Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (14 page)

Fronto’s frown deepened for a moment in confusion before he realised what his friend was talking about and shook his head irritably.

“Don’t be an idiot. You know exactly what I mean. A long time ago I used to see my father from time to time...” he glanced sidelong at Priscus. “
After
he died, before you make any more smart remarks. I remember seeing him here and there. I’ve never had much use for Gods and priests…”

“The spirits of the departed. Mother always said that the manes and the lemures were real; that the manes appeared to give you advice and support when you needed it, and the lemures stalked those who were responsible for their deaths. She thought she saw my father several times too, so she was pleased that I did, but she always assured me, even when I was young, that the restless dead would have no cause to haunt me, cause I was a good boy.”

Priscus rolled his eyes; it was going to be one of
those
conversations.

“You can get quite peculiar and depressing sometimes, Marcus.”

Fronto glared at him.

“Don’t you believe in
anything
?”

“Steel.” Priscus answered flatly. “And cake. And wine, and women, and the inability for dice to ever come up right for me, and that politicians should be automatically denied the right to serve with the military.”

Fronto stared at him for a moment and then laughed.

“Fair enough; particularly to that last. But the thing is that, although I don’t sacrifice or do much in the way of libations or praying, that idea has been at the heart of everything I’ve done since I hit adulthood. Looking back, I can’t think of a single occasion where I’ve deliberately caused harm to someone who didn’t deserve it.”

He paused and grinned.

“Plenty of harm to those who
did
deserve it, mind you.”

His face became serious again.

“Thing is, Gnaeus, that I keep seeing someone that simply can’t be here, and they’re always watching me. It’s starting to make my spine itch and my scalp crawl. And while I can’t say I’m directly and personally responsible for hurting them, I’m still serving and supporting a certain general who
is
directly responsible.”

Priscus narrowed his eyes.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Never mind” Fronto sighed, spotting the door of his family home up ahead in the quiet street. “I’m just starting to feel like a man at the circus, watching the quadrigae racing out of the starting gate and realising too late that he’s backed the wrong driver.”

“No; not that. I’m needed with the Tenth, and they deserve a commander who knows them. But the general is starting to wear on my nerves. The more I look at Pompey and Crassus, the more I think that
they’re
the future that Rome deserves and that Caesar is a new Sulla in the making, ready to march his men into Rome and…”

He shrugged.

“I’m in service with the general, but it’s more through acknowledgement of our history together than anything else; I certainly don’t need his patronage and we don’t owe him money or anything. I
will
head out when he issues the call, but I think the time of me keeping my mouth shut and playing along is just about at an end.”

Priscus turned to look back at the assorted group behind them: a well-known politician with a good history, a Gaulish nobleman, a young legate, and a bunch of hired muscle. Hardly the legion he was used to having at his shoulder.

“At least you get to
go
back. I’ll be staying
here
for the duration. Try not to start another civil war when you disagree with him, though. Caesar may be powerful and a great orator, but try and remember that your opinion carries a lot of weight with the centurionate and the more impressionable officers, so be careful.”

Fronto smiled.

“Aren’t I
always
careful, Gnaeus?”

“Are you
ever
?”

* * * * *

Fronto rolled the dice again on the marble step.

“Shit.”

Grumbling, he fished in his pocket and withdrew two more coins, slapping them irritably down on the step in front of Galronus. The Remi chief grinned.

“Have you ever considered stopping playing games before you run out of coin? No one has been on a losing streak like this since the Carthaginians.”

Fronto shot an irritable glance up at his friend.

“I notice
you
never put your hand in your pocket!”

“And that is why there is still money in it. Can you not see that Galronus is better at this than you; as well as luckier, of course.”

“Shut up.”

Crispus smiled benignly. He had enjoyed his winter in the city. The previous year, Fronto had shown him the delights of Tarraco, but there really was no place like Rome. It would be sad in a way to return to the legions, but then life there was rarely dull either, particularly with Fronto around. He wondered briefly how Felix was doing in his absence.

Crispus smiled again. There was something
about
Fronto. He was a catalyst in the best sense of the word; a force that brought everyone to his level. Last year he had taken Crispus, a serious and fairly naïve young officer, and had taken him under his wing, opening his mind to a number of surprising experiences. The result had been astounding: Crispus had returned to the Eleventh a stronger, more commanding legate with a better understanding of the men who followed him. The life experience Fronto had pushed at him had been invaluable.

And in the same way as Fronto had brought Crispus down to a practical level last year, he had taken Galronus and done something similar with him. The Remi chief was already intelligent and honourable for sure but, in just a few months, Fronto had shown him the very best and the very worst that the city and its people had to offer, and the Gaul had come away with a new view of Rome. He had confided in Crispus a few nights ago after a party, while Fronto lay draped across a couch, drooling, that he had never truly understood why Rome considered itself civilised and everyone else ‘less’ in some way. And yet now, when he returned to the Remi after Caesar’s campaigns were concluded, he would miss the comforts he had discovered…

…
if
he decided to return to the Remi.

There was a click from the door behind them and the wooden portal swung open. Fronto scrambled to his feet with Galronus and joined Crispus as they backed away behind the columns and out of the way of the basilica’s main exit.

The first person to emerge was Gnaeus Domitius Calvinus, the judge presiding over the trial. Fronto examined the man’s face for any clue, but he was unreadable. Behind him came a number of lawyers and clerks while Fronto tapped his foot impatiently.

It seemed hours as togate men with serious expressions left the basilica before the first face they recognised appeared. Cicero and Crassus stood side by side at the shoulders of Caelius, who wore an ecstatic grin. Fronto sighed with relief. Caelius turned toward them as Crassus and Cicero, deep in conversation, veered off on their own errands.

“Acquitted on all counts” the relieved politician announced with a smile. He grasped Fronto by the arms happily. “Marcus, you should have seen it. Cicero pulled the pair of them to pieces; not just Clodia, but her brother too. They looked like idiots; and not
just
idiots. They looked like
vicious and greedy
idiots. The expression on Clodia’s face! I thought she was going to explode.”

Fronto smiled.

“Very good. Now stop jumping around like a six-year-old with a new toy… you’re far from out of danger. Indeed, if I’m not mistaken, now that they have no legal recourse to taking you down, we should be ever more on the lookout for hidden knives, poisoned mushrooms and perhaps the odd incendiary building.”

Caelius’ face fell.

“I hadn’t thought about that. I’m not going to be safe for a long time, am I?”

“Not while Clodia’s around. It’s just possible that her brother will forget about you; consider dealing with you more trouble than it’s worth. After all, it was his sister that started all this, not him. But he
can
be a vengeful sack of dog vomit, that man, so I wouldn’t be too sure.”

“Then what do we do?”

Fronto shrugged.

“I’ve had the muster order from the general. Start of next week Crispus, Galronus and I head to Ostia with him and his staff and take ship for Gaul. However, my sister has invited Priscus to stay at our house over the winter, and he’s got the brains, experience, money and men to keep you safe. Be very nice to him and stay close. We’ll be back here as soon as either the campaigning season ends or Caesar considers the Gauls subdued, whichever happens first.”

Caelius nodded nervously, his eyes darting around the crowd as though assassins were already lurking there which, of course, they very well could be.

“It may be better for all concerned if I return to Interamna Praetutianorum. We’ve a large estate there and I could stay out of the city for a while; let things die down?”

Fronto shook his head.

“You’re safer here. Out in the countryside accidents could happen even easier… fewer bystanders too. In the city you have lots of witnesses. Besides, Priscus needs to keep his eye on Clodius. That man has his finger in a lot of pies and sooner or later he’s going to burn it. Stay here, but keep close to Priscus and do whatever he says.”

Caelius nodded and stepped away from the moving crowd of chattering lawyers to stand with Fronto and his friends as Clodius and his sister emerged from the doorway, their faces grim. As the pair reached the top step, close to Fronto, the man stopped, his sister almost running into his back in surprise.

“You win some and you lose some. In spite of what you think, this is not an overwhelmingly important matter to me. I have other, more significant things to think about.”

“Something like that, yes. On a grander scale, but yes. If you ever feel the need to abandon that declining has-been that can’t keep Gaul quiet, feel free to come and see me. I can always use a few good men.”

Fronto’s teeth clenched and he spoke through them in a low hiss.

“I shall continue to smile for the look of the thing, since we’re in public. If we ever meet in private, however, I might have to explain to you in great detail just how little I think of you. In the meantime, since I see no sign of your pet Egyptian catamite, I have to assume that he’s busy sharpening some knives, or treating some mushrooms, so I think we will take our leave and go celebrate somewhere where I can’t see your dog’s-arse ugly face.”

Turning his back on the rigidly-fixed smile of Clodius, Fronto grabbed Caelius and Galronus, strolling down the steps to join the small band of hired mercenaries below.

Clodius scratched his chin.

“That man interests me; fascinates me, really. He is part thug and part orator, part vagrant and part patrician, part hero and part villain. I was very seriously thinking of having both Fronto and Caelius killed tonight, but it may just be both more prudent and a great deal more fun to let him be and see how this develops.”

Clodia stared at her brother.

“You
can’t
just let this end here?”

He turned and regarded her with a sneer.

“
I
cannot? What has this got to do with me other than a rather imprudent attempt to help my sex-crazed and idiotic sister take her revenge on an ex lover?”

Clodia stared for a moment and then, bringing her arm back, delivered a slap that would have stung Clodius’ cheek had he not raised his own arm to block the blow. His teeth clenched, he grasped her wrist and pulled her around in front of him.