Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (71 page)

He grumbled irritably as he walked.

Slowly, the group reached the lower end of the street, the edges here lined with beggars, the concentration increasing as they neared the temple. It had not rained now for days and the streets were beginning to look filthy, coated with animal dung and general detritus. Fronto’s grumbling intensified as he trod in something soft.

Out to the front, Cestus and Lod stepped out into the main road and the gladiator waved a hand. The carts rolled to a halt and Fronto and Caesar loped on ahead to meet the small warrior. As they reached the junction, the reason for Cestus’ gesture became clear.

Off to the left, toward the circus maximus, the street was lined to either side with busy stalls, interspersed with beggars, drunks and occasional respectable folk. The open street in the centre was, however, devoid of the general citizenry of Rome. A surly gang of several dozen men, a match for their own force at least, stepped slowly and menacingly toward them, hammers, pick handles and lengths of wood in their grasp.

The two men retreated toward the carts and their escort and Cestus returned to his position at the front as the caravan turned away down the street. Lod fell in at the rear, walking backwards as six of the guards fell in beside him, carefully eying the sizeable gang that was following them slowly, stalking like a predator cat.

“Why they no fight?”

Fronto, glancing over his shoulder at the huge Celt, was wondering the same thing, and then shook his head in irritation as the answer popped into his head.

“Because there’s more of them ahead. We’re being herded.”

Caesar nodded.

“That is possible, but here the road is far more defensible than by the Porta Capena should the situation arise. I think we will be fine, Marcus.”

“You keep saying that, but even if that’s fully half their force out here, it still means we’re outnumbered two to one.”

The two men fell silent as the carts rumbled on along the street, the population thinning out here as they moved away from the temple and toward the gate and the slum-like region that clung to the outer wall like some parasitic sea creature. Certainly Caesar had been correct about the more defensible nature of this route. The less affluent neighbourhoods in the area led to the insulae and walled blocks to either side of the street pressing in and narrowing the thoroughfare.

A movement caught Fronto’s attention and he glanced across at a narrow side street. Three men were moving slowly down it toward them, wooden clubs in hand. Every ten steps or so brought them past another side street, each with its own small group of thugs converging on them.

“There’s going to be a hundred of them by the time we reach the gate” Fronto noted to Caesar, nodding in the direction of the latest arrivals. The gang following them had almost doubled in size as they moved slowly on.

“It’s important we keep moving. The closer we are to the gate, the safer we are.”

Fronto held less certainty about the defensive nature of the area, but there seemed little else to do as they moved slowly on, the tension building constantly.

Fronto glanced past the shoulders of Cestus and his companion. The Porta Naevia with its single arch of heavy travertine blocks crossed the road fifty yards ahead, just coming into view as they rounded a gentle curve in the road.

“We’re going to make it.”

The carts rumbled on, closing the distance with interminable slowness, and the huge arch grew ever more tantalisingly near, the heavy gates standing open to either side.

“Why is there no one around?” Fronto said nervously.

Caesar shrugged. “One armed gang following another? Even the rudest peasant can spot that kind of trouble approaching, Fronto. You expect them to stay around for the show?”

“Crap.”

Cestus stepped into the shadow of the gateway, three more of his men with him, and the lead carriage rolled under the arch. Fronto bit his cheek.

Behind them they could almost sense the tensing of muscles ready to attack. The silence was taught and dangerous.

“Whoa!”

Fronto’s head snapped back to the light at the far side of the gate. Cestus, silhouetted in the arch, was holding up his hand and the wagons were quickly slowed and stopped. The gang behind came on at an even slower pace, closing the gap.

Fronto was about to shout a question ahead to Cestus when he saw the rest of Clodius’ men, spreading from the sides of the street into the gateway, blocking the path ahead.

The two men strode out forward into the shadows until they fell in alongside Cestus. There were perhaps three dozen men in the road ahead. A fight now would be virtual suicide. Some of the men, being outside the city, had taken the opportunity to arm themselves with real weapons. To the rear, a tall man with a scar down his face that permanently closed one eye stepped up. The mob parted before of him.

“You appear to have reached the end of the road. My master sends his regards. He hopes you will allow us to make this quick and painless.”

“Your master can kiss my hairy pink arse!” Fronto barked.

Caesar cast a sidelong glance at Fronto and there was a genuine smile there.

“
What
?” Fronto hissed back at him.

The slave nodded with a smile and drew a small copper horn from the cart beside him. Taking a deep breath, he blew a series of loud, sharp notes and then lowered it. Fronto narrowed his eyes.

“Where did you learn the muster call, Posco?”

The slave merely gave him an enigmatic smile and pointed.

Ahead, beyond the armed gang that barred their way, more men were appearing from the side of the road, falling in to the street and settling in ordered rows.

“Who
are
they?”

The men were falling into military formation and, though in plain tunics and cloaks, a number of them bore a gladius or pugio or a solid legionary shield on their arm.

“You’d be surprised how many veterans of my legions there are within the city’s bounds, Fronto, and most of them hold a loyalty that goes far beyond receiving their honesta mission. Some of them are
your
men, even.”

Fronto blinked again and turned to look over his shoulder. The advancing mob behind them had stopped. Lod stepped forward and crouched menacingly.

The man stood silently for a moment, clearly weighing up his options, but the decision had been made for him. The men of his gang melted away at the periphery into the side streets and doorways and he stood at the centre of a rapidly shrinking force.

“Run, then, and don’t come back” the man said to Caesar defiantly.

The general grinned.

“Oh, we’re not
all
leaving. Some of us have business yet in Rome.”

The man dithered again, fumbling for another pithy retort but, realising there were now less than a dozen men between him and a century’s worth of veteran soldiers, he threw and angry glance at them, let out an exasperated grunt, and ran off into a side street.

Fronto shook his head.

“You
do
like to show off, don’t you? Did it not occur to you to let me in on it?”

“And spoil the surprise?” Caesar grinned. “Hardly.”

He looked up at the three women, each heaving sighs of relief.

“Well ladies, it would appear that the way ahead is clear. The veterans of my legions will join Cestus and escort you as far as Albanum and the mansio there. I hope the sea air agrees with you and that we will meet again very soon.”

The ladies of the house of the Falerii smiled gratefully at the general and, waving at Fronto, gestured to Posco to move on. As Priscus slipped down from his seat and wandered across to the officers, Lucilia leaned over the edge and planted a difficult and somewhat unexpected kiss on Fronto’s forehead.

“Hurry back, Marcus.”

Fronto stared at her as the vehicles trundled on, the legionaries falling into escort positions as he rubbed his head and looked at his fingers suspiciously.

Turning, he realised that Priscus and Caesar were both grinning at him.

“Oh, grow up!”

Chapter 24

(Late October: On the Janiculum, overlooking Rome.)

“I can’t see why they couldn’t have met in the city” Priscus grumbled, massaging his painful hip as he stumped slowly up the sloping gravel path.

“Neutral ground. They are the three most powerful men in Rome, so I suppose it’s symbolic.”

“Sym-
bollocks
is what it is!”

Fronto smiled at his friend. Behind them, Galronus stomped up the path, showing no sign of fatigue. Fronto glared at him and, turning, plodded wearily on. Ahead of them, Caesar walked quietly, as though out for a stroll to enjoy the late autumn air, Aulus Ingenuus striding along beside him, armed now they were well outside the city’s pomerium.

Ingenuus had tried desperately to persuade the general, in light of recent events, to allow the entire contingent of his cavalry guard that had returned from Gaul to escort him today, but the general had insisted on a small accompaniment only.

Ahead, a small group of men loitered at the hill’s crest, lounging on benches or leaning on the decorative balustrade. Fronto squinted and could make out the figure of the younger Crassus, clad in his dazzling white toga. Fronto mentally dismissed the showy garment; whitening it with chalk was a practice rarely carried out these days, and yet, he couldn’t help but nod with approval when he spotted the tip of a gladius sheath below the hem.

“In a way, we are. I had a lot of time to think last night, Gnaeus, and every time we’ve pushed Clodius, he’s pushed back harder, and each time it’s not us that gets the brunt of it, but my family. I sat chatting to Nemesis last night and came to the conclusion that I had a choice: vengeance against Clodius or looking after those I care about and that simply
has
to come first. The time to deal with Clodius will come, but when there is no chance of the backlash destroying the Falerii. Anyway, these three men can, between them, make almost anything happen in Rome; or stop it happening. The chaos in the city is only rife because these three are not working together and therefore letting it happen.”

He became aware of Caesar watching him with a frown.

“Not specifically because of you” he added wearily. “But it needs sorting out.”

As the general turned back to face their destination, Fronto glanced ahead and then back over his shoulder. The temple of Janus on the hill’s crest had been chosen carefully as the venue for a number of reasons: it was neutral territory for the three men; it was sacred ground, and no true Roman would commit an act of violence within; it offered an unrivalled view to aid privacy and safety; last of all, the two faced Janus was the master of beginnings, changes and choices and the symbolism of the God’s shrine would not be lost on any man present.

Behind them, the gravelled path led down the Janiculum hill in a wide arc to the Pons Aemilius that would take them back to the city when this was over. Fronto noted with interest part way back down the path, among the rapidly thinning foliage, Pompey striding up the slope with a certain speed as though he were late, half a dozen men rushing along around him, some carrying goods.

“How long do you expect the meeting to take?” Fronto asked.

“I really have no idea, Marcus. If all goes well and my peers share my vision of the coming year, we could have everything settled within the hour. Rarely, however, do we all see quite eye to eye without some levelling of the ground.”