Conspiracy of Eagles mm-4

by S. J. A. Turney

  “I think not” Fronto said quietly, sheathing his sword and hoisting his kit back onto his shoulder. “If he knows, probably half the people down there do. No one looks too concerned with Silvanus’ absence, and he’s only been dangling there less than a day. Half a day, I’d say. Unless we want to find ourselves facing off against every lowlife in Vienna, we’d best make a sharp exit and get somewhere way south of town for the night.”

  As they peered down the corridor and confirmed no one was watching, Fronto locked the door once more and started to climb out of the window. Galronus cleaned his blade on a piece of the assassin’s tunic he’d ripped off, and sheathed it.

  “You think it’s your tribune friends?”

  “I can’t really think who else it could be. This was deliberately targeted at us; not just aimed for the first Roman officer that came past. They even put an amphora of expensive Sicilian in plain view just to occupy my thoughts and stop me noticing things out of place or wondering about Silvanus. Of course he wouldn’t have gone to Nemausus for stuff — he’d have sent someone. Come on.”

  Fronto padded across the roof of the extension and slid down, dropping to the courtyard.

  Galronus followed suit with more dexterity, landing easily as Fronto winced in pain and rubbed his knee.

  “You’ve got to sort that out” Galronus scolded him.

  “The first chance I get to give it a month’s rest I’ll do just that. Now let’s get the horses and get out of Vienna before we discover that Menenius and Hortius bought every thug in the place.”

  Fronto and Galronus slowed their tired mounts and reined in outside Poseidon’s Palace, the most grandiosely named inn in Massilia. The large building with two wings of accommodation had done its Greek owner extremely well since Caesar’s push into Gaul, being selected as the official stopping point for all officers and couriers passing through the independent city and boarding or disembarking ships. In fact, the Roman traffic through the inn, for which the owner was paid a healthy monthly stipend, had all but driven the free trade from its doors as few locals or merchants could afford to rent a room. Even the decor and the food and drink were now thoroughly catered to Roman tastes.

  The groom, a young man with one leg slightly longer than the other, lurched from the wide gateway of the stables and greeted the two officers pleasantly, his accent that strange mix only found in the former Greek trading colonies of the west.

  The two men nodded and handed their reins over to the servant, patting the steaming flanks of the beasts that had carried them the last leg from Glanum and wishing them well as they ended the horseback segment of their journey. It had been ten days of tense desperation, saddle-sores, constantly changing mounts and rough cots in the small, stockaded way-stations set up by Cita to provide the enormous supply system that flowed from Narbonensis, Massilia and Cisalpine Gaul.

  Ten days of trepidation.

  The incident at Vienna had pushed them to a new turn of speed, having gained them a night with no rest and therefore a further thirty miles under their belts. Neither man had spoken of the attack after they had left the Vienna area almost three days earlier, hurrying through the night to be free from the danger of assassins. That the two tribunes were prepared to take the risks and spend the money paying off local bandits and even murdering settled veterans spoke eloquently of the lengths to which the men were willing to go in removing Fronto from the picture.

  Though neither man voiced it, both Fronto and Galronus had come quickly to the conclusion that the tribunes would have been successful had they themselves sprung the trap, and the fact that they did not and instead entrusted it to the unknown quantity of paid killers suggested that they were otherwise engaged in a task that was too important to delay even for that. Such a task was worrisome indeed.

  His bag of personal kit slung over his shoulder, Fronto strode into the ‘Palace’, Galronus at his heel. The main chamber of the inn, mostly given over to tables for eating, with a fire at the more open end that warmed the room, was thriving, though here and there were spaces still available at tables.

  Their eyes strayed across the occupants — more than ninety per cent of whom were Roman, and rested on the long bar with the innkeeper and his slave working like mad to tend to the custom. They had a more urgent appointment than that, though. Feeling their muscles loosen at the warm and cosy atmosphere, the two officers strode across to the table close to the fire which was stacked with tablets, sheaves of writing wood, styluses and the endless accoutrements of the bureaucracy. The man sitting on the only chair at the desk was the mirror of every mid-level administrator across the Republic: well-dressed above his station and full of self-importance. And yet who could deny him deference, given the vital role he played in the support of Caesar’s campaign?

  Flavius Fimbria was the man with a stranglehold on all travel and goods in or out of Massilia, a man with a plethora of slaves and functionaries, to whom every Roman who passed through the city must speak if he wished to arrange sea passage, horses, a cart, or supplies.

  “Master Fimbria” Fronto greeted him formally, approaching the table.

  “Can I help you, soldier?”

  Fronto felt Galronus stiffen at his side, bridling at the lack of deference to officers of their rank. The legate himself knew that despite their lofty positions they resembled nothing more than a travel-worn legionary or junior officer and a somewhat Romanised Gaul.

  “Yes. Please arrange for the Glory of Venus to make ready to sail in the morning at the first available opportunity, and arrange suitable space for two officers and their personal kit only. The destination is Ostia and the ship is to make the fastest sailing possible.”

  Fimbria narrowed his eyes. “You have the authorisation for this?”

  Fronto dropped one of Caesar’s tablets to the table in front of him, the others having been well used, but this still fresh and sealed. The administrator examined the seal for a moment, seeming surprised to find it genuine, and then snapped it open and perused the contents.

  “Very well, legate Fronto — I presume — I will send to the ship and have your arrangements made. The first sailing will be just past dawn. Could you arrange to be at the seventh jetty in the port by sun-up?”

  The legate nodded and reached for the tablet just as Fimbria swept it away. “I’m afraid I shall need to retain this to pass on to trierarch Sura to confirm your authorisation. You understand?”

  Fronto shrugged. “Just have it ready.”

  Turning their back on the administrator they strode across the room to the bar and caught the attention of the innkeeper.

  “Officers?”

  “We need two rooms for the night, an evening meal and a morning call an hour before dawn.”

  “You have the relevant documents?” The man held out a hand expectantly and Fronto handed over the well-worn travel authorisation sealed by Caesar. Every man wishing to partake of the inn’s hospitality would need a stamped pass or would be required to pay upfront. The innkeeper peered at the tablet, an eyebrow raised at the seal of the proconsul of Illyricum and Cisalpine Gaul. He nodded as he snapped it shut and passed it back. “Please find yourself a table and I will have food and drink brought to you.”

  Fronto rubbed his eyes wearily and gestured to the bag on his shoulder questioningly.

  “Leave your kit here and I’ll have one of the boys take it up to a room for you, sir.”

  Galronus glanced uncertainly at Fronto, remembering the troubles at Vienna, but Fronto simply dumped the bag gratefully on the bar and turned to stride away.

  “Will they be safe?” the Remi officer asked quietly.

  “Here? Nowhere safer. The place is built on Roman coins and too high-profile for anyone to buy trouble in. Come on.” They made their way to one of the tables near the open space and therefore within the reach of the fire’s welcoming warm glow. The tables on the edge here were busy; legionaries and lesser officers, functionaries of Cita’s supply system, occupying each bench and sea
t.

  “Any room for two tired officers?” Fronto asked pointedly, in response to which a number of soldiers shuffled away, shifting their drinks, platters, dice and small piles of cash, leaving two stools at the end of a table, opposite one another.

  The two men sank gratefully to the seats nodding their thanks to the men who had moved up to make room.

  “Our pleasure, sir. You just come from the north, sir?”

  Fronto pinched the bridge of his nose. He could really do without chatting to the passing soldiery at this juncture, but politeness cost nothing and the man was simply being hospitable.

  “Hot-foot as it were from the north coast and bound for Rome, soldier. And you?”

  “Escort for a wagon full of furnishings and other goods for the legate of the Fourteenth legion, sir. To ease the hardship of winter quarters, I suspect.” The man smiled a knowing smile and Fronto couldn’t help but chuckle. He could only imagine what was in the wagon bound for Plancus’ tent.

  “Everything, sir” the soldier said as if reading his thoughts. “Right down to a marble statue of a dancing satyr and some naked girls. Pride of place, that one.”

  Fronto laughed again. “Do me a favour and try and damage some of it in your travels.”

  “More than my life’s worth, sir. I’d get my arse kicked right back to Ostia, and with nailed boots, too.”

  This time even the recently-dour Galronus smiled. “Good luck on the roads north” the Belgic officer said, stretching. “The Rhodanus valley’s safe enough, but the passage across the lands from Bibracte to Nemetocenna will be difficult if the weather turns, and it will do so any day now.”

  The soldier nodded gratefully. “Thanks, sir. We’re pretty well organised with goods and escort, so we should be fine. There’s nothing happening on the trail upriver then, sir?”

  “No” Fronto frowned. “Why?”

  “Well there’s not been many come back down from the campaign yet, sir, and the ones as passed through yesterday seemed concerned and in a bit of a hurry. Wouldn’t even exchange words with me.”

  Fronto looked up sharply. “Two tribunes by any chance?”

  “Aye, sir. Proper posh they were, sir. Wouldn’t talk to anyone but Fimbria over there.”

  Galronus had turned to the man now.

  “They were here yesterday?”

  “Yes sir. They came in after sunset in a real hurry. Arranged passage on a fast courier ship. I expect they sailed with her this morning, sir.”

  Fronto and Galronus exchanged a look.

  “Thanks.” Fronto pushed a couple of denarii over the table to the soldier. “Have a few drinks on us.”

  The legionary grinned. “Cheers, sir” he muttered, touching his forehead in salute and scurrying off to the bar to cash in his new coins for wine.

  “So,” Fronto leaned across the table into an almost conspiratorial huddle, “if we needed any confirmation, there it is. Menenius and Hortius are only a day ahead of us and bound for Rome. Mark my words, Galronus, I’m going to find them and deal with them.”

  The Remi officer leaned across the table towards him. “And I will help you when the time is right, but do not let your thirst for revenge cloud your judgement. The tribunes must pay for what they did to Tetricus and the others, but our first concern has to be Faleria and Clodius.”

  Fronto nodded as that cold weight settled in his stomach again. He’d done everything possible on their long journey to keep his mind off the peril his sister was in and Galronus had pointedly avoided the subject, though whether to protect Fronto or for his own comfort was unclear. Suddenly it now felt as though a taboo had been lifted; a taboo that had covered them for eleven days.

  “You realise there’s every possibility that she’s not… that she…”

  “She is alive” Galronus said flatly. “Do not allow yourself to think otherwise. Whether Clodius is working on Caesar’s orders or not, the man would not dare touch Faleria.”

  “He dragged her off the street and imprisoned her.”

  “But without harm as far as we know. Caesar would not harm her; you know that, and so Clodius would not dare. I, however, will harm him when I find him.”

  Fronto nodded emphatically.

  “We need to work out a plan of action; before we get to Rome.”

  “Go to Clodius’ house. Kill everyone in the way” Galronus suggested without a hint of humour.

  “Impossible and you know it. We would be slaughtered. Clodius has a small army at his command and a well defended house. The man is paranoid and for good reason. And if we did somehow get inside, he could simply kill her and dispose of the body before we got close.”

  “Then how can we deal with him?”

  “The same way he deals with everyone else” Fronto sighed. “With fear. The only thing that will make Clodius defer and offer terms is when he knows he’s outclassed, outmanoeuvred and there’s no other option. He has a small army; we have to have a larger one.”

  “You want to hire an army? In Rome? With the legal restrictions on openly bearing arms?”

  “Screw the restrictions” Fronto snapped. “We’re dealing with a cold criminal and we have to do whatever is required. Balbus has a force already assembled and he’s just waiting on my word to go for the man’s throat.”

  “He will not have enough.”

  “No. But it’s a start. When we get to Rome, you make your way to Balbus’ house and let him know what’s happening. Get him to ready his men for a fight. I’ll go to my townhouse. It’s still being repaired, but mother has a small fortune hidden in three different places under the floor. I know where they are, so I’ll go collect the funds and then hire us as many gladiators, thugs and retired veterans as I can find — everyone in the city who knows what end of a sword to hold. Then I’ll send them all to Balbus’ place and follow on. As soon as we have a big enough force we’ll go down to see Clodius and demand the release of Faleria or start to demolish his house with him still in it.”

  Galronus nodded. Criminals and bullies were the same in every culture. It only took someone with a bigger stick to force them to back down.

  “You will have to describe the directions to Balbus’ house.”

  “I’ve never been there myself, but I know where it is. He’s described it before. Alright, from the circus maximus, you need to skirt the Palatine hill…”

  The harbour of Ostia slid implacably towards them and never had Fronto been more desperate to set foot on land. The seasickness had taken a backseat during the journey, the worry over his sister’s captivity continuing to gnaw at him, and worsening with every league they sailed.

  “When Faleria and I are married,” Galronus said suddenly, in an attempt to smash through the oppressive cloud that covered them both, “I would like you to be the auspex.”

  Fronto blinked, his gloomy, negative reverie shattered by the sudden, bizarre request.

  “What?” he said almost incredulously, turning from the rail and its view of the approaching dock.

  “When Faleria and I…”

  “I didn’t mishear you then? You’re really set on this?” For some reason, the campaign season had almost driven his friend’s decision from Fronto’s mind, and now it seemed peculiar to think on it, especially given his sister’s predicament. And yet, he had to admit that, upon receiving the news of her captivity, he hadn’t turned to his old friend Priscus, but had immediately reached for Galronus. Not because the ties that bound them were any stronger than with Priscus, but because at a gut level, Fronto knew how much Faleria meant to the Remi noble.”

  “Of course.”

  “And you’re that sure she’s interested in you?”

  “She is.”

  Fronto felt a smile crack through his tense shell. “You’re certainly not lacking in confidence, my friend. How do you know about the auspex? How do you know about Roman marriage at all?”

  “I’ve made some enquiries over the summer. It sounds as though your ceremonies are not too dissimilar to
ours, though they seem to involve a lot more unnecessary complications and a longer period of betrothal.”

  Fronto leaned against the rail and folded his arms. “Do I really strike you as the right man to read the auspices from the guts of a pig? Even my bandy-legged fishwife Goddess seems to have abandoned me.”

  “You know as well as I, Marcus, that no one is expected to actually divine anything. It’s a show. I may have trouble rounding up many of the witnesses, though. Faleria may have to choose all ten.”

  Fronto shook his head and smiled. “Witnesses are the least of your worries.”

  “Then you will do it?”

  “If you can get Faleria to agree to take you on, I’ll do it, yes.”

  “Good. And now to more immediate matters: look over there.”

  Fronto frowned and followed his friend’s pointing finger. Across the harbour, a sleek, low ship was making for a dock at the far side of the port.

  “It’s a liburna, privately owned. Nice looking thing. My best friend’s uncle had one when I was a kid; used it for trade runs between Puteoli and Sardinia. Fast and light, but only useful for small cargo, ‘cause the hold’s not very big.”

  “It was in dock in Massilia when we set off.”

  Fronto shrugged. “We’ve travelled fast for a trireme, but a liburna can travel faster. He probably set off after loading. We came empty.”

  But Galronus’ eyes remained locked on the ship. “I don’t like it.”

  “I personally don’t care. It’s the ship with those two slimy bastards on that I’m bothered about, and that’ll have docked yesterday.”

  Their attention was pulled back to their destination as one of the sailors bellowed a call and men began to run around on the deck, the rowers giving a last pull and then raising their oars as the vessel coasted in towards the dock. Workers in the port ran up and down the dockside, preparing to take ropes and help the boarding ramp settle into place. Boys scurried into position to do some hopeful begging from the passengers on this clearly important ship.

  Fronto gripped the rail hard and waited for the bump, steadying himself. The ship settled to the dock with very little disturbance and the two officers waited for the ramp to be run out as two of the sailors hurried up to them carrying their bags.