His attention was neatly returned to the current dangers as the broken haft of the spear smashed into the side of his helmet, ringing it like a bell.
“Right, you little turd!” Fronto snarled, his eyes blurring slightly with the impact and his ears filled with the metallic ringing. Gripping his sword, he resettled the shield and prepared to deal with the attacker.
“Look!” bellowed Priscus as he smashed a man in the face with the bronze edging of his shield and then pulled back to point with his blood-soaked gladius. Fronto followed his gesture and grinned at the sight.
Two columns of gleaming silver and crimson were emerging from the trees to the northeast, with a large force of cavalry on their flank.
“That’s why they were so damn desperate!”
Reaching down, Fronto tried to stab at the man with the broken spear, but the noble had turned and was already scrambling back down the hill. All around the fort cheers were rising from the defenders, as the discordant shrieks of the carnyx – the strange Gaulish horns – called the rebels to flee the field.
“Must be Sabinus and Cotta both, looking at the size of that army!” Priscus said with a grin. Fronto squinted and peered into the distance at the column, trying to hear over the ringing in his ears.
“I can’t make the banners out yet, but I’m willing to bet Caesar’s with them. That looks like the Tenth in formation to me, and the show-off in red on the white horse has to be the general.” Lowering the tip of his blade, he stepped back and blew out a relieved breath. “Looks like we’re saved.”
“I only hope the old man brought several tons of beef stew with him” Priscus grumbled. “I can’t feed the three thousand men we’ve got here, let alone the rest of the army!”
“That’s right,” grinned Fronto, “find the gloomy side to it.”
* * * * *
The general gave Fronto a curious look as he rode through the gate and the Tenth’s legate grinned back at him, blood-soaked and dirty.
“I would ask what happened to you and Brutus, but I haven’t the energy now, Fronto. Come and see me at the headquarters once I’m out of my armour and have a bite to eat.”
Fronto nodded, his attention already locked on something else further down the column.
“You alright?” Priscus asked quietly next to him.
“That’s the banner of the Fourteenth. I’ve words to have and a score to settle with a certain pair of tribunes.”
“Don’t cause me extra work. I don’t want to have to organise your flogging.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t get caught doing anything wrong.”
“Very reassuring” Priscus replied sourly. “I’d best run. Caesar will no doubt have questions and endless requests for me and I have a few things to do first.”
Fronto half-heartedly waved him away, his eyes still on the flag of the Fourteenth. Plancus rode at the front as usual, his armour gleaming and not a spot of dirt on him. Fronto was staring in concern at the Fourteenth’s tribunes, who seemed to number but four with two conspicuously empty saddles, when he felt someone slap him on the shoulder. Turning in surprise, he saw Sabinus standing next to him.
“You took your time.”
“You’re welcome” the staff officer replied with a weary smile. “I’ll catch up with you properly after a debrief, but we visited Nemetocenna on our circuit and there was a courier there looking for you. I told him I’d pass the message on.”
Fronto looked down at Sabinus’ outstretched hand, in which lay a small ivory scroll case. The seal of Balbus was clearly recognisable in the wax.
“Thanks. I’ll have a read as soon as I get a minute’s peace. I’m looking for two of Plancus’ tribunes. Did you lose them in battle?”
Sabinus glanced up at the empty horses as they passed.
“Those two? Hardly! I don’t think Menenius or Hortius would last two minutes in a real fight. They requested to be released of their commission in Nemetocenna so they could use the courier system to head home quickly. Plancus nearly spat teeth but I overrode him. The army will be better off without them, don’t you think?”
Fronto turned a slow, disbelieving gaze on Sabinus.
“You did what?”
“Well they’re hardly a blessing to a military unit, are they? I’d say they can be less harm in Rome. So I let them go.”
“You idiot!”
Sabinus blinked at the venom in Fronto’s voice, but already the legate of the Tenth was stomping away angrily. His thoughts in turmoil, Fronto strode purposefully though without true purpose until he reached the empty granary at the centre of the fort, where he slowed and leaned against the timber wall, breathing heavily.
The pair had gone.
He’d blamed Sabinus, but somewhat unfairly. From a command perspective, it really did make sense, and it certainly removed a threat to Caesar that he wasn’t even aware of. But where did it leave Fronto? He’d been determined to deal with the pair for what they’d done, and military life would probably have presented him with half a dozen opportunities. Would he have those chances in Rome? Would he even be able to find them and get to them?
Angrily, he ground his teeth and finally looked down at the message in his hands. What did Balbus have to say? Perhaps he’d finally agreed the arrangements with Faleria. Despite the reluctance he’d once felt to think of the coming betrothal, he now found himself almost eagerly awaiting news. His thoughts slid happily to Lucilia and he felt himself beginning to calm and relax. Perhaps this was for the best. He would bring the vengeance of Nemesis down on the two tribunes in good time, but there were more important things in life…
He snapped the wax seal and was about to remove the contents when he spotted Fabius and Furius striding towards him, grinning like devils.
“Tullus here worried that Neptune had dragged you to his depths when you got separated from the fleet” Fabius laughed. “I personally doubt that even Neptune has the patience to deal with you!”
Fronto sighed and smiled weakly.
“Sorry. Caught me at a bad time.”
“So I see” Furius frowned, gesturing at the liberal coating of grime and blood across Fronto’s armour.
“No. It’s not that. Menenius and Hortius have left for Rome. Sabinus released them from duty.”
“They won’t hide from you there. You’re a native of the place, right?”
“Puteoli actually, but I know Rome well.”
“Then track them down and let us know when you’re ready. I daresay we’ll be due a furlough.”
Fronto smiled again, this time more genuinely.
“First thing’s first, though: Caesar wants to see me.”
Furius and Fabius nodded and turned to their own business, leaving Fronto staring into space again. With a deep breath, he pushed himself away from the granary wall and began to stroll towards the headquarters, tipping the contents of the scroll case into his free hand as he walked. Trying not to get the expensive parchment too grubby with the mess from his blood-and-mud-stained hands, he gingerly unrolled it and began to read, making sure he was on a clear course across the grass to prevent embarrassing falls while not paying attention.
He was only four yards from the granary when he came to a complete halt.
Three heartbeats later his fingers punched through the delicate parchment as his hand tightened in response to his clenching jaw.
His eyes burning, he was suddenly striding with furious gait towards the command tent, damaged parchment hanging from his hand.
To Marcus Falerius Fronto
I hope this finds you in good health and in a position to hand your command to another and return to us with all possible speed. I shall not waste words with too much periphery.
The villain Clodius has had the audacity to abduct both your sister and my daughter from the streets of Rome in broad daylight. Through the unbelievable bravery and resourcefulness of Faleria, Lucilia managed to escape her imprisonment and has returned to me to deliver the news. I have to admit to hav
ing almost broken at the disappearance of my daughter, though my joy at her return was soured by the knowledge that your sister bought Faleria’s freedom with her own return to captivity.
From her description, it appears that Clodius’ actions were entirely his own. Whether or not he has spoken to Caesar about the matter I cannot confirm, though I doubt it. Despite my opinion of the general’s motives, I do not believe he would order harm to our womenfolk. I have attempted to speak to Clodius, but he is no longer at the house of the Julii woman. I believe him to be secure and walled up inside his veritable fortress of a house with a small army. I too have arranged a private force and would like nothing more than to reduce his residence to rubble and pick over the corpses, but I fear for the safety of Faleria if I try and so I bide my time, fretting about her safety.
I know that your first thought will be to come to Rome and help, and I pray that you do, but I also urge you to visit Caesar first and secure his aid in bringing the beast Clodius to heel. Only his master’s command will likely speed our cause.
Know that I continue to watch the house and as soon as anything happens I and my men will be on the bastard’s back.
Hurry home and do not tarry.
Good travels.
Quintus Lucilius Balbus.
Fronto burst into the headquarters building, the door slamming against the wall and shaking dust from the rafters, two of the cavalry guard of Aulus Ingenuus trying to restrain him.
“Caesar!”
Rounding the corner to the main room of the headquarters, the chapel next door glinting with the eagles, flags and standards of eight legions, Fronto came to a halt, the two cavalrymen still grasping his arms.
“Caesar, call these pricks off!”
The general, his eyebrow raised in surprise, waved the two guards away nonchalantly. He had removed his cloak, cuirass, helmet and sword, and slouched back gratefully in his chair wearing only his tunic and breeches, a slave unfastening his boots. Brutus and Rufus stood to one side, Cotta and Varus the other, the latter leaning against the wall and rubbing his splinted arm.
“You seem fraught, Marcus. I realise you’ve had a bad…”
“What have you got your weasel Clodius doing?” Fronto demanded.
“I’m sorry?” replied the general, a dangerous edge entering his voice.
“Clodius. You’ll no doubt be interested to hear that Lucilia Balba escaped and told her father all about it. But not so my sister. Oh, no. Faleria’s still missing. But then you know that, don’t you?”
“Marcus, calm yourself and breathe. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do” snarled Fronto, storming across the room and slamming a blood-stained fist on the table, letting the parchment skitter across the surface to the general, who picked it up with a frown. “I knew when I was talking to you in Britannia that you were holding something back from me; something you knew I wouldn’t like. Were you ever planning to release her? I mean, surely it would have been better to just cut her throat and bury her, so that I never found out about it?”
“Fronto…”
“No, no, no, no, no. You delayed didn’t you. Because you hate to waste a commodity that might be of use later. And you waited too long, because Lucilia escaped and now she’s a liability rather than a prize. You cocked up, Caesar, and I heard about it. I found out!”
Caesar stood slowly and slid the parchment across to him.
“I will state again, Marcus, and swear to Venus Genetrix herself that I was not aware of her captivity, as your friend seems to suggest in his letter. I hold both your sister and the family of Quintus Balbus in very high esteem. Had I been aware of their abduction, I would have released them and been the one to break the news to you myself.”
Fronto was shaking his head. “You can’t hide your secrets from me. I knew you were up to something. I can read your expressions, Caesar; I’ve known you a long time.”
The general gestured to the others to leave, and Varus, Rufus and Brutus filed out of the room, their faces a mix of shock and embarrassment. As soon as the door clicked shut, Caesar sat once more and picked up a tablet and stylus, beginning to write furiously.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m writing you three messages. The first is to Publius Clodius Pulcher ordering him to release your sister and warning him that I will be returning to Rome very soon to deal with him. The second is an authorization that will give you access to every resource in my army’s supply and courier train between here and Massilia, so that you can use as many horses as you need to travel home at speed and have the best accommodation en-route. The last is to the captain of my trireme in the port of Massilia, granting you full use. Get home, Fronto and sort this out.”
Fronto stood for a moment, wreathed in anger, concern, confusion and gratitude, hardly able to figure which way to turn.
“But you’re not telling me something!”
“Marcus, there’s a lot I’m not telling you. Some of it is for your own good, and some of it is for mine. Rest assured though that I am not party to this abhorrent act. Now stop wasting time spitting in my face and go and help your sister. I will be a week behind you at most.”
Fronto stood staring helplessly at the general for a moment, not quite sure what to believe, and finally nodded, grasping the three tablets carefully as Caesar sealed them one by one, wiped his signet ring clean and then sat back.
“What the hell was that about?” Brutus said quietly as Fronto emerged from the building. Varus and Rufus had moved off, but the young legate stood with his arms crossed, waiting.
“I need to get back to Rome. Make sure the Tenth is looked after; they’ve fought hard this autumn.”
Brutus nodded and turned as his fellow legate strode on past. “Good luck, Marcus.”
Fronto, barely hearing him, fixed his eyes on the dirty figure of Galronus staggering wearily across the road towards the building that served as a mess hall, a gesticulating Priscus at his side. The cavalryman dragged his feet and looked like he hadn’t slept for several days and was waving away the busy figure of the camp prefect as he walked.
“Galronus?”
The two men paused at the sound and sight of Fronto and the Remi noble broke into an exhausted smile.
“Marcus! I’m so pleased to see you.”
“No time to rest. Get back to your horse; we need to be in Rome before I even have time to shit.”
Galronus blinked at him in surprise.
“Marcus?”
“Clodius has abducted Faleria. Come on!”
Instantly, the cavalryman shook off his fatigue, his eyes flashing with the same anger present in Fronto’s. The two men nodded at Priscus and ran off towards the stables of the cavalry as though freshly awoken.
Priscus stood silent for a moment. Should he go with them? There was nothing he’d prefer, and certainly Marcus would welcome his help. But the camp prefect’s place was here, particularly at this stage of the year’s campaigning.
Scratching his head irritably, he caught a legionary running past and hauled him to a stop.
“Sir?” the legionary saluted in a panic.
“I have a job for you lad. I want you to find someone for me.”
Chapter 21
(Vienna, on the Rhodanus, 160 miles north of Massilia)
Galronus dropped heavily from his horse and almost staggered with fatigue as he led the beast towards the stable area of the Sweeping Eagle, their first stop within the traditional borders of the Republic. Fronto slid down with equal lack of grace from his own mount and grasped the reins to lead the beast on. He’d have felt more confident riding Bucephalus back home, but had decided to leave the magnificent black in the care of Varus, opting for the speed to be gained from a constant change of courier horses on the road south.
“I’m for an unhealthy quantity of wine tonight” Fronto said without humour. “I need a proper sleep for a change.”
Galronus inclined his head in agreement. “Once
we stow the gear. A good hot meal is high on my agenda too.”
Nodding, Fronto strode towards the door into the courtyard and stable area. The groom appeared as if from nowhere as the two men neared the entrance and reached up to take the reins, leading the beasts into their stalls for the night.
Leaving the young man to his work, the two officers hoisted their bags over their shoulders. It had only occurred to Fronto almost a hundred miles from Gesoriacum that he’d not arranged the transport of the rest of his gear, but figured that half of it would stay with the Tenth as usual and that Priscus would find a way to ship the more immediate and personal kit to Puteoli for him. For what he had in mind at the moment, all he required was clothes, a horse, a sword and a bad temper.
The interior of the Eagle was heaving with drinkers, diners and gamers intent on their dice and various miscellaneous competitions. Fronto looked around for the familiar figure of the proprietor, Lucius Silvanus, but could not spot the large ex-soldier among the press. Every table appeared to be full, but he felt fairly sure that someone would respectfully make room for them to sit and eat once they were ready.
Gesturing to Galronus, he shoved his way through the throng to the bar, surprised at the lack of shown deference until he remembered that he was wearing only his stained, battle-scarred tunic, breeches and military cloak, a utilitarian gladius at his side. Without digging out his better kit, he looked not unlike any other off-duty soldier.
The bar was being tended by a bulky Gaul with hands like hams and arm-hair like a bear, and by a young woman who would have been stunningly attractive were it not for the pox scars and the missing ear that was just visible occasionally as her hair moved.
“Innkeep?”
The huge Gaul handed a local his change and shoved a clay cup towards him before sidling down the bar. Fronto thought he caught a hint of recognition in the man’s expression as he suddenly moved from the sullen keeper of drinks to the helpful attendant of the bar.
4.Conspiracy of Eagles Page 47