Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (12 page)

Fronto smiled unpleasantly.

“That’s as maybe, but I leave politics in the hands of politicians and if I’m going to spend time with vicious women, I prefer ones that bite to ones that corrupt from within.”

Withdrawing his arm, he nodded at her.

“I suspect you can safely make your own way home, lady Clodia, and I also believe that if I have to spend any more time listening to your lies, I might have to go to the baths on the way home to wash the stink of corruption off me. Good afternoon.”

He turned his back on her furious features and strode off.

“Walk very carefully, Fronto” she shouted after him. “My brother is not the
only
one with friends in low places.”

Fronto sighed. Why was it that every woman he ever met wanted to either use him, or change him, or both? His sister pictured him as a future Consul, Balbus’ wife, Corvinia, had contemplated marrying him off to her daughter, Longinus’ widow had seen him as a replacement for her husband, and that Belgic woman last year…

He suddenly realised he’d never even known
her
name. Shaking his head, he drew his thoughts back to the immediate situation.

The next month was going to be interesting. Tense… but interesting.

Chapter 4

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

Fronto rubbed his head vigorously with the towel. He’d only been outside for ten minutes, but the rain was so torrential that it felt as though he’d done several lengths of the pool at the baths.

Fronto glared at his friend but, in truth, Priscus was absolutely right. He’d been very hung over this morning and Faleria had rubbed him up the wrong way, causing him to become increasingly unhelpful and childish. In the end, she had thrown up her arms and told him he could sit and simmer until he’d changed his attitude. Fronto had been happy at the time to see her go, but it was almost a quarter of an hour later before he realised that she had accompanied her mother and taken the slaves with her. Fronto was alone in the house with Priscus and Caelius and no amount of exploring the working area of the house had turned up bread, butter, cheese or milk.

Shunning the remains of the unfinished wine and something grey on a stick he’d bought from a street vendor on the way home last night and had not been able to face since, he’d eventually come to the conclusion that if they wanted to eat, he was going to have to brave the rain and go to the bakery two streets down toward the Porta Capena.

Shaking wildly like a dog after a dip in the river, Fronto grunted, picked up his soggy shopping and nodded at the altar on the way past.

“Let’s go get breakf…”

He was interrupted by a knock at the door behind him and for a moment continued walking before realising that nobody would be opening it for him. He grinned. This was more like being back in Gaul: uncomfortably damp, getting hungry and having to do everything for himself. Throwing the wet shopping bag to Priscus, he turned on his heel and walked to the door, flinging it open, trying his best to mimic the humble stance of a house slave.

“Can I ‘elps thee, master?”

The wet and disgruntled face of Gaius Julius Caesar, Proconsul of Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul and of Illyricum, glared down at him, half a dozen togate figures gathered around behind him.

“If this is supposed to be funny, Fronto, you’re far from the mark, as usual.”

Fronto rolled his eyes. Bloody typical.

“You’ve chosen a nice day to visit, Caesar” he said, straightening. “I
wondered
where all this sudden rain came from. You must have brought it with you from Illyricum.”

“Is there any danger of you inviting us in out of the downpour?” the general asked, his eyes beginning to narrow in irritation.

“By all means, general. I’d invite you all for breakfast, but I have a single loaf of bread, some cheese that may well be out of date, an amphora of wine with things floating in it and something dead and sticky on a stick. You might be better not taking me up on the offer.”

The general glared at Fronto as he strode in past him and removed the crimson cloak, raking fingers through his thinning hair and discarding droplets of water to the marble floor. Behind him, the men in togas shrugged off their own cloaks and used them to rub their heads. They may be dressed as Roman gentlemen, but Fronto knew the bearing of a soldier when he saw it. He didn’t know these men; Caesar must have brought new blood in from Illyricum. They all looked vaguely Greek. Except.

“I know you from somewhere.”

The man bowed his head, a crown of shiny skin showing through the curly brown hair.

“Appius Coruncanius Mamurra. We’ve met a few times, Fronto. Your sister invites me to her socials. Admittedly I’m often late, and the last time I attended, you and your friends were already in the garden, peeing in the fountain.”

“By all means, but we should go to the triclinium, there’s a guest in the main room sleeping off the effects of last night. Galronus is around somewhere; possibly in the garden face down. Shall I fetch him?”

Caesar shook his head.

“Not so important. It’s you and Priscus I’m here to see.”

Shivering in the cold, damp air, he turned to follow Fronto into the dining room. The general stopped to nod at Priscus with a measure of respect and familiarity. The Camp-Prefect-in-waiting gave a small bow in return and then followed the group in, limping with a rhythmic grunt.

Once the party were all seated, Caesar stretched and locked Fronto with a searching gaze.

“I’ve only been back in the city for a few hours and already I hear the most astounding rumours about your activities, Fronto. My niece is very well informed. I look forward to hearing all about it, but first let me give you a ‘heads up’ as they say.”

Fronto nodded. All business; something had unsettled the general.

“A message reached me a few weeks ago at Salona, courtesy of Brutus’ mother Sempronia here in the city. It would appear that young Crassus, busy wintering away in northwestern Gaul, is about to cause a Gallic uprising; or possibly he has already done so.”

Fronto groaned.

“I was really beginning to hope we’d settled things in Gaul. Every year we go there, have to sort some arrogant bastard out and then you announce that Gaul is conquered again… until the next rebel pops up.”

Caesar nodded grimly.

“It is very much as you say and, I have to admit, it’s starting to make me look bad in the eyes of the senate. I cannot keep pronouncing Gaul conquered and then having to go back and sort the damn place out again forever. But it’s a little… delicate. I have a great deal tied up in my alliance with his father; as much as I do with Pompey, if not more. I cannot simply remove the runt and send him running back to daddy. So, sadly, we’re going to have to go and make sure this revolt either doesn’t happen at all, or fails to become noteworthy back home.”

Fronto sighed and reached across to Priscus, motioning for him to pass the bread and cheese. As he did so, Fronto shrugged.

“I’ve sort of been expecting the call to arms, anyway. It’s a few weeks earlier than I expected, but still…”

Caesar shook his head and then reached out speculatively for the loaf of bread that Fronto had finished with and was about to discard.

“May I? Don’t panic over the call, though, as I’m not planning to head out for a few weeks yet. There are things I need to do in Rome: I have to see Crassus and Pompey, and spend a little time with Atia and her family. I have to renew a few acquaintances, and pass on my gratitude to Sempronia. It was she who knew to send the message from her son on to Illyricum. Besides, half the staff officers and legates will need to be informed and gathered. I believe Crispus is here somewhere?”

Priscus nodded.

“He’s returned to staying at his family’s house on the Esquiline, general. I think he’s sick of waking up with a bad head.”

Fronto hurriedly chewed through his mouthful, speaking with a mouth packed with bread and cheese and dropping crumbs onto the floor.

“If Crassus is causing that much shit, shouldn’t we get back as fast as possible?”

Caesar shook his head.

“Gaul may be important, but it’s only
one
of my worries at the moment. Besides, young Brutus seems to be keeping things in order, with the help of some of the veterans. He’s even gone as far as building a fleet on the Loire to prepare to deal with the coastal tribes.”

Fronto nodded appreciatively.

“He does think ahead, that one. Clever lad.”

“So…” the general said, pulling himself up a little in his seat, “what’s this I hear about you getting involved with half the criminals and politicians of Rome?”

Fronto took another bite of cheese and shrugged.

“Your friend Clodius is messing with things. Him and his sister, anyway. They’ve taken Caelius to court and Cicero and Crassus are defending him. Well…” he added with a grin, “they’re defending him in
court
. Me and Priscus and a bunch of lads with stout wooden clubs are defending him everywhere else. It’s him that’s asleep on the couch in the other room.”

“Indeed” Caesar nodded. “I’d heard that he was involved. You
do
know, I presume, that Caelius Rufus is one of the names on a list I have of people that work for Clodius and cannot be trusted and will need to be dealt with in due course?”

Fronto chuckled mirthlessly.

“I think if he was still in Clodius’ pocket there would be considerably fewer knife-wielding maniacs out to gut him in the street. You might find that Caelius is one of the most useful people you could meet in the near future, so long as Cicero and Crassus can keep him away from execution.”

“Paetus was a fool and a tool; nothing more. Don’t start getting sentimental over people you feel sorry for Fronto. There are too many of them for comfort.”

Fronto glowered for a moment, but let the matter pass.

“You might want to speak to both Crassus and Cicero as soon as possible” he added. “I’m just playing bodyguard, but the pair of them know what’s happening in more detail. They seem quite positive that they can destroy Clodius’ case.”

“Fair enough” the general nodded. “The trial is set at the start of Aprilis, yes? I think we can delay our departure until after that. I would rather like to be around for the event. Where are your mother and sister, by the way? I was hoping to pay my respects while I was here.”

Fronto leaned back.

“Mother wanted to go shopping this morning and Faleria felt the pressing need to be a long way away from me. In her defence, I
did
smell like a dead bear this morning.” He sniffed his tunic and winced. “And the rain hasn’t helped much. Now I smell like a
soggy
dead bear.”

“Not with people I know.
You
I wouldn’t know from Socrates!”

Priscus grinned uncomfortably through the tension that hung in the air.

“The legate is suffering with a bad head this morning and is quick to anger. I suggest you stick to good honest Latin for now. Fair?”

The toga-clad Illyrian nodded hastily.

“Good.” The former primus pilus of the Tenth turned to Caesar. “I expect I know the answer, general, but does the call up include me on the roster? It’s getting quite dangerous in Rome at the moment. I might just be safer in Gaul.”

Caesar smiled.

“I’ve already appointed a temporary camp prefect for the season to hold the position for you, Priscus. You rest for a few months more yet. I’m sure there will be plenty of action for you to come back to when you’re fully recuperated.”

Fronto smiled as he saw the Greek-speaking fellow with the attitude in the corner go white at the mention of Priscus’ name. He laughed.