And with that he rose and walked out of the office, through the outer room and into the light of the square. Galronus followed him and the pair crossed the square, collected their horses, and then moved through the gate and out of the upper city. Only as that gate closed behind them did Fronto explode with laughter.
‘I honestly thought the smaller one was going to shit himself. When did you get so scary?’ he said, wiping his eyes.
Galronus grinned evilly. ‘He was annoying me. If the lawyer hadn’t been there, he’d have left with a bruised face to match Rubrius Callo’s. Do you think they’ll accept? ’
Fronto shrugged. ‘I’d like to think so. They’d be stupid not to, but then we know that they are stupid, so who can tell?’
Galronus’ brow furrowed. ‘Do you need me for a while?’
‘Nothing specific planned. Why?’
‘I thought I might follow them around a bit. Pop up here and there as a gentle reminder. The older one might be brave enough , but I reckon the little one would sign his own head over to me if it would make me go away.’
Fronto laughed. ‘You might be right. Be careful, though. Don’t get into any trouble. I’ll see you back at the villa by sunset.’
Galronus nodded and turned, wandering up toward the upper city’s gate, where he leaned on a post and waited. Fronto smiled and wandered off down to the town. Time to make some more enquiries and prepare. Perhaps with a drink…
* * *
The Empty Jar was another of Fronto’s old haunts , though only at the worst of his morose habits. Every city has a bar for the drunk and the miserable , and the Jar was Tarraco’s. Sandwiched between a fishmongers and a leather shop, somehow the Jar managed to achieve a smell that outdid both. It exuded an odour reminiscent of one of those alleys where dysenterious creatures went to die of deflation. It looked drab, from its peeling paint that had been graffiti’d repeatedly to its cracked flagstones , and held the air of the lowest quality tavern imaginable . More than this, it served no wine a respectable citizen would drink – just the piss-poor seconds from the lower end of the Hispanic vineyards, and sour posca even legionaries might shun.
It was, on the other hand, the place to visit if you had a shady deal to carry out, wanted to hire a member of a dubious profession, were looking for stolen items or fancied a fight with no legal consequences. It was also a hub for rumour and talk, and it was this for which Fronto had chosen it.
At the bar, the woman looked at him suspiciously – or at least one of her eyes looked at him suspiciously, while the other swivelled downwards to peer at her foot. She poured something from a jar into an earthenware cup and Fronto peeked into it, swallowed nervously and paid the pittance for the drink. The liquid sloshed around inside with an oily consistency. Jars sat on each table containing water for the wine, but it was all stagnant, Fronto knew from old visits. It was rarely changed, and none of the inn’s clientele bothered to cut their wine with water. If they were that sort of drinker, they wouldn’t be in the Jar in the first place.
He picked up the cup and turned, sauntering across from the bar, his gaze searching out the occupants. There were the usual collection of drunken low lifes , ex-legionaries discharged on medical grounds , missing appendages and without a pension , minor criminals or the lackeys of more major ones , and dubious merchants. His eyes fell upon a lad of perhaps twelve years with a scar across his nose, stacking coins on the table. That was the one he was looking for. A lad that age and that poor, clearly with no caring family or home, should not have that kind of money unless he had a good thing going . And that thing was not combat or trade, for he was too thin and reedy for one and two poorly-dressed for the other. So he was a runner or facilitator for the less reputable. Just what Fronto was looking for.
‘I’ve a well-paying task, if you’ve time on your hands and can keep your lips from flapping,’ he said quietly as he sank into a chair opposite the lad. The look the boy gave him weighed him up in one easy move, and Fronto appreciated instantly that the brain whirring behind those eyes was a thousand times faster than those well-dressed cousins up in the lawyer’s office.
‘I don’t do nothing sexy, nor dangerous.’
‘Do I look like I would…’ Fronto tailed off, realising what he must seem like dressed as a wealthy Roman in this dive. He smiled. ‘I’m not interested in that. I want to find a man, and he will already be keeping tabs on me. Have you met a man with a smile carved into his face or mountain tribesmen with big beards in the city these past few days? ’
‘Now, that strikes me as the sort of information a man might pay for,’ the boy said, levelly.
Fronto chuckled. ‘You might be right . I have two sestertii here for a basic answer.’
He slid the coins acro ss the table and the lad pursed his lips. ‘Well now, I’ve neither seen nor heard about a man with a carved smile, but I can tell you there’s a right hairy warrior with a mountain accent and real poor Latin in the city and he has fingers in every jar of garum in the place now. No one likes him, coz no one likes the mountain folk here, but he pays well enough that he gets away with it. I reckon near every pair of eyes and ears in the city are his. You’ll be lucky to get your sights on him without him knowing about it . He’s paid me a sizeable amount for news of you, and I’ve had you pegged in three different inns so far as well as at the upper city and in the baths , but hadn’t thought to see you here. Lucky for you, he didn’t ask that I not tell anyone about him. Not subtle enough for this game, I reckon.’
Fronto raised an eyebrow. ‘So you report on me to him, but for coin you’ll also tell me about him. Dangerous game. I thought you didn’t do dangerous?’
The boy grinned. ‘What’s your proposal?’
‘Tell me where to find the warrior – where he’s staying – and I’ ll match what’s on the table right now. I reckon you’ve forty sestertii or so stacked there?’
The boy’s eyes widened for a moment in surprise. ‘That’s a tidy sum. Worth considering, but if I betray him, he’ll want me dead, and my life’s worth more than that. Double, I’d say.’
Fronto nodded. ‘Alright, I’m in no mood to haggle. Eighty. Not a coin more. Get me an address and the money’s yours.’
With a sly smile, the lad slid his coins from the table into a pouch and nodded. Rising, he crossed to the bar and passed his pouch to the innkeeper, who took it to a back room. The lad then moved out into the street. Fronto nodded approvingly. The boy was bright enough not to carry large amounts of coin around the city on his own.
Leaning back, he took a sip of the wine and winced. If Catháin were here to try it, he’d be appalled. He’d probably only use the stuff to protect boot leather. In fact, it tasted a little like boot leather. Fronto sipped slowly at the cup, waiting for more than half an hour. He’d not arranged anything with the lad, but he’d also not said he’d be back at the villa until sunset, so he was free to mess around. Finally tiring of the dreadful wine, he left the dregs and sauntered out, down through the streets until he found the Tuclian Baths, where he spent an hour relaxing, then had a massage, checking in with the towel boy who seemed very nervous and defensive and claimed to have nothing to report.
Leaving the baths just before noon, he popped into the other tavern on his list and checked in with Parella for news. Like the towel boy she had nothing to report, but the way she was rather lacking in her usual playful banter set Fronto on edge. What the boy had said seemed very likely to be the case. Both the contacts he’d set up when he first arrived in Tarraco were delivering nothing, and both were nervous of something. This bearded warrior. Ategnio, Fronto guessed – Verginius’ right hand man – had got to both of them. He was going to have to start being very careful. His enemies seemed to be on the increase, while his ring of friends was shrinking .
Within the hour, fortified with bread and meat from the inn, washed down with a much nicer wine, Fronto strolled back uphill to the Empty Jug. The clientele had changed little during his absence, and he settled ba
ck into the same table once he’d ordered a jug of the best wine they did – almost a match for the worst wine Parella sold .
He had lounged, pensive , in the corner of the bar for less than an hour when the door suddenly slammed open, crashing back against a chair, every cup and jug in the bar jumping and shaking with the force of it. Half the occupants of the place lurched back defensively, each with something to hide or something to fear. One even disappeared beneath the table at which he sat. The rest were either innocent of wrongdoings and with nothing to fear, or were simply to drunk, slow and numb to react .
Fronto was immediately alert, wishing he had his sword with him.
It took him a moment to recognise the figure that staggered into the bar. The lad he’d retained at this very table a few hours earlier had been beaten badly, his face bruised black and purple and one eye puffed up and crusted shut. His arm hung limp at his side, and he lurched as though his left leg was about to give way. Fronto rose from the table, his heart in his mouth, but the lad turned and staggered over to him collapsing to lean on the table top.
‘Seems they were watching you come here too. Keep your coins. ’
Fronto shook his head. ‘This is because you spoke to me?’
‘Maybe,’ the boy admitted, probing a missing tooth with a bloody tongue. ‘But they were more interested in your place, I think. They were asking where you were staying.’
Fronto’s mind did somersaults as his stomach did back-flips. What did they want to know that for? And surely this lad couldn’t answer their question , could he ?
‘What did you tell them?’
‘Everything I know. Sorry.’
‘And what do you know?’ Fronto asked, the panic rising.
‘About the boys you saw this morning in the upper city . The lawyer.’
Fronto’s stomach curled up and puckered in shock. He had no idea what Verginius had planned for him , but he hadn’t considered they might go after the villa. Why? To make Fronto suffer? Was Verginius planning to make Fronto go through what he had? Send him running to a fight where he’d die? He couldn’t figure it out, but one thing was certain: Verginius had found out about Longinus’ villa, or at least would do any time now , as soon as he talked to the lawyer or one of the cousins , and that would put the occupants of the villa in danger. And Galronus , too . Galronus would be there, waiting for him , unsuspecting, unprepared for an attack . Even Galronus might not be able to fight off Verginius and his men. Shit.
Fronto was up a moment later, his jar of wine forgotten and knocked aside as it fell, spilling its contents across the table. The urgent need to get back to the villa and warn Galronus drove him with such force that he even left his change – a small fortune to the boy – sitting on the table.
Fronto burst through the front door and into the odd light of the street. The wide alley was aligned just so that the lower reaches of it were in deep shadow, while the upper edges of the insulae around them glowed golden in the sun. It was at once dazzling and gloomy, and Fronto’ s eyes failed to adjust until it was too late. Something connected with the back of his head hard enough to send his wits rolling around the inside of his skull and he fell, smacking his forehead on a cobble for good measure. His mind reeled and whirled in a confused panic. He was surrounded by Arenosio warriors. Three of them. Or four. For some reason his brain couldn’t quite work it out and his eyes were unreliable, jumping and misidentifying . Each had a weapon , though, he was sure of that . He rolled onto his back, his mind still jumbled, eyes rolling, unable to send the commands to his legs to stand.
The wounded boy was standing in the door.
‘Sorry, mister. Didn’t like doin’ it , but business is business, and I can only take one good hiding from a customer.’
With that, the lad re-entered the inn, closing the door behind him, and Fronto was alone on the ground in a side street with three mountain warriors.
‘I…’ he couldn’t speak properly, and realised he’d bitten into his tongue when he hit the cobbles, his mouth full of blood. He spat the coppery life onto the stones and tried again. ‘Where… Verginius.’
He was rewarded with another crack around the head from a hard leather boot, and as his mind spun once more, another heavy foot trod on his left wrist, grinding this way and that agonisingly. He was lost. There was simply no hope of fighting back. On a good day, he’d think of taking on three barbarians, but not with his brain rolling around in his head like a pea in a pot. He couldn’t even remember how to stand. Fortunately, it appeared that he didn’t need to. Heavy, calloused hands grasped him by the wrists and dragged him across the street and into the open door of an abandoned shop. The building was clearly having some sort of renovation work done, and Fronto’s eyes swivelled this way and that, trying to find some hope somewhere. He spotted things – hammers, plank s, picks, sheets and chains. Many things that, had he been of s ound mind, might be of use. As it was, there was simply no help in anything. Most urgently, he was fighting the urge to throw up. With his wounded tongue and a mouthful of blood, throwing up could be fatal. He could drown. Concentrating on that somehow helped sooth e the spinning of his brain , but before he could hope to claim any quantity of true sense, the door slammed behind him, and another figure appeared, silhouetted against a white light.
‘Ver… Verginius?’
Somehow , from this angle, the permanent smile on his old friend’s face looked a great deal more sinister.
‘Do you know what the Jews believe about revenge, Marcus ?’
Fronto’s brain was still cloudy and confused, and he could do little more than stare, befuddled.
‘My personal beliefs in vengeance are founded on two things, Marcus: t he patronage of the lady Nemesis which we shared since we both left Rome, and the fairly straightforward notions of the Jews, who believe that vengeance is best enacted on a one-for-one basis. And that is what I have in mind for you.’
‘Verginius…’
‘Oddly, Marcus, there is a large part of my soul that is begging me to turn aside from this path. Unbelievable that even after a decade and all that has been done to me, part of me still considers you enough of a brother that I should protect you. And I would, Marcus. For Faleria if nothing else. She lost me and she doesn’t deserve to lose you too. But a vow is a sacred thing. It cannot be broken and I vowed ve ngeance on both you and Caesar i n the names of two goddesses. That sort of thing cannot be simply ignored. I must carry through my vow, or I am nothing, though it pains me to do it more than anything you can imagine… thus far, at least. But the n the pain is only just beginning.’
Suddenly, hands were grasping Fronto’s ankles and wrists. Even through the fog of his brain, he fought and struggled, aware that something awful was about to happen.
‘It took me a long time to find my sword and my N emesis pendant ,’ Verginius said quietly, drawing the figurin e from his tunic and displaying it openly. ‘But it took me even longer to find the sword that had killed me. It’s owner didn’t want to part with it, you see, but I had no compunction about killing that one. He deserved it. And now I want to introduce you to that same blade on a very personal basis.’
Fronto struggled, shouting, only vaguely aware of what he was actually saying , but the warriors’ grip on him was solid, and he was still weak and confused from the blows. Verginius looked sad, despite his smile, as he lifted the heavy s word – straight and wide, reminiscent of an old Punic blade – and brought it down, slowly and deliberately. Fronto cried out as he felt it puncture his flesh and then sink into his body until it touched the floor. How long he lay there, screaming at the sword standing proud from his body, he couldn’t tell. By the time he was merely whimpering and gasping, the warriors were all together again behind Verginius, who was shaking his head sadly.
‘I was run through with that sword. And now so have you been. Painful, isn’t it. But in your case I was careful not to hit a vital organ. I don’t know anyone with the medical skill of the old man who saved me, and I cou
ldn’t risk you just dying there. I know it feels like you are, but that’s just a b ig flesh wound. Blood loss and a bit of pain. And if you’d died, you’d not be privy to what came next, would you?’
Fronto gasped as he grasped the blade and tried in vain to remove it. ‘Verginius…’
‘Do you remember my tale, Marcus? Do you remember what comes next?’
What? Fronto tried to think, no easy thing when every breath brought sharp blinding pain and his brain was still floundering in the mush of chaotic confusion. ‘I…’
‘Yes, Marcus. The slavers came for me.’ Verginius turned to someone Fronto couldn’t quite see. ‘He’s all yours. I apologise for the condition, but then you are getting him free, so I don’t think we have a problem, do we?’
A local accent, Latin with a Hispanic drawl, confirmed there was no problem, and a hairy arm reached down and none-too-gently yanked out the sword , leaving Fronto gasping, weeping and bleeding on the ground . Verginius took the blade gingerly, as though he had no real wish to touch it further. Then arms were pulling Fronto up from the floor. He could feel the blood soaking his tunic thoroughly, even as hands pushed wadding against it and a wrapping was bound round him again and again. His strength seemed to have deserted him utterly.
All was pain. Pain and sadness.
Briefly, he wondered where he was being taken, as those arms pulled him up and dragged him back out of the door, but before his fuddled mind could fathom anything of use, the pain became simply too much and he succumbed to the welcome darkness where the pain faded.
* * *
Galronus had started to be come concerned as the afternoon sun sank toward the horizon over the distant bulk of the city of Tarraco. He knew Fronto to be anything but prompt by nature but given the current situation he couldn’t believe his friend would be so lax without getting word back to the villa. As soon as that yellow-gold globe touched the land, Galronus was off, leaving a list of where he was going with Ar ius in case he was being overly- worried and Fronto returned in the half-light of dusk. He wouldn’t, though, and Galronus knew it. Something was wrong. And all for the sake of those two morons he’d followed around the city, putting the frights up them every time they looked back and saw him standing at a corner. If he’d not frivolously gone after them, he’d have been with Fronto.
Marius' Mules IX: Pax Gallica Page 38
