Brutus nodded.
“And then we head back to Rome. Not the legions, though. Where will they go?”
Fronto finished undoing his cuirass and let it fall unceremoniously to the floor with a clank.
“They’ll be posted somewhere in the north. Probably not around here though, or it would work against our potential peaceful relations. Maybe back towards Armorica, or towards the Rhine.”
Brutus smiled and leaned back.
“And then we go south to Italia and the warmth of home.”
Fronto turned a wicked grin on him.
“Not you, I fear. You still have a fleet to attend to. Caesar was talking about them, wondering whether to leave them anchored in the west, or bring them up to the north coast, or even take them back to the Mare Nostrum. You could have the fun of leading them through the pillars of Hercules!”
Brutus glared at him.
“That’s not funny.”
“Not meant to be. But it is.”
He ignored the dark look on the man’s face and reached for his refilled goblet.
“I, on the other hand, along probably with the general and any senior officers returning to Rome by land, will head for Massilia and check in on Balbus. I can’t wait to see the old sod again and make sure he’s alright.”
Carbo shook his head sadly.
“It’s been a very long time since I saw Rome.”
“You must be due leave?” Fronto frowned. “I could always arrange it for you? Your second can keep the legion in order while you’re away.”
The primus pilus laughed.
“It would be nice, but not right now. When the campaign’s definitely over and the legions are pulled south I’ll take the time. For now I need to stay with the Tenth.”
Fronto smiled.
“Ever the professional.”
“One of us has to be!” Carbo grinned.
Crispus leaned back and sighed.
“Do you think that’s it? Is Gaul finally pacified?”
“For now” Fronto replied with a shrug. “We can just hope it stays this way. Rome could do with these people, you know? I’ve watched the Thirteenth and Fourteenth legions, with all their Gaulish legionaries, and Galronus’ cavalry, and they bring a certain something to the army that it was lacking. I don’t know what you’d call it? Inventiveness? Freshness? Spirit? I don’t know, but whatever it is, we needed it.”
Brutus nodded and raised his cup.
“To Gaul and Rome… to Roman Gaul.”
Chapter 20
(October: the hills above Massilia.)
Fronto reined in and took a deep breath, half in relief and half in nervous anticipation. He almost jumped in the saddle as the general’s hand fell gently on his shoulder.
“You go on first, Fronto. I doubt it would be conducive to good health to have the entire sweaty, travel-worn officer corps follow you in. We will stay here and break our fast until you are ready for company.”
Fronto looked around into the general’s serious, sympathetic gaze and nodded quietly. He wasn’t at all sure about this, now. It had been months since Balbus had left the army and been taken south, pale and gaunt.
After Fronto’s escapade in the Belgic forests, the northeast had settled remarkably swiftly. From the rumours he had heard that next week in camp, the Menapii and Morini had returned to their lands in triumph, considering their resistance a success and claiming to have held off the might of Rome, yet they had notably resumed their peaceful life and trade with the garrison at Nemetocenna while conveniently forgetting about the large Roman army camped in the centre of their territory. Caesar had been irritated by the locals’ attitude, but had been relieved enough that the last resistance in Gaul had finally settled that he had overlooked the situation and allowed them to claim their petty victory, while he prepared to end the season’s campaign.
Early the next week, the army had been sent along the coast to winter there under the steady and stable command of Sabinus, while many of the senior officers prepared to travel back to Rome or to their estates in Cisalpine Gaul, Illyricum or Italy.
The two week journey across the length of Gaul had been swift and purposeful, every member of the group itching to return to their homes, supported by Caesar’s cavalry guard under Aulus Ingenuus, while the baggage train trundled along many days behind under heavy guard. All the way, Fronto had been almost twitching with the need to see his old friend and confirm for himself that everything was truly alright and yet now, as he sat ahorse on the hill above Balbus’ rural villa, the churning waters of the Mare Nostrum and the hectic bustle of Massilia below and beyond, he finally had pause to worry.
Had Balbus even made it back here? There had been no word; the aging legate would not have sent couriers to Caesar anyway, given the likelihood the entire army would have moved on long before then. What if he had reached this place and then the final boatman had come for him before Fronto arrived? If he was in fine health, would he even be pleased to see Fronto?
The legate shifted uneasily in his saddle and became aware that the gathered officers of Caesar’s army, particularly the longer-serving ones, were watching him intently.
“Best go, then” he said, his voice cracking slightly, and he kicked his horse into life and walked Bucephalus slowly down toward the villa.
The outbuildings were quiet, the orchards heavy and laden with unharvested fruit, the grass long and wild, causing a nervous lump to appear in Fronto’s throat as he rode past them and toward the main house. It would have been easiest to approach through the orchard at the rear of the house, but certain proprieties had to be maintained.
The front of the villa was exactly as Fronto remembered from their brief stop on the way to Gaul. The roses that had been lovingly grown and carefully trained grew up the white walls, reaching toward the red tiled roof and providing just the right splash of colour to make the place look truly homely. No group waited at the gate to speak to him this time.
Fronto took a deep breath as he rode to the front gate and dismounted slowly and nervously. There was no movement in the doorway or the few external windows as he tied the reins to the post and walked quietly down the path.
The door stood firmly shut and again Fronto hesitated as he reached it. Biting the inside of his cheek, he reached out finally and gave three sharp raps on the wood. There was silence and his heart rose into his mouth as he stood in the sweet-smelling garden watching for any movement out of the corner of his eye.
He actually jumped a little when there was a heavy metallic click and the door swung inwards. A house slave, thin and tall and likely as old as his master looked Fronto up and down and gave a curt bow. The legate faltered again. The man bore such a serious expression.
“Marcus Falerius Fronto to see your master” he finally said and hoped he’d managed to keep the rising worry out of his voice.
The man gave him a sad look and then stepped to one side.
“If you would care to follow me, sir, I shall lead you to the summer triclinium. The sunlight this time of year brings the room to life.”
Again, the legate faltered as he followed the slave into the house.
“Master Fronto?”
He stopped, his brow raised in surprise as he turned to look down the corridor to the peristyle garden and its covered walkway. Balbina, the household’s youngest daughter, had stopped as she appeared in the corridor from a side room and was staring at him, the glass of water in her hand suddenly forgotten.
Fronto smiled and the slave came to a halt as he waited patiently. The sight of the young lady was a welcome one; a sign that something of ordinary life went on in the house.
“Balbina?”
“Oh, master Fronto. We wondered whether you would ever come?”
Again, the legate’s heart skipped a beat. Was there something hidden in that?
“You did?”
“Yes. Father has been getting more irritable as the season wore on. He was sure you would be here before the summer’s
end.”
A massive weight suddenly left Fronto’s chest and he felt himself relax almost to the point of collapse.
“Everything was so quiet… I thought…” he shook his head. “Where is your father?”
The girl wandered across to him and he crouched to meet her smiling countenance.
“He is in the store room. The merchant in Ostia has sent him the wrong wine and he is busy checking each amphora, just in case.”
Fronto laughed.
“Obviously I had more effect on him that I realised. Can you take me to him?”
The slave cleared his throat.
“Pardon, my lady, but I thought to escort legate Fronto to the summer triclinium before I fetched your father?”
Fronto narrowed his eyes at the stressed words, but spun back to Balbina as she replied with a smile “Ah, yes the summer triclinium. A perfect idea. Keep him company Caro, while I fetch father.”
Fronto straightened, his frown still deep as the young lady danced off down the corridor whence she had come. Turning his suspicious frown on the slave, he nodded.
“Lead on, then, Caro.”
What the slave had said about the summer triclinium had been an understatement. The arcade of windows that looked out into the central garden gave a stunning view of the apple, orange and lemon trees outside in their varying stages of ripeness, but the real effect was that caused by the golden sun lighting the red tiles of the veranda opposite and its columns of yellow African marble and the reflected glow this brought to the room.
It was a beautiful sight, and yet Fronto found his attention drawn more to the figure lounging on one of the couches by a low table laden with fruit.
“Lucilia?”
The knowing looks on the faces of slave and young girl alike suddenly fell into place as Balbus’ older daughter looked up, her eyelashes fluttering masterfully, her fingers teasing the bunch of grapes. Fronto suddenly felt warm and extremely uncomfortable.
“Thank you Caro. I shall entertain our guest until father returns.”
Fronto’s mind ran through a number of reasons to protest, but failed to find his voice before the slave had bowed and retreated from the room.
“The Gaulish air seems to suit you, Marcus. You appear in fine health. Ruddy, even.”
Fronto silently cursed the colour rising in his face.
“You look… nice, Lucilia. How are you enjoying country life?”
She laughed, and the sound sent a tingle up Fronto’s spine. He collapsed heavily onto one of the couches.
“I tire of fruit and fields, to be honest” she said, her face slightly lowered in such a careful way as to accentuate her piercing blue eyes with their kohl-blackened lining. Fronto swallowed.
“Yes… well, I’m a city man myself. Pavement and… and so on” he finished weakly. He was finding it extremely hard not to focus on her low neckline with the way the golden glow from the window seemed to focus there.
Lucilia laughed again.
“Father will be very pleased to see you. I’m sure he’s rushing through the villa as we speak at a break-neck speed somewhat detrimental to his health.”
Fronto looked up, tearing his eyes from her chest as he gratefully found a subject to concentrate on.
“How is your father’s health? I have worried all season.”
Lucilia smiled warmly.
“He appears to have taken what happened on duty as a warning. He has slowed his pace of life a great deal, though not” she added drily “his love of the vine. I fear that comes from his association with his colleagues.”
Fronto smiled.
“Wine never did anyone real harm.”
“Perhaps.” She sighed. “No, father is actually in as good a health as I have seen him in years. He plans great works for the villa, but truly few of them are started as he seems to prefer to walk in the orchards and to pop down to the town to visit the markets.”
“Good,” Fronto said with a relieved sigh. “And your mother?”
“Mother is good. She will be busy finalising everything now that she knows you’re here.”
Once more, Fronto’s brow fell into his customary frown, but before he could say anything, there was a shout from the corridor.
“Marcus? By all the Gods it was about time you showed up.”
Fronto stood as Balbus appeared, clad in his tunic and breeches and nothing more. He looked so out of place without the addition of sword and cuirass it took a moment to adjust. Balbus had thinned down considerably in the few months, though not unhealthily so. He appeared more lithe and muscular than he had when he had carried the extra meat required in the field.
“You look so much better than I feared, my friend.”
“It’s been months, Marcus. I’ve had time to recuperate. What kept you?”
Fronto rolled his eyes.
“Gaul, as usual, kept its claws in us until winter was threatening. Finally, I think we can say we have the whole damned place under control. Most of the officer corps is waiting on the hill above to come and check on you, but they deferred to me first.”
He felt something brush his wrist and shuddered involuntarily, turning to see that Lucilia had stood and crossed the room to his side.
“I must go and make sure that mother is being thorough. I will see you later, Marcus.”
He stuttered an affirmative noise as she raised herself on her toes and kissed his cheek before sweeping from the room as though she were floating.
“You’ve gone red” Balbus said with a smile.
“Lucilia’s changed. She’s quite… forward.”
Again the older man laughed.
“She knows what she’s doing. She is the shadow of her mother at that age.”
Fronto nodded and turned, his brow furrowing again.
“What was she saying about her mother finalising things? It sounded like you were expecting me for something.”
Balbus gestured to a seat and clapped his hands. Before they had fully relaxed onto the couches, Caro had reappeared with a tray, two goblets and a jar of wine.
“This would be your ‘wrong’ wine?”
Balbus smiled.
“Happily just mislabelled. I would hate to have had to send it back, given the costs of transporting anything back to Latium.”
The two men sipped and Fronto pursed his lips.
“You neatly avoided my question.”
“I would have preferred to have broached the matter later, at my own leisure.”
“And once I was up to the eyeballs in soothing wine?” Fronto relied astutely.
Balbus smiled.
“I have a favour to ask of you.”
“Go on…”
“Lucilia is to go to Rome. I am contemplating a match between her and a young man of the Caecilii, but I will not confirm anything until she has had the chance to approve or disapprove. I will not match her against her will.”
Fronto nodded, relieved for some unknown reason, by the news.
“Good family, the Caecilii. She could do well. Why with me, though? Would she not be better travelling with you?”
Balbus shrugged.
“The doctor has warned me against strenuous travel for some time yet, and you know the crossing from Massilia in the autumn and winter months. No, I must stay here until the winter is past, but Lucilia must go to Rome.”
Fronto nodded.
“I would be remiss in my duty to a friend if I refused, Quintus. Where will she be staying? With the Caecilii?”
“Hardly, Marcus. It would be rather unseemly, at least until a match is agreed, to land her upon their doorstep. I was hoping…” he smiled weakly. “Well your sister might take her under her wing and…”
Fronto blinked.
“Gods, you want to turn her into another Faleria? Are you mad? Rome trembles at the presence of just one!”
Balbus smiled uncomfortably.
“I was dreading asking you. I have a cousin who can look after her, of course.”
Fronto sat silently, his teeth grinding.
“No. Of course she must stay with Faleria.” He smiled wearily. “I, however, may have to descend on your cousin with a third woman adding to the matriarchy that is my house.”
Balbus laughed.
“I have missed your companionship, Marcus. Will you have time to stay for a few days? Corvinia has everything packed and prepared, of course. She has had for months, in case you flew past in a hurry once again.”
Fronto grinned.
“I am in something of a hurry to get home, for certain, but a few days would hardly cost me the world. Of course, at least for a few hours you are going to have to play host to the general’s staff who are waiting on the hill, no doubt impatiently, to descend on you. There are friends among them, though: Crispus and Varus among others. It may be that Galronus will also arrive shortly. We had word that he and Crassus and a few others passed through Narbo several days ago to meet up with us before we take ship.”
Balbus smiled and leaned back with his goblet.
“Then we had best spend a private half hour in happy contemplation of the vine before we send out to them, eh? I’m sure you have much to tell me.”
Fronto leaned back, reached for the goblet on the table before him and sagged into the chair as the tension of months flooded out along with the easy conversation.
The party of officers had gathered on the roadway in front of the villa. Fronto frowned as he stepped out of the doorway. Caesar and several of the officers who had no connection to Balbus had made their excuses and left politely the day after they had first arrived, not wishing to put any pressure on the family to accommodate so many guests. The rest had respectfully left the villa then and found temporary lodgings in Massilia until Fronto was ready to sail.
He had expected Crispus, Brutus and Varus, and had hoped to see Galronus, since the officers from the Seventh had apparently arrived in Massilia late the previous evening, but the other four were more of a surprise. Roscius, the quiet and thoughtful legate of the Thirteenth, had separated from the other Illyrian officers who would be taking a different ship, and his presence was unexpected. More surprising was that of Crassus and two of his tribunes that Fronto didn’t know and particularly the fact that one of these tribunes stood in pleasant conversation with Galronus and the two were laughing. There would be time to ask questions on the voyage, of course.
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