The two men slowly recovered from their humour and shrugged.
“Any time, legate, my lovely.”
Fronto managed to leave the tent somehow, miraculously, without laying a hand on either of them. He found himself simply grateful that they were not assigned to the Tenth, else he would have buried them both up to their necks in a latrine trench before they ever got as far as war.
The two men exited behind him and moved across the camp, giggling like idiots while Fronto, still breathing deeply in annoyance, strolled back towards his tent.
Throwing the flap aside, he found Labienus and his friend sitting in camp chairs beside his table, with cups of wine, a third poured ready for him. With a nod of thanks, he sank gratefully onto his bunk, undoing his boots and letting them drop to the floor. Labienus shuffled his chair a few feet further away, his eyes quickly beginning to water.
“New boots, Marcus?”
“Bloody women” was his sole reply as he let the other fall, peeled off the now-greyed woollen socks and wiggled his toes, releasing a fresh waft of four-day stink.
“There’s a bath tub in a bathing tent in the command section for senior officers, Marcus, and there’s always heated water ready.”
“How nice.”
“So if you’d like to scrub off your journey first…?”
“No, you’re alright, Titus. I need to rest and have a few cups first.”
Labienus glanced across at his friend, who had also moved his chair a few feet further away.
“I’d like you to meet Piso, Marcus. He’s a chieftain among the Aquitani and now one of the senior cavalry commanders along with Varus and Galronus. They’ll command a wing each, with Varus in overall charge, of course.”
Fronto nodded his greeting, scratching his toes and rubbing his feet with a free hand while consuming the prepared wine with the other, noting with distaste how Labienus had already watered it for him.
“I thought I’d best introduce you. There are still a great number of blinkered officers in this army who will not consider a non-Roman officer worthy of their attention, but I know you’re not one of them. Galronus, after all…”
Fronto nodded as he placed the cup on the table and stretched back on his bunk.
“Pleased to meet you, Piso. You seem, like Galronus, to be a man fond of our custom?”
Piso shrugged. “In weaponry, art and devotion to the Gods, the Aquitani will always be paramount, but I am not beyond being able to see the advantage of a comfortable tunic and a clean-shaven neck. It is my staunch belief that both Roman and Gaul have much to learn from one another.”
Fronto smiled appreciatively and nodded toward Labienus.
“A seductive viewpoint that our officer friend here has propounded to me before.”
“Marcus, there’s a particular reason I wanted you to meet Piso. Beyond being an embodiment of what I see for the future of Gaul.”
Something in Labienus’ tone made Fronto sit up straight. The staff officer looked nervous; pensive.
“What is it, Titus?”
“Did you know that Caesar continues to draw more levies from the tribes of Gaul, Marcus?”
“Well, yes. He needs them to push the Germanic tribes back out.”
“Fronto, Caesar could deal with those invaders with two legions and a single cavalry wing. Do you not think it’s time to put the future of Gaul back in the hands of the Gauls?”
Fronto frowned. “That’s what he’s doing. He’s summoned the Gallic council so they can decide whether to ask for our help.”
“Marcus, don’t be so blind. Listen to yourself. Caesar has ‘summoned’ the kings of Gaul. Only a despot can do that. Caesar places himself above those kings. He only panders to them because he is not yet strong enough to oppose the senate!”
Fronto’s stomach knotted and he felt a sudden cold shiver run down his spine. This conversation was starting to sound disturbingly familiar.
“Have you been listening to Cicero and his brother? This is a dangerous path to walk, Titus, and I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”
Labienus shook his head and poured Fronto another cup of wine. “I’m not advocating mutiny or anything like that, Marcus, but I think we need to start questioning the general on his motives and actions and perhaps try to persuade him toward the path of reason. We need to bring him back into concord with the senate before things turn ugly.”
“Enough, Titus. You’re one of the general’s most senior lieutenants. Don’t say anything else you might learn to regret.”
“But Marcus…”
“Enough, Titus! I think the pair of you had best leave now before the others get here.”
Labienus rose slowly from his chair, alongside Piso. Before exiting the tent, he paused and turned back, pointing a finger at Fronto. “Think on it, Marcus.”
Before Fronto could shout angrily at him, the two slipped out, leaving Fronto seething and uncertain. What was this damned army he’d come back to? It barely resembled the one he’d left last autumn.
ROME
Quintus Lucilius Balbus sat on the steps of the wide stairway that led up from the forum to the Arx, from which the grand temple of Juno dominated the skyline. The ancient temple of Concordia’s featureless and high north wall cast a deep shadow on the stairway, bringing blessed relief from the sizzling sun that already, even in the mid-morning, was unseasonably hot.
His eyes had been straying across the numerous structures that formed the nucleus of the city and the heart of the republic. It had been some time since he’d made a trip to Rome, where he’d spent so much of his youth and his early adulthood. The shape and form of the conurbation had changed even in those few years, with ever more grand buildings rising to display the wealth and generosity of various power-seeking benefactors, and each one was accompanied elsewhere by another towering brick hovel; a monstrosity of living quarters that would shame a slave, and yet were clamoured for by the poor of the republic.
And the forum had never been so alive in his youth, or so it probably seemed through the eyes of age. Men, women and children of every colour and every social status rubbed elbows as though they were equal in the press of people buying goods, haranguing public speakers, making for the law courts, picking purses, or any of the myriad of diversions the forum provided.
He and his family, along with Fronto’s sister, who had formed a worrying alliance with Corvinia that boded ill for his future, had arrived by ship from Massilia last night and made their way to Balbus’ townhouse on the Cispian hill. Faleria had been determined to return to her own home but, with it still undergoing renovation, Balbus had had to insist that she join them as their guest.
His townhouse had remained unoccupied for more than two years, with only a small skeleton staff of servants to keep it clean and intact, and the provisions within were woeful. After an evening of scraping up whatever they could for a meal, sending the servants out to find the few remaining late-night food stalls still open, the womenfolk had decided that the next morning would be a full re-supply shop that would require at least half a dozen servants for porterage, and Balbus himself, in case male choices had to be made, or the family coffers had to be opened to pay the enormous bills.
It had taken precisely ten minutes of struggling through the throngs of people, trying to keep up with the four women who moved like a pack of wolves through the crowd, for Balbus to decide he’d had enough. Stating flatly that he had more intention of joining a theatre troupe than contemplating another minute’s shopping, he had arranged to meet them here.
Here, because two minutes to the north, along the Clivus Argentarius, stood a nice little tavern that would be a good place for the women to take stock of their purchases and for Balbus to silently, and with wine, bemoan his fate among this group of Amazons.
In the meantime, it was rather nice sitting in the shade. His hand dipped into the pack of honeyed dates he’d managed to purchase during the fray and the sweet, sticky treats brought on such a thirst that he had to re
ach for the skin of grape juice that he’d also bought.
Taking a deep pull, his gaze passed over the top of the skin and locked on the curia building below and to the left, where the senate was in heated debate. At less than seventy yards distance, it was almost possible to hear the subject matter from the steps; almost but not quite. But still, occasionally, the debate would rise in pitch, tone and volume and words would carry this far. The third time he heard Caesar’s name shouted in the building and the roar of assent that followed, he had decided that this situation needed more attention, and had paid an urchin to go stand near the doors and listen in. After all, it didn’t do for a man of stature to lurk outside the senate doors like an eavesdropper. Besides, the stairs were so much more comfortable.
Whatever they’d been discussing in there for the past hour, Caesar had apparently been at the very crux of the matter. Other words had risen from the cacophony, each one as expected as the next: Gaul, Pompey, Consul, Glory, Triumph, Cost. Cost. Cost seemed to be an important matter for debate, too.
It was not hard to piece together the arguments from those snatches he’d heard, though the urchin would help later, in return for the three copper coins promised from Balbus’ purse.
His attention was suddenly drawn to the front of the building as the senate house’s doors swung open, releasing the roar of angry and excited politicians into the city. Balbus was less than surprised to recognise the first figure to emerge.
Cicero had his hands raised in triumph as he stepped into the light, beaming at the crowd that had assembled outside, hoping to set eyes on the men who controlled their republic. The great orator had the look of a victorious gladiator, playing to the people. The senators who followed him closely, though Balbus knew perhaps half of the faces at most, were clearly Cicero’s supporters and pets, cheering him on.
The chorus of “Summons for Caesar” was still being echoed around the curia’s interior, and Balbus frowned. Had Cicero already managed to press for such a drastic move in the general’s absence? But the more he listened, the more it sounded like a demand than an announcement.
Cicero had paused on the steps and dropped into conversation with two senators at his side and Balbus’ eyes strayed across the scene until he locked onto the wretch who was dutifully eavesdropping for him. The boy had managed to get himself remarkably close to the city’s most honoured and respected orator. That conversation alone would be well worth the three copper coins.
Balbus started and shrank instinctively back into the shade as his eyes lit upon the small group behind the boy; five men in the drab brown tunics of the Roman poor. They would blend into any crowd with ease. But Balbus had served with the legions for more years than he cared to remember and the stance of a soldier was unmistakable, no matter what he wore. His gaze played across the men, taking in the long sleeves on their tunics, unfashionable, but long enough to cover any marks of military service and the bulges in the tunics at their waists that spoke of hidden daggers.
Cicero and his two favourite pets left the stairs and began to walk across the forum. Balbus felt his heart jump as the boy scurried out of the way and began to jog toward the stairs where he sat, while the five lurking men moved across the open space formed by the crowd parting for the senators, shadowing them. A sinking feeling settled like a river stone in his gut.
His eyes darted back and forth until he spotted Corvinia at a stall behind the shrine of Venus Cloacina. They might be finished any minute, but if he waited, he would lose any hope of finding out what was going on.
Biting his tongue, he gathered up the punnet of dates and the skin of juice in the sweep of his large hand and began to descend the steps three at a time. By the time he reached the paving of the forum and his young, scruffy accomplice had converged on him, he’d already dug a number of small coins from his purse. Pausing, he dropped the collection into the young lad’s waiting hands. It was perhaps the cost of a couple of good cups of wine, but represented a clear fortune to the boy. His eyes widened.
“I have to go for now” he said, his breath coming heavily. He wasn’t built for this sort of exercise these days, since his illness in Gaul. “Stay here and wait for me with your information and I’ll double that when I get back.”
The boy’s face split into a wide grin as he nodded vigorously. Balbus smiled at him and, scanning the crowd until he spotted Cicero and his friends, ran on, pushing his way through protesting women and men, priests and traders. A pickpocket hoping to make an easy target received an elbow in the face for his mistake, and Balbus was suddenly bursting through the crowds only a few yards behind the five soldiers in their dreary kit.
As Cicero rounded the side of the arcade of shops known as the tabernae vetae, he paused, sharing a few quick words and a smile with the senators before they departed. The two lapdogs moved off, still chatting together, along the Vicus Tuscus, toward the cattle market and the Tiber, while Cicero turned, making his way past the temple of Castor and along the Via Nova. Unnoticed behind them, their stalkers also split, three of their number following the senators toward the river, the other two climbing the hill after Cicero.
Balbus fumed for a moment, his head snapping back and forth between the two streets and finally settled on Cicero as the more important of the two groups. Stepping into the shadow of the great temple, Balbus attempted to melt into the background – no mean feat for an overweight ex-soldier with a gleaming pate and a pristine white toga. As the shadowing soldiers crested the first rise, following their prey with little subtlety, Balbus moved like a panther along the side of the quiet road.
Ahead, Cicero paused in the street and, adjusting his toga, strode toward a large townhouse at the southern edge, a bakery built into its frontage. Balbus nodded to himself in confirmation as he spotted the name of the bakery: ‘Pistrinum Ciceronia’. The orator had simply returned home from his deliberations. As Cicero disappeared into the house’s interior, the door clicking shut behind him, Balbus stepped back into an angle between two buildings and watched as the two men following him huddled together in deep conversation and then broke up and hurried away along the street.
Again, Balbus dithered, torn between following the men, returning to the corner to see if the other senators were still in sight, and heading back to the forum to try and meet up with his young informant and the ladies.
Wishing he’d not started all of this, the ageing ex-officer strolled on along the street after the two men who had previously been shadowing Cicero. Given their clandestine nature, the men seemed to be somewhat lax in their awareness, only occasionally glancing around and not paying even enough attention to spot the portly man lurking in the shadows.
Up the Via Nova they strode, calmly, unaware of anyone following them, turning right and climbing the slopes of the Palatine, passing through the ruined piers of the Mugonian gate and cresting the hill to the area of the city occupied by the spacious houses and villas of the city’s wealthier and more important folk.
Balbus frowned at their presence in such a rich area, and followed them with deepening interest and suspicion as they passed across an open square, turning down an alley to the right and disappearing through a small gate in the back wall of a sizeable property.
Balbus stood for a moment, still frowning, and then strode across to a low bench beneath an apple tree at the far side of the square, where he could just see the closed gate and high wall of the expensive residence into which the dubious men had passed.
For three minutes he sat, contemplating what to do next, starting suddenly as a click resounded just behind him. Craning his head around urgently, he saw a middle aged and well-to-do matron and her house slave leaving a gate just such as the one he watched. The woman looked at him with something between surprise and suspicion but, taking in his age, weight, and togate attire, her brain labelled him equestrian class at the least and therefore unlikely a threat to house and person. Nodding a greeting, she turned to head for the forum.
Balbus narrowed his e
yes and cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, good lady?”
The woman paused and turned with an elegantly sculpted eyebrow raised.
“Sir?”
Balbus gestured toward the gate in the wall that he faced.
“Do you happen to know who resides at that villa?”
The woman’s face took on a look dark and disapproving enough that Balbus wondered whether he should apologise for asking.
“That, sir, is the house of Atia Balba Prima, daughter of…” she actually looked as though she might spit as her mouth formed a name with distaste, “Julia Caesaris.”
Without further ado, the woman gathered her stola around her and strode off toward the forum, her slave at her heel, leaving Balbus staring at the gate in consternation.
Atia? Niece of Caesar. What the hell was the general up to now?
Wishing there was another urchin around to set to watching the door, Balbus stood, stretched, and turned back to locate the busily shopping women somewhere back down in the forum and the boy with his overheard senatorial musings.
Clearly he was going to have to pay attention in Rome.
Something was afoot.
Chapter 4
(Divoduron, in the land of the Mediomatrici)
The most powerful men in Gaul sat on low benches around three sides of the tent, the legs of the seats deliberately shortened, forcing them to look up at the general and his officers who occupied the fourth. Periodically one would stand as though he were a Roman patrician addressing the senate, and make some salient point or other to which Fronto paid no attention whatsoever.
The assembly of the chiefs of Gaul had been in progress for over an hour now and Fronto had retained precisely zero words that had been spoken in that time. To pay attention and contribute was not why the officers were here; they were here as a reminder of the pomp and sheer power that Rome and Caesar had at their disposal. They were here to help make the Gauls feel small, just like the shortened seat legs, the captured Gallic standards that hung on the leather wall behind the officers and the centurions and men who stood erect behind the Gauls as though guarding them.
Marius' Mules IV: Conspiracy of Eagles Page 8
