Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (72 page)

Caesar laughed and sighed, stretching, as he reached the top of the path and stepped out onto the paved walkway surrounding the small temple. Nodding at the younger Crassus, he gestured to the temple’s open doorway. Crassus nodded.

“Father is in there, alone. He is waiting for you, general.”

“Thank you.”

With sighs of relief, Fronto and Priscus clambered up the last step and onto the walkway, the latter immediately slumping onto the low, stone balustrade and kneading his leg.

“I am getting bloody sick of hills. Why couldn’t Romulus and Remus have gone west instead of north? Rome could have been built somewhere flat with a beach!”

Ingenuus strode off toward Crassus and the two fell into quiet conversation as Fronto and Galronus leaned on the railing next to Priscus.

The sound of feet tramping on gravel increased and finally Pompey, his strangely chubby, good-natured face rosy from the climb, appeared at the platform.

Behind him, three of his men crested the slope and carried a large basket and an amphora across the paving, laying them to rest near the spot where Fronto leaned on the balcony with his friends.

“Thank you” Crassus nodded, and Pompey gave them a military salute before striding into the temple, turning and closing the door as he entered.

Priscus grinned and slapped his hands together as he watched the basket being opened and spied the array of bread, fruit, meats and cheeses within. One of Pompey’s men began removing the contents and arranging them on trays.

“Nice.”

Fronto grinned and, crouching, reached inside.

A sharply-drawn breath and he suddenly paused. His hand withdrew and he stepped back to his friends at the railing. Priscus frowned. The legate’s face had slid into an angry grimace.

“What’s up?”

Fronto grabbed his arm and turned him round so that the three of them leaned forward over the railing, looking down toward the city, facing away from the crowd.

“I
know
him.”

“He’s got two rings on his fourth finger. I saw them together recently, holding down my leg while that Egyptian bastard Philopater beat me to a pulp.”

“I’m positive. Galronus, no Roman man wears more than one ring. It’s tasteless, gaudy and simply not done. But the rings are fairly memorable too. They’re both signet rings.”

Fronto waved his hands, trying to warn his friends to lower their voices. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and was irritated to see that, while the man was still emptying the basket, he was also watching the three of them attentively.

Fronto and Priscus spun around, but the man had abandoned his basket and was already away, disappearing around the rear corner of the temple to the astonishment of the rest of the gathered escort.

Without comment or question, Galronus was already off, his feet pounding on the slabs as he ducked and weaved between the goods being offered around and the gathered dignitaries and servants, heading toward the corner around which the man had run.

Fronto picked himself up and ran after them and Priscus, sighing and muttering about his leg, stood and hobbled at high speed around the near side of the temple in the hope of cutting the man off and saving himself a run.

The panting legate rounded the end of the temple at speed, vaguely aware of the sound of heated debate coming from within as he entered the shade at the building’s rear, his head snapping this way and that. The man had vaulted over the balustrade at the far side and was busy speeding away down the hill, away from the city and toward the Via Aurelia, Galronus close behind and running with the speed of a horse and the surety of a mountain goat.

Managing a somewhat graceless and clumsy leap over the railing, Fronto continued his pursuit, Priscus appearing at his awkward pace at the far side of the temple.

There would be little chance of either of them catching the man at this pace; it was all down to Galronus, though that was clearly no long shot, given the strength and speed of the man.

Suddenly Fronto’s world spun and blurred as his running foot came down on a fallen apple and slipped, sending him into a forward roll that carried him a dozen paces further down the slope, where he slid painfully to a halt. Angrily, he rubbed his head, brushing the sticks from his hair, and stood, gripping one of the many fallen apples that lay scattered around on the slope. For a moment, he glared at the fruit angrily.

Ahead, Galronus had closed and was almost on the running man. Tensing, the Remi warrior leapt, hurtling through the air and hitting the man just below the waist, his arms wrapping around the target’s legs. As Priscus came sliding to a painful halt next to Fronto, the pair watched Galronus and his prey disappear in a flurry of arms and legs, leaves, sticks and dust hurtling into the air and forming a cloud around them.

Moments later, the fugitive managed to struggle free and clambered to his feet, drawing back his leg to deliver a mighty kick to Galronus’ ribs when Fronto’s thrown apple caught him on the temple with a surprising amount of force, knocking him back to the ground, stunned.

Fronto grinned at Priscus, who shook his head.

“How the hell you pulled off that throw I’ll never know. I’ve seen you at festivals trying to put a ball in a bucket. You couldn’t hit the Porta Fontinalis with a rock if you were standing underneath it.”

Fronto’s grin widened, but there was an absence of humour in it.

“You forget; Nemesis is my patron, and she’s working hard today.”

The two men picked their way down the slope, being careful not to fall and tumble once more. Ahead, Galronus had restrained the fugitive and now had his arms wrenched around behind his back in a painful and restrictive manner. A minute more and the Fronto and Priscus joined the pair. The man had recovered from his stun, but his struggling had died down, pinned as he was. Fronto narrowed his eyes.

“Clodius must value you to let you wear his seal like that? And Pompey too?”

The man merely drew a deep breath and glared, silently.

“I’m sure you remember me?” Fronto asked pleasantly. “I remember
you
, for certain. Have you
nothing
to say?”

“It is Pompey Magnus of whom I speak. I am
his
man and he will not take kindly to this treatment of his factor.”

Priscus sighed.

“I think you’ll find that Fronto here considers himself beyond and above mere politics. I honestly believe he thinks he’s the hand of Nemesis at work.”

Fronto grinned.

“I’m going to start by breaking two of your fingers in return for mine. Then I’ll decide on the next move, while Priscus sources a hammer for me.”

The man opened his mouth and started to babble desperate threats and promises, but Fronto reached to the hem of his tunic, snagged in his fall, and tore a strip from it, balling it up and shoving it forcefully into the man’s throat, gagging him.

Reaching down, he grasped the man’s middle finger and, with a jerk, snapped it to vertical. The man’s muffled scream brought a smile to the legate’s face.

“Ah, the beauty is truly not in the receiving, but rather in the
giving
of gifts.”

The man’s eyes widened again, tears rushing down his cheeks as Fronto grasped his fourth finger, ready to snap it.

“Wait!” Priscus grinned. “I may have a better idea.”

As Fronto let go of the finger, his head cocked to one side, Priscus drew his pugio dagger from the belt around his tunic. Gripping the same finger carefully, he positioned the blade. The man realised what he was doing and tried hard to struggle free, but Galronus’ grip was vice-like.

He screamed into the balled cloth as Priscus severed the finger with the two rings on. Holding it out to Fronto, the former centurion grinned.

“Evidence.”

The legate stared at the finger and slowly broke into a smile.

“I’d best go put this to good use. Could you two do me a favour and break any part of him that’s supposed to bend? Careful not to kill him though. I want to send him back to Clodius alive.”

Turning his back on the nods of his two companions, Fronto smiled down at the finger in his hand bearing the priceless seal rings of Clodius and Pompey. With a light laugh, he set off back up the hill toward the temple, ignoring the unpleasant noises behind him.

* * * * *

Caesar shook his head.

“We should be
above
this, gentlemen. We agreed on a course of action at the start of the year at Lucca that should have secured things for all of us in Rome and beyond and provided a solid foundation for our work in the coming year.”

“We did” Crassus agreed, nodding, “and I have seen no reason to change our plans. You keep Gaul and Illyricum, Pompey keeps Spain and I get Syria. Our various factors and clients manoeuvre things in Rome for us and everyone is happy. Why reconsider?”

Caesar shook his head.

“Things are
not
working out, though. Clodius continues to rabble rouse and interfere in Rome. There is violence and almost outright war on the streets. Cicero, Cato and others work to bring me down in the senate and, while that affects
me
directly rather than you, think on how it weakens our alliance. We are inter-dependant. We cannot allow weakness in any one of us, for fear it brings down the others.”

He sat back against the temple’s cold wall.

“No. It will simply not do to have the three of us absent from Rome for at least a year, with mere assistants attempting to keep things moving for us here. Rome needs to be gripped with a strong hand and guided, else the chaos and disruption I have seen in the streets in the past week will simply escalate until we are faced with disaster.”

Crassus was nodding slowly.

“I agree to an extent; things
are
getting out of control in the city. I will be leaving my son in the city in a position of some importance. In
him
I have the utmost trust, but I am not sure about any others.”

Caesar smiled.

“I have seen your son at work, my dear Crassus. He will not fail you, but
we
three are the men who have the strength and the will to push Rome in the right direction and you both know that. Withdraw our direct guiding hand and people like Clodius and Cato will gain the upper hand.”

Pompey, until now largely silent, sat forward.

“We only need one man in Rome. With the governorship of Spain, I have already maintained the province from here the past few years, and I can continue to do so. I may have to visit a few times, but there is nothing to stop me remaining in Rome.”

He smiled.

“Indeed, my theatre will be completed next year, and I would wish to be in the city for its inauguration and the first shows anyway. I could be the man of whom you speak, guiding Rome, while the pair of you deal with Syria and Gaul.”

Crassus nodded again.