No. No. No!
But Fronto was gone. The vague shapes of a few other legionaries flitted on the edge of his vision, then they too were gone. Though he could feel nothing, Verginius could imagine the dusty thud as he hit the ground once more. Then the darkness began to insist itself upon him once more. He felt the cold grasp of Hades about his stilled heart.
He was dead. Fronto had left him to die and saved his own worthless hide . No one had put a coin under his tongue. Were the old tales true? Would the boatman leave him to haunt the world? If he did , Verginius would haunt Fronto. And Caesar, for Fronto and he wouldn’t even be here but for Caesar’s arrogance and greed and lack of care. He would haunt them both. And if he could grip something as a spirit , he would hunt them too.
White light and pain once more. Fronto? Had he come back? A shape gradually coalesced into the white, and if Verginius could move anything, he’d have reached up to grasp his old friend, to tell him how grateful he was that he’d come back. To tell him how sorry he was to have been so impulsive and harsh in his judgement. Fronto smiled…
…and Verginius realised it wasn’t Fronto. If he’d still had muscle control he’d have screamed in panic . A figure was leaning over him and peering intently at him. For a moment he feared that Hades had come for him anyway, for the figure was thin and pale, almost cadaverous with sunken deep-set eyes, teeth set in withered gums and spindly arms with thin, skeletal fingers. If he could, Verginius would have shivered at the man’s touch. The walking corpse jolted as someone spoke to him, and turned, rattling off an answer. Verginius’ ears, of course, could hear nothing, but he could almost imagine the harsh guttural language of the Hispanic tribes with their elongated vowels, of which they seemed to have far too many. The cadaver answered angrily, a point proved, an argument won. He sneered at his opponent in this unknown debate and then leaned down so that the heavy, spicy breath of blood sausage engulfed Verginius’ numbed head and said something. What it was, Verginius could never know, of course, but from the expression on the walking corpse’s face it was clearly meant to be reassuring. The thing pulled out a pack of something waxy and runny and cupped a handful, pushing it down to where the wound was. Then there was a strange increasing emptiness in Verginius’ body as he felt the blade drawn out. Verginius’ eyes s tared blankly at the man’s grin as he produced another hand, this one full of powder, and blew it into the Roman’s face.
The world went red and stayed that way until the true agony began …
Verginius woke in a cold sweat. He thought that set of nightmares long since put to rest. The closer he came to the end, the more it brought him back to the start. He realised that Ategnio was watching him with … sympathy? That was new.
‘Get some sleep,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘The next few days will be busy.’
Chapter Thirteen
TARRACO looked different in the morning. The previous afternoon, during their short visit, the sun had already been decaying to the west, its golden light blasting the city from the port up to the gubernatorial walled enclosure on the hilltop , filling many of the streets and illuminating the upper storeys of the buildings. In the morning, though, the eastern light was caught largely by the steep hillside and the high, old walls, the bulk of the city resting in its shadows until the sun had climbed sufficiently to fill the capital with warmth.
Still, Galronus was clearly filled with fascination for this place that was an odd hybrid – an ancient tribal settlement that could so easily have been a Remi oppidum, yet now adorned with all the grand edifices of a Roman city. Fronto smiled. His friend was seeing the future of his own lands, and probably knew that. One day Galronus’ home city would be crossed by streets and aqueducts, centred around a forum and with a capitol of its own. The world moved on and the future was Roman.
‘What’s the plan, then?’ the Remi noble asked quietly .
Fronto pursed his lips. ‘I want to find the lawyer who’s dealing with the villa. I need to find out exactly what’s go ing on. Then we can hit the tavern and the baths and check in to see if last night turned up anything useful .’
Their horses already sweating in the mid-morning heat , the two men rode up the slope and along beneath the high, powerful walls of the Governor’s fortress. Men in gleaming helms and mail stood atop the wall, watching the two drably-dressed men below with suspicion. Soon , they rounded the corner and entered the cool shadow of the chariot -track. Races had been held here recently, as the dusty ground still held the many hoof prints and the lines carved by chariot wheels, though a day of civic activity had seen countless footprints criss-crossing the site across the top of the markings.
Two men stood on guard at the fortress’ west gate, bored yet at attention. The soldiers joined their comrades in expressions of suspicious curiosity as the two riders, dressed in the tunics and cloaks of freedmen approached .
‘The u pper city is not open to the public,’ one of the men said in a tone so bored that it was clearly a line he trotted out repeatedly. Then, after some thought, he repeated the words in the local dialect, his expression making it apparent he had learned the phrase rather than being able to speak the language.
‘We are not the public,’ Fronto smiled at him, trying his best to carry centuries of p atrician breeding in his tone. The soldier looked at him in surprise.
‘I need to find out who is dealing with a matter of inheritance in the city, and this is noble Roman lands, not some fishmonger or native farmer. I presume such records will be dealt with in the governor’s city and not the provincial forum? They certainly were in my day.’
The two soldiers shared uncertain expressions, and Fronto smiled again. ‘May I approach?’
‘Dismounted,’ confirmed the soldier, and Fronto slid from his saddle, handing the reins to Galronus and strolling over to the gate holding up his hands to prove he was unarmed and attempting nothing untoward.
‘My name is Marcus Falerius Fronto, and this is Galronus, a prince of the Remi from northern Gaul. I once served and worked in this place as a tribune and am lately a legate of Caesar’s legions in Gaul. Here is my signet ring. I presume you will find this all in order and admit me to find the tabularium inside?’
Overwhelmed by the rush of important titles and the mention of Caesar, clearly backed up with the ring of a Roman patriarch, the two men swiftly came to an agreement and hammered on the gate, demanding it be opened. The great wooden doors swung inwards and Fronto nodded his thanks at the two men as he entered, Galronus trotting along behind, leading Bucephalus.
The interior had changed a little in the decade since Fronto had passed beneath the walls. The huge imperial forum square was still the same, barring a little re-paving, and the colonnade surrounding it was still there, but now it had been adorned with statues of men in togas or cuirasses , each atop a podium with an inscription. A great red banner emblazoned with a golden eagle hung from the pediment of the staircase opposite, displaying the glory of Rome against the white stone carved from the quarry some miles to the east along the main coastal road. As the two men passed into the forum and Galronus dismounted, they examined the inscriptions. Governors and generals from near two centuries of Roman Hispania, adding to the glory of Tarraco.
Few people brought horses into the upper city other than the governor and his cronies and personal guard, but there was still a small stable off in one corner beneath a high square tower, and the two men delivered their beasts to the equisio there, receiving a chit in return.
‘Where do we go?’ Galronus asked as they re-emerged. ‘This place isn’t what I expected. It’s so… bare.’
‘This is where the business is done. The governor holds court in the north tower, the military are based in the south, the portico surrounding the forum is filled with offices that run the province. Up those steps beneath the banner is another square where you’ll find all the temples and the governor’s buildings, which spread out to cover the rest of the walled area. But few people get past that staircase unl
ess they’re with the governor’s office. Everything is done in this forum. We need to find the record office and unless much has changed, it’s in that corner.’
The two men strode between the statues of the great and the perceived-good and entered the shadowy portico at the far corner, locating a door and then passing inside. Rooms led off from a small office and even from here the two could see the seemingly-endless scroll racks marching off into the darkness. Three scribes sat at small desks myopically scribbling as a man in a tunic with a narrow red stripe distributed documents among them.
‘I need to find a lawyer who will be dealing with a probate case in the city.’
‘Name?’ the clerk said without looking up from his work.
‘Gaius Papirius Longinus. Well, actually, his wife, though I can’t tell you which of them would currently still be on the records for the villa.’
‘Papirius Longinus … a h yes, the v illa out toward Bera. I’m aware of the case. You need Rubrius Callo. His office is along the far side, but you’ll not find him there today. He was at the races yesterday morning and was set upon by thugs in the crowd . If it’s urgent h e’ll either be drowning his sorrows in the Twins’ Folly or recovering at the Tuclian Baths. Beyond that, you’ll have to wait until at least tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, ’ Fronto smiled. ‘ I know the places. We’ll seek him out now.’
A q uarter of an hour later the two men emerged from the fortress gate once more, leading their beasts. ‘The Twins’ Folly,’ Fronto pointed off to the west, ‘is near the town’s northern edge. One of the better quality places. Come on.’
They passed gently downhill along the slope of the city, between the high buildings, past shops of all descriptions and through a throng of people who represented provincial life at every level , market stalls crowding the thoroughfares and making riding troublesome enough that both men continued to lead their horses dismounted . When they finally arrived at the inn, Galronus whistled through his teeth. He’d seen the odd establishment like this in Rome, catering to the rich and the powerful, selling wine by the cup at a price that would far supersede a legionary’s meagre funds.
‘This place was too expensive for me in the old days. I drank far too much. To drink here would have bank rupted the family, so I preferred the dives down toward the port.’
They handed the reins of the two horse s over to the lad at the side door, then strode into the inn. The interior was beautifully painted with rural scenes and images of gods and creatures cavorting in gardens. Galronus was surprised at the graphic nature of some of the scenes, which would have been more at home in a brothel than a tavern , in his opinion. The few men in here were wearing either heavy togas, sweating over their wine, or the finest of linen tunics as they laughed and chatted. Fronto strode to the bar, purchased two cups of wine at a price that made Galronus’ eyes bulge, and leaned close.
‘I’m looking for Rubrius Callo. Is he here?’
The barman, who had already been looking at the pair of them with disdain, given their poor dress, was now thoroughly aloof. ‘And who might I ask is looking for him?’
‘Marcus Falerius Fronto, legate of the Tenth Legion and former attaché to the governor of Hispania Ulterior, Gaius Julius Caesar. Galronus smiled at the man’s expression as he fought between being thoroughly impressed and not entirely believing what he was hearing.
‘Wait here,’ the man said, and left the bar, strolling out through a rear door. Fronto held up a hand to Galronus and wandered across to the door. The barman had passed outside to a terrace beneath a vine-covered arbour where two or three other men sat in the shade and the cool breeze at the very edge of the city. The view from here marched out across the plains to the north toward that distant rin g of hazy blue mountains that encircled Tarraco’s region. The barman approached a man sitting at the furthest table and t here was a brief exchange during which the patron shook his head.
‘Come on, Galronus.’
With the Remi noble at his heel, Fronto strode down onto the terrace and approached the table. The barman, irritated to see Fronto approach ing, held up his hands and shook his head. ‘Master Rubrius does not wish to be disturbed.’
Fronto smiled sweetly. ‘I have recently fought my way across the rebellious Pyrenaei with a diminished legion and am being hunted by a man I thought dead a decade ago. I am trying to prevent a travesty of justice, and I have little patience right now for etiquette. Back to your bar before I start to lose my temper.’
The barman flashed red with indignation, but something in Fronto’s expression led him to decide upon discretion rather than defiance, and with an apologetic glance at the patron, he scurried back inside.
‘I thought this place would turn away ruffians,’ Rubrius Callo muttered sourly, watching the two new arrivals approach his table. As he looked up, Fronto could see the bruising around his left eye and jaw where he had been attacked.
‘Nasty beating. Still, it’s just bruises and lumps. It’ll go away shortly. You are handling the inheritance of Longina?’
‘Oh for the love of Juno, will that case not leave me alone even in my bruised misery?’
Fronto frowned. ‘I take it there are problems?’
‘Oh , the two inheritors have a roughly even claim and they dislike each other enough to fight every foot of the way. It’s a nightmare. It should be held up as an example to all families who might consider leaving wills that are not absolutely water-tight and clear. Longina was a lovely lady and her husband a clever man, but neither of them were truly focused in matters of law. ’
‘I understand,’ Fronto said quietly, ‘that both of the potential inheritors intend to sell the villa when they secure its ownership?’
‘Yes. They are truly ungrateful, insensitive, spiteful little oiks, but they pay well, a n d those of us who rely upon the benefice of others for our livelihood cannot afford to be over-choosy.’
‘Yet you can afford to drink here?’
‘Pah! I drink here when I want to be unreachable by clients.’ He shot a sour glance at Fronto. ‘It doesn’t always work, though.’
‘ How driven are they by finance?’
‘Almost totally, I would say,’ Rubrius sighed. ‘In fact, if the matter cannot be settled soon, they will probably drop my services and hunt out someone cheaper . Good luck to the poor bastard s . I’m sure something easier will come my way. ’
‘Would you say,’ Front o went on, a calculating look crossing his face, ‘that they could be bought off?’
‘What are you proposing?’ Rubrius murmured, intrigued.
‘What is the villa’s worth at this time, over which the pair are wrangling?’
‘It was valued at four hundred thousand sestertii about a month ago. Each week of non-occupancy and argument usually drops a percent or two from the value in cases like this . A new valuation would find it unworked and starting to become dilapidated, I suspect. One of the things I need to bring up with the clients tomorrow morning is the fact that it probably stands at only three hundred and fifty now, and if they do not soon come to some arrangement, it will continue to drop.’
Fronto straightened. ‘Offer them six hundred thousand to split between them equally, and I will take the deeds .’
The lawyer’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You?’
Galronus grasped Fronto’s sleeve. ‘Marcus…’
‘I do not have that amount in coin on my person, of course, ’ Fronto said, ‘ but I can have it delivered here within the month . Two to three weeks at most.’
‘Fronto, the senate impounded your funds in Rome.’
‘Oh, Galronus, don’t you think mother has plenty hidden away in other places. And Caesar owes me ten times that amount.’
The lawyer’s eyes bulged at this revelation, and he was starting to sweat as Fronto turned back to him. ‘They will get little more than that individually if they sell now. This way they both get a reasonable inheritance and the villa stays in respectful hands. I’ve considered purc
hasing property in Tarraco for years. Now might be the time.’
Rubrius Callo broke into a slow smile. ‘I might just be able to persuade them, thick though they are. You just made my day, master Falerius.’
‘You’ll take them my proposition, then?’
‘First thing in the morning, sir.’
‘Good. You can find me at the villa if you wish to discuss matters.’
Leaving the smiling lawyer, Fronto drained his cup and gestured for Galronus to follow him.
‘Is this wise,’ the Remi asked as they left. ‘What will your family think about it? It’s so far from your home and you already have the Massilia villa. You don’t know how the family funds stand right now, and whatever Caesar may owe you, squeezing it out of him in his current situation might be difficult.’
Fronto stepped out into the street and stretched. ‘I’ll manage. I’m not seeing Longinus’ villa ruined. And I meant what I said: I’ve often thought about having somewhere here. The climate agrees with me. Faleria will understand, and Lucilia will love the villa . And it would be a better place to bring up the kids while we’re banned from Rome and Italia. Rural , with a beach and plenty of land. Not like the villa above Massilia, which is a little more suburban. Come on.’
Retrieving their horses from the side door, the pair walked them down through stall-lined streets to the bar Fronto had frequented yesterday. Leaving Galronus with the horses in the street, he strode inside . Parella was busily sweeping detritus in one corner while half a dozen early drunks made the most of the cool interior to forget their woes .
‘Heard anything?’ Fronto asked quietly, wandering up to her.
‘My, you’re swift, aren’t you. Second time this morning I’ve had a shock from the past. Verginius was here less than an hour ago.’
Marius' Mules IX: Pax Gallica Page 35
