Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  Balventius frowned, and the prefect continued.

  ‘And Clodius isn’t interested in me paying him back now. He wants to have his hooks into people. I tried to pay off my father-in-law’s debts a few months ago, but he wouldn’t have it. I suspect I’m too useful to him as I am. And if I renounce him as a patron, Calida and her family will turn up skewered in a ditch, and I’ve no intention of allowing that to happen.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘You see my problem, centurion?’

  Balventius nodded. It was a problem, for certain. Paetus was in trouble whichever way he turned. Unless…

  A slow smile began to crawl across his face.

  ‘You find this funny, Balventius?’

  ‘No,’ the scarred centurion replied, fixing him with that one good eye. ‘But I have an idea. There’s a way we could turn this to our advantage, Paetus.’

  ‘Whose advantage?’ the man asked suspiciously.

  ‘Largely Caesar’s... and yours.’

  He leaned on the table and faced the prefect.

  ‘I need to speak to the staff and then to Caesar when he arrives. In the meantime, I trust you’re happy glossing over this as though it never happened?’

  Paetus nodded.

  ‘Then you get back to your work, and I’ll get back to mine.’

  Turning, he pulled the door open and strode, blinking, out into the sunlight, leaving a dazed prefect sitting in the dark and pondering an uncertain future.

  * * * * *

  Labienus leaned forward across the desk, his eyes blazing.

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘I let him go’ repeated Balventius.

  Balbus wandered across and stood next to his primus pilus.

  ‘He’s got good instincts, Labienus. I might have done the same.’

  ‘Oh, very noble’ Labienus spat. ‘All well and good, but Caesar might not see it that way. He gave us specific instructions!’

  ‘If I might interject?’ Crispus spoke up from his seat.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The actual instructions Caesar sent were to detain him, which is exactly how the centurion proceeded; to extract a confession, which Balventius did; and to do whatever was necessary to get information. Although it might take a moment for the general to calm down and accept it, we have, in fact, followed his instructions precisely.’

  Labienus glared at the young legate.

  ‘Great. Just wonderful. Alright, Balventius. What are you proposing?’

  The primus pilus shrugged.

  ‘This could be turned to the general’s advantage, but someone will need to persuade him of that. This Clodius, from what I understand, is trying to undermine Caesar with the senate?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he believes he has Paetus by the balls.’

  ‘Yes’ replied Labienus again, impatiently.

  ‘Then he has no reason to doubt anything Paetus tells him.’

  Fronto, freshly bathed and shaved, gave a brief, thoughtful chuckle.

  ‘That could work out particularly nicely for Caesar. He could send all sorts of misinformation to the man; make him look like an idiot. The general should see the appeal of that.’

  He turned to Balventius.

  ‘Has Paetus agreed to this, then? It could put his family in a lot of danger.’

  Balventius nodded.

  ‘He hasn’t agreed yet, ‘cause I haven’t asked him yet, sir. But what choice has he got? He’s pretty much got to agree. We ought to work out something to make sure his family are safe first, though, if what I hear about this Clodius is true.’

  The room fell into a thoughtful silence.

  After a long pause, Crispus sat up with a deep frown.

  ‘I…’

  He was interrupted by a hammering at the door.

  Labienus turned, irritably.

  ‘Enter!’

  The door swung open to reveal a legionary standing in the doorway at an approximation of attention, his face a plum colour and sweat pouring down from his hairline. The man had clearly run fast and hard.

  ‘What is it?’ Labienus asked the exhausted soldier.

  ‘Sir…’ the man managed, his breathing laboured. ‘The general is at the gate…’ wheeze… ‘with his praetorians.’ Another ragged breath. ‘He’s on his way now, sir.’

  Labienus nodded.

  ‘Thank you, soldier.’

  As the legionary closed the door and disappeared, the interim commander pushed his seat back and stood with a sigh.

  ‘Well, gentlemen. It appears things are about to start moving.’

  The officers in the room shuffled as they stood, brushing the creases out of their tunics and cloaks and straightening their belts.

  Out in the corridor, they heard heavy booted footsteps and soldiers crashing to attention. They stood smartly and waited. Moments later the door opened, and the young moon face of Aulus Ingenuus, commander of the general’s guards, appeared with a broad smile. Fronto stared. Ingenuus was still little more than two years under the eagles, yet he had, though bravery and a little luck, secured one of the most prestigious positions in the army. The change in him over a single winter was noticeable, though. While he still had his air of youthful innocence, his face had taken on a hard edge, defined slightly by an unfashionable but neatly-trimmed beard. Moreover, he had acquired a thin scar that ran down his cheek to his jaw; the reason, Fronto suspected, for his new beard.

  Ingenuus’ grin widened as he took in the faces round the room. They had no time to exchange pleasantries, however, as he immediately stepped aside and jammed his plumed helmet under his arm, to make room for the general.

  Caesar strode purposefully into the room, waving an arm in a vague fashion of greeting without letting his gaze settle on the men. Fronto eyed his commander as Labienus stood aside and vacated the chair and the general approached the desk. Caesar looked older somehow. His hair had receded a little further and thinned noticeably, and his face looked slightly pale and drawn, as though sleep, never easy for the great man, was now coming rarely and sporadically. Politics was clearly causing the general a great deal more grief than Fronto had realised.

  Without a word of greeting to any of them, Caesar dropped his helmet unceremoniously on the desk and appeared to pay attention to the miscellaneous records on the table, leaning over them with his palms flat down.

  ‘Is Crassus gone?’

  Labienus straightened.

  ‘The instructions have been delivered, Caesar, but only just. Pedius only arrived today with the new legions. I expect Crassus is making preparations to get underway. With respect, general, we weren’t expecting you yet?’

  Caesar grunted.

  ‘So we have seven legions at our disposal here, and Crassus will be leaving today. That’s acceptable. What of Paetus?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Come on!’ barked the general.

  Balbus cleared his throat.

  ‘The prefect was detained and questioned, Caesar.’

  ‘And?’

  Balventius took a deep breath.

  ‘And it is clear to me that he knows nothing of any conspiracy, Caesar. He is…’

  The general’s arm shot out accusingly in the direction of the primus pilus of the Eighth.

  ‘Tell me you have him under arrest.’

  ‘With respect general, I allowed him to retain his position while we…’

  He was interrupted as Caesar swept his arm across the table, wiping his helmet onto the floor where it landed with a dull thud and rolled slowly back and forth.

  ‘His head, or your head, centurion. It’s your choice!’

  Fronto cleared his throat and deliberately stepped forward between Balventius and the general’s accusing finger.

  ‘Caesar, he’s right. I agreed with him; we all did.’

  The general fell quiet for a moment, and his head dropped forward so that he faced the surface of the table. Fronto held his breath; this could go either way. He swallowed nervously
as the general looked up. The remaining colour had drained from his face and his eyes burned with cold fury.

  ‘Get out!’

  Crispus reached the door first and almost threw himself out of it, closely followed by Balbus and then Labienus. Pedius and Balventius followed quickly, avoiding looking back at the furious commander. Fronto, however, remained perfectly still, his arms folded. From the doorway, Balbus beckoned to him. Fronto shook his head and motioned for his peer to close the door. As Balbus, bearing a worried frown, pulled the portal to with a click, Fronto cleared his throat. Caesar had not taken his eyes off the legate before him; moreover, he had not even blinked.

  ‘Caesar, you need to hear me out.’

  The general glared at him.

  ‘You push me too far, Fronto. I am the commander of this army; the governor. We’re a long way from Rome and a long way from the senate. Out here, I am imperator. I gave out orders, and they’ve been disobeyed by the entire cadre of my senior staff.’

  Fronto shrugged and held the general’s stare, calmly.

  ‘That’s not what’s bothering you, Caesar. You know we always act in your best interest. What’s happened?’

  Caesar’s glare remained but, as Fronto watched the heat slowly went out of it.

  ‘The senate. A group of bickering old women, the lot of them. None of them will give me any room to manoeuvre. Clodius spins in the centre like an enraged bear; ripping at anyone he can get his paws near, seemingly at random. He’s trying to undo almost anything I try, but it’s not just me; he rakes at all the others. Then there’s Cato, who seems to want nothing more than to plunge a knife into my back. Even Cicero! A few years ago I invited the man to partner with Pompey, Crassus and myself, even though Crassus disapproved! I even gave his brother a position on my staff, and how does he repay me? By denouncing my every move to the senate as nothing more than self-promotion.’

  He growled and hammered his index finger down onto the surface of the table so hard that he almost broke it.

  ‘Mark my words: the days of the senate are slowly coming to an end.’

  Fronto grimaced.

  ‘I mean it, Marcus. We threw the kings out of Rome because they were corrupt and useless. But what are these meddling morons if not corrupt and useless. Rome will never accept a king again, but it has to find something better than this!’

  He sighed and sank back into the chair.

  ‘I apologise, Fronto. My whole winter has been spent fending off political attacks, and I tire of it. I returned to Vesontio early because there’s an honesty in soldiering that the senate lacks.’

  Fronto nodded earnestly. Caesar and he could disagree on many things, but with that point, he could find no room to argue.

  Caesar reached down and collected his helmet, brushing the dust from the plume.

  ‘Very well. Tell me about Paetus.’

  Fronto nodded and finally took the seat opposite the general.

  ‘Paetus took on his father-in-law’s debt to Clodius. Now that arsehole thinks he owns the man. The problem is that while Paetus’ family are half a mile from Clodius, but he’s here with us, the bastard pretty much does own him. Balventius is convinced of Paetus’ innocence, and I tend to agree.’

  Caesar nodded soberly.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well,’ Fronto went on, ‘that leaves us in an unusual and useful position.’

  ‘Do tell’ the general replied, steepling his fingers.

  ‘I’m not sure what you’d want to do to cause Clodius trouble, but Paetus is your pipeline to doing it. If we can persuade the prefect to deliver information back to Clodius, you could feed him a line of whatever rubbish you felt like. I’d bet you could make him look like a complete tit in front of the senate, if you thought about it.’

  A slow smile spread across Caesar’s face.

  ‘I can see you’ve thought this through, Marcus.’

  Fronto shook his head.

  ‘Actually, this was all Balventius’ idea, but there’s a small hitch.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well Paetus is unlikely to want to help us if it’s putting his family in danger. We need to think of a way to protect them from Clodius.’

  Caesar smiled. Fronto shuddered. It was not a nice smile at all.

  ‘I think I can sort that out, Fronto. When we’re done here, go find Balventius and Paetus and bring them here. I’ll…’

  He suddenly frowned and reached across toward Fronto.

  ‘Is there a smell like tin?’

  Fronto frowned.

  ‘Caesar?’

  ‘And it’s not got a little darker?’

  ‘Erm… no, Caesar.’

  The general stood, slightly stiffly.

  ‘I think we’re done for the moment, Marcus. Best get to your duties.’

  Fronto stared.

  ‘Caesar?’

  ‘Go, Fronto. Get to work. Come back tomorrow with the others.’

  Fronto stared for a moment longer and then bowed and strode for the door, opened it and, exiting, pulled it shut behind him. As he stood alone in the corridor, staring at the wood, he wondered what the hell had got into the general. After a moment, he shrugged and, turning, made his way from the building.

  Out in the courtyard area, the other officers stood in a small knot, arguing in low voices. The sound died out sharply when Crispus drew their attention to the puzzled legate as strode from the headquarters building.

  ‘Marcus? What happened?’

  Fronto shook his head.

  ‘I wish I knew.’ For a moment, he stared into nowhere and then realised they were speaking of the argument.

  ‘Politics. Bad moods. He’s alright now.’

  Gesturing at Balventius, he smiled.

  ‘He wants you, me and Paetus to come back and see him in the morning, but I think we’re off the hook for the rest of the day.’

  He grinned.

  ‘All of a sudden I find myself immensely thirsty. Anyone care to join me? We have to walk past the taverns on the way out of town, after all…’

  Chapter 3

  (Tavern on the main street of Vesontio)

  ‘Mansio and mutatio: stopping places on the Roman road network for officials, military staff and couriers to stay or exchange horses if necessary.’

  Balbus grinned unevenly.

  ‘Problem is…’

  He sat for a moment, pointing a shaky finger at Fronto as his face went blank.

  ‘Problem is that I can’t remember what the problem is!’

  Fronto burst out laughing as the older legate stared down forlornly into his mug. Next to him, Crispus made snorting sounds, and on the other side of the table, Labienus grinned.

  ‘I swear the Gauls put something in this wine that rots the brain.’

  ‘It’s what you’re putting the wine into that’s doing that!’

  As Balbus turned to stare at Labienus, the other collapsed in fresh waves of laughter.

  ‘So…’ Fronto pulled himself upright and rubbed his face with his hand. ‘The general’s been here two weeks. We’re rushed back from the blue shores of the Mare Nostrum in such an awful hurry because the Belgae are stomping around getting twitchy, and then we sit in camp waiting for something to happen. Come on, Titus. You’ve spent the most time with Caesar. What’s he told you? Why are we still sat here?’

  Labienus shrugged.

  ‘He’s waiting on a few things; that I know for certain.’

  He tapped his mug on the table rhythmically as he spoke.

  ‘I’ve been told to watch for a report from Crassus on the situation with the tribes up in Armorica. It’s possible Crassus managed to get his legion to Cenabum in a week, since it’s just men and kit with no baggage or artillery, though that’s a tall order in itself, being best part of two hundred miles away. Let’s say he can get a courier back to us in, what… five days? I mean there’s no mansios or staging posts out here in Gaul; nowhere to change horses, so he would have to let the beast rest. That means that e
ven at breakneck speed, he would only have had a couple of days to check up on the tribes. I’d say we’ve at the very least another week or two before we look like moving.’

  He quickly glanced around to make sure no one else was listening.

  ‘And those riders he sent back to Rome too.’ He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. ‘You know… the Paetus thing? He’s waiting for a reply from them too.’

  He sat back, letting his mug sit still long enough for Balbus to refill it.

  ‘And there’s still almost a dozen native scouts out there among the tribes near the Belgae. He’ll be waiting for those to come in with their information.’

  Fronto grumbled.

  ‘So basically, he’s waiting for his mail to arrive!’

  Balbus laughed.

  ‘What’s up, Marcus? Are you so desperate to get stuck into the Belgae? From what I remember, the last few fights you’ve been in, you’ve ended up wounded and convalescing. You do look a bit too healthy at the moment.’

  Fronto glared at him.

  ‘You can go off people really quickly, you know that, Quintus?’

  ‘Ahem…’

  The four of them turned at the sound of the throat clearing. The yard was attached to the side of the tavern itself, surrounded by a low stone wall and sheltered by a wooden structure covered with ivy. Apart from the other two tables and the benches that served them, the yard was empty. Over the wall, however, life and business went on as always on the steeply-sloping main street.

  Titus Sabinus, senior staff officer and currently one of the general’s busiest aides, stood in the road with folded arms and a false frown. As the four stared up at him like vacant fish, he slipped into a smile.

  ‘Thought I’d find you lot in one of the bars. This is the third one I’ve tried though.’

  ‘Us too!’ Balbus grinned.

  ‘I’ve brought some weary travellers to join you’ the staff officer announced.

  Turning, he beckoned down the street and, moments later, the travel-worn faces of Rufus and Galba, legates of the Ninth and Twelfth Legions, appeared around the corner. Galba, a short, stocky and swarthy man, looked tired to the point of exhaustion. Rufus, younger than Galba by several years, looked equally weary, yet walked with a straight-backed professionalism. The two men looked across at the men in the tavern yard and gave a faint smile.