Marius' Mules IX: Pax Gallica

by Turney, S. J. A.

  Fronto shrugged. ‘ Things had improved at the end, once I had Catháin. And he’s still in Italia dealing with the Campanian wine makers . We will be fine, at least for a while. And I don’t anticipate this being permanent anyway, or even particularly long-term. Caesar and Pompey have to come to some arrangement soon, lest they tear Rome apart. Caesar will throw some small olive branch Pompey’s way and the knob-nosed fat fart will have to accept it, or he’ll be put under pressure by the pro-Caesarians in the senate . Then all these issues that have arisen will be put right. Caesar owes me a few favours by now, so once he is back on good terms with Rome, he can see me right. ’

  ‘I think you’re being naively over optimistic, Marcus,’ the old man said, taking another sup from his glass.

  ‘Ho w so?’

  ‘Caesar is procrastinating in Gaul, ostensibly Romanising the place, settling veterans, visiting tribes and drawing up treaties and the like , but there’s no doubt in anyone I talked to that he’s just really keeping himself busy. What he really has his eye on is the consulship . And there seems to be some dispute at the moment about when Caesar’s command is up.’

  ‘He has two years to run, yet,’ Fronto said flatly. ‘He took up a five year proconsulship when we first went into Gaul. Then back that year we crossed to Britannia it was extended by another five years. That’s ten years and he’s only been in Gaul for eight.’

  Balbus nodded. ‘Caesar sees it that way, too , apparently . But Pompey and his men in the senate have stated that the extension ran from the date it was given, three years into his command, and was not an extension of the original term. That makes it eight years and means his command will expire on the Kalends of Martius next year. A matter of months away .’

  ‘That’s insane.’

  ‘It’s a mess, certainly. Apparently there’s a motion from the tribunes in Rome to let Caesar stand for office in absentia. Pompey and his men are doing their best to overturn that idea. Caesar might be in trouble shortly. If the date of his command’s end is confirmed at next spring and the motion of standing in absentia is discarded, then Caesar will have to return to Rome a private citizen and face the very real probability of lengthy and dangerous court cases against him. ’

  ‘But if he can stand for consulship…’

  ‘It’s not going to happen, Marcus. Caesar’s supporters in Rome are fewer and less powerful than Pompey’s. If the rumours I hear are true, then Pompey already has the winners of the next elections picked out. He has the money and influence in Rome now to make that happen. And you know they’ll be drawn from the anti-Caesarian camp.’

  Fronto ground his teeth and picked irritably at the hem of his tunic. ‘Then it’s down to us. But I will continue to cleave to Caesar. Rome has turned its back on me, as it seems to be doing to the general. But I know Caesar as well as you do . Better , even . And he will endure. He’ll come out of this on top, mark my words. Better to nail my vexillum to his standard than go it alone. ’

  ‘Would that we lived in better days, Marcus,’ the old man sighed, ‘when the senate was a co-operative and the consuls wielded the power. Before the rise of the oligarchs.’

  Fronto simply nodded, though he could hardly lay claim to such nostalgic leanings. From his hazy memories of the old days, they were every bit as troublesome. Marius, Sulla and Sertorius. Rome had always been a snake-pit , in truth.

  * * *

  Winter came to Massilia suddenly, with icy blasts and heavy rain, and news from both Rome and the north was no better. Rome was gradually polarising against Caesar, while the general maintained that his command had years yet to run . In this tense world, in which Massilia sat nervously as a foreign city trapped between the two, the Falerii prepared to celebrate Saturnalia. Slaves and freedmen scurried around the villa putting up garlands and drapes and bringing the new amphorae from storage to settle in the house. The mood among the slaves was jovial , of course , for during the week-long festival, the gulf between slave and master closed, and even the most downtrodden wore their masters’ clothes.

  But the villa’s owners and their friends were less cheerful, for the ever-present threat of trouble between Rome and its northern proconsul hung over Massilia like a thunder cloud.

  Fronto was standing under the veranda, watching the rain battering the gardens, contemplating his choice of gifts for the others, when Galronus strode up beside him and leaned against the veranda.

  ‘I am contemplating riding north in the new year , Marcus .’

  Fronto spun a frown on his friend. ‘What?’

  ‘When Saturnalia is over. Back to the Remi. My people are now one of the most powerful in Gaul, favoured by Caesar and wealthy on spoils and trade. I have not seen my family for some years .’

  Fronto’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘You mean you’re not coming back, don’t you?’

  Galronus looked uncomfortable, and Fronto stepped closer, his voice lowered. ‘Faleria would be heartbroken. Don’t be so stupid. Do you not love her? I’d convinced myself you did.’

  The prince’s eyes danced this way and that nervously. ‘It’s not that, Marcus. You know I love her. And she loves me.’

  ‘I fail to see the problem, then.’

  ‘ The problem is that there are walls between us, Marcus, and I’m tired of scaling walls. I don’t think we can do it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Marcus, I am not Roman.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Alright, you’re not a citizen. But you’re more Roman than several patricians I’ve come across.’

  ‘I’m not good enough for her. Faleria deserves to be with someone who can help rebuild her reputation after this disaster, not a foreigner who will further drag your name into the mud with the senate.’

  ‘ Piss on the senate,’ Fronto snorted, but Galronus was shaking his head.

  ‘It’s not just that, Marcus, though I know that for the rest of her life all Romans would sneer at Faleria, because I know my father would sneer at me for marrying a Roman matron. We are worlds apart, Marcus. But there is another, higher, wall. Faleria’s past haunts her . She has never, I think, let go of the ghost of her former suitor.’

  ‘Listen to yourself, Galronus! Former suitor , indeed. You even sound like a Roman. And you’re right. She’s never got over Verginius. But I’ve never seen her closer to doing so than she is with you, and she never will without someone’s help. And that someone can’t be me.’

  ‘Why not,’ Galronus rumbled. ‘What happened?’

  ‘That’s a long story, and for another time. A less happy time, I suspect. Suffice it to say that Gnaeus Verginius and I were close. Almost brothers. He was promised Faleria, but… events transpired that… Well, Verginius perished while we were away on joint command, and Faleria blamed me. She was probably right to do so . I blamed myself. Still do. And just like Faleria, I will never quite get over Verginius myself.’

  He turned and stretched. ‘ I won’t let you go, though, Galronus. You ride off and I will send an armed party to fetch you back. You need to face this and persevere. You both want each other, and even my mother, who has never been the easiest woman to please, approves of you both. Everyone wants it. And who gives a diseased dog’ s arsehole if it offends the Roman elite. We’re exiles, after all. I am, right now, a citizen of a Greek city, so piss on the lot of them.’

  Galronus chuckled and rested his elbows on the low wall, watching the torrential rain.

  ‘I wasn’t looking forward to riding in this weather anyway. You should be a politician, Marcus. You may not have their flouncy ways, but you could persuade a goat it was a horse if you put your mind to it.’

  It was Fronto’s turn to laugh, then, and he leaned on the wall next to his friend, gazing out over the gardens and the slope, across Massilia and the sea to the we st.

  Somewhere out there, past those many leagues of saltwater lay Hispania, the land of Fronto’s first command along with Caesar. And somewh ere in that warm, pl
easant land lay a field of bones where Fronto’s past lay unburied and raw. No, they a ll had to move on. Dwelling in yesterday did no one any good.

  * * *

  Saturnalia passed with muted humour and the rains abated soon after, giving way to howling winds filled with the ice of deep winter, whistling through cracks and making sea travel impossibly dangerous. Massilia all-but ground to a halt, the populace huddling indoors with burning fires and warm meals.

  Fronto was seated in the triclinium, grateful for the underfloor heating and the blankets on the couch, when Balbus returned once more . The old man and his younger daughter had stayed with the family throughout most of the winter, their own villa holding the worst of memories and being too large and empty for just the two of them anyway . Early this Januarius morning, Balbus had wrapped up tight in an old soldier’s cloak and headed into town once more to attend a meeting of the city’s boule council and speak to his contacts and friends afterwards. His face was dark as he stepped into the room, and Fronto peered expectantly at him as he shrugged off the cloak and shivered.

  ‘What news?’

  ‘Plenty, Marcus, and none of it good.’

  The old man accepted a cup of warm mulsum from Faleria and sank to a couch.

  ‘I spoke to a merchant who’s just come from Rome. Marcellus and Rufus have laid down their consulships, it seems. But the new consuls, who are very much the ones Pompey paid handsomely to see secured in the role, are Marcellus Minor and Lepidus , and neither of them is a lover of Caesar. Once more the consuls are squarely in Pompey’s camp. With his money and influence behind them, the pair are already engaged on a systematic campaign of destruction against Caesar. They’re targeting any connections Caesar has in Rome, right down to his former officers. He’s been denied the right to run for power in absentia, though that’s moot anyway , since the senate considers his term up in two months and the next available consulship is a year away. It seems almost certain that Caesar will be an outlaw by March unless he lays down his command and returns to Rome.’

  ‘Which he won’t, because th ey will ruin him in the courts.’ Fronto laughed. ‘Mind you, if he is made an outlaw, he’ll be an outlaw with ten legions at his fingertips, Balbus. An outlaw with an army that size can change the world.’

  Balbus gave him a black look and thrust out a finger. ‘Don’t talk like that, Marcus. These are not the days of Sulla. Men should not be encouraged to march on Rome. ’

  Fronto shrugged. My lot is cast with Caesar, Quintus, and you know that. I am his man now, whether I like it or not . The senate has seen to that. ’

  ‘There is worse to come, Fronto. That’s just the news from Rome. The boule of Massilia held session this morning too, and their discussions are worrying. They have voted to send ambassadors to Rome. They will make terms with the senate, for though Caesar has his legions within pilum throw of Massilia, the council believes that Rome offers them a solid future of trade and support, and they believe that Caesar will be ousted or dead within the year. They may be correct, of course. But that means they are preparing to turn against Caesar and they will close their gates to him. And t hat means that all his logistics personnel here will be turfed out and there will henceforth be no supplies or trade run through Massilia to the north. Where that leaves us , as Romans and former Caesarian officers , is not yet clear . I have friends in the boule, bu t you have never done yourself any favours politically with the city council.’

  Fronto nodded, his face bleak as he felt the ground once more opening up beneath his feet. Massilia had been the one safe place he and the family could run from the senate. If Rome got its hooks into the council of the city, though, Fronto would be sold out and expelled or simply handed to the senate as part of any deal. Suddenly a peaceful life in Massilia looked increasingly unlikely.

  ‘I have nowhere left to go, Balbus.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The family will be safe here though? With you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Balbus looked uncomfortable, and rightly so. Fronto was the one the senate and their arrogant master in Rome would want to trouble. The rest of the family were unimportant. Balbus held no such stigma. And both villas were still in his name. The family would be safe here with the old man. But Fronto’s continued presence endangered everyone.

  ‘I will have to go.’ He sighed. Somehow he’d known it would come to this sometime , but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

  ‘And take the soldiers with you. The ladies and I can stay as private citizens. I have the support of important men in the city and have long been known to be critical of Caesar, as you know. We will be safe. But any of you who are looked upon as Caesar’s men will be in danger and will cause trouble for the rest of us.’

  Fronto straightened. Galronus and Masgava were in the room, listening with tense expressions. Aurelius, Biorix and Arcadios were somewhere in the grounds, where the Greek was trying to teach the others the rudiments of archery. He had an odd suspicion, given her notable absence, that Andala was with them too.

  ‘You wanted to ride north, Galronus.’

  He ignored the surprised look on his sister’s face as the Remi noble nodded his head slowly and seriously. ‘But now not to see my family, yes? You will need support.’

  ‘And he’ll have it,’ Masgava grunted, rising. ‘Your singulares may be diminished, Marcus, but we are still by your side.’

  Fronto smiled, his eyes flicking to the beautifully-hilted gladius hanging on the wall out of the children’s reach. The sword he had taken from the treacherous tribune a few years ago. Would he have to raise it against a Roman again in the coming months? He hoped not, but the fact remained that whatever Caesar did, Fronto would support him. They were made bedfellows now by the snakes of the senate.

  ‘Go find the others, Masgava. Tell them to start packing. We ride north in the morning. And if Andala’s with them, tell her to stop it and attend her mistress. ’

  As Masgava nodded and left the room to inform the rest of the men, Fronto gave an apologetic smile to his wife where she sat beside his sister. As he crossed to her, Galronus came to his side.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lucilia. I can’t stay. Balbus is right. If the city sides with the senate, I will be worth a lot to them. I have to get out. You will be safe with Balbus, though. And Caesar will have some plan to resolve things, I’m sure. The old man’s rarely wrong-footed. He’ll sort everything out. And as soon as he does we ’ll come back to you and all will be peaceful again. ’

  Late Januarius

  THE wagon roared like a wounded lion as the flames ate deep into the timber s, scorching the w ood black, the glowing golden embers at its heart spitting and crackling. The smell of burned pork filled the air and even the hardiest of the warriors were moving about their business with their eyes screwed tight and their noses wrinkled from the smoke and the smell. The bodies of the slaves and workers hissed and spat in the midst of the conflagration. Two more such wagons of the dead stood nearby, their own infernos in earlier stages.

  The screaming was as intrusive as the smoke and the stench, as the fat man hollered out his terror with every blow of the hammer. The crucifix was in the Roman style. A ‘T’ shape , with the man’s arms over the cross beam and tied and nailed at the back, so that his shoulders would take all the weight. Now they were just nailing his bound feet in place so that he couldn’t thrash around. Blood ran down the arms and feet, clashing rather badly with his purple tunic. He was a wealthy one, this Roman. His voice was cultured – had been , while he’d been pleading with his captors. Now, of course, he was just shrieking like they all did.

  As the warriors gradually tipped the cross to the vertical, the weight pulled on the man’s arms and he felt the nails ripping through his wrists, his shoulders slowly dislocating , and the agony of it all. His screaming reached a new pitch, particularly as the cross dropped into the hole that would hold it and the warriors packed the earth and stones in to stabilise it.

  It was like some scene from the underworl
d.

  A man nodded with satisfaction at the job done, and then turned and clambered up the scree slope to the raised rock mound. He was a warrior , and a strong one. His arms were adorned with silver rings. His mail shirt was of very fine quality, taken from a Roman officer a few years ago , and he wore a very expensive torc. His sword was long and strong and gripped in a powerful hand. His beard was dark and thick. His hair was wild and knotted like a bird’s nest . A purple birth-mark covered one eye, giving him an odd, eerie look, as though he permanently wore an eyepatch. He bowed to the figure on the rock.

  ‘ Will this work?’

  That cold grin turned from its contemplation of the burning wagons to regard the warrior. Even this well-built, battle-hardened man of the high valleys flinched at that face. There was something cold and otherworldly about it. It was not the face of a man, but of a demon sent by the gods to reap a bloody harvest. It was a face from nightmare. And the odd thing was that if you looked at it dispassionately, which took an awful lot of doing, you could almost see past those twin wounds that made that horrible smile, and see a handsome face beneath, Perhaps that was what made the face so utterly chilling. The iron grey hair did little to add compassion to the appearance, either.

  ‘Caesar is arrogant,’ the taller man said in his cold, hoarse voice, and the sound made the warrior baulk all over again.

  ‘Of course, sire, but…’

  ‘The Roman general is too arrogant to survive in the world of men. I have denied him the peace he claims to have won. And I will continue to ruin his Pax Gallica until he comes. He will not be able to countenance the continued failure of his efforts. And even if his own arrogance were not enough to bring him, his continued failure will make him look bad to the rest of Rome. He cannot afford that. No he will most definitely come, even if I have to burn every wagon and outpost for five hundred of their miles. If I have to crucify every fat Roman who strays close to the mountains, he will come.’