The arrow pierced my right thigh and exited out the back of my leg with force enough to spin me off-balance. My wounded leg flew backward, tripping up my other leg as I twisted from the impact. I was screaming before my fall broke the feathered shaft as I hit the ground face down. Unable to stop my momentum, I rolled over until the protruding iron arrowhead stabbed the back of my other thigh. I’m told the complaints streaming from my mouth were insufferable; Sulla ordered a legionary to rush up and knock me on the head with the butt of his sword. ••• Now that I have told you how my new master ruined my first and only attempt at escape from bondage, I return to the events that happened only moments before. They concern the condemned man whose blood Crassus refused to allow to be washed from the balcony’s stones for as long as he lived in that place. So let us go back to the moment he was dragged before Sulla and Crassus. ••• There was a commotion at the front of the house: the slap and murmur of leather armor, the clamor of studded caligae, the stumble of an out-of-step gait shoved from behind.
