stars on that scene. This won’t just be a social visit, that’s for sure.
They entered the atrium, the grand, airy room that led off the entrance hall. Beautifully painted scenes decorated the stucco walls: the exposure of the infants Romulus and Remus on the banks of the River Tiber, the consecration of Rhea Silvia as Vestal Virgin and the founding of the ancient city of Alba Longa. The death masks of Crassus’ ancestors adorned the rear wall, which also contained the lararium , an alcove set aside as a shrine to the household gods. Crassus bent his head in respect as he passed.
‘Where is he then?’
‘Don’t you wish to change, or to eat something first?’
‘Come now, Saenius,’ chuckled Crassus. ‘I ought to see him at once.’ He brushed a speck of imaginary dirt from the front of his own still immaculate toga. ‘Caesar may be a dandy, but my appearance will suffice.’
‘Of course. He’s waiting in the reception room off the courtyard.’
It was his most imposing office, decorated only the week before. It could not fail to impress. Pleased by Saenius’ shrewdness, Crassus followed his major domo through the tablinum , the large chamber that led on to the colonnaded garden beyond. Staying under the portico, they skirted the rows of vines and lemon trees, and the carefully placed colourful Greek statues. Saenius tapped on the open door of the first room they reached. ‘Marcus Licinius Crassus.’
Crassus glided past, smiling a welcome at the clean-shaven, thin man seated within. ‘Pontifex! I am honoured by your presence.’ He made a shallow obeisance, enough to show respect, but not enough to indicate any real inferiority.
‘Crassus,’ said Caesar, standing and returning the bow. As ever, his well-cut dark red robe had barely a crease. ‘How wonderful to see you.’
Crassus hid his delight at the deference just shown him. Family connections might have won Caesar the position of Pontifex, but there was still no need for him to rise for Crassus. The fact that he had done so showed that he recognised Crassus’ importance. It wasn’t that surprising. I am , after all, richer, more powerful and better connected. What Crassus did not like to admit was that he possessed little of Caesar’s élan.
Few other men – apart from Pompey – could win the love of the public as Caesar had. Winning a corona civica , Rome’s highest award for bravery, at nineteen. Choosing to become an advocate in the courts and robustly prosecuting Dolabella, a former consul, at twenty-three. Gaining notoriety as a lover of numerous men’s wives. However, the plebs’ favourite story about Caesar – if Crassus had heard it being told on a street corner once, he’d heard it a hundred times – involved his capture by pirates and imprisonment on the island of Pharmacussa off the coast of Asia Minor. Crassus hated the tale. Not only had Caesar laughed at the pirates’ ransom demand of twenty talents of silver, telling them that they should ask instead for fifty, but he had repeatedly told them that when he was freed, he would crucify them all. Some weeks later, when the larger amount had been paid, Caesar had indeed been released. Despite the fact that he was a civilian, he had persuaded the provincials who had paid his ransom to give him the command of several warships. True to his word, he had captured the pirates and, soon afterwards, crucified every single one of them. This display of Roman virtus , or manliness, had given Caesar an enduring appeal with the Roman public. Crassus longed for such recognition. He smiled at his guest. Prick. ‘Some wine?’
‘Thank you, that would be welcome.’
‘My throat’s dry too.’ Crassus glanced at Saenius, but the Latin was already on his way out of the door.
‘A long day in the Senate?’
‘Yes. Hours of talking about shit.’
Caesar’s eyebrows arched.
‘New sewers are planned for the Aventine Hill.’
‘I see. It sounds a reasonable suggestion.’
‘So
They entered the atrium, the grand, airy room that led off the entrance hall. Beautifully painted scenes decorated the stucco walls: the exposure of the infants Romulus and Remus on the banks of the River Tiber, the consecration of Rhea Silvia as Vestal Virgin and the founding of the ancient city of Alba Longa. The death masks of Crassus’ ancestors adorned the rear wall, which also contained the lararium , an alcove set aside as a shrine to the household gods. Crassus bent his head in respect as he passed.
‘Where is he then?’
‘Don’t you wish to change, or to eat something first?’
‘Come now, Saenius,’ chuckled Crassus. ‘I ought to see him at once.’ He brushed a speck of imaginary dirt from the front of his own still immaculate toga. ‘Caesar may be a dandy, but my appearance will suffice.’
‘Of course. He’s waiting in the reception room off the courtyard.’
It was his most imposing office, decorated only the week before. It could not fail to impress. Pleased by Saenius’ shrewdness, Crassus followed his major domo through the tablinum , the large chamber that led on to the colonnaded garden beyond. Staying under the portico, they skirted the rows of vines and lemon trees, and the carefully placed colourful Greek statues. Saenius tapped on the open door of the first room they reached. ‘Marcus Licinius Crassus.’
Crassus glided past, smiling a welcome at the clean-shaven, thin man seated within. ‘Pontifex! I am honoured by your presence.’ He made a shallow obeisance, enough to show respect, but not enough to indicate any real inferiority.
‘Crassus,’ said Caesar, standing and returning the bow. As ever, his well-cut dark red robe had barely a crease. ‘How wonderful to see you.’
Crassus hid his delight at the deference just shown him. Family connections might have won Caesar the position of Pontifex, but there was still no need for him to rise for Crassus. The fact that he had done so showed that he recognised Crassus’ importance. It wasn’t that surprising. I am , after all, richer, more powerful and better connected. What Crassus did not like to admit was that he possessed little of Caesar’s élan.
Few other men – apart from Pompey – could win the love of the public as Caesar had. Winning a corona civica , Rome’s highest award for bravery, at nineteen. Choosing to become an advocate in the courts and robustly prosecuting Dolabella, a former consul, at twenty-three. Gaining notoriety as a lover of numerous men’s wives. However, the plebs’ favourite story about Caesar – if Crassus had heard it being told on a street corner once, he’d heard it a hundred times – involved his capture by pirates and imprisonment on the island of Pharmacussa off the coast of Asia Minor. Crassus hated the tale. Not only had Caesar laughed at the pirates’ ransom demand of twenty talents of silver, telling them that they should ask instead for fifty, but he had repeatedly told them that when he was freed, he would crucify them all. Some weeks later, when the larger amount had been paid, Caesar had indeed been released. Despite the fact that he was a civilian, he had persuaded the provincials who had paid his ransom to give him the command of several warships. True to his word, he had captured the pirates and, soon afterwards, crucified every single one of them. This display of Roman virtus , or manliness, had given Caesar an enduring appeal with the Roman public. Crassus longed for such recognition. He smiled at his guest. Prick. ‘Some wine?’
‘Thank you, that would be welcome.’
‘My throat’s dry too.’ Crassus glanced at Saenius, but the Latin was already on his way out of the door.
‘A long day in the Senate?’
‘Yes. Hours of talking about shit.’
Caesar’s eyebrows arched.
‘New sewers are planned for the Aventine Hill.’
‘I see. It sounds a reasonable suggestion.’
‘So
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