The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Alexander Page 24

  “Who are you? Where’s my husband?” Tertulla scrambled from the bed and pulled the coverlet around her.

  “Oh, he’s still contemplating the fact that I am going to make him even more rich and powerful than he already is.”

  “Caesar.” Her voice was flat, but her heart began pounding like the ramming rhythm of an attacking trireme. What was this satyr doing in their bedchamber, with her husband only steps away? The infamous philanderer. Even his soldiers sang of it in the streets.

  “You don’t seem pleased.”

  “I am not pleased. You must go.” In a louder voice she called, “Esther?” Cicero had said that Caesar had been at the root of Pompeius’ divorce from Mucia. She hadn’t believed it, of course, for why would he risk political suicide for a moment’s dalliance?

  “Shhh. Lower your voice,” he said in a mock whisper. “You don’t want a scandal, do you? Don’t worry about the famula in the hall - I sent her off to more comfortable quarters.” As he spoke, he walked slowly toward the end of the lectus.

  “What do you want?” Tertulla took a step backward, wondering if she could get past him to the door. Her mind fled back six years when he and Pompeia had visited the villa at Baiae. She had left no room for misunderstanding, and he and his soon-to-be-divorced wife had departed shortly thereafter. Since then, she had kept out of his way, feigning illness or some other excuse whenever Marcus wanted to socialize. She had seen Caesar maybe half a dozen times in as many years.

  Now he was in her room in the middle of the night. Whatever lie he was about to tell her to explain this inappropriate intrusion, she knew the truth behind it. No honorable Roman would invade a matron’s privacy thus. She was stunned by his audacity. Would he attempt to seduce her with her husband close by and liable to return any second? Was he mad? Unless he knew there was little risk of that. Suddenly, she became truly afraid.

  “Frankly, I need your help. I want to talk to you.”

  “That’s fine, Julius. Let’s talk in the morning.” Tertulla could not keep the waver of fear out of her voice. She must think. He was right about creating a scandal. Even though it was common knowledge how much she and Crassus cared for each other, tongues would wag, and humiliation and disgrace would follow. Yet Caesar must know that he could never come between them. What truly worried her was how closely her husband’s fortunes now depended on the general’s success. Their fates were now interwoven beyond unraveling. Crassus promoted Caesar’s scheming in the senate, he had loaned him millions to stage huge entertainments for the plebs, and of course there was that business with Cataline. If Caesar fell, it would be almost impossible for Crassus to avoid being pulled down with him. She had warned him of the risk, but he had persisted. For better or worse, they were now tied to the proconsul’s ambition. And should the alliance end badly, with the two of them as enemies, her husband could very well be destroyed. Marcus might think he was a match for Caesar, but as much as she loved him, she knew he was wrong. She must protect him. She must find a way to get rid of Caesar with no one becoming the wiser.

  “This can’t wait. You’re leaving in the morning, and I need to know things have been settled before you go.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Good, then let me explain.”

  “All right. Wait outside while I dress, then we can find some place comfortable to talk.”

  “I’m quite comfortable here. I see, however, that you are not. Let me get to the point, and then you’ll be rid of me.” Caesar came round in front of the bed and sat down. He patted the mattress by his side, but Tertulla backed further away. She now had a slight chance of getting to the doorway. The room was so small though. Would he try to grab her? She wished Marcus would return, then realized her folly. He must never know. She must do this herself.

  “Speak quickly, Julius. You risk my marriage.” She wrapped the coverlet more securely around her, but pulled it up away from her ankles so she wouldn’t trip on it when she ran. Moving toward the far side of the chest near the window, she wondered what story she could dredge up to explain why she was running around the villa at this hour. First I have to get away, she thought. She now stood in the place that offered the best angle for escape, if he would just stay on the bed.

  “Oh, I think not. If you do as I ask, your union will be safe.” Caesar paused to take a swallow from a small bottle of wine she had not seen when he entered. The site of it, knowing how rarely he drank, only increased her anxiety. He held it out to her and when she refused, he shrugged and took more himself. Then he set the open container on a small table by the bed.

  “You see, your husband is having second thoughts about our agreement.” He proceeded to tell her the details of the results of the conference, much of which she already knew from the other wives and servants who’d been paid to snoop. “We spent almost a week getting everyone to agree, and now he’s thinking of backing out.”

  “He must have his reasons,” she said coolly.

  “Lady Tertulla, do you realize what will happen to him, and to you, if he does? If I am persona non grata, if charges are brought, proscriptions reinstated, you could lose everything. Do you want that to happen?”

  “Of course not. But that is between you and him, and perhaps Pompeius. I am willingly married as much to my husband’s fate as to the man.”

  ”That is well, but I have made no such vows. I cannot afford to lose this accord. We must proceed as planned.”

  “I have nothing to do with it.”

  “On the contrary. I have recently learned that at this most delicate point in our negotiations, you may have everything to do with it. I know how he trusts your judgment. I need you to convince him to accept what we have already decided, nothing more.”

  “That is not my place.”

  “But my dear, I am making it your place.” Caesar spoke in a tone so gentle and friendly it was ominous. “I know you, Tertulla. You are a smart woman. You see the truth of my argument, don’t you.”

  “Yes,” she said. There was no doubt of it.

  “Then you will speak with him, tonight when he returns?”

  “Yes. Now please go.”

  “Unfortunately,” he said, sighing, “I cannot rely on your charm and wit alone. I must have something else from you, some little secret that only you and I share that guarantees you will be successful in persuading him to do the right thing.” Tertulla knew exactly where this was leading, and she did not need to hear any more. He had not moved from the bed. This was her chance. She bolted toward the door, but as she crossed in front of him, he reached out and got hold of a handful of the bedcovers to which she clung. She spun away, trying to extricate herself from the blanket, but lost her balance. Caesar was up now. He threw the coverlet aside and grabbed her thin tunic as she stumbled. The cotton stitching on the top left side of the sleeveless gown ripped and bared her shoulder. As they tussled, he upset the wine bottle, knocking it over. It spun on the floor, leaving an arc of dark liquid, a crescent moon, symbol of Astarte, ancient goddess of sexuality and war.

  “Where are you running?” he asked, pulling her roughly to him, his wine-soaked breath on her cheek. “You see, I was right – you are a smart woman. You know exactly what secret we need to share.”

  “Caesar, don’t do this. There is no need. I will do as you ask.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said, “there probably is no need, per se.” He spun her around and pushed her the short distance to the chest of drawers, never letting go of what remained of her tunic. He shoved his body up against her from behind, pinning her against the wooden chest. He was strong, for such a small man. She reached out for balance and knocked the oil lamp to the floor. It’s tiny flame extinguished in the rush of air, and the clay shattered with a crash on the far side of the dresser. At the noise, they both froze, for neither, in their vastly different ways, wanted to be discovered.

  A second later, Caesar slapped her on the back of her head. “I hope you didn’t
do that on purpose.”

  “You coward, you cockroach,” she spit through clenched teeth. She tried to elbow him, but he blocked the blow. Reaching round with her right hand, she struggled to find his eyes or his hair. It was a desperate, silent contest. Tertulla continued to fight against him, until suddenly she felt cold, sharp metal pressed against her throat. She froze and Caesar withdrew the knife.

  “Tertulla, you are such a beautiful creature.” She could feel him pulling the belt from his waist with his free hand. “How long have we known each other, fifteen years? Ironic – your husband is exactly that much older than both of us. Not much between statesmen, granted, but don’t you think he’s getting a little long in the tooth for you?”

  “Leave now, Caesar,” she implored, “and I shall say nothing of this.”

  “Well, you see, that’s the thing of it. It’s occurred to me that I am certain you will say nothing, no matter what transpires in this room. I know, because you love your husband, and you will not see him disgraced. Neither will you see him risk financial and political ruin by breaking with me. You would do anything to protect him. I believe this of you. I believe it so strongly that I expect you to prove me right, right here, right now.” He stopped pushing against her just long enough to yank her tunic up to her waist. She felt him naked against her.

  “No!” she groaned. But even as he pressed against her stiff legs with his knee, trying to part them, she knew she was lost.

  “Come, Tertulla, do as you’re told,” he whispered sweetly in her ear. “Open for me, you arrogant, little whore. You’re all whores, in the end, aren’t you?” Caesar knew he had her when he felt the almost imperceptible release of Tertulla’s thigh muscles, enabling him to push her legs slightly apart. He pushed at her again, until her feet slipped apart on the cold floor.

  I am going to let him rape me, she thought. Oh, Marcus! Forgive me! I love only you. I swear before all the gods, I belong to you alone. Juno, hear my prayer: let him leave no mark upon me, I beseech you. Protect my husband.

  Even though she had now exposed herself and was offering no resistance, she was hardly ready for him, and he struggled to get inside her. The more he strained, the angrier she became.

  “Know this, little man,” she said with all the venom she could inject into her voice, “when you have shriveled and departed, I will avenge myself upon you.”

  “I shall hire a slave to do nothing but walk behind me,” he replied sarcastically. “And one more to taste my food.” Tertulla bit her lip, stifling a cry of pain, and Caesar moaned with her, for he had found that which he sought. Tertulla winced, and tears filled her eyes. She kept talking to herself to keep her mind as far away from what was happening to her as possible. She said prayers to all the gods, both Roman and any who might listen: to Juno and Inanna, Diana and Atargatis, Astarte and Ishtar; to any goddess who reviles the mistreatment of women and the vainglory of men. And when all her prayers were exhausted, she began listing the ways she might take revenge should the deities forsake her.

  Caesar continued his frantic thrusting, but Tertulla had disappeared into her prayers and curses – she was hardly there. She did not resist, neither did she participate. Before long, Caesar found his conquest becoming a chore. Sweat beaded his brow and his breath became labored. All he wanted now was to be done with her. Her body may have yielded, but he felt as if her spirit stood apart, laughing at him.

  This rebellious vision was almost confirmed when she said, “Haste, Julius, or my husband will discover how boring you are.” Her last word was turned into a grunt as Caesar responded with a vicious thrust that practically lifted her off her feet. The tears filled her eyes once more, for speaking to him had snapped her back into the present. She twisted her head away from him and prayed for the end of this nightmare.

  That is the moment when she saw her husband staring at her in dumbfounded disbelief from behind the portiere. She knew it was him even though he was no more than a silhouette. His head jerked and she thought he was going to vomit. She felt her own gorge rise. Something glinted below his face – a dagger! He’s looking down at it. She willed him to look back at her, and he did! She warned him off with a shake of her head and the hope that he might somehow see the expression of desperation on her face. He must withdraw, he must! Caesar will kill him. The puglio he had held against her throat was somewhere nearby, but she could not see it. At his age and in his condition, Marcus would be no match for Caesar, even if he struck first. Could they overpower him together?

  She would never know, for as she pleaded with her eyes for him to depart, his face slowly passed from view like a pale, lifeless moon disappearing behind clouds. His expression broke her heart.

  A spasm shook Caesar, and while one part of Tertulla’s torture was now over, she knew another was just beginning. She found that she did have something for which to be thankful. She gave her silent gratitude to Juno for sparing her husband the final moment of her degradation. But as her mind returned to settle on her violation, her body joined her spirit and revolted: she leaned over the side of the chest where the lamp had fallen and emptied her stomach. Afterwards, wiping her nose and sucking lung-fuls of air through her mouth, she stooped to pick up the bedcovers, using them to clean herself as best she could. She kept a wary eye on Caesar.

  “I suppose your youth gives you some advantage,” Caesar said with disdain. “But for that, you are not much use to men, are you? Remember this, Tertulla, if you fail to do your part with your husband, I will put it about that the wife of Crassus is not as chaste as her reputation. And you know I will be believed. So perform better with your husband than you have with me, and you can grow old and gray spending every denarius he owns. The alternative will be far more costly, I assure you. Now clean this place up. He’ll be back soon.” And with that, Caesar left the room.

  Chapter XXX

  56 BCE - Spring, Luca

  Year of the consulship of

  Cn. Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus and L. Marcius Philippus

  “This is not the way. We’re in the wrong wing! Give me that!” Crassus seized the torch from the slave. “See my atriensis in the morning and instruct him to flog you. Ask for Alexander. Now be gone!” Pahnehesy, the slave who was part of the conspiracy to delay Crassus and who had now misled him to the wrong end of Caesar’s villa, padded off to his quarters. He’d done the best he could. He hoped the few extra coins he’d been promised would be worth the stripes he’d just earned.

  Crassus pointed the sputtering torch down a dark hallway and saw that it was too short to be his own. Ah, here’s the culina, he thought. No, couldn’t touch another bite. No one about. Even the slaves are abed. He was still quite drunk.

  Syria.

  He wondered what the food was like. Proconsul is no small achievement, and he supposed Caesar was right, he could make a sizable contribution to his already astounding fortune as a result of the governorship. I’m so tired, he thought. I could sleep for a week. Well, we’ll see what Tertulla thinks of all this. Maybe she’d like a vacation abroad. He headed back through the villa, passing columns that threw sweeping shadows like grasping arms. As he made his way through the garden atrium, rain splashed into the impluvium and blew spray in gusts over the slick tile floor. Crassus slid on a wet spot and fell to his knees. The torch skidded, hit a clay planter head-on and went out with a hiss and a small explosion of sparks.

  Cursing, he got to his feet and groped along the walls until finally, he found the right wing. As he turned into it, he heard a woman’s voice, low and urgent. It didn’t sound like his wife. More words, then a grunt as if someone had been struck. He drew his puglio from its scabbard. As he made his way down the hall, past two empty cubiculae, the sounds became clearer and he realized whoever this person was, he or she was not being attacked. He squinted at a wall painting, recognized the image of Orpheus and Eurydice, the viper curled around her ankle, and confirmed that he was indeed in his cubiculum’s hallway. The knowledge, instead of spurring him to gre
ater speed, turned his feet to stone. He thought they must surely scrape on the stone floor as he dragged himself forward. He did not want to see what he now feared awaited him.

  The cubiculum had no door, and the heavy drapes that separated it from the hallway were partially drawn. Crassus peered past the curtains. The room was dark, and he could hear more than he could see. The rhythmic grunts of the man in the room were occasionally echoed by a woman’s groan, whether in pain or pleasure he could not tell. There was also the intermittently rhythmic thump of a chest of drawers as it was knocked up against the wall.

  Forms began to be discernible out of the murk. Two bodies faced the wall, leaning over the waist high wooden chest. A man whose head was turned away from the doorway had his tunic pulled up above his waist and stuffed into his belt. His pale, exposed buttocks moved in a short arc, up and down, like comic moons unsure whether to rise or set. Crassus could make out the prominent bald spot on the back of Caesar’s head as he hunched over a woman’s right shoulder. Had he come to the wrong room? Crassus tried to equate the hunched and sweating man before him with the proud, armored general mounted not on this woman (who was she?) but on a snow-white steed leading the charge against the Nervii. He couldn’t do it.

  This has to be our room, but where has Tertulla gone? His mind fought with his eyes, trying to blind them, but they would not be fooled. His fear spread like a stain. If I slip away now, he thought, there will be no betrayal because there will be no proof. I won’t know for sure who these fornicators are. Tertulla can tell me in the morning that she grew tired of waiting, went to search for me and got lost as I did. She found other quarters in which to take her rest. And I would believe her, or any other story she might wish to tell me, because I cannot bear to face any other truth. If I take a step forward, my world will end; and yet, if I turn away, will not doubt eat at my insides till nothing is left?