Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (63 page)
Read Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) Online
Authors: S.J.A. Turney
“Are you here for a time, my dear?”
Fronto turned and shrugged.
“She’s here to weigh up a potential match to one of the Caecilii. Balbus asked if we would be good enough to look after her while she was here. Well, in actual fact, he asked if
you’d
be good enough.” There was an unspoken question of his own there.
“Of
course
she must stay here. With Priscus’ little army, there’s nowhere safer in the city these days.”
She smiled as she reached out for Lucilia’s arm.
“Have you been to Rome before?”
“This is my first opportunity to visit, my lady.”
Her hostess laughed.
“If you know my brother, then you’ll realise that I expect little in the way of formality in this house. Call me Faleria.”
“Thank you. And I, Lucilia.”
“Perhaps, if Marcus can spare Gnaeus and some of his men as an escort, I can show you some of the glorious sights of the city in the morning, though you must be exhausted from your journey.”
Lucilia gave Fronto a strange look and shook her head.
“Actually the trip was very uneventful and quiet. Almost silent, in fact.”
Faleria gave Fronto a questioning glance and he shook his head.
“If you two ladies can do without me for an hour or two, I think I ought to see Priscus and catch up on events.”
Faleria shook her head emphatically.
“Not until you have visited mother. She’s in the tablinum outside.”
Fronto paused for a moment and then, nodding, strode off through the doorway to the rear that led into the peristyle garden. Pausing briefly to note the strange juxtaposition of the carefully-groomed garden and the three wooden dummies at the far side, regularly used for sword practice in army fashion, he turned away and into the reception room doorway.
Faleria the elder reclined on a couch, reading a scribbled note on parchment; a copy of the acta diurna made from the tablets in the forum by the house’s chief slave, Posco, for such was the habit of Faleria.
As the light from the doorway dimmed, she looked up and blinked at the silhouetted figure of her son.
“Marcus?”
“Mother.”
Walking slowly in, he wandered across to the couch, where she reached out with her hands. He was shocked to see the trembling in them, but clenched his teeth and reached out to cup them in his own hands and squeeze them.
“I knew you would come home soon. Gnaeus kept telling us you were on your way.”
He smiled weakly.
“I wanted to come earlier, but…”
“I know. Young Gaius needed you too much. He is a drain on your energy, but it is good to attach yourself to a rising star.”
Fronto heaved a sigh and let go of her hands.
“I’m not following him into office, mother, even if he asks me. We’ve not spoken for half a year, so please let’s not launch straight into the old arguments.”
She gazed at him levelly, and he studied her face, dismayed at how much she seemed to have aged in such a short time. There was something about her gaze that…”
He looked down to hide his expression as he realised that one of her eyes was not moving as her gaze wandered. Pausing long enough to be certain of his composure, he looked up again and studied her. The bone around her right eye was bumpy and misshapen, as though it had been badly broken and had set slightly off.
Her wounds from the attack had been worse than Priscus had intimated. Fronto rocked back on his feet, the anger rising in him. Stepping forward again, he embraced her tightly.
“Do not panic, Marcus. I’m fine.”
“Of course you are, mother. And nothing is ever going to happen to you again. I need to go see Priscus. I expect Faleria will be along very shortly with a guest in tow. Quintus Balbus, former legate of the Eighth has sent his daughter to Rome and Faleria has agreed to look after her while she stays.”
The old woman looked up at her son and focused her good eye on him. Fronto flinched slightly at the lack of movement in the other, but more at that penetrating one-eyed gaze. Since his early youth, Faleria the elder had had an uncanny knack of looking directly into his thoughts and soul and laying them bare.
“I see. Make sure you are kind to her, Marcus. You have a habit of driving off those whom you would have closer.”
Fronto took a deep breath.
“She is the daughter of a friend, mother; nothing more. I must attend to business, but I will see you shortly at dinner.”
As he bowed and turned, he was extremely aware of both the penetrating gaze that remained on his back and of the fact that he wasn’t even sure he had convinced himself, let alone his mother.
He was continually assaulted by waves of guilt and anger as he strode purposefully through the house to the quarters set aside for Priscus and his hired thugs. How could he have let this all happen?
As he reached the bunk room, the lame soldier sat on a cot opposite Galronus, watering a jug of wine as he entered.
“Gnaeus?”
“Ah, good. I’m very glad you’re back.”
Fronto sank into one of the bunks.
“I’ve seen mother.”
“She’s been waiting eagerly for you.”
Fronto shook his head.
“She was almost killed. You knew that. That blow to her eye could have done for her.”
Priscus nodded sadly.
“Truly, but it didn’t. She’s a strong woman, Marcus, and it was
her
decision not to give you the full horrible details of the attack, not mine. She knew it would just torture you, ‘cause you couldn’t come home anyway.”
Fronto glared at him for a moment and then let his gaze fall to the floor before taking a deep breath and straightening.
“This situation needs to be resolved. I’m not having anything like this happening again. We need to
end
Clodius or at least remove his claws. What have you seen of our mysterious ghost?”
Priscus eyed Galronus for a moment and shrugged.
“There’s been no sign of him since that day in the mausoleum. I went back the next day and the body was gone. Another visit two days later and there was a new unnamed funerary urn in there. I think I must have left some trace of my presence, ‘cause when I went back to his accommodation he’d left. I spoke to his landlord and he paid the rent in full and left with no further word. No idea where he is now, but I’ve got everyone being very watchful in case he shows up.”
Fronto nodded.
“And Clodius?”
“He has been buying up all the nasty spare muscle in Rome. You can’t lay hands on a good solid thug anywhere in the city, since Philopater’s been everywhere. Even the slave markets are down to just the thin and weedy scholars. Any time you see anyone connected with Clodius, they’re surrounded by a small army. The man must have more muscle under his control than anyone else in Latium.”
Fronto nodded again and leaned back.
“Then we may have to start trying to hire our own muscle from Ostia, Albinum, Tusculum, or Veii. I want that man toothless or dead.”
Priscus smiled.
“I have a hidden weapon at my disposal yet. See, there’s a man called Titus Annius Milo, a former tribune who apparently holds as healthy a dislike for Clodius as we do, and he also has his own private army. Milo’s been in touch with me. He’s staying very much out of the public eye at the moment, but that means that, as far as we’re aware, Clodius knows nothing about him and his men.”
Fronto smiled in return and rubbed his hands together.
“I may need to meet this Milo and buy him a drink. Caesar’s back in Rome, now, along with Crassus, Brutus and the rest. I think we need to call a meeting of all those who have a grudge against Clodius and see what we can turn up. Think you can sneak this Milo in for a meeting tomorrow or the next day?”
Priscus shrugged.
“I can try. Are you actually intending to
start a war
on the streets of Rome?”
Fronto’s eyes narrowed.
“No point. Clodius already did that. I’m going to
end
the war.”
Chapter 21
(Late October: House of the Falerii in Rome.)
As the door opened, Caesar stepped back in surprise.
“Nam?” demanded the hulking hairy object that blocked most of the doorway.
The general blinked and turned to look in surprise at the younger Crassus, standing next to him. The officer, now dressed togate and with perfect high-class attire, leaned toward the massive doorman.
“This is Gaius Julius Caesar, governor of Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul and Illyricum, you ignorant oaf. Stand aside: we are expected.”
The man rubbed his chin and shrugged.
“Caesar, yes.” He stepped to one side and straightened. The general was impressed to note the crown of the man’s head brushed the ceiling of the hallway. He and Crassus entered and shivered from the cold dampness in the air. With an almost negligent flick of his hand, the general dismissed Ingenuus’ group of unarmed and dismounted cavalry who had escorted them across the city.
As the guard closed and locked the door behind them, a small man with muscular arms and a number of fascinating scars rounded a corner and bowed.
“Mighty Caesar; noble Crassus, if you would follow me?”
The two men, slapping along with their wet boots and leaving murky footprints on the marble, followed the servant through the house and to the large triclinium.
The room was occupied by six men, lounging on couches or sitting on chairs, several tables between them laden with simple food, jars of wine, goblets and jugs of water. Fronto and Priscus sat with Galronus as though they were in some way separate from the rest.
Caesar looked around, taking in the faces of the other men. Marcus Caelius Rufus, the defendant that Fronto had protected, Quintus Tullius Cicero, brother of the great orator, and lastly a man that he vaguely recognised but could not put a name to.
“I see that you have begun raising a legion for yourself, Fronto.”
His host smiled humourlessly from the far end of the room.
“Having a gang seems to be the only way to survive in the city these days, Caesar.”
He gestured to the seats and the general and Crassus made themselves comfortable, reaching for the water and grapes. To the general’s surprise, the man who escorted them to the room also took a seat and helped himself to the food.
“Everyone here is well acquainted I think,” Fronto announced, “apart from Titus Annius Milo over there, and the excellent and very dangerous Cestus who met you outside.”
Fronto noted Caesar’s expression and smiled.
“Cestus is now in charge of the household’s ‘guard’ if you wish to call it that. He’s a veteran of seventeen bouts in the arena, recipient of the rudis and a man to stay on the good side of.”
The small man nodded at Caesar, who returned the gesture, frowning.
“Milo I remember, however” the general said, straightening again. “A tribune of the plebs last year?”
The man bowed curtly.
“Very well.” Fronto sat up. “Everyone in the room either has good reason to hate Clodius, or is bound by ties to those who do. For the first time in months, we are all in Rome and so is he. In our absence, he’s had free reign in the city causing murder and mayhem. The time had come to deal with him. We simply can’t leave a snake like that in a position to do further harm.”
There was a general murmur of agreement around them, but Caesar rubbed his brow and leaned forward.
“I have the feeling you are suggesting direct action and even rather illegal violence, Fronto?”
Their host smiled a feral grin and leaned back.
“You are damn right I’m suggesting illegal violence. If I could have thought of a way to get past his constant array of guards, I’d have kicked the man to death myself before now.”
Caesar shook his head.
“Don’t think in such narrow terms, Fronto. This is too complex an issue to lunge out like a thug and strike him down. That is
Clodius’
way, not that of reasonable, intelligent men.”
Fronto leaned forward himself, his face filling with angry colour.
“That is the opinion of a man who has yet to feel the full unpleasantness of Clodius. Wait until your little Octavia comes home one afternoon with a broken face, or that pretty niece of yours, and
then
tell me it’s too complex an issue.”
The general shook his head.
“I feel for your family, Marcus, but that is still not the way.”
He turned to Milo.
“If I am not mistaken, you are bound to the great Pompey?”
Milo nodded.
“And yet you are here, plotting without him?”
The man shrugged.
“If questioned, I will deny ever visiting this house, but I see no conflict in my behaviour. Pompey charged me with building him a force of very loyal men with low expectations. This I have done and, since Pompey has made no secret of his distaste for Clodius, this could even be seen as a meeting of like minds. As such, I am prompted to enquire as to why the great Pompey himself was not invited to this clandestine meeting.”