Shortly after, having left the two steeds on a patch of greenery not far from the flat entrance where they could graze while they waited, the two men hefted their swords ready and stalked up the long slope toward the upper lip of the quarry . The night had worn on throughout the pair’s return journey from Oleastrum, their scouring of the city’s statues and then their five mile journey to the quarry. T heir pace had been somewhat restricted by Fronto’s need to move as slowly and carefully as possible , along with periodic pauses to rebind his midriff using four tunics Galronus had torn into strips and stuffed into a saddle bag . Now the earliest strains of gold were be ginning to creep into the eastern skies, telling of a bright morning to come. Yet for now the scrubby , stony ground was treacherous in the dim light and the pair made their way up to the quarry carefully, the Remi halting periodically to support Fronto when he felt especially weak from his wound.
Clambering up the slope , the two men reached the edge and Galronus peered down into the quarry with wide eyes, letting an impressed breath whisper between his lips.
The floor of the quarry was some sixty feet below, light grey and dusty with gravel. A number of shaped or part-shaped blocks had been left in situ, seemingly surplus to requirements on previous excavations. The walls of the wide horseshoe shape were of a faintly yellowy-white and were eerily unnatural, stepped in rigid, geometric patterns where huge sections had been taken away. It looked to Galronus as though nothing less than a god’s chisel had been at work on the stone. Down at the bottom a couple of basins had collected water , and a tall, slender spire rose at the centre, its tip on a level with the two viewers marking where the original ground level had been. The whole was one of the most impressive sights Galronus had ever laid eyes upon.
‘It’ s grown since I was last here,’ Fronto murmured in quiet tones ‘ Must have been building like mad in Tarraco, though I’d not noticed much change there. The rear of the quarry ha s extended some way and there’s a whole new curve in the cliff opposite. ’
Galronus nodded, dumbly, looking off toward the rear, which was still mostly occluded, sunk in shadows.
‘One of the benefits of this place,’ called a voice from down in the depths, ‘is that at night and unworked, sound carries very well. Hello Marcus. I see your friend rode gallant and loyal to the rescue. What it must be like to experience that kind of loyalty, eh?’
Fronto peered down into the quarry. The irregular cliffs and the depth, combined with the pre-dawn gloom , made it impossible to locate the source of the voice.
‘Are you intending to lead me around all our old haunts, Verginius? Because Italica is a long way away and it you want me on the south coast at some point I’d best set off straight away.’
‘Very funny, Marcus. Your sense of humour is as impenetrable as your sense of loyalty.’
‘Blah, blah, blah,’ grunted Fronto. ‘Why are we here?’
‘To talk, Marcus. I know you like to negotiate by iron and muscle, but sometimes words are the best way. Come down. No harm will come to you. We’re done with all that. Nemesis is sated, and my vow fulfilled. ’
‘Then why not just come to me openly? Why all this performance? ’
‘ Come down and talk, Marcus. One of the long-term effects of the things they did to me early on is a rather scratchy, q uiet voice. It take s a great deal of effort shouting up to you. Why do you think I used the acoustics of the theatre before?’
‘Because this wa s all a farce, I ’d presume d . Alright, Verginius, w e’re coming down.’
Galronus gave him a serious look and lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. ‘This is not a good idea. Whatever he says, he might try and kill you. He’s mad. You said it yourself.’
‘I believe him on this,’ Fronto replied. ‘Come on. I’ll certainly need your help.’
‘Well, we’re not going in there without swords out, for certain,’ the Remi muttered. ‘What I wouldn’t give to have Arcadios sitting up here with his bow right now.’
‘If I’d brought anyone else to Tarraco, they’d be dead,’ Fronto countered. ‘I think he figured you for something unusual, else you’d have been picked off before now too .’
With Galronus’ supporting arm Fronto grunted and winced his way slowly back down the slope , past the unconcerned horses once more and toward the entrance , where the pair tur ned and peered along the quarry floor. It was still impossible to spot Verginius, though the light was now beginning to increase, the sun perhaps half an hour from the horizon.
’A new day is dawning,’ called a voice from ahead , as though plucking thoughts direct from Fronto’s mind.
‘Tends to happen after dark. And it goes on doing it, if you keep watching.’
‘ I’d like to say I ’ve missed your humour, Marcus,’ said a shape, stepping out from behind that thin pillar of rock, ‘but I think we all know that would be a lie.’
Two more men stepped out, one on each side of Verginius. Fronto’s old friend was seemin gly unarmed, his hands open by his sides, but the other two were very much equipped for war, chain shirts hissing as they moved, one with a large axe over his shoulder, the other with one of those long, broad Gallic blades in hand.
‘So much for talking,’ Fronto noted. ‘Your friends seem to prefer blades to words, after all.’
‘ The axeman is Cison, son of Baigorixo – one of the strongest, most feared of the Arenosio. He doesn’t speak any Latin. He hardly speaks at all, really. The one with the sword is Ategnio. He is my…’ Verginius paused. ‘ Galronus , your friend is called, yes? He is my Galronus. My second in every way. My right hand and my courage or conscience if I find e it her lacking.’
‘I’d not noted a hint of conscience about you,’ said Fronto in barbed tones.
‘That’s not worthy, Marcus. Everyone I have killed has deserved it. Or, if not, then they have been a sacrifice to the greater goal. Sacrifices are acceptable, Marcus. They’re sacred. Part of the Roman way. And that’s why we’re here, old friend. Because of sacrifices and vows. ’
‘You never used to talk in riddles, Verginius. Your time among the Aquitanii has made you confused, I think. ’
There was a bark of laughter. ‘Oh, Marcus, I am thinking clearly. I have a clarity that I lacked as a child of the republic. It took death and a view from outside th at republic to see so clearly. And, as I say, that is why we’re here.’
‘Alright,’ Fronto said. ‘Talk, then .’
‘I am done with you, Marcus. My debt is paid, a s is yours. My vow is fulfilled and I am at peace with that. I was so angry at you for su ch a long time after the battle that it rather defined who I was for years. But since seeing you again, I found oddly that I felt more companionship again than hate. My bile had all run away, my anger faded over the years, leaving only an empty vow that I had to fulfil. I am even at peace with your Remi friend comforting Faleria. She deserves happiness . I had rather hoped he would save you from the slavers. Faleria would have hated to hear that news. But now all is good for you. The Remi can go back to Faleria, and you, Marcus, need no longer fear my wrath. So yes, I am done with the pair of you. This is your exit, but like Rome’s glorious Porta Triumphalis , it has two doorways. Have you ever felt the presence of Janus, Marcus? The god of doorways and choices?’
‘I know who Janus is.’
‘But your friend might not. Janus is the god of change and choice , Remi . Of beginnings and endings. And he is here with us now . Something has ended, and something is beginning. Janus fills the quarry with portent and possibility . This place , Marcus… can you remember what it’s called? If not, I left you a handy note you can refer to , remember .’
‘Lautumia M edellae , ’ Fronto said.
‘Yes. The “ quarry of healing ” . Poignant for this mee ting. Not because of your wound, though – oh , Marcus, you should have seen a medicus on the way. You must be close to bleeding out. I would have waited for you. You know that. I’ve waited eleven years already , after all.’
�
�Get on with it. I might die of boredom long before I run out of blood.’
Verginius laughed. ‘That’s more the Fronto I remember. Well this place can be the start, under Janus’ watchful eye. The beginning of the healing of the republic.’
‘You’re talking crap, Verginius.’
‘You know I’m not. I’ll wager you don’t know t he reason for the place’s name , though ? This hill used to be a sacred site for the Cessetani , Marcus . Ever heard of them? Of course you haven’t. I hadn’ t when we were here as Romans either, b ecause the Romans of Hispania Citerior don’t like to mention peoples they have more or less exterminated for their own petty gain. The Cessetani were the tribe who originally built Tarraco. And here, on this hill, right where I am standing but sixty feet or so higher, was one of their greatest sacred sites. A temple. The quarry of healing, Marcus. But their god is forgotten, the sacred waters gone. The temple gone. The priest gone. The whole damn hill gone . And why? So the great Scipio could build high walls for his fortress. So that great men of Rome can build th eir palaces and their villas on the bones of the locals . Greed leading the way as always . ’
‘You’re starting to sound like one of the rabble rousers among the plebs in Rome, Verginius.’
‘Good. Because they might have the right idea. Listen, Marcus… I know you for a good man at heart. You’re a solid republican, through and through. You support democracy in the form we’ve always known it. You used to be full of spite and disgust for men like Marius and Sulla, who almost brought us back to the days of monarchy. You don’t like that any more than I do.’
‘This is getting boring a gain, Verginius.’
‘ Listen to me, Fronto. I have yet to fulfil my other vow. I have to bring down Caesar , and while I regretted carrying out my vow against you, I hunger to bring justice to that selfish rat . But I know you’ve taken no such vow , and turning on your commander will sit badly with you, so I cannot hope to appeal to you on the grounds that he is a monster and a betrayer and a selfish user of others. So I do appeal to you on the grounds that he is a criminal and a danger to the republic you love. I will see Caesar fall in battle, Fronto, to the sword. I will do it, for I have sworn as much both to Nemesis and to Betatun. But I do not wish to do it alone … y ou owe him this as much as me, Marcus. He sent us both to our death on that battlefield, not just me. Our quarrel is done, Marcus. Join me and we’ll make Caesar pay for his crimes.’
There was a long pause, and Fronto took a deep breath, clutching his painful side as he heaved in cold early morning air. How often had men appealed to him to turn on Caesar. Paetus. Pompey. Even Balbus in his time…
‘I can’t do that, Ver ginius. He’s not what you think, as I realised once I kne w Pompey and the alternatives. And even if he was, my horse is irrevocably hitched to his cart anyway . My family has been exiled by the senate , you know? Faleria and mother are in Massilia … ’
‘Don’t tell him that,’ hissed Galronus, but Fronto waved him quiet.
‘They are in Massilia, ’ he went on, ‘ with my wife and my boys and my father- and sister-in-law. We cannot pass onto Italian soil for ten years without being hunted as enemies of the state . Our property impounded, our name blackened. Exiled from Rome for a decade. You know how that feels better than anyone . And now the senate seeks to take Caesar through the courts and prosecute him , so he’s currently trapped in Gaul, unable to cross into Italia without pitting himself against the Roman authorities , so we share a common foe . But the general can win this thing. He believes he can, and I believe him. A nd with his hopes of success rides the fate of the family. Don’t you see? Only Caesar can bring the Falerii back into Rome. Without him, we fade and become distant provincials at best. Fugitives at worst. What kind of future would that be for my boys? I cannot turn on Caesar.’
‘Janus is watching you closely, Marcus.’
‘I’m sure he is, but so are Venus and Fortuna. Caesar is Venus’ son, and Fortuna has given me the general as a last straw at which to clutch for my family . Janus understands. Do you? ’
‘Marcus, Caesar will destroy Rome. He will use it and rape it and corrupt it as he does with everything, and in the end he will leave the republic in ruins. It will be like this sacred place of healing – shattered, broken and quarried away. Morally bankrupt. He will leave Roma to die on a dusty battlefield with a sword through its ribs. Caesar has to die. And it’s the only way to fulfil my vow.’
Fronto sighed. ‘I cannot let you do it, Verginius. I can see and appreciate the truth in some of your words, but it chang es nothing. I am Caesar’s man and h e carries the future of the Falerii in the palm of his hand now. Go h ome. Either back to your father in Rome or back to your mountains, whichever is your home now. But I can’t let you hunt Caesar.’
Galronus huffed. ‘They are three men. Caesar has legions and bodyguards. Let him try.’
‘No,’ Fronto murmured. ‘A determined man can often do what an army cannot. Look at what he achieved in the mountains. I can’t let him do this, because there is a chance he might succeed.’
‘My voice is damaged , Marcus, but my hearing is excellent ,’ Verginius called. ‘I will see Caesar dead. I had hoped you would see sense and come with me , but if not then be assured that I will do it alone. Stay here in this healing place and try not to bleed to death .’
And with that the figure over by the tall pillar of rock turned toward the rear of the quarry and began to stride away . Fronto shared a sidelong glance with Galronus, and the two men started to pace slowly after him .
‘I can’t let you do this, Verginius.’
‘You can’t stop me, Marcus ,’ Verginius called over his shoulder . ‘ Look at you. You’ve lost so much blood you’re almost white. You can’t walk without clutching your middle. You couldn’t wrestle with a tough decision at the moment. And your R emi friend is strong and brave, I’m sure, but so are Ategnio and Cison , and there are two of them .’
As the smiling king slowly plodded off, Fronto and Galronus picked up the ir pac e, crunching across the gravelled surface as the sky began to lighten visibly high above the white cliffs.
‘Slow them,’ Verginius said to his men. ‘Try not to kill them.’
And as he walked on toward the rear of the quarry, where Fronto could now see in the rising light there was a series of wooden gantries, walkways and ladders rising the full height of the cliff, t he two Arenosio warriors turned and Fronto peered into their eyes.
Verginius was clearly troubled – h e was somewhat torn between what he perceived needed to be done, and what he would prefer, in his heart, to do. Th es e two warriors suffered no such conflict. The eyes of both were hard and sure. This was a sign of Verginius’ power. This was why he was still dangerous. At this last sad juncture , with seemingly nothing to offer them, he still had such a hold on these two that they would die for him. A man like that might just get to Caesar in the end.
The bulkier warrior made for Galronus, heaving the axe from his shoulder and swinging it in wide, terrifying arcs. Ategnio moved toward Fronto, his sword in his hand. His eyes held murder. Whatever his master had said, this man wanted to kill Fronto, and might just do it regardless of his orders . Fronto raised his glorious blade and prepared to meet the first blow.
* * *
Fronto had the unpleasant leisure to watch Galronus take the first strike. The big warrior Cison was like a bull in a chain shirt, charging his quarry with t hat anger that seemed to lie just beneath the Celtic skin and which had fuelled four centuries of belligerence toward Rome. While Fronto remained ready to parry a blow, his sword wavering with the effort of holding it up above his painful, aching wounded torso, Ategnio advanced slowly, cautiously and with a glare of pure malice.
Cison , however, swung his axe in a continuous seemingly-random sequences of circles, loops and figure eights and, coming on implacably, Galronus was faced with a disastrous set of options: stand and attempt to weather that first strike, or give ground and back away. The latte
r would leave Fronto open, though, and the Roman was relieved beyond belief to see his friend hold his position, even though it put him in mortal danger.
The axe swept in from the right and would have bitten deep into Galronus’ leg had t he Remi not thrust Verginius’ blade in the way and turned it slightly aside. Even then, the immense momentum the axe carried could not be entirely shifted, and the tip of the blade bit into Galronus’ waist, shearing through his belt, exploding his chain shirt in a shower of links, and drawing blood in a deep line that could so easily have done for him entirely .
Try not to kill them indeed!
Galronus yelped and staggered to the side. He tried to take advantage of the man’s extended arms to strike at him, b ut Cison was quick for a big man and the axe haft came back in time to knock the blow aside. Fronto’s attention was lost to his friend at that moment, for Ategnio was there, jabbing with his sword.
Fronto knew he was doomed from the very first exchange. Ategnio was as fast as Cison , but while Galronus could claim t o be a match for either of them Fronto was wounded and slow, and every sharp move sent torrents of pain flowing through him. More than that, he could feel his strength ebbing. The blood loss had reached dangerous levels. He could feel weakness creeping over him.
He turned Ategnio’s blade with enough effort that it left him staggering back two paces, clutching his middle and burbling in agony. His sword wavered and floundered out to the side as he concentrated on not blacking out.
Ategnio was there again, right before him, sword swiping. Another parry that almost did for Fronto as he used every ounce of his strength not to collapse to his knees.
‘I could kill you with a breath,’ the Arenosio warrior sneered in surprisingly good, if heavily-accented , Latin .
‘I don’t doubt it. You smell like a cow’s arse even on the outside .’
A look of fiery hatred passed through the warrior’s eyes and his upper lip acquired a twitch.
‘I would kill you. I would not bother making it slow and painful. Only idiots drag out the kill for their own joy.’
Marius' Mules IX: Pax Gallica Page 41