Marius' Mules V: Hades' Gate

by S. J. A. Turney

  Fronto stepped away from the door for a moment, his arms unfolding.

  "What?"

  "I can believe that you detach yourself from the deaths of so many unnamed comrades at the hands of those Gallic savages, but I am led to understand that young Crispus was a close friend. Have you not the urge to chastise his killers?"

  "Crispus?" Fronto snapped, stepping forward again. His mind filled with flashes of the young legate, his fresh, boyish face at odds with the uniform he wore. In another world, Crispus might have been his son. He was actually of an age to be, and yet was as good a friend as Balbus in the next room.

  "Crispus is dead?"

  Clodius' face became a picture of surprise and Fronto narrowed his eyes. The man appeared to be genuinely taken aback.

  "You haven't been informed? Strange. He fell to a treacherous Gaul some months ago during an attempted escape by an Aeduan prisoner. His ashes were brought back to the city and will be interred in the family mausoleum by now." He stood slowly. "I do apologise for breaking the news so suddenly. I assumed you knew. I feel bound to make one last plea on behalf of our mutual benefactor. Caesar needs good men in Gaul and he recognises you as one of them. Will you go?"

  Fronto turned and pulled open the door he had been leaning against. His eyes were cold and flinty. "Tell the general in your next letter that I am truly sorry to decline and that in the future, when circumstances allow, I would reconsider, but for now I must look to my family."

  Clodius nodded.

  "Then I had best leave. Perhaps Caesar will extend his generosity in future times. I would rather we served the same master than meet as enemies."

  Fronto's glare hardened further. "If I ever return to Caesar, it will be to serve with him, not to serve him and, whatever the future might hold, you and I will never be less than enemies. Pompey and Milo may be mutual adversaries, but the divide between you and I is uncrossable, Clodius Pulcher. Thank you for your offer but now you must leave, and you are no longer welcome in the house of the Falerii."

  Clodius simply smiled his snake smile again and walked calmly past Fronto and out into the atrium. His host followed and paused for a moment in the doorway. Balbus now had his gladius unsheathed and was running the fingers of his left hand over the point in a decidedly threatening manner. A few paces away Galronus stood, arms folded, blocking the way out towards the garden, his face sour yet unreadable.

  Crossing the atrium, Fronto opened the house's main door once more and waited as the unwelcome guest passed through and into the street. Clodius turned on the step to speak, but the door closed in his face as he began.

  Turning back from the portal, Fronto peered into the atrium and walked slowly back towards the two men there.

  "Crispus is dead."

  His eyes narrowed as Balbus stepped back, this fresh unpleasant news managing even to break through the shell of obdurate and implacable emotionlessness that the older man had worn since the death of his wife. Galronus, however, looked distinctly uneasy.

  "You knew?"

  The Remi nobleman nodded slowly.

  "How?"

  "A letter from Priscus. It came for you a week or so ago."

  "And you opened it?"

  "You had a lot on your mind, as did Balbus. I saw no harm in it, but when I read the news…" he sighed. "Well, I hardly thought that this was the time to burden you both. After all, he didn't fall in battle, but was killed in cold blood by a rebel. You were in no fit state to hear that then. I thought perhaps in a month or two, when things had calmed down…"

  Fronto's hand came up threateningly as he took a step angrily towards his friend, but Balbus was suddenly between them.

  "He's right, Fronto. It's just added misery and another step on the stairway to Hades. Don't know about you, but I'd rather not have known. We'll mourn him tonight with Corvinia, and tomorrow we'll start work on revenge. First the Germanic monstrosity who killed my wife, and then we'll look to the sons of Celtic whores who killed our friend."

  Fronto stood for a moment, his gaze swapping back and forth between the two men.

  "I want to see that letter, Galronus. Whatever your intentions, don't keep things like that from me again. I want you and Palmatus to go down to the markets and fill a cart with everything we need for a proper send off for Corvinia and Crispus. And don't stint on the wine. Get a lot - good stuff too."

  "I will, Marcus. But there's something else you need to see, first."

  Fronto's brow creased again at the strange tone of his friend's voice.

  "What?"

  "In the garden."

  * * * * *

  For the second time that morning, Fronto stopped dead at a doorway, surprised by what he saw.

  On the gravel walkway around the small fountain, which was now missing a number of pieces of decorative stonework following their regular sparring sessions, stood Masgava and Palmatus, each with a drawn sword - one a notched gladiatorial sica and the other a well-used military gladius. Both blades' points were hovering a hair's breadth from either side of their prisoner's neck.

  Fronto took two more steps out into the garden, Galronus at one shoulder and Balbus at the other, and shook his head in bemusement at the surprises the day was bringing.

  "Paetus? What in the name of seven stinking latrine demons are you doing in my garden?"

  The former Camp Prefect of Caesar's army, betrayed by both Clodius and the general, presumed dead on a Belgic battlefield and now back in Rome vowing revenge on his betrayers, smiled coldly.

  "It's been a long time, Fronto. Could you have these two raise their blades, you think?"

  Masgava and Palmatus kept their weapons hovering over his jugular.

  "I don't think so."

  Galronus kicked something across the floor and Fronto looked down to see a bronze dagger with a wide crosspiece moulded straight to the blade and tapering slowly to an almost needle-point. A Parthian weapon, if Fronto was any judge.

  "This yours?"

  Paetus nodded fractionally, aware that too much head movement could draw blood in his current situation.

  "You know I have no grudge against you, Fronto. Jove, I've even saved your life a couple of times."

  "No quarter offered, Paetus, until you tell me what you're doing armed in my garden."

  "Can't you guess, Marcus?" He sighed. "Missing an opportunity is what."

  Palmatus pricked the very tip of his blade into Paetus' neck, drawing a tiny bead of blood. "This piece of shit was lurking on the roof, looking down into your atrium, Fronto. Masgava knocked me back to the rear wall when we were fighting, which is bloody lucky, else we wouldn't have seen him at all."

  Masgava nodded.

  "You're after Clodius?" Fronto asked quietly. "I assumed you'd given up or gone to ground. I've not heard a word of you for over a year." Shaking his head, he gestured to the two men beside the prisoner. "You can let him go. He was here to try and kill Clodius. Can't blame him for that - I felt the urge myself, frankly."

  As the two men lowered their swords, Fronto bent and picked up the eastern knife.

  "Not over-keen on you attempting to murder a prominent politician under my roof, though, Paetus. I'd prefer it if you could keep your private war out of my house."

  The former prefect rubbed his neck, looking at the smear of crimson on his finger as it came away.

  "You've some good men here, Fronto. Quick and steady." Stretching, he shrugged. "I've been itching to get to the slimy piece of crap for over a year, but he's permanently protected. I've come close three times now and even managed to get into his house once, but every close call just makes the man more paranoid and draw another level of armour round him. I almost couldn't believe my eyes when he walked unescorted into your house. He doesn't even visit his own clients without an armed guard."

  Fronto tossed the Parthian blade into the air, watching it twist as it rose and fell and then catching it by the point and proffering it to Paetus, who took it and sheathed it at his belt.

&n
bsp; "So you took your opportunity?"

  "You'd be surprised how easy it is to get onto your roof unseen. You might want to look at that, given the number of enemies you have, Fronto."

  "I'll manage."

  Paetus nodded towards the small table by the stone bench where the Jewish physician had furled his scrolls and was watching with interest. On the table sat a bowl of fruit.

  "May I?"

  "Be my guest," Fronto replied, "since you apparently are anyway."

  Paetus reached out and took an apple, shining it on his tunic and then taking a bite and savouring the taste.

  "I miss fresh fruit."

  Fronto simply raised his eyebrow questioningly. Paetus grinned. "Sadly, my family's few remaining funds ran out during the winter and I was forced to seek employment in order to fund my ongoing campaign to bring down that monster and his master."

  Since Fronto remained silent and questioning, Paetus took another bite and shrugged again.

  "I've signed on with Annius Milo."

  Galronus and Balbus were suddenly next to the man, three blades wavering at him as Galronus cracked his knuckles. Fronto smiled unpleasantly.

  "Milo has no friends here, Paetus. I think you've just outstayed your welcome."

  "Come on, Fronto. Milo holds you in surprisingly high esteem, no matter what Pompey might do. And I'm no Pompeian myself - they're just a means to an end. If anyone other than me stands a chance of gutting Clodius it's him."

  "Still, I think it's time for you to go."

  Paetus smiled and chewed on the apple. "By all means. But I think it only fair to warn you that you might want to think about leaving too."

  "Milo doesn't scare me, Paetus."

  "It's not Milo to whom I refer. Pompey has given us strict instructions that we are not to lay a finger on you. I suspect he worries that any further interference will damage his political standing in the city. No… there's others that you need to worry about."

  Balbus' blade touched Paetus' breastbone, forcing the man to step back almost into the pond.

  "Berengarus the German? His time is almost up."

  The former prefect nodded. "He's a big one, but I can see how you lot would have no fear of him. Yet I still think you need to reconsider."

  "Why?" interjected Elijah, leaning forward from his seat and grasping a plum from the bowl. "What has changed?"

  Paetus rolled his shoulders. "Yesterday we escorted Pompey to the Carcer."

  Fronto had a flash-memory of the unpleasant, dark prison with its animalistic denizens shuffling around behind the bars; the wraith that had addressed him when he visited.

  "The carcer?"

  "Yes. The great Pompey, in a moment of magnanimity, ordered that all the inmates he had interred there be freed."

  Fronto squeezed his eyes shut. "And Berengarus was there too, I have no doubt."

  "He was in the street out the front, yes."

  "Did you hear anything more?"

  "Sadly, not. We were simply escorting the general. Beyond hearing the initial order I was kept busy, but I think I can extrapolate on what's about to happen. As, I note from your expression, can you."

  Balbus turned his head sharply. "Fronto?"

  "There are some wicked, horribly dangerous men in there, Quintus. Or there were. Freed and on the streets, they'll have had nowhere to go, but I suspect the big German has a job or two for them."

  Paetus smiled. "As I said, we were told not to harm you, so that's exactly what I shall do. We weren't told the Carcer visit was a secret, though, so there you are. Consider it a friendly and timely warning, for the sake of the old days. You've a bad history of getting the shit kicked out of you in this house. Run away, Fronto, while you still can."

  Fronto pinched the bridge of his nose and gestured with his thumb over his shoulder towards the atrium. Masgava and Palmatus escorted Paetus from the garden. There were no goodbyes but, as the man disappeared into the darkness, he said "Run, Fronto."

  He opened his eyes to find Balbus staring at him.

  "What?"

  "We can't run, Marcus. The monster needs to die for what he's done."

  "I don't disagree, Balbus, but we're not talking about one man now; we might be talking a dozen, and they're mostly going to be very experienced killers. I cannot imagine what was going through Pompey's mind. He's unleashed a plague just to get at me."

  Balbus took a step forward. "Don't tell me you're actually thinking of running away, Marcus."

  Fronto shook his head and heaved in a deep breath.

  "Not as such…"

  "Marcus, I have to see this through. Even if you run, I cannot."

  "I don't want to run, Quintus, but we're just hopelessly unprepared to deal with this. Alright there are six of us here right now, and even though I'm sure Galronus will stay with us whatever happens, Palmatus and Masgava are free men. They are entitled to leave. And the good physician over there? Well it's not his fight and even if he decided to stay, he's hardly a bred killer! Two years running now I've fought for my life in this place. It's not lucky. Fortuna's gaze doesn't fall on this house no matter how much I pray to her, and you heard how easily Paetus found it to get in."

  "You are?" Balbus snapped. "You're thinking of running away."

  The two men glared at one another for a moment and the tension rose even with the return of the two warriors from the doorway into the garden.

  A cough finally broke the silence. Both men looked around to see Elijah rise from the bench.

  "What?" snapped Fronto, somewhat unfairly.

  "May I interrupt?" When neither man argued, the swarthy medic reached up and scratched his chin.

  "It seems you are being offered both a problem and an opportunity."

  "Explain?" asked Balbus sharply.

  "I have not been privy to all of your discussions, obviously, gentlemen, but I do believe that you, master Fronto, wish to see your family safe so that you can look to your future career. You, master Balbus, seek revenge for your lovely wife, and while I cannot condone such a course of action, I can entirely understand it and sympathise. Neither of you feel this is the correct time and place to fight them. You are, by your own admission, unprepared, and you worry about the family you have back at your villa in Puteoli."

  "That's not an explanation."

  "If these people are as bad as you say, staying here and fighting, master Balbus, would leave your families unprotected so many miles away, and these may be the sort of people who would enjoy causing you pain by bringing violence against those you love? Witness the death of Corvinia."

  Balbus' face drained of colour.

  "He's right, Fronto. They've been loose since yesterday. What if they're not coming for us? What if they're already half way to Puteoli?"

  Fronto nodded, appearing calm, though his eyes had taken on a worried wideness.

  "Precisely" the Jew replied calmly. "I am given to understand that you are familiar with the land there?"

  Fronto nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing in comprehension. "I spent much of my life there."

  "And while these unpleasant murderers may well be overly familiar with the streets of Rome…"

  "They will be totally un-familiar with Puteoli" Fronto finished, turning to Balbus. "He's right. It doesn't matter whether they've gone or not and whether the girls are there or we send them somewhere secret, we should go there. Get the bastards into my world. I'm sick of spending all my time reacting to problems caused by others. I'm always either struggling to make Caesar's more impetuous plans work or stumbling around in the dark trying to avoid dying at the hands of some piece of shit like Clodius or Hortius and Menenius. It's time I started to take a bit more control."

  Balbus sheathed his sword, suddenly all urgent business.

  "Time is of the essence, though, Fronto."

  "What of the funeral feast?" Palmatus asked quietly from the doorway.

  "To Hades with tradition. The girls are more important."

  "Of course."

/>   "What's the fastest way to Puteoli?" Balbus asked Fronto, wiping his sweaty brow.

  "About two and a half days by horseback riding every available hour. We can shave off maybe half a day by taking a change of horses with us."

  "Not so, gentlemen" the Jewish physician smiled, twisting the half-eaten plum in his hand.

  "How so?"

  "A liburnian vessel with a good captain can cover the distance by sea in less than a day and a half if the weather is right and the ship unburdened."

  Fronto turned to the man. "How do you know such things?"

  "You think I walked here from Judea? I am a veritable fount of knowledge, good sir."

  Balbus nodded. "It'll cost a fortune if we want the ship to ourselves without a cargo."

  "We can pay it, Quintus. And even if those murderers are on their way already, we might be able to get there first. If not, we'll have time to prepare for them." He scowled. "Of course it'll take me half a day to stop bringing up my stomach contents when we get there, but it's still worth it."

  He spun around and looked at the others.

  "None of you owe us anything."

  "You're still paying me" Masgava replied with a half-smile.

  "Well, if you're paying?" added Palmatus with a grin.

  "Thank you. But you, Elijah, I think we are parting ways."

  The physician pursed his lips. "I will not take part in your fight, I'm afraid, no. Hippocrates himself bade those of the medical profession pledge to keep all from harm and, while I can see the need for a judicious bending of that rule, I will not break it to kill outright. But I have a duty to care for the young girl until such time as she sees fit to grace us with her light once more. I presume you are not amenable to leaving her in my care in the city?"

  Balbus shook his head vehemently.

  "Then I will have to join you on your journey, if only for her sake. I can keep her and the ladies company while you soldiers of Rome fight the good fight."

  Fronto nodded, his face serious, reflecting that of his older friend. "In that case, Palmatus, consider yourself on a retainer. You do a good job and you can name your own damn wage… same for you Masgava. Medicus? I'll leave it to Balbus to make any arrangements with you, but I'm grateful for your help. And you Jews are supposed to have a direct line to some powerful God if I remember rightly. I'll take it kindly if you'll throw a word in with him for us, since mine seem to be suspiciously absent these days."