Marius' Mules V: Hades' Gate (32 page)

Masgava reached down and gripped his wrist, hauling him upright. Fronto hobbled around the gravel for a moment, testing the weight on his knee. The blow had been miraculously aimed, actually doing virtually no harm, just temporarily weakening the knee enough to collapse him. As he hobbled, he felt the strength returning.

"This afternoon we fight with wooden swords, as I said."

Fronto shook his head in wonder at Masgava as the big man strode across the gravel to retrieve his discarded sandal. The man didn't even wince at the sharp stones that dug into his bare foot. He must have soles made of leather himself!

He was still shaking his head as the wooden sword hit him in the stomach, felling him again.

"Concentrate!"

* * * * *

Fronto rose blearily at the hammering sound. Blinking away the sleep, he shuffled across the bed, dropping his feet to the cold marble floor with a slapping sound. Pushing himself upright and stretching, he strode out of the room in just his subligaculum. It was too hot in Rome at the moment to sleep in a tunic.

Aware that he was all but naked, he shrugged and strode through the atrium towards the front door. He could hear the birdsong and could judge from both that and the angle of the light in the atrium that it was barely dawn. Anyone who knocked on the door at this time of the morning deserved anything they got.

Fingers wrapping around the hilt of the cudgel he had taken to leaving on the altar near the entrance, Fronto hefted it and crossed to the door, unlocking it and swinging it open, weapon ready to strike.

Galba - former commander of the Twelfth Legion and now a praetor of Rome with standing in the courts - stood in the slanting morning light, his bristly, dark face grave. His brow furrowed at the sight of the house's owner.

"Good morning" Fronto greeted him, replacing the club on the altar top and stepping back to open the door.

"What's happened to Posco?" the heavy-set visitor asked, stepping inside and adjusting his toga.

"Sent him, Galronus and most of the slaves and servants south with the girls to Puteoli. Just me and one man left here, and Masgava doesn't strike me as a born doorman. Probably never even thought to come and see who you were. You're up early."

"Thought I'd drop in before I get to work. A praetor cannot afford to be abed after sunrise."

Fronto closed the door and grinned as Galba looked him up and down with a furrowed brow.

"Yes. You got me out of bed. I don't habitually accept visitors naked."

"You've been exercising I see."

Fronto pulled an exaggerated pose, flexing his arm muscles. "Shows then?"

"Doesn't make you less of an idiot, but at least now you're a thin idiot."

Springing back to a normal stance, the house's owner gestured his guest towards the Tablinum. As they strolled Galba relaxed a little. "You may have it right, parading round in your underwear, though. It's damnably hot today in a toga."

"I can imagine. That's the price you pay for public service. It's just one of many reasons why I'll never take position in the city. Now what brings you here so early in the morning?"

Galba entered the office and sank into the proffered seat.

"A warning. Pompey appears to have it in for you. I don't know what you've done to piss him off, but ever since Julia's death, he's been like a bull behind a gate. I'm told he rarely sleeps, and then badly. He's worried all his people and his clients to the point of panic."

"He's just looking for somewhere to lay the blame so he can feel better. He'd be fine if he were in Caesar's position - or Crassus'. Then he'd have a nation of Rome's enemies to take it all out on. But in Rome he has to be restrained; careful."

"Not over-restrained" Galba said quietly.

"Go on?"

"He's been blackening your family's name throughout the senate and anywhere he has influence."

"Should I really care?"

"Yes. You should. You personally might not care if your father's alcoholism was publically advertised, or even that you might be said to be following the same trail. You might not care that you're called dissolute and even an opponent of the senate because of your ties to Caesar."

"I have no ties to Caesar."

"Perhaps not in your eyes, but the great and good - and the bad, for that matter - of the Republic see it another way. Your sister and your wife will hardly appreciate the way the Falerii are being systematically diminished. Good job they're in the south. If Faleria finds out about this you'll have to physically restrain her."

Fronto shrugged, though the thought that Pompey was besmirching his father's name rankled more than a little.

"We'll live. It's a few weeks of bad-mouthing. Soon he'll change his tack and find something else to obsess over and forget all about us. And then things will begin to right themselves. A name blackened in Rome is only of import as long as the news is fresh. As soon as it stops being spoken of it will fade. Look at all the names blackened under Sulla. Most of them are now the top families of the Republic"

Galba nodded, though his face was still dark.

"I tend to agree, though I think the problem is a little more serious than you seem to realise. And if that were the only trouble I would have waited and seen how things panned out before bothering you, but there's more."

"What?"

"The old general is trying every trick he can to damage you. He's got a gaggle of lawyers poring over the tablets of law in the Tabularium, trying to find anything he can use against you."

"We've broken no laws, Galba."

"Of course you have. Every day, every inhabitant of Rome breaks some law. There are so many of them - and some so obscured by the endless years since their institution - that people aren't even aware they're breaking them. Have you ever bowed or stopped to acknowledge a high official in the Forum?"

"Of course not. You watch a consul make an appearance and the crowds rush to see him."

"Then they're breaking ancient laws. Once upon a time a horseman was condemned for riding past a consul. See what I mean? It only takes a few rabid and inventive lawyers with enough precedents and you could find yourself spending the next six months in court answering one charge of inanity after another."

"Is he that petty?"

"Again, I suspect you underestimate, Marcus. They may be petty, but if even half the obscure laws are invoked, convicted and go through, you could end up flat broke, homeless and with a ruined name. Be very aware, Marcus, that Pompey has resources you couldn't even dream of. Without Caesar's support or that of Crassus, you form a fairly solid and naked target to a man with a thousand bows and a million arrows."

Fronto leaned back. "So what do I do?"

"Nothing. Keep your nose clean and provoke no one. Don't drink. Don't gamble. Don't even go out if you can help it. Stay out of the light for a while."

"And all that time Pompey gets free rein?"

"Hardly. I am a praetor, remember, with no small power. And there are men in the courts, the senate, and other positions of power who fear or distrust Pompey. Leave it in our hands and we will block every move he can make as well as any man could. Just lie low until he runs out of options. Sooner or later it will end and he'll have nothing else to throw at you. You're an easy target, but there are people out there who'll make a shield for you even if they don't like you or don't know you, just to oppose Pompey."

"Should I go to Puteoli as well?" Fronto asked quietly and earnestly.

Galba shook his head. "Not now. At this point it would seem like an admission of guilt; fleeing the scene of the crime as it were. In time, it might not be a bad idea, but not now. For now, just stay down and be quiet."

The praetor shuffled uncomfortably in his seat in the silence. Fronto narrowed his eyes.

"What is it?"

"There is one other thing you could do?"

"Go on" Fronto asked suspiciously.

"Clodius."

"Shit, no!"

"I know you have a history with the man and that he is in Caesar's purse up to the drawstring, but the man has power among the low and a personal dislike of Pompey these days. You may find that he hates his former master enough even to overcome his dislike of you."

"No. Absolutely not."

Galba shrugged. "Just a suggestion. Bear it in mind."

Fronto's mind wandered back over his involvement with Clodius over the years and centred unexpectedly on an image of a man crouched on a wall opposite his own front door. Paetus? The former prefect in Caesar's army who had been disgraced, betrayed and then given up as lost in battle was somewhere in the city. He had sworn vengeance on both Caesar and Clodius and - as far as Fronto knew - had no trouble with Pompey, but if anyone was an expert at staying out of the light while keeping apprised of everything that happened, it was he. Fronto wondered for a moment how he would go about contacting the man, if he were still about, of course. There'd been no sign of him in over a year, so it was more than possible Clodius had found him and dealt with him.

"Anyway," Galba said, rising from his seat and drawing Fronto's attention back to the matter at hand, "this was just a quick call to let you know what's happening. I will arrange to see you again, or send word with someone as soon as anything happens worth reporting. In the meantime, stay safe."

Fronto nodded and expressed his thanks as he escorted the nobleman out through the atrium and into the street. As he closed the door, he pondered on just how things had collapsed so much so quickly. Turning, his heart jumped into his throat as he spotted the two figures in the doorway to the garden.

"Trouble?" Galronus asked quietly, Masgava standing next to him with his arms folded. The cavalry officer must have come to the rear door into the garden while Fronto and Galba had talked.

Fronto nodded. "Seems like it. Pompey is conniving to kill me with bureaucracy. Galba thinks he could do it, too. It'll cost him a cartload of coin, but Pompey's got enough to buy a small city."

He frowned.

"You should be in Puteoli now, relaxing in the sunshine and keeping the girls safe."

"The girls have Posco and all your men and women at the villa, and Faleria's already hired a dozen new fairly muscular 'labourers' to ward off any would-be trouble. I thought I might be more use to you here."

"Thank you. You might be right though at this point all I'm doing is training and staying out of sight."

"One other thing occurred to me" the Remi chieftain said, relaxing and leaning against the wall.

"Go on?"

"You said this prophecy of the poet's…"

Fronto slapped his head. "I'd forgotten about that. So much shit since Julia's death I haven't had much time to think. I wrote it down as best I could remember."

He scurried back into his room and retrieved a much reused wax tablet from his desk and then returned to the atrium, running his finger down the words and crossings out.

"Socrates' root: Catullus and his hemlock. Second one was Vulcan's fury, and Aurelia burned in her house. Third one was… I've put something to do with Apollo."

"Apollo?" Galronus frowned. "Can't see how that fits. Could be unconnected."

Fronto shook his head. "I was prepared for coincidence after the first one. I don't like to believe in prophecies, since most of them are the written variant of horse shit. But after two deaths coming to pass the way I was told, I'm less inclined to put it down to accident. I don't like to favour the Gods with too much influence in our affairs, but it's hard to deny them when they're tapping you on the head with their divine finger."

"Apollo" Galronus mused. "Archer? Arrows? Helios? God of the sun?"

Fronto sagged.

"The sun!"

"I don't understand."

The near-naked former legate shook his head. "No. Not the sun shining in the sky. The son. The son of Pompey. The son did for her." Bloody prophecies are always tricky things. Remind me sometime to tell you about my visit to the Sibyl at Cumae.

"And what was the fourth, then?"

"The Parthian shot."

Galronus raised an eyebrow meaningfully. "Good job you're not planning on running out east to join Crassus' army, then?"

"Crassus" Fronto said in a whisper. "Catullus, Aurelia and Julia. Pompey and Caesar's ties are pretty much severed. If something happens to Crassus too, we could be armpit deep in the shit."

Masgava pursed his lips.

"All the more reason to finish training, then."

Chapter Ten

Priscus rubbed his temples and winced. The last few days had offered precious little in the way of sleep or relaxation, the army marching back east and slightly northwards in response to information from captured Britons, bearing down upon the fortified settlement that this Cassivellaunus had made his centre of operations.

The column had been pushed to and beyond the limit by the demands of the General who wanted ever more speed from his army. Caesar had demanded of his officers that the Britons be brought to heel in plenty of time for the Roman forces to settle the matter and return to the boats to cross the channel before the dreadful weather in this part of the world made crossing unsafe or even impossible. In that matter Priscus could only agree. The very idea of being trapped here for the winter didn't even bear thinking about.

But alongside the natural weariness and stress caused by a forced campaign at speed, there was the constant interference and trouble caused by Cassivellaunus' tribe and their allies. Individually, to a force of this size, each incident of chariot strikes against outriding scouts or ambushes of foraging parties were little more than ghosts of gnats pestering a horse, but taken as a whole, the morale-destroying tactic was having a profound effect on the men of the legions.

The lack of any real food supply was also having consequences. Every day more soldiers were coming down with dietary disorders, having now spent some two weeks on nothing but stream water and the hard biscuit emergency rations they carried with them. It was starting to look to Priscus as though every farm, forest and fishpond for a hundred miles had been wiped clear of anything edible.