'Yes.' He reached up and tugged self-consciously at his naked chin. 'They tell me a beard is too old-fashioned for a politician, or too radical, I can't remember which. Anyway, I shaved it off during the electioneering last autumn.'
'It flatters you. No, really, it does. It shows off your strong jaw. And that handsome scar on your chin — from the battle of the Colline Gate?'
'Ha! A fresh one, from fighting the Spartacans.'
I laughed. 'You've prospered, Marcus Mummius, and set your foot on a new career.'
He shrugged and looked about the peristyle. The place was less of a mess than usual, which was as it should be, given the new slaves that Bethesda had insisted I purchase.
'You've prospered, too, Gordianus.'
'In my way. But to be elected Praetor Urbanus — such an honour! What are your reflections, midway through your term of office?'
He suppressed a foolish-looking grin. 'It's all right, I suppose. Pretty boring, really, sitting in courts all day. Believe me, falling asleep standing upright is a small trick compared to staying awake on a hot afternoon listening to those advocates bicker and drone about some tedious lawsuit. Thank Jupiter it's only for a year! Although I will admit that organizing the Apollinarian Games this summer was amusing enough. You were there?'
I shook my head. 'No, but I'm told that the Circus Maximus was filled to overflowing and the spectacles were unforgettable.'
'Well, as long as the god Apollo was pleased.'
The slave girl arrived with wine. We sipped in silence.
'Your son has become quite a man.' Mummius smiled at Eco.
'Yes, he brings greater joy to his father every year. But tell me, Marcus Mummius, have you simply come to visit an acquaintance you haven't seen in two years, or does the Praetor Urbanus of Rome have business with Gordianus the Finder?'
'Business? No. Actually, I've been meaning to visit you for some time, but my duties are quite demanding. I don't imagine you've had much contact with Crassus since Baiae?'
'None at all, except for seeing his election graffiti everywhere last autumn, and hearing him speak in the Forum from time to time. I'm a busy man myself, Marcus Mummius, and my duties don't seem to bring me in contact with the great Consul of the Roman Republic'
He nodded. 'Yes, Crassus got everything he wanted, didn't he? Well, not quite everything, and not exactly as he wished. You went to the ovation they gave him last December, for defeating Spartacus?'
I shook my head.
'No? But you attended the great feast he gave this month, in honour of Hercules?' I shook my head again.
'But how could you have missed it? They set up ten thousand tables in the streets and the thing lasted for three days! I should know, it was part of my job to keep the peace. Surely you collected the three months' worth of grain that Crassus distributed to every citizen?'
I shook my head. 'Would you believe, Marcus Mummius, that I made a point of being at a friend's house up in Etruria during that time? It occurred to me that Eco might enjoy walking in the hills and fishing in a stream, and Rome does become so hot and crowded in midsummer.'
He pursed his Lips. 'My own relations with Marcus Crassus are not exactly warm.'
'Oh?'
'They're strained, actually. I suppose you know all about the slave war, the decimation, all that.'
'Not from your point of view, Marcus Mummius.'
He sighed and folded his hands. Clearly, he had come to unburden himself. I had said before that there is something in me that compels others to bare their secrets. I took a stiff draught of wine and tilted my chair so I could lean back against a pillar.
'It happened early in the campaign,' he began. 'Crassus had his six legions, raised with his own money. He assigned the Senate's two legions to my command, the ones that had already encountered Spartacus and been defeated. I thought I could whip them into shape, but they were already badly demoralized, and there wasn't much time.
'The Spartacans were bearing down on Picentia from the south, heading for the Cup. Crassus sent me to observe and report back on their movements. It's true, he ordered me not to engage them, not even to skirmish with them, but a lieutenant in the field has to use his judgment. A group of Spartacans became separated from their fellows in a narrow valley; no reasonable military man would have failed to attack them. In the midst of the battle, word spread that Spartacus had set an ambush for us and that his whole army was closing in. It was a false rumour, but panic spread through the ranks. My men bolted and fled. Many were killed. Many were captured and tortured to death. Many threw down their weapons and ran.
'Crassus was furious. He berated me in front of his other lieutenants. He decided to make an example of my men.'
'So I heard,' I sighed, but Mummius was determined to tell the story anyway.
'They call it 'decimation' — the removal of one in ten. It's an old Roman tradition, though no one I know can remember it ever happening before in his lifetime. Crassus is a keen one for reviving grand old traditions, as you know. He ordered me to identify the first five hundred who had fled — not an easy task among twelve thousand soldiers. Those five hundred he divided into fifty units of ten men each. The men drew lots. One man in ten drew the black bean. That's fifty men in all who were chosen to die.
'The units were formed into circles. Each victim was stripped naked, his hands bound behind his back and his mouth gagged. The other nine in each unit were given clubs. At Crassus's signal a drumbeat commenced. It was done without honour, without glory, with no dignity at all. There are those who say that Crassus did the right thing-'
'There certainly are,' I said, remembering the grunts and grave nods of approval when the story had been told in the marketplaces of Rome.
'But you'd be hard-pressed to find a soldier who believes that. Discipline had to be maintained, certainly, but it's no way for a Roman warrior to die, clubbed to death by his fellows!' He bit his lips and shook his head. 'But I'm not telling you this story simply to brood over my own bitterness. I thought you deserved to know what became of Faustus Fabius.'
'What do you mean?'
'Did you ever hear of his fate?'
'I know that he never came back from the war. I kept my ears open in the Forum for news about him. I heard he died in combat against the Spartacans.'
Mummius shook his head. 'No. Crassus somehow arranged to have Fabius inserted among the men chosen for the decimation. Naked, bound and gagged, there was nothing to identify his rank or station. When the clubbing began, I forced myself to watch, along with Crassus and the other lieutenants. They were my men, after all; I couldn't turn my back on them. Among the victims there was one who managed to spit out his gag; he kept screaming that a mistake had been made. No one else paid any attention, but I ran over to take a closer look.
'A moment later and I would never have recognized him, not after the clubs struck his face. But I saw him clearly enough. It was Faustus Fabius. The look in his eyes! He recognized me; he called my name. Then they knocked him to the ground. They crushed his skull and beat him to a bloody pulp, until you could hardly tell he was a man at all. What a horrible way to die!'
'No more horrible than the deaths of Lucius Licinius or Dionysius; certainly no more horrible than the fate that Crassus had in mind for the slaves.'
'Even so, for a Roman patrician and officer to die such a shameful death! I stared at Crassus in horror. He wouldn't look back at me, but I saw a smile on his Lips.'
'Yes, I know that smile. Here, drink more wine, Marcus Mummius. Your voice grows hoarse.'
He swallowed the wine like water and wiped his lips. 'The war didn't last long. Six months, and it was over. We trapped them like rats at the southern tip of Italy and destroyed them. Crassus had the six thousand survivors nailed to crosses along the Via Appia.'
'So I heard.'
Mummius smiled faintly. 'Fortune nodded to Marcus Crassus, but she smirked as well. A small band of the
