complex medications, all mounted.”

“I see.”

“F
orgive me, Melyaket puhr Karach. I am very nervous.”

“I can imagine. Just Melyaket
, please.”

“Do
you own slaves, Melyaket?”

“There are none in my village. But I have seem them in Hatra. They are always from someplace else.”

“Then we are all slave fodder to someone.”

“
Yes, I suppose we are,” Melyaket said. Ten horses, five teams, made the final turn and came down the long, straight run to the finish line as if they were chained together. Everyone was on their feet, including us. You could hear the cracks of the whips above the thunder of the wheels. But one whip rested in its holder. As the riders told their teams that this was the moment to reach for that last ounce of speed, we saw him, the boy Varro, leaning over the lip of his chariot. Of course, no sound came to us above the din, but the melody was not intended for our ears. Varro’s team and one other, driven by one who rode for the blues pulled away from the pack in the final seconds of the race. In the end, I could not see who had crossed the finish line first.

“
Aieee!” Melyaket cried. “The red-haired boy has won! I have never seen such a thing in my life!”

“You’re quite young, aren’t you,” Gabinius said.

The judges agreed with Melyaket.

“
What happens now?” I shouted.

Gabinius said, “You give him
this ribbon and purse.” The ex-governor shoved the correct prizes into my hands. People were streaming onto the dirt track.

“Me?”

“Oh, here, take this.” Gabinius took a thick gold chain from around his neck and slipped it over my head. “Curse Crassus. You’ve got to wear something besides that wreath to look the part. No one has gotten a good eyeful of your master. The box is far enough away from everyone else. I’ll handle the guards and servants. Just act imperious, if that’s possible, or at least noble.”