Fronto gave his father-in-law a black look.
‘And the other fourteen staff I have here,’ Balbus went on, ‘are all ex-military, hired after they received their honesta missio, or in one case released early with a missing arm. He turned out to be an excellent cook. He made that fine meal you just ate, in fact. I trust my ex-legionaries, and it saves me having to hire guards like yours. Any pair of hands in my villa could pick up a sword with at least some skill and put the pointy end in an interloper, regardless of their daily duties.’
Fronto nodded at his friend’s sense and wondered how Lucilia would take it if he explained that her father didn’t really trust slaves in his household either. He sighed.
‘Anyway, it’s this Andala woman that bothers me. Her and Lucilia are starting to get very close. They act far more like giggling girls together than mistress and slave and it’s making me very nervous. It’s like living with a crocodile and a bear and finding the pair of them shaking paws and eyeing you up while they lick their lips. It’s only a matter of time before Lucilia embarks on another of her ‘I have to change Marcus campaigns.’
‘Really, Marcus. My daughter can be a handful, but she knows what she’s doing running a household. She learned from the best.’
‘She gives that Bellovaci girl far too much freedom.’
Balbus chuckled again. ‘This from the man who doesn’t like keeping slaves.’
‘That’s not what I mean. Did you know that the day before yesterday I came in late and found that while Lucilia and the boys were fast away in the arms of Morpheus, Andala was sitting in my office polishing my best gladius? I wanted to rant at her, but that would have woken Lucilia and I somehow know that I’d come off at the end as the loser in that encounter. But I took the sword from its customary place on the wall and hid it under my bed with the old campaign tunics and cloaks. And the girl is always in our rooms now. Lucilia seems to have promoted her to looking after the boys. Wouldn’t you be nervous?’
'I say again, Marcus: she knows exactly what she's doing.'
Fronto sighed and sat back with his glass of Chian, giving it an appreciative sip. ‘The only bright side is that one of my former soldiers, Aurelius - you remember him?'
'The one with the bats, yes?'
'That's the one. He seems to have something of a torch burning for her, and I've noticed the odd look when she observes him that reminds me of the German cavalry when they spot a small, poorly-armed patrol. Guarded hunger. I'm going to try and foster the thing from both sides - see if I can pair them off and get her out of my hair, but that in itself is difficult as it means I'll have to spend time at the villa instead of hiding out in the warehouse.'
Balbus snorted.
'Have you had any news from Gaul?'
Fronto tried to fight the all-too-familiar sense of loss as he ran over the list of friends now passed who would have been the ones to send him all the news. Now only Atenos remained in the Tenth, and Atenos was about as likely to write a letter as he was to paint his backside blue and dance on a table asking for a 'Syrian Surprise'. In fact, the only person who had sent Fronto a missive since the day he left Caesar's camp had been Varus, and the cavalry officer had been brief and terse.
'Little. But I hear rumours. I tend to spend time down with Caesar's supply officer in the town, and news leaks through. Sounds like there are numerous small revolts breaking out across the north.'
'Nothing dangerous, though?'
'No,' Fronto shrugged. 'Just last ditch attempts from a defeated people. After Alesia even their best were beaten, and they knew it. Only idiots and lunatics will hold out now.'
'Have you given any thought as to what will happen when the proconsul finishes his term and heads back to Rome?'
Fronto blinked, and Balbus smiled oddly. 'You fool no one, Marcus. You can play the wine merchant for a while. You might even turn out to be good at it. But we all know that one day you'll go running back to the military. You are the oddest imaginable Roman patron, you know? All the others use the military as a stepping stone. Not you. Sooner or later, once he's made consul, Caesar will find a new front upon which to fight, and as soon as he does, you'll go running.'
'Not again.'
Balbus barked out a short laugh. 'Don't be absurd, Marcus. Of course you will. If I hadn't collapsed in action years ago I'd be racing back myself. Hell, despite any arguments I might have with Caesar, I'd be heading to his command tent now if I could. You're not a home body. You never were.'
'Life's full of surprises, Quintus. My acceptance of the quiet life might just be one of them.'
Both men took a quick sip of the exquisite wine and looked up at the sound of the commotion outside. A moment later, as they both sat up, Balbus' doorman, a former legionary of the Eighth, stomped in, bowing and saluting, clearly unsure whether he should be following military or civilian protocol. Balbus nodded encouragingly.
'Beg pardon, sir.'
'Yes?'
'There's a foul-mouthed barbarian at the gate demanding to speak to master Marcus Falerius Fronto. I would have automatically turned him away other than the fact that he has half a dozen of master Fronto's men with him.
Balbus raised an eyebrow, and Fronto turned to the former legionary. 'What did the 'barbarian’ call you?'
'I'd rather not say, sir, but it'd make a whore blush and my mother will be spinning in her urn. And he threatened to flatten my face, too.'
'Catháin,' smiled Fronto. 'Might be important.'
Balbus gestured to the legionary. 'Let the man in, Scortius.'
'Yessir.'
Another brief altercation at the villa's door was followed by the slap of soft leather boots on marble as the strange northerner made his way through to the triclinium, Balbus' doorman scurrying along behind, trying to get in front to lead the way and failing dismally.
'Fronto, we've got a problem.'
'And good evening to you, too, Catháin. This is my father-in-law, Quintus Balbus, former legate of the Eighth.'
Catháin gave a brief nod in Balbus' direction and clapped his hands together in a business-like manner. 'You know that Helvian wine that we're shipping to Rome?'
Fronto nodded and noted Balbus' curious expression.
'It's a big deal. Two hundred amphorae of the stuff bound for a gladiator ludus in Rome. The stuff tastes like something that leaked out of a badger's arse, but the lanista is willing to pay good silver for it regardless. It's the deal of the year. Something like a thousand percent profit.'
Balbus nodded appreciatively.
'Well there's a problem, Fronto,' the northerner grunted, slapping his fist into his palm. 'I got a message from Antidorus the teamster and rushed down to the port. The shipment was due to be loaded onto a trireme called the Demeter, but the captain's refused to take the load on board and won't tell us why. All he said was I should take it up with the logistics and quartermaster office in the city. I went to see Fabius Ambustus, given that he and I now have something of an understanding, but the guards at the office tell me he's too busy and won't let me see him. Meantime the Helvian wine moulders on the quayside. If it could smell any worse I'd wonder if it was going off. If we can't get it loaded this afternoon, I'm going to have to put it back into storage and hope for the best.'
'Shit.'
'Just that,' agreed Catháin. 'If that shipment doesn't sail in the morning, we'll be late with the delivery. At the very best we'll be looking at a daily-increasing fee for the delay. If we're really unlucky, he'll cancel the deal altogether and we'll be left with undrinkable wine to shift suddenly - enough of it to float a trireme, ironically.'
Fronto nodded. 'And every day's delay will drop our profits enough that a week or so will put us in danger of making a loss.'
'Quite so.'
He turned to Balbus and sighed. 'Sorry to interrupt our afternoon, but this is something I need to take care of urgently. I might be back if I can sort things out fast enough.'
Balbus smiled indulgently.
'Go. Play merchant and play it well. I shall see you in due course.'
Nodding his thanks, Fronto turned and grasped Catháin's hand as the man offered to help him up. 'Come on. I need to quickly change and then we'll head down to the office.'
'Change?' the man asked curiously.
'The uniform of a senior officer still carries a lot of weight in military circles even when you've retired, and I keep everything pressed and clean, just in case. I just hope Andala's not been messing with it all while she's looking for my sword again.'
* * * * *
He'd expected it to feel entirely natural when he donned his Roman military tunic, cloak, belt and so on. He was, after all, a soldier born and forged in decades of war. And yet, as he and his small group of companions bore down on the office, he found he was shrugging his shoulders constantly, uncomfortable in the snug fit after the very giving and light Greek-style chiton and chlamys. The fact that it no longer felt normal disturbed him somehow and reinforced his refusal to consider a return to the martial life - a refusal that Balbus had clearly disbelieved.
He hooked a finger in his bronze-plated belt and turned it slightly so that the fittings for the dagger didn't catch on his cloak as it had so often done, evidenced by all the pulled threads in one small patch of cloth.
The two bored-looking legionaries by the door of the office building that had been granted to Caesar rent free by the city's boule eyed the small party approaching them with interest, but did not straighten to attention.
Behind Fronto, Catháin, Masgava, Aurelius and Arcadios walked, looking as strong and implacable as they could. Fronto himself was prepared for an argument. Everything seemed to involve an argument these days, whether at work or at home.
'I need to see Prefect Fabius Ambustus on a matter of the utmost urgency.'
The legionaries shared a look that contained surprisingly little respect, given Fronto's apparel.
'The prefect is very busy, sir. There's a waiting list for meetings, but he's not even considering granting an audience until after market day.'
Fronto ground his teeth and tried not to lose his temper. Market was still three days away. What was Ambustus doing? A decade of command coursed through Fronto's veins as he leaned towards the insolent legionary and brought his angry face so close his breath would fog the man's eyeballs.
'I may not be wearing the knotted belt of command, soldier, but you might recognise the stripe on my tunic denoting my former rank. I held, and still do hold, the ear of Gaius Julius Caesar, proconsul of Rome, and your commander's commander. I hold a rank of authority in both Massilia and Rome and served over a decade TRYING TO KEEP RUNTS LIKE YOU FROM GETTING THEIR HEADS TORN OFF BY GERMAN CANNIBALS!' As the soldier leaned back against the wall, away from the blast of fury that had burst from Fronto's maw, the former legate allowed a horrible smile to cross his face. 'Now I am going inside to speak to the prefect,' he announced, trying to demonstrate the gulf in rank that separated him from this entire outpost's staff in one stressed word. 'You can try and stop me, though I strongly recommend against it, or you can exercise that fat, blubbery useless arse of yours by running ahead to warn Fabius Ambustus that I'm coming.'
The soldier nodded hastily, clearly not trusting his tongue to words, and slipped in through the doorway. Fronto paused long enough to glare daggers at the other door guard. 'I do not wish to be disturbed, understand?'
The soldier quailed and nodded, and the officer turned from him and stumped into the building, his escort following close on behind.
Fronto had been to visit the man a few times. Like all military bureaucrats, Ambustus considered himself about three ranks more important than his uniform confirmed. He ran the office in Massilia like a despot of ancient times, but it was hard to argue with the efficiency with which he maintained Caesar's supply, transport and courier system through the port. Some of the value of his role had disappeared several years ago when the general had finally opened up the secondary trade route through the Helvetian territory from Vesontio, but during the summer sea and river transport was still by far the fastest way to move anything.
Each room in the building was occupied by a different actuarius or librarius, each surrounded by piles of writing tablets, sheaves of vellum and scrolls of parchment, each scribbling furiously or affixing their stamp to an official request or record. For a moment, Fronto was struck by an unusually high level of activity even for this place. On previous visits there had always been one or two rooms at least that lay dormant, their occupant off for the day or at midday meal. Not so, today. In fact, each and every one appeared fraught. Still, he resolved not to weaken his purpose. He would know why the offer of transport had been rescinded without a jot of notice.
Ambustus sat behind his desk, rubbing one hand through his thinning hair as he counted down a list with his other forefinger, his lips moving silently. The legionary who had run ahead was standing to one side of the room looking extremely nervous.
'Prefect?'
The man held forth a hand without looking up, his voice rising to a whisper as he counted over the top of the interruption. When he'd reached the bottom of the page, Ambustus scribbled his figure in a tally column on another sheet and straightened.
'Ah, the inimicable Fronto and Catháin and your small group of heavies. I see you have taken to intimidating my men now. What can I do for you? Nothing trivial, I hope?'
Fronto felt his ire rising again and Catháin's hand clapped down on his shoulder in warning. He allowed the anger to subside. Few bureaucrats reacted well to provocation.
'Prefect Ambustus, my sincere apologies for this intrusion, but the matter is of extreme import to my business. I shall not keep you long.'
The man leaned back in his chair. 'Go on, sir.'
'I have a large cargo of amphorae that are due to be shipped to Rome on the afternoon tide.'
'Poor timing, I'm afraid.'
'So I gather. The captain of the Demeter would not allow the loading of the cargo, despite the fact that my factor here tells me that the ship rides so high in the water she can only be empty, and all her rigging and crew appear ready to set sail. I had believed we had a deal in respect of my shipping cargo in any vessel that has space.'
Ambustus gave an exaggerated sigh. 'Would that such were possible, Fronto. I realise this might seriously damage your business. What vintage is the cargo?'
Fronto narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 'A poor native brew.'
'Ah well. Sadly, I was going to offer to buy a portion of the cargo in recompense, but I cannot stomach the local wines. There is, then, very little I can do. My hands are tied.' He held up his hands open palmed to demonstrate the phrase. Fronto narrowed his eyes further.
'I suppose I could find a small cut to help ease your troubles, Ambustus...'
The prefect frowned and then, realisation dawning, lowered his hands again. 'You misunderstand me, Fronto. I am not seeking a bribe. This is not a matter of sweetening the pot until I relent. I simply cannot give you permission to load the Demeter.'
'Why not?' snapped Fronto.
Ambustus gave Fronto a pointed look, nodding at his companions meaningfully. The former legate pursed his lips in annoyance, but turned to Masgava and Catháin. ‘All four of you head back outside and wait for me there. I'll be along presently.'
The big Numidian gave him a disapproving look, but the four men backed out of the room and Fronto waited until he could hear nothing but the rhythmic work of the clerks. 'Alright. What's this about, Ambustus?'
The prefect sighed and gestured for Fronto to sit. When the former legate made it quite clear that sitting was not going to happen, he took a deep breath.
'It is not just the Demeter, Fronto. I cannot allow you to load any cargo on any Roman vessel in port.'
Fronto opened his mouth to shout something, but Ambustus pushed on.
'It is not my decision, before you threaten to have me beaten, Fronto. I am required by order of the proconsul himself to keep every R
oman vessel in port empty and prepared to sail at short notice. Every ship that arrives will become subject to that order, and each ship already in port has been forced to empty itself of any cargo and cancel all shore leave for its crew.'
Fronto felt the wind taken from his sails at the realisation that the prefect was, in this case, completely powerless.
'Why?'
Ambustus leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. 'If I tell you this, it is told in confidence to a member of Caesar's staff, for all your retired status. I will hold you to your military oath and expect you not to breathe a word of it to another living soul. Do you understand?'
Fronto, rather taken aback by the vehemence of the man's words, nodded. 'Agreed.'
'There are small caravans of slaves and booty coming in all the time and being stored under guard in anonymous warehouses in Massilia, but I have been told to await one particularly large convoy, following which all goods in storage are to be combined with the new arrival and shipped to Rome in one fleet with solid military escort.'
'A big convoy, then?'
'The centurion who delivered the orders intimated that I would be able to buy most kingdoms with the proceeds from it. Booty the likes of which you will never have seen. So you understand why I cannot release the ship to you. You could ask the captain, but unless he is willing to defy the proconsul's orders, you will have no better luck there. It simply cannot be done.'
Fronto sagged slightly. The man was right. It mattered not how angry he became or what arguments he could marshal, no captain or officer in Massilia was going to defy Caesar's orders, even for a senior officer. No amount of honey could sweeten the pot enough for that.
'My apologies for wasting your time, Ambustus. I appreciate your candour.'
The prefect gave a troubled smile. 'I'm truly sorry, Fronto. I do hope you can find alternative transport until this matter is resolved, and rest assured that as soon as my hands are no longer tied by the proconsul's needs I will happily release any free space to you. In fact I wish I could help you defy the boule more than I can, given the stink they are raising over our blocking up of the port with so many ships docked without intention to sail.'
Marius' Mules VIII: Sons of Taranis Page 22
