Marius' Mules V: Hades' Gate

by S. J. A. Turney

  Balventius shook his head. Not from his point of view. The rest of the men were facing the way they were going, eagerly - even hungrily - eying the imagined security of the camp. Not so: Balventius. Being dragged by the shoulders by two burly legionaries, he could not see the ditches and mound of the winter quarters. What he could see were the figures emerging from the treeline some few hundred yards behind them.

  "I think we're out of time" he breathed, causing Petrosidius to turn and pick out the figures.

  "Thought we'd lost the bastards. Oh well. Looks like we'll go down fighting after all."

  The two men tried to make a rough mental estimate of the numbers of the Eburones flooding from the treeline towards them. It was not a good number. It spelled certain defeat even for a full, fresh century, let alone half a century of tired, badly-armed and wounded men.

  The officers looked at one another as the men bearing Balventius bounced him painfully down the first ditch and then up the slope before dropping down into the second.

  "Halt!" he bellowed.

  The legionaries, their endless drilling bringing them to a dead stop with the command despite the situation, glanced back the way they had come. One of them said "but sir... the barbarians?"

  "They'll be on us any moment" Balventius snapped. "We're dead men walking…" he snorted at the irony of the phrase as his two carriers pulled him upright. He looked at Petrosidius. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

  The aquilifer rubbed his brow. "I guess so. Using the ditch?"

  Balventius nodded. "You'd best start running now."

  The standard bearer shook his head. "Bollocksed if I'm going to be the one who carries this news to 'eagle beak'. Besides, you can't stand up. You need a good helping hand here."

  Balventius began to splutter his argument but to his irritation, Petrosidius ignored him entirely and turned to one of the legionaries nearby - a man who was still fully equipped and whole and who appeared of an age to be a reasonable veteran. "Nasica? You're in charge."

  The old soldier frowned. "In charge of what, sir?

  "In charge of the survivors. Take the two best men and this." As the legionary watched in surprise, Petrosidius wrenched the silver eagle from the long, smooth staff and thrust it at him. "Wrap it up and keep it safe. Head south through the forest and try to get to Labienus. He's about three days' march away, but you'll be slowed by the forest. Stay out of sight of everyone. All that matters is that you find Labienus and tell him what happened here. And make sure that if you do get caught, you bury that eagle deep first. That thing never gets into the bastards' hands, alright?"

  Nasica nodded, reverently coddling the eagle.

  "Get moving. Follow the ditch round to the far side of the camp and then break for the trees and don't stop until you find that other camp."

  Even as Nasica turned and grabbed two of his fellows, running away along the deep ditch where the enemy would not be able to see their departure, Petrosidius turned and grinned at Balventius as he drew his blade.

  "Idiot." Balventius grunted. "You should have gone."

  "And miss this?"

  * * * * *

  Lucius Nasica wrapped the precious eagle of the Eighth legion in his spare tunic. He'd long since taken to the habit of carrying his spare tucked discretely into his shield cover, just in case. He and his two closest comrades eyed the dark, threatening gloom of the sacred forest of the Treveri's Goddess ahead. It was said to be haunted and protected by flesh eating spirits. The very idea of spending probably four or five days traversing it and then trying to locate another Roman camp in enemy territory was heart-in-mouth stuff.

  But Nasica had served in the Eighth too many years for comfort. He would sooner twist off his own head than see that eagle fall to the Eburones or their allies. And, of course, news of this disaster had to be brought to Caesar.

  The three men took a deep breath and leapt up from the camp's outer ditch, running for that forbidding forest.

  Halfway across the long stretch of open ground, the veteran glanced back.

  Just once.

  The fight was beginning at the far side of the camp and the sheer numbers of the natives that were pouring across the grass to the ditch made the result inevitable.

  It was over before they reached the 'safety' of darkness beneath the boughs of Arduenna's great woodland. Nasica cast up a quick prayer for the departure of Balventius and Petrosidius, and never looked back again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  NOVEMBRIS

  Balbus strolled slowly out of the bedroom, closing the door carefully and shaking his head.

  "Still nothing?" Fronto enquired soothingly.

  Another shake.

  "She had a shock that no little girl should have. It's going to take her a while. Your Jewish friend is convinced it's all in her mind, though, and there's no physical damage."

  "She's my little girl, Marcus. I'm going to gut someone for this."

  "I think you need to calm down again, Quintus. Every time you look at Balbina you start to boil over. If you go mad off the leash and start chasing that big Germanic killer, they'll be mopping you up off the street. Masgava's the only one of us who would stand a chance against that thing. I think we're all agreed that we need to deal with him carefully, with prior planning."

  "I don't care how it happens, but he needs to be removed from this world for what he's done, Marcus."

  Fronto nodded. "No argument from me. For now, though, we need to deal with the dice as they've landed. It's been nine days, and we should already have arranged the funeral rites and feast for tonight. I'll grant you've been a little preoccupied with Balbina, but for Corvinia's sake it still should be done. I'll ask Galronus and Palmatus to head to the markets and bring back the supplies. I think even Masgava might relent on the free-flowing wine tonight."

  Balbus nodded slowly. The entire group had now spent over a week closeted away in Fronto's house. The Jewish physician and the retired legionary seemed to have become an almost constant fixture, only occasionally returning to their residences to deal with their own affairs. He was starting to wonder what he would have done without the pair.

  "The rest of the family should be there, Fronto - at the feast."

  "All the random cousins and uncles can mourn in their own time and ways. It's more important that she is remembered by those of us who were close. It's a shame that Lucilia won't be here, but…"

  He fell silent, aware that he'd just dredged up yet another worry for his friend. Balbus had been putting off writing the letter to his daughter, and Lucilia was still blissfully unaware of events.

  "Anyway" he went on, "we'll have to take wine to the mausoleum. We'll have to be damn careful this evening that we don't fall foul of Berengarus somewhere in the back streets. On the bright side, with you and me, Galronus, Masgava, Palmatus and Elijah I very much doubt the German bastard will try anything. One against six would be suicide even for him. And I think those of us who held military rank should go in full uniform. The swords will have to stay covered until we're out of the city, but we'll be armed and armoured. Should be enough to put off any potential attack."

  "Let him come" Balbus growled.

  "Everything in good time. First thing's first: we pay due honour and respect to Corvinia. Then we have to decide what to do about the girls down in Puteoli and how we handle Pompey's pet killer."

  A knock at the front door echoed around the atrium in which they stood and Fronto frowned. The six people who had any business in the house were already here, Palmatus and Galronus sparring with Masgava in the peristyle garden and Elijah watching them from a bench where he was poring through Lucilia's collection of texts on plants and herbs.

  Balbus shot him a look, his hand going to the gladius at his waist that had only been removed in the last nine days to facilitate sleep, and that had come in only short and disturbed bursts. Fronto's eyes dropped to the hilt and the fingers caressing it. Several times over the past week he'd had to hold his tongue against expre
ssing his disapproval of the old man being armed in the house, but now, at that single knock, being armed suddenly seemed a good idea and his mind's eye roved back across the garden with its sparring warriors to the storehouse of his father with the swords hanging inside.

  "Be ready, just in case."

  As Balbus nodded, Fronto padded barefoot across to the front door, catching sight of himself in the long bronze mirror Lucilia had installed in the entrance hall to adjust her clothing before heading out into public.

  He cut a very different figure to the man who had stood here and complained about the cost of the enormous mirror. Gone was every ounce of fat, replaced with rippling muscles of the sort he'd not had since the days he served in Hispania. His stance was straight and tall, not the slightly curved and leaning posture of a man with a cripplingly painful knee and a tender back. His eyes were bright, missing the pinkness that was their customary shade. He'd even taken to shaving more than once a week. He had to admit that he looked a decade younger.

  Lucilia would hardly recognise him.

  A second knock reminded him of where he was and he turned and opened the door with a quick nod to Balbus at the side of the entrance hall.

  Fronto's first reaction to the figure standing on the step outside was one of unleashing pent-up anger. His hands twitched as they reached up and out towards the man's neck, but he stopped them with a great effort of willpower and lowered them back to his sides.

  Publius Clodius Pulcher!

  The man was becoming something of a recluse at the moment. While his gangs were still prowling the streets and causing mayhem, occasionally clashing with rivals, the man himself had taken to staying at his palatial and secure townhouse much of the time, only venturing out into the streets when required, and then with a sizeable bodyguard. While his reputation seemed to have lost some of its former tarnish through his close ties to the peoples' beloved Caesar, he was still well-despised by a number of the more important figures in the city - including Pompey and Milo - and his life may well be endangered should he let his defences slip too far.

  And now he was standing not three feet from Fronto - a man who had more reasons than most to wring his scrawny neck.

  The bodyguard were there, though.

  While Clodius stood defenceless and easy before Fronto, the street behind was filled with his killers, leaning against walls and doorways, watching every space intently. He must feel damn certain that Fronto was no impulsive killer.

  It was touch and go whether the man was right.

  Fronto glanced once back at Balbus, whose blade had slipped a few finger-widths from its scabbard. He wondered for just a moment how much good it would do the city just to nod and let Balbus go to work. The older ex-officer was usually too reasoned and honourable a man to even consider such an act, but recent events had robbed a lot of that reason and his eyes were those of a man prepared to take lives.

  Besides, the old man had been one of the voices instrumental in separating Fronto from Caesar, and this creature on the doorstep was Caesar's man in both body and soul now.

  "What do you want?"

  "And good morning to you, Fronto. Might I come in and take a few moments of your time?"

  Fronto tried to put the full extent of his feelings into his look.

  "I try not to let rats nest in my house. I say again, what do you want?"

  Clodius smiled, but not like a rat. It was strange and oily, like a snake smiling.

  "I need to speak to you, Fronto, and what I have to say is not for any wagging ears in the street, or even for your noble friends inside. This is for you alone. I would speak in private, man to man."

  "Man to mollusc, perhaps! After everything you've done, you expect me to actually invite you into my house."

  "My bodyguard will stay outside, Fronto, and I am entirely unarmed."

  The former legate of the Tenth turned and looked at Balbus, back in the hallway. The older man shrugged.

  "I will spare you a few moments," he replied, turning back again, "but bear in mind that I have a number of trained fighters in this house and if I don't like what I hear I might just let them get to work on you. It would, I'm sure, be a benefit to all mankind."

  Clodius' snake-grin widened. "Thank you for your generous and charming acceptance. Shall we?"

  Fronto stepped to one side to allow the toga-clad nobleman entry, loading his gaze with threat as he cast it around the various thugs in the street outside. Clodius nodded amiably to Balbus and strode into the atrium, where he stopped and looked around appreciatively. Behind him Fronto closed the door on the bodyguards and tried not to think how easy it would be to do away with one of Rome's most dangerous and hated men right now.

  "I see your builders have done an excellent job reconstructing the house. I am pleased. Very unfortunate what transpired here a few years ago."

  "Unfortunate?" Fronto snapped as he re-entered the atrium. "As memory serves, it was your doing."

  "The ebb and flow of politics in Rome are unpredictable, Fronto, and sometimes some unpleasant silt and debris is carried in to shore. I most profoundly regret what happened and assure you that I hold no ill-will towards you."

  Fronto blinked in disbelief. "You hold no ill-will toward me?"

  The man continued to smile and Fronto felt the distinct urge to knock his teeth down his throat. He also noted that a statement of regret was hardly the same thing as an apology.

  "Can we step into somewhere private to talk?"

  Fronto frowned at the voluminous toga. "Keep in mind that I'm fast these days. Any concealed knife is unlikely to get as far as my skin before your nose gets broken."

  "I told you I was unarmed."

  "If I told you your presence didn't offend, would that necessarily be a truth?"

  Clodius laughed lightly, a sound that merely heightened Fronto's irritation. "You are a piece of work, Fronto. I can see why the general valued you so."

  "Caesar and I may not be on the best of terms at this point, Clodius, but he has at times commanded my utmost respect. You, however, rate little more than something I scrape off my boot. Come on. Let's make this quick. Every moment you spend under this roof threatens to make me vomit."

  Ignoring the look of genuine humour on the man's face, Fronto directed him to one of the unused bedrooms, where they could speak in private. As Clodius strode across the floor and sat primly on one of the twin chairs by the desk, Fronto simply closed the door and leaned against it.

  "Talk, then."

  "I come with an offer, Fronto; a one-time offer."

  "There is nothing you can offer me that I could want."

  "Don't be so sure."

  Clodius reached into his toga, causing Fronto to flinch momentarily. Despite the man's words, he half expected a knife to emerge. What actually appeared, however, was a rod around a foot long, wrapped in a leather strip that was wound around it in a long spiral.

  "You know what this is?"

  "It's a scytale. Caesar used to use them to transmit coded messages."

  Clodius smiled. "He still does. This one's all ready." He handed it to Fronto, who took it gingerly and turned it slowly, reading the words picked out by their position on the baton.

  RECRUITOFFICERSURGENTLY

  He passed it back and leaned once more.

  "Recruit?"

  "Caesar needs good men. He is facing a great deal of difficulty in Rome, for certain, with Pompey's ties now severed and Crassus absent, as I'm sure you are well aware, and the death of his daughter has hurt him on such a level that he has not even brought himself to mention it since hearing the news. I fear he still denies the truth of it." He sighed. "It also seems that your old comrade Priscus has uncovered something that threatens Caesar's position in Gaul. I am to recruit, as you saw - and urgently. Implied is a fairly open mandate from the general, but he also had some specifics for me in another communique."

  "You want me to run back to Caesar?"

  "It has come to my attention that you are ra
pidly building a group of dangerous enemies in the city. You need the support of the powerful and a level of security that you cannot yourself provide for your friends and family. Caesar can supply the former. I can supply the latter in his name."

  Fronto snorted and folded his arms.

  "Even if Caesar would have me back, you are deranged if you think for one moment that I would place my family in your devious hands."

  "Caesar has mentioned you by name in one of our many missives. You angered him when you turned your back on him last winter, but he is a reasonable man, and a brilliant one. He knows your value and would make this offer himself were he here. But it is, as I say, a one-time offer. Neither he nor I can afford to waste a great deal of time securing your support. He needs you in Gaul more than he ever has, but if you are not ready to take this deal, then I have others to approach in his name and I cannot afford to tarry for games. Time is of the essence."

  Fronto frowned, shaking his head slightly. It was a surprising offer and despite the fact that he would trust a snake sooner than this man, there was little doubt that he spoke the truth. After all, it must be irking Clodius to have to come here with such an offer after the trouble Fronto had dealt him in the past. And to have to enter this house unarmed was a tremendous risk. Caesar must not have asked him to do it; he must have demanded it.

  "I am not unaware of the value of the offer, Clodius, and you can transmit to Caesar a genuine apology that I cannot accept it, but there are matters that need to be attended to here before I can even consider any future moves, and while I would still consider serving Caesar again, I will not ever, in the world of men, place the wellbeing of my loved ones into your treacherous, wicked, devious hands. If it is a one-time offer then I regret saying no, but no it must be."

  Clodius straightened.

  "Sad that your anger blinds you to possibilities. Your distrust of me is greater than your need to stand in the field once more? To conquer the barbarian? To avenge your friend Crispus?"