Gallia Invicta mm-3

by S. J. A. Turney

  Clodia was stunning. Her ebony tresses, pinned elegantly and woven around a diadem of silver filigree, surrounded a pale face that would make Venus green with envy. Her small and delicate form, dressed in a stola of midnight blue, seemed lithe and dextrous and almost glided down the steps. Fronto found that he was staring and wrenched his gaze away to glance at Caelius. He could quite see how the man had fallen for her charms.

  Caelius’ downcast and miserable features had filled for a moment with a golden light as his eyes fell on her and, in that single moment, Fronto realised just how dangerous this woman could be.

  “My dearest Cicero” Clodius announced as he reached the bottom of the steps, his sister catching up with them there. He held out his hands and clasped Cicero’s grudgingly proffered arm. “You spoke well in there; almost destroyed our case before it was even presented. I am, as ever, in awe of your oratory.”

  Cicero smiled with a rictus and inclined his head slightly.

  “Your prosecutors supply the ammunition. I merely use it.”

  Anger flashed for a fraction of a second in Clodius’ eyes, but he forced it down and continued to smile.

  “And Crassus. To have your illustrious presence gracing the court is always a joy.”

  Fronto glowered at the man. Clodius was plainly the kind of man that Fronto hated most in the world: a devious thug, hiding behind a mask of civility. His attention was drawn once more to the figure now standing at the man’s side. Clodia smiled her most devastating smile at him and licked her lips. He tore his gaze quickly away from her and realised that Philopater was also watching him. What was it with these people?

  Clodius nodded respectfully at Caelius.

  “I am so sorry that events have come to this point. You have been like a brother to me. But then” he smiled sadly “my brother would have known better than to sleep with my sister, wouldn’t he?”

  Caelius flinched and Fronto cleared his throat.

  “I‘m a soldier, not a politician, and all this feigned civility is in danger of forcing my breakfast to make a reappearance and my sword arm’s beginning to itch. If we’re all done posturing, could we go our separate ways?”

  Clodius laughed.

  “You would be this Fronto I keep hearing of. Caesar must be a truly patient and forgiving man. But you are absolutely correct: let’s dispense with the pleasantries. My sister has a habit of involving herself in difficult and sticky situations. I would just as rather this whole affair had not occurred. Rest assured, Caelius, that, despite the best efforts of your two noble advocates, we will win the case and then you will be executed and your family will suffer grave dishonour.”

  He smiled at Caelius rather unpleasantly.

  “You could, of course, save us all the trouble, and take the honourable way out. I give you my word that no further motion will be made against your name if you remove the need for the trial.”

  Clodia glared at her brother, but he ignored her. Fronto tried to ignore the fact that the woman’s gaze kept coming to rest on him, while the burning eyes of the Egyptian continued to bore into his skull.

  Something clicked in his head in that moment. He’d been wondering why Clodius should be trying so hard to remove Caelius from the picture when it was he who pushed the trial in the first place, but the answer was obvious now. His sister was the source of the accusation and Clodius would rather have disassociated himself from the whole potentially-destructive matter had he the choice. Clodius was trying to make the problem go away in any way he could. Now Fronto really hated the man.

  In a moment of insight that he would rather not have had, Fronto realised that it was a damn good job that this man and Caesar were enemies. Were they together, they could rule the world within a year with their unscrupulous methods. He flashed his teeth in an almost-smile at Clodius.

  “I’d just as rather he didn’t fall on his sword quite yet. He’s staying with me and the mess would be appalling.”

  Clodius frowned for a moment and then laughed.

  “Very well. I have important matters to attend to. Philopater? Come!”

  He bowed and, turning, strode away across the forum. The hook-nosed Egyptian nodded toward Fronto and made a strange sign with three fingers pointing at his own eyes and then at Fronto. The legate’s lip curled.

  “See you soon.”

  He watched Philopater until the man turned his back and then nodded to Crispus.

  “Get Caelius back to the house and gather Galronus and Priscus and come meet me at the Taverna Arabia in an hour or so. We need to step up our routine if Caelius is going to live long enough to be tried. If young Cicero is at the house, bring him too. He said he’d be dropping by.”

  Crispus nodded and turned to the small gang of men he currently commanded, gesturing them on and marching them back toward the Aventine. Cicero and Crassus let their gaze rest on Fronto for a while and finally Caesar’s patron pursed his lips.

  “I am aware of your reputation, Fronto. With the current evidence, we can walk this trial through the way we want it. Leave matters in the hands of the lawyers and don’t do anything stupid that might give our opponents ammunition to use against us.”

  Fronto grinned.

  “Trust me!”

  Crassus shook his head and muttered something to the elder Cicero that Fronto didn’t hear before the pair turned and strode away across the forum. Fronto watched them go, silently voicing his opinion of lawyers and politicians alike. Men like these had built the republic, yes, but then it was men like these that would destroy it too.

  He almost jumped as he turned to leave and saw the startling green-blue eyes of Clodia locked on him. She had been so silent he’d forgotten she was there again.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, with an audible trace of irritation.

  “It would appear that my brother has left me to your tender care. It would be unseemly and dangerous for a lady to return home through the streets of the city without an escort.”

  There was an unspoken command in the words, masquerading as a request. Fronto gritted his teeth. This woman was far too dangerous to be around, but to refuse her request would be…

  He couldn’t actually see any reason why he shouldn’t just turn and leave her here. She was, after all, one of the opposition and probably planning to use him in some wicked way. And yet, as he turned, he realised he was already holding his arm out to her. She took it with a full-lipped, knee-trembling smile. Fronto swallowed nervously as he looked her in the face.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Actually, I have no plans. I should be home for the evening meal, but perhaps we should go somewhere to talk? A tavern perhaps?”

  Fronto smiled, heaving a sigh of relief. Now he was heading for familiar territory: women that wanted to use him.

  “I don’t think that’s a very good idea. You see, I’m pretty sure that men usually fall over their tongue when they talk to you and would happily knife their grandmother to spend a night with you but, while you’re very attractive, I’m quite used to dangerous women. I still limp slightly after an encounter with a German woman. I really don’t fancy being the next man to have to defend himself in court because you’ve changed your fickle mind.”

  Clodia flashed an angry glance at him.

  “I had you measured as a better man than this, Marcus Falerius Fronto. You have an opportunity with me to gain a little advantage over my brother and I strongly suggest you take it. He and I are siblings; we are not friends.”

  Fronto smiled unpleasantly.

  “That’s as maybe, but I leave politics in the hands of politicians and if I’m going to spend time with vicious women, I prefer ones that bite to ones that corrupt from within.”

  Withdrawing his arm, he nodded at her.

  “I suspect you can safely make your own way home, lady Clodia, and I also believe that if I have to spend any more time listening to your lies, I might have to go to the baths on the way home to wash the stink of corruption off me. Good aft
ernoon.”

  He turned his back on her furious features and strode off.

  “Walk very carefully, Fronto” she shouted after him. “My brother is not the only one with friends in low places.”

  Fronto sighed. Why was it that every woman he ever met wanted to either use him, or change him, or both? His sister pictured him as a future Consul, Balbus’ wife, Corvinia, had contemplated marrying him off to her daughter, Longinus’ widow had seen him as a replacement for her husband, and that Belgic woman last year…

  He suddenly realised he’d never even known her name. Shaking his head, he drew his thoughts back to the immediate situation.

  The next month was going to be interesting. Tense… but interesting.

  Chapter 4

  (Martius: Rome. The house of the Falerii on the Aventine)

  Fronto rubbed his head vigorously with the towel. He’d only been outside for ten minutes, but the rain was so torrential that it felt as though he’d done several lengths of the pool at the baths.

  “All this for bloody breakfast!”

  Priscus, sitting warm and dry on the small seat by the altar to the lares and penates in the vestibule, laughed.

  “Well if you wouldn’t wind your sister up so much, life would be much easier for you.”

  Fronto glared at his friend but, in truth, Priscus was absolutely right. He’d been very hung over this morning and Faleria had rubbed him up the wrong way, causing him to become increasingly unhelpful and childish. In the end, she had thrown up her arms and told him he could sit and simmer until he’d changed his attitude. Fronto had been happy at the time to see her go, but it was almost a quarter of an hour later before he realised that she had accompanied her mother and taken the slaves with her. Fronto was alone in the house with Priscus and Caelius and no amount of exploring the working area of the house had turned up bread, butter, cheese or milk.

  Shunning the remains of the unfinished wine and something grey on a stick he’d bought from a street vendor on the way home last night and had not been able to face since, he’d eventually come to the conclusion that if they wanted to eat, he was going to have to brave the rain and go to the bakery two streets down toward the Porta Capena.

  Shaking wildly like a dog after a dip in the river, Fronto grunted, picked up his soggy shopping and nodded at the altar on the way past.

  “Let’s go get breakf…”

  He was interrupted by a knock at the door behind him and for a moment continued walking before realising that nobody would be opening it for him. He grinned. This was more like being back in Gaul: uncomfortably damp, getting hungry and having to do everything for himself. Throwing the wet shopping bag to Priscus, he turned on his heel and walked to the door, flinging it open, trying his best to mimic the humble stance of a house slave.

  “Can I ‘elps thee, master?”

  The wet and disgruntled face of Gaius Julius Caesar, Proconsul of Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul and of Illyricum, glared down at him, half a dozen togate figures gathered around behind him.

  “If this is supposed to be funny, Fronto, you’re far from the mark, as usual.”

  Fronto rolled his eyes. Bloody typical.

  “You’ve chosen a nice day to visit, Caesar” he said, straightening. “I wondered where all this sudden rain came from. You must have brought it with you from Illyricum.”

  “Is there any danger of you inviting us in out of the downpour?” the general asked, his eyes beginning to narrow in irritation.

  “By all means, general. I’d invite you all for breakfast, but I have a single loaf of bread, some cheese that may well be out of date, an amphora of wine with things floating in it and something dead and sticky on a stick. You might be better not taking me up on the offer.”

  The general glared at Fronto as he strode in past him and removed the crimson cloak, raking fingers through his thinning hair and discarding droplets of water to the marble floor. Behind him, the men in togas shrugged off their own cloaks and used them to rub their heads. They may be dressed as Roman gentlemen, but Fronto knew the bearing of a soldier when he saw it. He didn’t know these men; Caesar must have brought new blood in from Illyricum. They all looked vaguely Greek. Except.

  “I know you from somewhere.”

  The man bowed his head, a crown of shiny skin showing through the curly brown hair.

  “Appius Coruncanius Mamurra. We’ve met a few times, Fronto. Your sister invites me to her socials. Admittedly I’m often late, and the last time I attended, you and your friends were already in the garden, peeing in the fountain.”

  Fronto cast his eyes downward. Damn it. This was why he was more comfortable in the field. He nodded.

  “Mamurra. I’ve heard Tetricus talk of you. Famous engineer, right?”

  The man bowed again and Fronto tried not to stare at the shiny pink circle in the middle of the man’s hair.

  “I have been known to build the odd thing, yes.”

  Fronto grinned at Caesar.

  “You’ve something in line for the campaigning season then?”

  Caesar, having wrung most of the water from his clothing, pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Not exactly, Fronto. Shall we go and sit down to talk?”

  Fronto shrugged.

  “By all means, but we should go to the triclinium, there’s a guest in the main room sleeping off the effects of last night. Galronus is around somewhere; possibly in the garden face down. Shall I fetch him?”

  Caesar shook his head.

  “Not so important. It’s you and Priscus I’m here to see.”

  Shivering in the cold, damp air, he turned to follow Fronto into the dining room. The general stopped to nod at Priscus with a measure of respect and familiarity. The Camp-Prefect-in-waiting gave a small bow in return and then followed the group in, limping with a rhythmic grunt.

  Once the party were all seated, Caesar stretched and locked Fronto with a searching gaze.

  “I’ve only been back in the city for a few hours and already I hear the most astounding rumours about your activities, Fronto. My niece is very well informed. I look forward to hearing all about it, but first let me give you a ‘heads up’ as they say.”

  Fronto nodded. All business; something had unsettled the general.

  “A message reached me a few weeks ago at Salona, courtesy of Brutus’ mother Sempronia here in the city. It would appear that young Crassus, busy wintering away in northwestern Gaul, is about to cause a Gallic uprising; or possibly he has already done so.”

  Fronto groaned.

  “I was really beginning to hope we’d settled things in Gaul. Every year we go there, have to sort some arrogant bastard out and then you announce that Gaul is conquered again… until the next rebel pops up.”

  Caesar nodded grimly.

  “It is very much as you say and, I have to admit, it’s starting to make me look bad in the eyes of the senate. I cannot keep pronouncing Gaul conquered and then having to go back and sort the damn place out again forever. But it’s a little… delicate. I have a great deal tied up in my alliance with his father; as much as I do with Pompey, if not more. I cannot simply remove the runt and send him running back to daddy. So, sadly, we’re going to have to go and make sure this revolt either doesn’t happen at all, or fails to become noteworthy back home.”

  Fronto sighed and reached across to Priscus, motioning for him to pass the bread and cheese. As he did so, Fronto shrugged.

  “I’ve sort of been expecting the call to arms, anyway. It’s a few weeks earlier than I expected, but still…”

  Caesar shook his head and then reached out speculatively for the loaf of bread that Fronto had finished with and was about to discard.

  “May I? Don’t panic over the call, though, as I’m not planning to head out for a few weeks yet. There are things I need to do in Rome: I have to see Crassus and Pompey, and spend a little time with Atia and her family. I have to renew a few acquaintances, and pass on my gratitude to Sempronia. It was she who
knew to send the message from her son on to Illyricum. Besides, half the staff officers and legates will need to be informed and gathered. I believe Crispus is here somewhere?”

  Priscus nodded.

  “He’s returned to staying at his family’s house on the Esquiline, general. I think he’s sick of waking up with a bad head.”

  Fronto hurriedly chewed through his mouthful, speaking with a mouth packed with bread and cheese and dropping crumbs onto the floor.

  “If Crassus is causing that much shit, shouldn’t we get back as fast as possible?”

  Caesar shook his head.

  “Gaul may be important, but it’s only one of my worries at the moment. Besides, young Brutus seems to be keeping things in order, with the help of some of the veterans. He’s even gone as far as building a fleet on the Loire to prepare to deal with the coastal tribes.”

  Fronto nodded appreciatively.

  “He does think ahead, that one. Clever lad.”

  “So…” the general said, pulling himself up a little in his seat, “what’s this I hear about you getting involved with half the criminals and politicians of Rome?”

  Fronto took another bite of cheese and shrugged.

  “Your friend Clodius is messing with things. Him and his sister, anyway. They’ve taken Caelius to court and Cicero and Crassus are defending him. Well…” he added with a grin, “they’re defending him in court. Me and Priscus and a bunch of lads with stout wooden clubs are defending him everywhere else. It’s him that’s asleep on the couch in the other room.”

  “Indeed” Caesar nodded. “I’d heard that he was involved. You do know, I presume, that Caelius Rufus is one of the names on a list I have of people that work for Clodius and cannot be trusted and will need to be dealt with in due course?”