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.
“Fronto? And your pack of dogs too. Where’s the lame one?”
Fronto grinned wolfishly.
“Somewhere close by. Where he can see every move you and your pals make. Had a bad day?”
Clodius shrugged.
“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.”
Fronto’s grin remained in place.
“I can imagine. A few houses to burn down? Some women and kids to knife? The odd kneecap to break? That sort of thing?”
Clodius’ expression flickered for a moment and settled into an ironic smile.
“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.
“You stupid bitch. I am up to my neck in plots and plans that have taken years to put in place, with some of the most powerful men in Rome playing roles, some unaware even that they are doing so. I am standing on the top of a rickety tower built of my own machinations, and I leave you to your own devices for a few months and you pull the base of the tower out from under me. I need public exposure and humiliation right now as much as I need a knife in the gut and what do you do? Launch mad accusations at a high-profile young politician with powerful friends. Congratulations on making us both figures of public derision!”
He let go of her wrist and pushed her back away from him.
“But you will deal with him? For me?” Clodia’s voice had almost become a whimper. Her brother turned his angry gaze on her.
“You will disappear from view. I don’t want to see your face until the next time I send for you and if I hear anything about your exploits from an outside source, I may well re-task Philopater with a new target. Do you understand?”
Clodia blinked.
“You’re just going to let him go?”
“You’ve lost, Clodia, and I will expend no further money or effort to try and salvage your tattered reputation. Now get out of my sight.”
Without a parting glance at her, Clodius turned and strode purposefully off down the steps. Behind him, Crispus straightened by the column beside which he lurked and waited for the broken and deject
ed figure of Clodia to shuffled off across the square. The basilica had emptied and the last of those involved had descended and disappeared in the forum. Crispus smiled to himself as he stepped out into the open and gazed off after the retreating figure of Clodius, now on the other side of the square.
“And you interest me, Clodius Pulcher. Just what plots and plans are you hatching?”
With a grin, he set off to catch up with the others. Priscus would certainly have something to do this summer other than babysitting, after all.
Chapter 5
(Aprilis: Approaching Vindinium in northwestern Gaul)
Fronto sighed as the mounted party crested the hill and the oppidum with its Legionary camps appeared, sprawled around the low hill beside the river.
It had not been a long journey by the standards of some he had taken, but had still been more than two weeks in all. The general and his staff and senior officers, accompanied by Aulus Ingenuus and the general’s praetorian guard had embarked on a small transport vessel at the navalia, the military port on the Campus Martius, and had taken a couple of hours to Ostia, where they had transferred to one of the triremes of the fleet for the two day journey to Massilia.
By the time the ship had put to sea, the miserable grey drizzle that had once more set in had grown to a full blown deluge. Fronto had looked nervously out at the crashing waves and asked tentatively whether the captain really thought the sea was safe enough, but the man had merely laughed at him and told him that they would put to port for storms, but not for a bit of rain.
Never the world’s best sailor, Fronto had lurched miserably from foot to foot as the Argus bounced from wave to wave, trying to ignore the smell of the cooked pork and bread dipped in spicy sauce that the others were tucking into for lunch.
The only thing that made the miserable two days bearable for Fronto was the fact that he managed to hold onto his stomach’s contents for the duration, while Galronus, who had never before stepped aboard a ship, had turned a worry grey-green colour in the first ten minutes and had made sounds like a dying goose for the whole journey.
Finally, blessedly, the ship put in at Massilia just as, to Fronto’s intense irritation, the clouds dispersed and gave way to an unseasonably bright and warm day. The officers had led their horses up from the Argus, along the dock and up the slope, to turn and watch the ship pull back out into a freshly calm and placid open sea for its return journey.
The sixteen officers and two dozen cavalry troopers, armed against the bands of thugs and robbers known to operate in the dirty streets of this great port, and followed by the dozen carts that contained their campaigning gear, had made their way slowly from the coast up the slope toward the area of exclusive villas owned by some of the more affluent, yet discerning, Roman nobles. Few men born in the great city itself would choose such a site for a country residence, but those who valued their privacy and solitude, while maintaining close access to a major crossroads, could hardly do better.
Fronto had nodded appreciatively. He’d been promising to visit here for the last couple of years when he was off duty and free, but had never seemed to have the time. He’d not pictured himself turning up among a group of senior officers with the general himself, though. The view was quite stunning, with the villa they were here to visit sprawling over the crest of the hill, giving a massive panorama of the city below and the coast for several miles in either direction with its coves and rocks and sapphire sea.
More welcome even than the sun and the breathtaking scenery was the figure of Quintus Balbus, commander of the Eighth Legion, standing by the gate at the entrance to his villa. Balbus looked, as always, every inch the Roman legate, his cuirass polished to a mirror shine, the protective medusa head leering out from the chest, his crimson cloak freshly cleaned and pressed, draped about his shoulders, and his plumed helmet beneath his arm. Despite the commander’s advanced years, his limbs were muscular and powerful; the result of two years of strenuous exercise during the Gallic campaigns.
Behind the grinning officer, his wife Corvinia stood, a warm, if disapproving, smile aimed directly at Fronto while she held her two girls back respectfully. In the two years since Fronto had last met them, the eldest had begun her transformation to womanhood with remarkable results. Fronto sighed. Here we go again: women. Corvinia had wanted to mother him and marry him off, whereas Lucilia, the elder daughter, had clearly seen him as a prospective catch.
But much to Corvinia’s disappointment, the general had no plans for a social visit and there was barely time to exchange pleasantries before Balbus’ horse was brought round by a slave and the legate hauled himself up to join the column riding back to the legions.
The next fortnight had been a steady ride across country, up the Rhone valley, past the various small outposts set up by Cita’s men to deal with the ever-increasing supply train that ran from Roman territory through the lands of the Allobroges and on into deeper Gaul. They had passed the oppidum of Vienna, stopped for a happy night at Bibracte, where they had recounted the tales of the Helvetii and the happy time they had spent there two years ago, and had then followed the line of the river Loire half way toward the west coast before cutting across the land and striking northwest for the legions’ winter base.
And now, as the roiling black clouds threatened yet another torrential downpour, the officers and their escort were finally within sight of Vindunum. The former town of the Andes rose on the southeast bank of the river on a bluff, with heavy walls and squat buildings of a traditional Gaulish nature. Around the town each legion, from the Seventh to the Fourteenth, had its own fortified camp, close enough to throw things between the ramparts; too close for defence, so clearly for show and to keep the legions separated.
Fronto leaned across toward Balbus and his mount sidestepped irritably as the first drops of the next shower began to patter on his face. Though he was no fan of riding in general, he had to admit he missed Bucephalus. This beast was disobedient to say the least and Longinus’ old horse had received the best training the Roman cavalry had to offer. He jerked his mount straight, wondering whether Bucephalus would be quartered in the camp of the Tenth.
“Some of the camps are empty. That’s got to be a bad sign.”
Balbus nodded.
“The question is: where are they and what are they up to? Is Crassus already having to batter the tribes into submission?”
On the other side of the older legate, Crispus turned and shrugged.
“They could simply be on manoeuvres. What concerns me is the size of the camp for the Twelfth.”
Fronto frowned and scanned the settlement. Crispus was right. Each legion had its standards up and, as the riders approached, they could see that the Twelfth was in a worryingly reduced state, occupying less than a quarter of the space of any other legion.
He cleared his throat.
“Caesar?”
The general glanced round at the three legates close behind him.
“Yes?”
“You planning a meeting of the senior officers once we’re in camp, I presume?”
Caesar nodded and stretched in his saddle.
“Later on. Possibly even in the morning. First I need to speak to Crassus, then to visit the baths and my quarters and refresh myself. I sent my body slave and the bulk of my baggage on a few weeks early, but it will take me several hours, I fear, to drive this damp chill from my bones.”
Fronto nodded emphatically. The dismal conditions on the journey once they had left the south coast and the sunshine behind had made them all yearn for the warmth and cleanliness of a good bathhouse. His faint smile sliding into a grin, Fronto leaned closer to Balbus and lowered his voice.
“That gives us a good few hours and possibly even the whole night to change into something more comfortable, find a bar, and drink until we can’t see one another.”
The general, without even turning his head, replied “Be sober enough to attend a meeting should I call it, Marcus. I don’t want you falling ove
r in front of the new staff officers.”
Fronto glowered at the back of the general’s head and winked at Balbus, who smiled benignly, like a father who has given up trying to train his wayward child and was riding the crest of a wave.
The column moved slowly on. Fronto had spent most of the journey in close company with Balbus, Crispus, Galronus and Cicero, while the various new additions to Caesar’s staff kept to themselves at the rear, often retreating into Greek for their hushed conversations.
“I suggest we report in with our legions, clean ourselves up, and then head into town and find a passable watering hole. Shall we meet in the central square in… say an hour?”
Crispus sighed.
“I suspect it will take me almost an hour just to get clean and dry and rake the knots out of my hair. Can we say two?”
Fronto grumbled a grudging acknowledgement and turned back to the camps ahead. The Tenth appeared to be quartered next to the river, close to the northern walls of the oppidum and he peered at the ordered lines of tents within the ramparts, in some way hoping to find minor fault, given the absence of both he and Priscus. Nothing appeared to be amiss at first glance, however, and Fronto rolled his shoulders before turning to his companions.
“Well I’m going to go and see what’s been happening. See you all shortly.”
As the others waved their temporary farewells and the baggage cart carrying his gear veered away from the column and followed him, Fronto kicked his horse to speed and rode through the increasing rain, down past the northern edge of the oppidum’s walls and to the gatehouse of the Tenth. As he approached, he was surprised and perversely pleased to note that no call went up announcing the return of the legion’s commander. He prepared himself for a tirade against the guard at the gate as he slowed his beast on approach, but noted at the last moment that his new primus pilus, Servius Fabricius Carbo, stood in the centre with his chubby arms folded and a wide grin on his shiny pink face.
Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) Page 11
