Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (9 page)

“You mean give them the option of continuing to dig latrines for the camp or go help design and build a navy away from our illustrious commander? They’ll bite my hand off.”

“Good” Brutus nodded. “And Galba’s coming any day now with the Twelfth. We can probably rely on some men from him, since Crassus has no idea about the Twelfth’s strength as it is.”

He stood, stretching.

“And I think that later I might swing by the headquarters of the Tenth. I don’t know their new primus pilus very well, but people say he’s got his head screwed on right and if Fronto trusts him, then it’s worth seeing if he can spare a few men.”

He rolled his shoulders a couple of times and then smiled.

“Well, I shall see you fellows later on, at the tavern? I have to go write a letter home.”

Chapter 3

(Ianuarius: Rome. The house of the Falerii on the Aventine)

“Not long now, Gnaeus, and the general will be back.”

Priscus sighed and looked at Fronto over the top of the cup.

“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to spend the winter in Illyricum. From what I hear, the whole place is just mountains, goats and toothless women.”

Crispus frowned disapprovingly.

“Ah, now Gnaeus, that’s hardly fair. Illyricum is an ancient region with a rich history and a distinct culture.”

“Bollocks. It’s a vaguely Greek toilet that never achieved anything notable other than becoming Roman. Name me one great person or thing that ever came from Illyricum.”

“Anyway, I’ll be pleased when Caesar
does
come back, cause he’ll drag you two off onto the next mad war he’s planned and I’ll finally be free of people calling me ‘leftie’ and making jokes about me being limp.”

Fronto nodded, his face suddenly sombre. His former primus pilus was putting a brave face on things and he knew it well. Priscus would be smarting over the situation. His combat career was over and, while he might settle into the role of camp prefect in time, he was on a year’s enforced convalescence and was forbidden from joining the legions until the general’s personal surgeon decided otherwise.

The three men, along with Galronus of the Remi, had returned to Rome before the winter set in. Crispus had been to visit his family for a while and the other three had descended upon Fronto’s family townhouse, causing his sister to fuss and complain about the lack of warning. Priscus had stayed with them, given that he had no surviving family, and the winter months had been among the most relaxed and interesting that Fronto could remember.

Every day saw something new. The three Romans showed Galronus the delights of the great city and introduced him to expensive wine and racing in the Circus Maximus, following which the Belgic auxiliary officer had begun his descent into the world of gambling, racing and late night tavern visits. Fronto’s sister Faleria had initially taken a fancy to the striking foreigner, but the lustre had soon worn off when she realised that Galronus was more like her brother than she’d originally imagined and she now treated him with the same loving contempt.

Priscus left the house rarely to begin with, unsure of his ability to walk any sustained distance. The first few months, however, had seen a tremendous change as his leg strengthened. He still limped, his foot angled uncomfortably inwards, and occasionally had to stop and rest against something but Fronto was convinced, with great relief, that by the end of his convalescence, his old friend would be mobile, if uncomfortable. As Priscus put a brave face on his injuries, so did his companions help by turning the horrific wounds of the previous year into a source of endless humorous jibes.

“I’m sort of getting used to being back home and not facing screaming Gauls and biting women and having to take a shit in a bucket while the latrines are being dug. I have to admit I’m starting to dread the call in spring.”

Crispus turned to look at Fronto, frowning.

“You fool nobody Marcus. If
I
said such a thing, you would believe me. You, however, have a vine staff for a spine. I have watched you many times, and you’re only truly happy when you stand facing a screaming enemy with a sword in your hand.”

Fronto winced.

“Don’t say things like that near Faleria. She already has enough ammunition for making my life difficult without you providing a character reference!”

Priscus slugged down the last of his wine.

“Where is Galronus, anyway? I thought we were going to the Circus Flaminius for the camel racing?”

“I imagine he’s only just now waking up with a thick head in the bed chamber of some delightful young lady in the subura. He’ll be here in plenty of time. He’s never late for the first race, you know that.”

Priscus opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted when the door opened with a polite knock. The shiny, wrinkled, olive pate of Posco, the house’s chief slave, poked round the door.

“Master Marcus? There are
visitors
for you. I have shown them into the atrium.”

Fronto frowned. He and Posco had known one another long enough that he knew the little Greek’s signals; the two were far more friends than master and slave these days and Posco rarely even told Fronto about his visitors, dealing with the various irritating issues himself without bothering his master. The stress he laid on the word ‘visitors’, however, meant that these particular people were out of the ordinary.

“Would you like them
shown through
or to meet them there?”

The three waited a minute, listening intently. A number of voices out in the corridor became gradually louder. Posco and three others. One had a deep and rich voice, one somewhat miscellaneous. The third…

The pair fell silent as the footsteps reached the far side of the door and stopped. Posco swung the portal open and stepped through with a slight bow.

“Masters Marcus Caelius Rufus, Quintus Tullius Cicero, and Marcus Tullius Cicero.”

Fronto stared.

Quintus he was familiar with from the last two years of campaigning, Marcus Caelius Rufus was prominent enough to be a household name as praetor, tribune and public speaker.
Marcus
Cicero was something of a surprise: the great orator was not the most favourable advocate of Caesar and deigning to visit one of the general’s senior officers seemed out of character.

He gestured to the various spare couches and seats in the room and the three men filed in and sat. Cicero manoeuvred his toga into a more comfortable position.

“I was, to be frank, rather hoping that Caesar would be here. I hear rumours that he is returning to Rome from Illyricum.”

Fronto shrugged noncommittally and Cicero steepled his fingers, gazing over the tips and addressing his host in that deep and rich tone.

“This particular viper has struck time and again and is causing troubles for the more reasonable men in Rome. I fear we have mutual enemies.”

Fronto laughed.

“All
my
enemies are wild, hairy men that paint their faces and run around naked trying to kill Romans. A bit like the Senate, but with better hygiene.”

Crispus shot him a warning glance, but once more, to his credit, Cicero ignored the comment.

“Publius Clodius Pulcher. The man forced my exile two years ago and it is only through the judicious use of contacts and influence that I secured my recall. My brother here had his house burned down last year by one of Clodius’ gangs, merely, I fear, for being associated with me. Young Caelius here is, however, in slightly more serious trouble. He used to be an associate of Clodius you see but, following a somewhat scandalous affair with the snake’s sister, he finds himself at the sharp end of Clodius’ fangs. I won’t go into the details at this point, but suffice it to say that he stands accused of murder, attempted murder, accepting payment for murder, assault, civil disturbance and wilful damage to property.”

Fronto gave a noncommittal shrug.

“So one of Clodius’ friends tries to knock up his sister and falls foul of them. Politicians are always doing things like this and if he’s one of Clodius’ cronies, why in the name of Fortuna should any of us give a shit?
Particularly
you two. And why come to me anyway?”

Cicero nodded.

“It is a good question. Caelius here has a great deal of inside knowledge of the activities and associates of Clodius and his sister that could be used in the right circumstances to bring the viper down. Can you see the value of
that
?”

Fronto nodded.

“Fair enough. You save Caelius and you can use him to bring Clodius down. Why
me
though?”

The orator glanced across at his brother and nodded. The young staff officer leaned forward.

“Quite simply, Fronto, we had nowhere else to turn. We all have a mutual enemy that we share with Caesar. We were hoping he would be here, but I told Caelius and my brother that you were the man we needed. You see, my brother is going to defend Caelius in court and make Clodius and his sister look like fools. The problem is that Clodius has eyes and knives everywhere. Anyone remotely involved in the politics of the city cannot be trusted, and nor can anyone with mercenary tendencies.”

Crispus narrowed his eyes.

“You ask a lot master Cicero. I agree that Fronto is probably the only man in Rome you can say without fear of falsehood is completely free of any possibility of influence from Clodius, but to involve him is to drop him in the centre of what is, to all intents and purposes, a war between gangs and villains. You are asking him to bodyguard a man that, shortly, could become the most wanted man in Rome.”

Fronto grinned.

“
Now
it’s starting to sound more like fun.”

Crispus turned to look in surprise at his friend.

“Well” Fronto said, rubbing his hands, “it was all starting to sound political and boring, but if you’re talking about giving a quick knee in the happy sack to a bunch of villains round the back of the temple of Janus, then count me in.”

Priscus laughed out loud.

“If you’re fighting gangs, you’ll need a gang of your own. We’ll have to gather together a few of the less delicate types we know in the city. Fortunately, I know quite a few.”

Fronto nodded and turned to the visitors, his eyes narrowing.

“For young Cicero, here, who leads a good reserve charge and had our back at Vesontio, I would happily do whatever I can to help. And for you too, master Cicero. But I want to state for the record that I don’t trust anyone who’s ever had anything to do with that Clodius character and from what I see nobody ever gets themselves truly free of him. We’ll help you, but if you turn on us afterwards I’ll see to it that my friend Galronus gets to show us some of the less savoury Belgic practices using you as a subject. Fair?”

“Make sure nothing happens to him, keep him either here or in some location you deem safe, and I will visit from time to time as I need to speak with him on the subject of his defence.” He turned back to his brother. “You are sure this is a good idea?”