Marius' Mules IX: Pax Gallica

by Turney, S. J. A.

  ‘Joy. Let’s stay in the place briefly then, Fronto. A man-eating widow can do little good for a new father and a husband to be!’

  Fronto grinned, and rode up to the top of the rise , frowning a little at the state of the garden.

  ‘I see no smoke,’ Galronus noted.

  ‘ Smoke would be mostly from the bath house, and that complex is down on the beach. Longina liked to… lie naked in the sand. I think she… the baths were there to… I don’t know. I suspect they were rarely a solo visit, let’s just put it that way.’

  ‘Fronto, I don’t like this.’

  ‘All will be fine,’ Fronto replied, sliding from his saddle and tying Bucephalus to the wooden bar near the entrance. But the Remi was correct . Something was wrong. There had been no workers in the fields, t he plants were growing out of control and the gardens were poorly tended. No servant had rushed out for their reins. Something was definitely wrong, but not something that had triggered Fronto’s preternatural senses. What then? Verginius knew of the villa and Longina, but he shouldn’t even know that Longinus was dead, let alone that Fronto had been here since then, albeit seven years earlier.

  ‘Hello?’ he called as Galronus dismounted behind him and tied up his horse, his fingers dancing around the hilt of Verginius’ sword, which was strapped to his belt.

  There was a long silence and Fronto’s own hand had gone to his sword hilt as he moved toward the door when faint footsteps echoed from within.

  ‘Master Fronto, legate of the Tenth,’ a voice called in a friendly tone from within, ‘and an unknown friend. Come in, Domine . Be welcome.’ The figure appeared at the door and Fronto started in recollection. ‘Arius?’

  ‘It has been too long, master Fronto. Good to hear you again.’

  Galronus stared at the well-dressed slave with the milk y white eyes and the ivory topped cane.

  ‘How did you know it was me?’ Fronto murmured.

  ‘Ha. Slight lean on the left instep , sir . Slight limp with outward turn on the right foot – legacy of the bite you were still nursing last time I saw you, sir.’

  ‘Holy Vesta, Arius. That was almost a decade ago!’

  ‘You’d be surprised, sir, how much sight is just a conglomerate of things your other senses can tell you if you just pay attention. Like how you have ridden long and fast from the mountains and how hungry you are.’

  ‘Explain.’

  Arius grinned. ‘You smell of hill-tribe sausages and sweat. No salt. You’ve not been near the sea but have moved hard for days. And both your stomachs are rumbling. Cenna still runs a tight kitchen. I will tell her to prepare a meal.’

  Fronto frowned. ‘That’s Longina’s prerogative, Arius.’

  ‘Did you not know, sir? I thought that must be why you were here? The Domina died some months back. Come to the peristyle. I will have wine brought and tell you whatever you wish to know.’

  Fronto and Galronus followed the blind slave through the atrium of the small villa to a tidy garden with a beautiful pool at the centre. As a nother slave appeared and Arius began to issue commands as though he ran the villa – which it quickly became apparent was currently the case – Fronto and Galronus exchanged curious looks.

  ‘Tell us , then,’ Fronto urged once the second slave was gone.

  ‘The Domina died peacefully in her sleep some months back. There was… it was… rumours circulated…’

  ‘Tell us, Arius. We are friends and nothing l ess. You know I will not judge.’

  The slave’s white-eyed face took on a beet hue of embarrassment. ‘The Domina was free with her affection, L egate Fronto. Not in a bad way,’ he added hurriedly. ‘ She had never been unfaithful to her husband, but after the death of the Domine , she was… some would say profligate.’

  Galronus grinned and Fronto glared at him , willing him to wipe away the s mile.

  ‘Well, one particular evening of jollity seemed to be too much. I saw the gentleman back into his carriage for the city, and when I returned to attend upon the Domina, she had crossed the river. I found a coin for her mouth and said the prayers, then organised everything in the absence of someone proper to do it. ’

  ‘What of her will?’ Fronto said, after a moment’s thought. ‘They never had children, right?’

  ‘None that were hers and survived, L egate. There are some who have reasonable claim to the legacy of Longinus, but the Dominus and the Domina left clear wills. Everything went to their nephews, Gaius and Tertius Dolabella.’

  ‘And why are they not here?’ Fronto frowned.

  ‘There is some legal wrangling over ownership. Neither is willing to share ownership d ue to nuances in the text of the wills, both brothers claim the entire inheritance. Neither seems to be able to outwit the other. ’ Arius screwed up his face into a conspiratorial expression. ‘To be honest , neither seems to have much wit at all .’

  Fronto lau ghed. ‘I remember the pair from a few nights while I stayed here and you’re far from wrong. Neither could outwit a melon without help. They must have clever lawyers , I presume . Why is the villa not being worked?’

  ‘I do not believe either of them truly wish to own the villa, L egate. Just to inherit it and sell it for profit.’

  ‘Ah, the loving nephews of Longinus. If they’d seen him in his charge against Ariovistus’ men… ah, well. Arius, I have business in Tarraco, and I need a safe place to stay. I hate to put such a burden on you…’

  ‘Oh you must stay, of course,’ the slave smiled. ‘You and your Gallic friend. I will make up two rooms for you.’

  ‘How did you know I was a Gaul,’ Galronus asked, ignoring the fact that that, as Belgae, he was in truth not Gallic at all. The Romans found it hard to tell the difference.

  ‘You smell of wild garlic, Dominus. All those who came back from the Gallic campaign smelled of it.'

  As the slave wandered away, chuckling, Galronus closed on Fronto.

  ‘This bothers you. ’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘Why? It’s just a villa. And n ot even your family.’

  Fronto found he was unexpectedly angry over the matter, and he turned hard eyes on Galronus ‘Because two ignorant boys who should know better see it as just money to be made. This is a family estate. As a man who’s currently losing everything that this represents, I cannot stress how important it is to keep these things . Longinus is buried here, in a small mausoleum on the edge of the estate. Imagine what he would think if he knew his family had sold his tomb to a stranger? The villa should stay in the family, not be used for profit. History is everything to us, Galronus – to Romans . It makes us what we are. I shall not forget why I am here, but while I deal with Verginius, this cannot be left unresolved. I will see Longinus’ legacy preserved. Don’t forget, one day soon I will need to put Bucephalus to pasture here. ’

  * * *

  ‘This is a Roman city?’ Galronus murmured as they rode into Tarraco. Neither man wore their customary gear, h aving stowed it at the villa. Both wore the tunics of freedmen and no clear indicator of their true status , though they were bathed and well fed. Both had swords in the bed rolls attached to their horses , though .

  The capital of Hispania Citerior stood on a rocky bluff overlooking the blue se a and a stretch of golden beach. At the far end of Tarraco they could see fishing boats and larger trade vessels issuing from a port, but much of the coast was unusable by sailors due to the cliffs and steep slopes leading up to the walls. The defences were tall and powerful, but enclosed a relatively small area. Their lower courses were formed of the same huge, shapeless stones that fashioned the defensive circuits of the native villages they ha d seen in the region. Above those boulders , regular shaped golden stones formed a huge wall system that Galronus had to admit rivalled those ancient ones of Rome itself. There were the signs of former gates in the walls, but they had all been blocked up.

  ‘This is the old fortress,’ Fronto replied, gesturing to the walls. ‘This was built by Scipio a century and a half ago on
the base of a native fortification when he made war against Carthage. It has the distinction of being the first city wall Rome built outside Italia. Once it was a simple fort like all of them, with four gates. Now it’ s sealed apart from on the western side, and it contains the palace of the governor and all the official buildings . ’

  They rode past a dusty park below the walls where two young men with mock gladiator kit fought, laughing. Galronus’ furrowed br ow deepened as they rounded the wall ’s corner with its high tower. The insulae of the city rolled on down the hill below the walls of the governor’s private city toward the port at the bottom . A wide space stood between the walls with their central gate and the city proper , dividing the two . It was dusty and churned and barren.

  ‘They use it for horse races,’ Fronto smiled. ‘Never bet on Green. That’s what I learned in my years here. Can you see a colonnade down in the lower city. Stands out a bit above the roofs . Yellow stone.’

  ‘I see it.’

  ‘That’s the forum. In the old days there was a space nearby they put up wooden seating and turned into a theatre .. . yes, it’s still there, I can see it. I had some of the best sleeps of my life in there. They’ve always talked about re building the theatre in stone, but no nobleman’s ever wanted to stump up the cash. Good thing if you ask me. There’s enough boredom in the world without fostering more. But if I ever have any influence here, I’ll build them a stone amphitheatre or maybe put up some permanent stands for the races.’

  He laughed, the spectre of Verginius momentarily forgotten amid the reverie of his youth, but then the reason for their arrival reasserted itself.

  ‘There are three places where Verginius might have turned up. I want to be back at the villa before sundown, but let’s check them out first.’

  The first, a tavern near the forum, revealed little . The two men paused there for an evening meal, despite having been well fed by Arius, and Fronto waited until he saw a familiar face . Even a decade had not marred the lascivious beauty of Parella . She was the landlady for the establishment and had been ever since Fronto first knew her. Her husba nd had died young and left her the bar. She had resisted a decade of suitors – including Fronto more than once – and had held a tight rein on the establishment. It still thrived in her care, and she still apparently fought off the suitors , noting the way some of the patrons regarded her . Fronto grabbed her backside with a grin as s he walked past, yelling at a slave to collect more pots, and Parella delivered him a ringing slap that made his ears jangle without even looking.

  ‘Keep your hands to yourself, old man. Some might fall for that silvered fox thing…’

  She turned and noted the ring on Fronto’s finger. ‘Someone did . You should be ashamed of yourself, y’old whore!’

  Fronto laughed. ‘Ten years and nothing changes. I bet if I touch you here…’ Fronto reached out two fingers to the rear side of her upper thigh and she backed sharply away as though the fingers burned.

  ‘Marcus Falerius Fronto, you horny goat. Married too! Keep your fingers to yourself, Tribune.’

  ‘Tribune no longer, Parella. Nice to be remembered though. This is Galronus. He’s also spoken for, so he won’t bother you much.’ The Remi prince looked rather embarrassed by the introduction . ‘ Listen, Parella… you remember my brother Verginius?’

  ‘Do I ever?’ she laughed. ‘ One of few men who never tried to bed me. ’

  ‘Heard anything of him?’

  Parella stared at Fronto. ‘He died. Last time I heard his name was when you wailed it into the bottom of an amphora in the corner over there about a month afterwards. Why?’

  ‘Listen, Parella, I know this sounds weird, but if you hear anything about him, or about the tribe of the A renosio from the mountains to the north , could you send me a message? It’s very delicate, so it has to be secret. You know the Villa Longina toward Bera and Barc ino ? I’ll be there.’

  While the owner regarded Fronto sceptically, the Roman nodded to Galronus, who tipped several silver coins out onto the table. ‘Saved enough to buy the villa and retire yet, Parella?’

  ‘Ha. Not quite, Fronto. Even if I sold the bar.’

  ‘Well if your bring me u seful news of Verginius or the A renosio, I’ll make it happen for you. But it has to remain a secret.’

  The seco nd establishment, a similar bar but with less savoury clientele and a miserable, ugly owner, yielded as much information but with little grace, and Fronto decided not t o place his trust in the barman who was unknown to him, his friend of a decade ago now long gone.

  The third place , however, fascinated Galronus. No matter how long he’d spent in the city of Rome, he’d never grown tired of two things: gambling and the baths. The dirt track here might be nothing compared to the Circus M aximus of Rome, but the baths were just as comfortable. As the Remi nobleman relaxed back in the D-shaped warm bath with Fronto on his left and some fa t local councillor on his right , he sighed with pleasure. There were downsides to the Remi’s simple capitulation to Rome, and the hardliners in the tribe still fought their corner, but to Galronus a warm bath, a strigil and a trained masseuse from Nicomedia could balance an awful lot of lost tribal honour.

  ‘Can we talk?’

  Fronto glanced across at the councillor, who was paying them scant attention.

  ‘Maybe later. I heard they were having a wagered wrestle in the Pal a estra shortly, and a big Gaul is challenging all comers.’

  The official cast Fronto a surreptitious look and scurried out of the bath, waddling naked toward his wooden clogs and towel, hoping to place a bet. Once he was gone and the room was devoid of other bathers, F ronto pressed a finger against his lips and reached up, grabbing the towel boy as he hurried past.

  ‘Domine ? ’

  ‘You hear half what happens in Tarraco, lad , at a guess .’ Fronto’s hand dipped down into the water and retuned with three silver coins. Galronus stared silently, unwilling to query where his friend had kept them while naked in the bath.

  ‘These coins are for you…’

  ‘Rutius, sir.’

  ‘Rutius, good. One sestertius each for three things. You will listen out for the name Verginius. Or for Arenosio . Got it?’

  The slave nodded.

  ‘And thirdly, for a man with a smile carved into his face. If you can bring me useful information ab out any of those, I will reward you like this tenfold, and if it leads to me finding t he man I’m looking for I’ll buy you your freedom . Got it?’

  The lad stared for a moment, dumbfounded, then nodded vigorously.

  ‘Good. I’ll be by daily for my late afternoon bathe.’

  The slave smiled, scurried off and pocketed his ill-gotten gains.

  ‘Can you trust him?’ Galronus asked quietly once they were alone.

  ‘Him? Beyond words. People with nothing when , faced with success , have too much to lose. My main worry is that Verginius might well be cleverer than me, and I can’t be sure what he’s done. He might have people asking for me. In fact I’m sure he has. Come on. Let’s get back to the villa before we’re noticed.’

  Early Junius

  The pain was utterly unbeli evable – s o intense Verginius couldn’t quite believe it was possible. From the first sharp flash as the point drove through his mail and tunic and punctured the flesh , to the agonising, ong oing grating pain as the nicked yet sharp edges scraped past his ribs, plunging through gore and organs until it burst the mail at his back and drove into the dirt… all was indescribable.

  Verginius screamed. In fact, it felt as though he screamed for a lifetime as that blade, the width of three fingers and the breadth of one, tore through his living being and robbed him of life, delivering him torment in return. He screamed until his throat was parched and silent, a husky rattle all that was left of a voice that had once impressed his rhetoric tutor with its timbre and pitch.

  The Ilergete warrior did not grin or whoop or howl his triumph. He did not sing or shout or even w hisper. All he did was p
eer into the agonised eyes of Verginius with a transitory curiosity as though trying to read his victim’s history through the medium of his eyes. Despite what was happening to him, Verginius found he was drawn to those cold eyes in return. The Hispanic tribes, he’d noted, generally had warm brown eyes, This man’s were pale blue, icy and frosty.

  Darkness closed from the periphery, gradually encroaching on the edges of his vision until they obscured the warrior’s torso, then the sky around him, and finally everything but his face, his eye, his iris.

  Blackness.

  Verginius actually felt his heart stop.

  Then there was a sudden pain, and the blackness receded. There was light. Blinding white light. His body ached, but there was no pulsing throb of pain, for his heart had stopp ed, his blood slowing, pooling . Tepid. Sluggish.

  Fronto’s face. Desperate. Pained. Terrified. He was shouting in Verginius’ face, the spittle spraying insensate flesh. Then Fronto was dragging him, still bellowing. There was no feeling in Verginius’ lower half, and the rocks and bumps meant nothing to him. Only that Fronto had come for him. Fronto was saving him. After ever ything, even though he was dead and knew it, Fronto was still going to save him. How he would come back from that last dark river, he knew not. But he would, because Fronto was there.

  And then something changed. There was a look of shock and confusion on Fronto’s face. He didn’t know what to do. He was deciding something terrible. Those eyes, the eyes of a brother, of a friend, came down to meet Verginius’.

  No!

  He wanted to scream it, but his body was dead. It would not work. His head, his mouth, his throat, would not obey even the simplest of commands. He felt the final, bleak, d readful reality of death settle upon him as Fronto suddenly let go and stepped back, a stupid apology in his eyes as he gazed down at Verginius. Then he turned, and he ran.