Aurelius and Biorix said their farewells and left the room, and Fronto peered at his large model. ‘I suppose there’s not much else we can do until we know more. I’ll leave this here for further use, but I guess we would all be best served now by getting some sleep. In the morning I’m going to the city tabularium to see what I can find out that might be of use.’
* * * * *
Fronto unrolled the next scroll and ran his finger down it until he found the name he was looking for. Lucius Curtius Crispinus. There he was in ink: Marcellus’ carcer man. A former senior centurion out east who’d received his retirement early while Marcellus was the legion’s senior tribune. Seems the two had been linked even then. When Marcellus came back to Rome so did Crispinus, ignoring the nice parcel of Illyrian land he’d been granted as his honesta missio. The scroll told a story of an exemplary officer. Decorated numerous times on campaign, winner of the corona aurea. Fronto’s kind of officer, in fact. He reached up for the other ledgers he’d brought from the shelves. After some furious rifling through, he stabbed a finger down on the centurion’s name again. Interesting. Crispinus owned that estate in Illyricum but also occupied one of Marcellus’ town houses rent free. He was clearly indispensable to the consul to be kept in such a manner, but what was truly interesting was that Crispinus also had his name on the deeds of another property on the Viminal. A property that had previously been registered to Pompey himself until he had moved his family to the grand new house by his great theatre. Did Marcellus know that his client centurion was bypassing him and taking handouts directly from Pompey?
It made little difference to the matter in hand. Crispinus might be a true veteran centurion with an excellent record – he might be incorruptible and the paragon of Roman virtus – but either way, whether he was Marcellus’ man or Pompey’s, it put him a long way from Fronto’s reach. Marcellus was an enemy of Caesar, and Pompey… well, everyone knew where that was going. And Fronto was well known for his connection to Caesar. A dead end there.
With the deep sigh of the thwarted, Fronto returned the documents to their assigned places and left the building, the clerk by the exit giving him a cursory look-over to make sure he had removed no files from the place. Despite the danger of recognition by the Sons of Taranis, he took a quick dip across the long sloping road to the open front of the Huntsman’s Head with its excellent view of the carcer. Pamphilus sat, looking somewhat irritable, toying with his bread and cheese. Across the table from him sat the hulking shape of the Greek marine, Procles. Fronto had expected a certain amount of irritability from Pamphilus, having been split from his brother Clearchus, but really between them they barely produced enough brightness to illuminate a barrel. Splitting them up and pairing them with more inventive thinkers had been a natural decision and Procles, for all his size and shape, was a surprisingly quick-witted man.
‘Morning, lads.’
‘Marcus,’ nodded Procles, talking over the top of Pamphilus who’d started to call him sir. Anonymity was important at times like this.
‘What news?’
‘Oh this morning’s fascinating,’ grinned Procles, patting a spare seat. Fronto sank into it and poured himself a cup of their wine. ‘Do tell.’
‘Well, Procles smiled,’ glancing around to make sure no one was listening too closely. ‘There might only be six men inside, but they change regularly. They do shifts with three changes a day, if I’ve worked out my timings properly from what Aurelius told me. And the latest shift arrived not long ago, but only five of them arrived. Six men left and five entered. Since then we’ve heard a lot of raised voices from inside, but you can’t quite hear what they’re saying from here.’
Fronto frowned and opened his mouth to answer but at that moment the carcer door opened with a bang and two men appeared, one angry and one clearly anxious.
‘To the barracks, Corvus, and fetch another man.’ Crispinus. It had to be. Fronto had spent most of his adult life around centurions and he knew the tone. The way that voice carried across the open space it was clearly used to filling a parade ground. The man being lashed by the former centurion’s tongue quailed nervously. ‘Statius is never late for work. Something’s happened to him, sir.’
Crispinus waved a dismissive hand. ‘He spends too much time in the drinking pits of the Subura. Probably got himself knifed, but I’ll look into it later. Can’t be below compliment with these guests, now get going.’
Fronto watched for a while as the nervous man ran off, presumably back to Marcellus’ compound to gather a replacement, and the centurion retreated into the carcer, slamming the door shut angrily.
‘I presume I’m not alone in imagining the worst for this Statius fellow?’
Procles nodded. ‘Suspicious timing for an accident or a random knifing.’
‘And who do they have in there that requires a full complement, I wonder,’ Fronto murmured. ‘Five men should be adequate to watch over locked cells unless somehow they are already expecting danger?’
‘Surely he meant Vercingetorix?’
Fronto shook his head. ‘Plural. He said these guests, so who else high profile is in there?’
‘I will keep an ear open,’ Procles said as he took a sip of his drink.
‘Let me know anything else you find out as soon as possible,’ Fronto muttered, and then slipped from the tavern and crossed the road once more, stealing along the path between the tabularium and the temple of Saturn, making for the Aventine hill without passing through the crowded forum. Throughout the journey back from the forum, past the curved end of the circus and up the slope of the Aventine, he continued to think about the carcer from all angles. There was no way to get inside, which of course was the same for the Sons, but it limited their abilities. Something would happen soon. Fortuna, let us be prepared.
* * * * *
‘An interesting afternoon,’ said Procles as he closed the door behind him. Pamphilus nodded his agreement as he went straight to a couch and sank onto it with a groan. Dyrakhes and Clearchus had taken over at the tavern, and Agesander was prowling the forum, listening to gossip and keeping eyes open for anything potentially pertinent.
Fronto glanced at the others in the room and then back at the new arrival. ‘Well, go on, then?’
‘I found out who your extra prisoner is,’ the big Greek said and took a seat opposite Fronto. ‘His name is Arrius Ferreolus. He’s a city decurion from a place called Comum. I’d never heard of it, but there were a couple of nicely wine-stooped and talkative fellows came into the tavern and they were already chatting about it. Didn’t take much leverage to open them up. This Comum is one of Caesar’s pet towns up in the Alpes. It’s a Gaulish place that’s been right behind the proconsul from the start. Seems that last year he granted the whole of Comum citizenship.’
‘I remember that,’ Balbus rumbled. ‘Some big show of largesse. He had the swamp there drained and helped rebuild the place in Roman style. Half the streets are named after him now and there’s balding statues all over the place.’
‘Yes,’ muttered Procles, ‘well it’s not all come up sweet and flowery. Seems Caesar granted citizenship to Comum, then went through the formality of requesting it from the senate.’
‘Standard practice,’ replied Fronto. They all do that. No one checks with the senate first.’
‘Well it seems Marcellus has declared Caesar’s grant illegal. He claims the general is flaunting his powers and assuming more authority than he should, even over the senate. Sounds like he’s got half the senators riled up and ready to lynch the proconsul when he comes home.’
‘It’s a dubious claim,’ Balbus mused. ‘Laughable even, really. But there are plenty of senators with no love of Caesar, and Pompey’s camp is powerful. The proconsul’s reputation will take a serious knock from this. I wouldn’t be surprised if Caesar gets dragged through the courts for it.’
‘Impossible,’ snorted Fronto. ‘They can’t level their charges while he’s governing Gaul, and as soon as he gets back
to Rome he’ll get his consulship and be immune from prosecution for the year. With the money he’s sent back with Brutus, he can buy most of Rome’s votes in that time.’
‘Don’t underestimate his enemies,’ Balbus warned. ‘Caesar may think he’s safe, but the cess-pool of Roman politics rarely delivers what you expect.’
Cavarinos frowned. ‘However did you manage to suppress my people when you cannot even govern a city without arguing among yourselves? You are more like the tribes than you’d like to think, you know?’ He rubbed his neck. ‘So what is to happen to this decurion from Comum?’
Procles shrugged. ‘That I couldn’t find out. Seems he had come to the city at the head of some sort of delegation, bringing the thanks of his town, but as soon as Marcellus heard about them, the decurion was grabbed and thrown in the carcer. His retinue and companions were ejected from the city unceremoniously.’
‘The courts will have to rule on the validity of Caesar’s grant before anything happens to the decurion,’ Balbus shrugged. ‘But it’s going to be high profile, this. And that means there’ll be a focus on the carcer by both officials and the public. That will be why Crispinus was so adamant he wanted a full complement, Fronto. Marcellus’ case against Caesar will ride partially on the man in that prison, so Crispinus will be very careful to be secure and legal and perfectly organised at all times.’
That presents us with both a positive and a negative,’ sighed Fronto. ‘The added political kerfuffle will mean potential opportunities for trouble, maybe even an in for the Sons of Taranis. Routine will go out of the window, and will only get worse if Caesar’s grant and the decurion are ruled against. That means we’ll need to step up the manpower near the carcer. Anything might happen now, so we need to keep plenty of hands to the reins. On the other hand, it also means that Crispinus and his men are going to be a lot more alert, which will make the Sons’ task more difficult.’
‘I wonder what happened to the missing guard, then,’ Cavarinos mused. ‘In the circumstances, it seems unlikely that any of those on duty will be putting themselves in danger or getting drunk in the slums.’
Fronto nodded. ‘We have to assume that somehow the Sons of Taranis got to this guard. And that means they probably know everything we do, and a lot more besides. I’d be tempted to send one of you to get drunk with another of the guards and ply him for information, but I don’t think they’ll be readily accessible now. Crispinus will have them all on their guard.’ He narrowed his eyes at the Arverni warrior. ‘You know these people and their type better than any of us, Cavarinos. The hour is coming when they’re going to have to make a move. If they want to get Vercingetorix back to Gaul before the campaigning season ends, they’re running out of time. Will they move at day or night, you think?’
Cavarinos gave a sour look and shrugged. ‘I am no more familiar with most of them than you are. But Molacos? He’s a fanatic. If he was given this task by his master Lucterius, he’ll do it or he’ll die trying, and you can put walls and barred gates and legions of men in the way, but you’ll have to put him down to stop him. That sort of man can be unpredictable. They do not conform to any kind of common sense. If it was me in charge of this – gods, but think about that: it almost could have been – then I would move at night, towards the last watch, when the guard shift are tired and at their lowest ebb. That would allow the Sons to move through the streets easier, especially with Molacos there. And, of course, if they succeed they will need to get the king out of the city before anyone even knows they’ve gone. Night-time is the clear and obvious option. Yet, given Molacos’ fanatic nature, the shortness of time and the brazen nature of the swathe they cut through your Roman installations in our lands, we simply cannot rule out a daytime assault.’
‘Very helpful,’ grunted Fronto.
‘They are just too much of an unknown quantity, Fronto. We will have to watch the place and be ready to move at all times. I would say their prime times to move are just before and just after a shift change and towards the end of the night. If we are all available at those times, and we send men back to sleep in shifts in between, that is the best we can do to be ready, I’d say.’
Aurelius cleared his throat. ‘If it’s any help, I’ve been chatting to one of the girls in the tavern and she’s got quite… friendly.’
‘I’m not sure how much help that can be,’ grinned Clearchus.
‘Not the girl. But she showed me around. There’s an outbuilding behind the tavern that isn’t used. They just store old rubbish in there, but it’s quickly accessible from the street as well as the tavern. We can store staffs and sticks and knives and anything we want in there for quick retrieval.’
‘Good man,’ smiled Fronto. ‘Get all the stuff we might need and move it there ready.’ He took a breath. ‘Alright, Cavarinos said it. All hands to the steering oars now. I want every pair of eyes in the vicinity of the carcer and on the alert. The moment one of their faces shows I want a boot on their neck and half a dozen of you holding him down.’
* * * * *
‘Heads up,’ hissed Aurelius, as he jogged into the tavern where, despite his original convictions to remain hidden, Fronto now sat with several of the others. At least he had kept himself in the shadowy interior rather than sitting at the open frontage, where Aurelius and Agesander watched the prison across the road.
‘What’s happening.’
‘Someone important’s coming,’ the former legionary announced, breathless. ‘Whoever it is is surrounded by tough looking men, toga-clad sycophants and lictors with their stick-bundles. And he’s headed this way from the Argiletum.’
Fronto felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Something was about to happen, he could feel it crackling like lightning in the very air. ‘How many lictors?’
‘Lots.’
‘More than six?’
‘Lots,’ repeated Aurelius meaningfully.
‘That’s a consul, then. Anyone fancy wagering it’s Sulpicius Rufus?’
The table remained silent. ‘No, me neither. Shall we go see what Marcellus is here for then?’
There would be no issue with being seen out in the open now for, as they stood and moved towards the entrance of the tavern, Fronto could see the citizens and the poor of Rome gathering like moths to a lamp, filling the sides of the street in response to the arrival of one of Rome’s two most powerful officials. The consuls, two elected each year, held unparalleled power in the republic and, consequently, drew a crowd whenever they moved in the city.
Pushing his way in among the eager watchers, Fronto caught sight of the approaching group. Aurelius had been quite right. Twelve lictors – the official guards of the city’s magistrates – moved ahead in six pairs, bearing their bundles of sticks tied with linen. Behind them he could just see a tall man with reddish blond hair and a face like a constipated frog. Based on appearance alone he took an instant dislike to the man.
The sky was dull with light grey overcast cloud that locked in the muggy warmth of a Roman summer, and Fronto was thoroughly thankful that he’d foregone the expected toga as too restrictive if it came to a fight. He could see the beads of sweat on the consul’s wide, waxy forehead. Marcellus was suffering in the heat.
‘Procles and Agesander, stay here and keep an eye on things. Everyone else get down the road into the forum. Spread out there.’
‘The forum?’ muttered Balbus. ‘Why?’
‘Because if Marcellus is here, it’s for something big and public, almost certainly involving the captive decurion, and he’ll do it in the forum. If the Sons of Taranis are here, they might go for the carcer, but they’ll certainly want to know what the consul is doing, especially since Comum is basically Gaulish and half the crowd are muttering about captive Gauls. Keep your eyes open everyone. Find me one of these bastards and I’ll give you his head-weight in denarii.’
Without waiting, Fronto shoved his way through the press, drawing argument, barks of annoyance and the odd sharp elbow. A moment later he was
passing the Basilica Opimia and the Temple of Concord on the wide road that led down from the top of the Capitoline hill to the forum below. Already the crowd was gathering in force as rumour spread and Fronto repeatedly heard the consul’s name whispered, along with the words decurion, Comum, Gaul and Caesar, none of which came as any surprise. Looking around hurriedly, he settled on the temple of Saturn as the best place of observation. Scurrying up the steps to the colonnaded front, he leaned against one of the tall columns and took in the scene.
The crowd was continuing to gather, filling the wide public space, but the people of Rome knew their spectacles well, and the path down the road was left clear, as was a large area by the rostrum where public speeches were made. His eyes roved around. He could make out the squat entrance to the carcer up the slope and though he couldn’t quite make out Procles and Agesander, he could see that Marcellus had entered the prison complex, his entourage gathered outside.
Aurelius was close to the rostrum at the heart of things. Fronto picked out Pamphilus on the lower steps of the temple of Concord and therefore the unimaginative Clearchus who had remained close to his brother as always. Both were wearing hoodless cloaks despite the muggy heat and once more, Fronto wondered about what went on inside their heads other than a light breeze and occasional echoing birdsong.
Balbus was in the doorway of one of the new shops fronting the Basilica Fulvia. Biorix was just visible not far away. Dyrakhes and Cavarinos he couldn’t quite see. Good, though. The lads had spread out well. Now all they needed was for this sudden activity to bring out the Sons of Taranis and all would be excellent. He was still watching the crowd as a commotion arose up the steps and drew his attention back to the carcer. Marcellus had emerged and his lictors were crowded around him as three men herded a man to the road and shoved him none-too-gently forward. The man, clearly from his appearance the Comum decurion who had been incarcerated for days, staggered forward and managed to keep his footing only through blind luck. Stained and covered in his own filth, the poor man who had been raised to citizenship by Caesar and had come to Rome an important official only to be imprisoned, was herded to the open space before the rostrum.
Marius' Mules VIII: Sons of Taranis Page 44
