Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  Fronto blinked. Cicero he had been expecting, but his companion? The elder Crassus carried with him a gravitas that instinctively made one want to bow. It was no wonder this man had held such pivotal roles in Roman government for the last fifteen years; no wonder that Caesar seemed to be bending over backward to keep Crassus sweet. The man’s heavy brow and serious gaze turned back from conversation with Cicero and settled on Caelius Rufus and the small group accompanying him at the bottom of the steps.

  ‘The date for the trial has been set’ Cicero announced, as he left the staircase of the curia and alighted in the forum once more. ‘We have been most fortunate, not the least because of the political weight that our friend here carries.’

  Caelius, between Fronto and Crispus, nodded with a mix of eagerness and fear. He had succumbed recently to bouts of mad depression, contemplating the seriousness of his situation, and Fronto was starting to worry about the man.

  Crassus nodded toward his companion.

  ‘Cicero is too generous with his praise. The Clodii pushed for as early a trial as the senate would allow, since their evidence is vague and tenebrous at best. Far better would it be for them to push the accusations before we have a chance to put together a solid defence.’

  ‘We?’ Caelius frowned.

  ‘Yes’ Cicero smiled. ‘Crassus here has agreed to stand as co-advocate for your trial. The good news is that we have persuaded the senate that an early trial would likely lead to misrepresentation and false information. We have managed not only to get the date set back to the beginning of Aprilis, giving us over a month to put your case together, but also to have the proceedings moved to the privacy of the Basilica Aemilia which will be closed for the session, rather than a public trial.’

  Fronto frowned and cast his gaze around the square casually, heaving a sigh of relief as he spotted Galronus, arms folded, leaning on the inscribed panel above the lacus Curtius, three of the hired hands close by. Priscus stood on the steps of the temple of Concord, his eyes continually strafing the forum for anything out of the ordinary, a small party of men at his shoulders.

  ‘You’d best make the case tighter than a Greek’s arse’ he stated emphatically. ‘Someone is very definitely out to remove Caelius from the picture. We’ve stopped half a dozen attempts on his life in the past two weeks. Another month? His chances diminish with each week, so make that time count.’

  Crassus nodded in a vague recognition to Fronto. The legate could not remember when he’d met the man before, but clearly Crassus recognised him.

  ‘Keep him safe. The continued situation here appears to be driving a wedge between Clodius and his sister, and a disorganised opposition is always to be commended.’ The statesman narrowed his eyes at Fronto. ‘Do you have any idea when Caesar plans to return to Rome or what his plans are?’

  Fronto paused for just a moment, contemplating whether it would be prudent to disseminate such information.

  ‘The general should be here in weeks at the latest. I’ve no idea what his plans are from there, but campaigning season’s almost here and knowing the old bas… knowing the general, he’ll have engineered some incursion by ice monsters from the north or some such for us to go and fight for the glory of… Rome.’

  Crassus gave him a curious lopsided smile.

  ‘Caesar told me that you were outspoken. He seems to think this is a merit rather than a flaw and perhaps he is correct. Still, the fact remains that it is more than possible you will be off to ravage your ‘ice monsters’ before the trial actually begins. Have you given any thought to continued protection for the defendant here should you have to leave and join your legion?’

  Fronto frowned. The thought had not occurred to him. For the first time in years, he’d wintered in Rome and had found that he’d actually enjoyed himself; particularly in the past few weeks with the added entertainment of villains to kick. He’d hardly spared a thought for the Tenth. Beside him, Crispus cleared his throat.

  ‘I daresay that our favourite convalescing camp prefect would be more than adequate for the task. He is to stay in Rome on enforced leave, and I suspect would welcome the distraction.’

  Fronto grinned.

  ‘Aye, Priscus knows what he’s doing; Caelius’ll be in good hands.’

  Cicero and Crassus shared a glance and nodded.

  ‘Very well,’ Crassus smiled, ‘you just keep on doing what you’re doing, and we shall begin putting the case together in detail. Cicero here has gathered copious notes, details and depositions over the past fortnight, and we should have everything we need, though we may drop in from time to time when questions arise that only Caelius here can answer.’

  Cicero changed hands with the tablets he was carrying and opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it sharply, a cloud falling across his face as he looked back up the steps.

  Fronto turned to follow his gaze. The prosecution party had appeared at the entrance to the curia and begun to make its way down to the comitium where they stood. The legate spared a moment to take in everything he could of his enemy. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Clodius, but for some reason his mind had padded the man out with a rotund, sweaty form, dripping in jewellery and excess, piggy eyes greedily searching out his next vice. This mental image could hardly have been further from the truth.

  Clodius was a handsome man of middle height, with neat black hair and high cheekbones, his form slim and athletic and attire suited to an austere public event. The man was, quite simply, stylish. Behind him stood the tall, olive figure of his ‘facilitator’, Philopater. Fronto had met the man a couple of times and had taken enough of a dislike to him that he had to restrain himself on sight. The other prosecutors had separated from the pair as they emerged and, without any exchange, had veered off to the left away from the gathering. As Clodius and his man approached, however, a new figure appeared at the doorway and stepped light and fast down the stairs to catch up with them.

  Clodia was stunning. Her ebony tresses, pinned elegantly and woven around a diadem of silver filigree, surrounded a pale face that would make Venus green with envy. Her small and delicate form, dressed in a stola of midnight blue, seemed lithe and dextrous and almost glided down the steps. Fronto found that he was staring and wrenched his gaze away to glance at Caelius. He could quite see how the man had fallen for her charms.

  Caelius’ downcast and miserable features had filled for a moment with a golden light as his eyes fell on her and, in that single moment, Fronto realised just how dangerous this woman could be.

  ‘My dearest Cicero’ Clodius announced as he reached the bottom of the steps, his sister catching up with them there. He held out his hands and clasped Cicero’s grudgingly proffered arm. ‘You spoke well in there; almost destroyed our case before it was even presented. I am, as ever, in awe of your oratory.’

  Cicero smiled with a rictus and inclined his head slightly.

  ‘Your prosecutors supply the ammunition. I merely use it.’

  Anger flashed for a moment in Clodius’ eyes, but he forced it down and continued to smile.

  ‘And Crassus. To have your illustrious presence gracing the court is always a joy.’

  Fronto glowered at the man. Clodius was plainly the kind of man that Fronto hated most in the world: a devious thug, hiding behind a mask of civility. His attention was drawn once more to the figure now standing at the man’s side. Clodia smiled her most devastating smile at him and licked her lips. He tore his gaze quickly away from her and realised that Philopater was also watching him. What was it with these people?

  Clodius nodded respectfully at Caelius.

  ‘I am so sorry that events have come to this point. You have been like a brother to me. But then’ he smiled sadly ‘my brother would have known better than to sleep with my sister, wouldn’t he?’

  Caelius flinched, and Fronto cleared his throat.

  ‘I‘m a soldier, not a politician, and all this feigned civility is in danger of forcing my breakfast to make a reappearance a
nd my sword arm’s beginning to itch. If we’re all done posturing, could we go our separate ways?’

  Clodius laughed.

  ‘You would be this Fronto I keep hearing of. Caesar must be a truly patient and forgiving man. But you are absolutely correct: let’s dispense with the pleasantries. My sister has a habit of involving herself in difficult and sticky situations. I would just as rather this whole affair had not occurred. Rest assured, Caelius, that, despite the best efforts of your two noble advocates, we will win the case and then you will be executed and your family will suffer grave dishonour.’

  He smiled at Caelius rather unpleasantly.

  ‘You could, of course, save us all the trouble, and take the honourable way out. I give you my word that no further motion will be made against your name if you remove the need for the trial.’

  Clodia glared at her brother, but he ignored her. Fronto tried to ignore the fact that the woman’s gaze kept coming to rest on him, while the burning eyes of the Egyptian continued to bore into his skull.

  Something clicked in his head in that moment. He’d been wondering why Clodius should be trying so hard to remove Caelius from the picture when it was he who pushed the trial in the first place, but the answer was obvious now. His sister was the source of the accusation and Clodius would rather have disassociated himself from the whole potentially-destructive matter had he the choice. Clodius was trying to make the problem go away in any way he could. Now Fronto really hated the man.

  In a moment of insight that he would rather not have had, Fronto realised that it was a damn good job that this man and Caesar were enemies. Were they together, they could rule the world within a year with their unscrupulous methods. He flashed his teeth in an almost-smile at Clodius.

  ‘I’d just as rather he didn’t fall on his sword quite yet. He’s staying with me and the mess would be appalling.’

  Clodius frowned for a moment and then laughed.

  ‘Very well. I have important matters to attend to. Philopater? Come!’

  He bowed and, turning, strode away across the forum. The hook-nosed Egyptian nodded toward Fronto and made a strange sign with three fingers pointing at his own eyes and then at Fronto. The legate’s lip curled.

  ‘See you soon.’

  He watched Philopater until the man turned his back and then nodded to Crispus.

  ‘Get Caelius back to the house and gather Galronus and Priscus and come meet me at the Taverna Arabia in an hour or so. We need to step up our routine if Caelius is going to live long enough to be tried. If young Cicero is at the house, bring him too. He said he’d be dropping by.’

  Crispus nodded and turned to the small gang of men he currently commanded, gesturing them on and marching them back toward the Aventine. Cicero and Crassus let their gaze rest on Fronto for a while and finally Caesar’s patron pursed his lips.

  ‘I am aware of your reputation, Fronto. With the current evidence, we can walk this trial through the way we want it. Leave matters in the hands of the lawyers and don’t do anything stupid that might give our opponents ammunition to use against us.’

  Fronto grinned.

  ‘Trust me!’

  Crassus shook his head and muttered something to the elder Cicero that Fronto did not hear before the pair turned and strode away across the forum. Fronto watched them go, silently voicing his opinion of lawyers and politicians alike. Men like these had built the republic, yes, but then it was men like these that would destroy it too.

  He almost jumped as he turned to leave and saw the startling green-blue eyes of Clodia locked on him. She had been so silent he’d forgotten she was there again.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked, with an audible trace of irritation.

  ‘It would appear that my brother has left me to your tender care. It would be unseemly and dangerous for a lady to return home through the streets of the city without an escort.’

  There was an unspoken command in the words, masquerading as a request. Fronto gritted his teeth. This woman was far too dangerous to be around, but to refuse her request would be…

  He couldn’t actually see any reason why he shouldn’t just turn and leave her here. She was, after all, one of the opposition and probably planning to use him in some wicked way. And yet, as he turned, he realised he was already holding his arm out to her. She took it with a full-lipped, knee-trembling smile. Fronto swallowed nervously as he looked her in the face.

  ‘Where are you headed?’

  ‘Actually, I have no plans. I should be home for the evening meal, but perhaps we should go somewhere to talk? A tavern perhaps?’

  Fronto smiled, heaving a sigh of relief. Now he was heading for familiar territory: women that wanted to use him.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea. You see, I’m pretty sure that men usually fall over their tongue when they talk to you and would happily knife their grandmother to spend a night with you but, while you’re very attractive, I’m quite used to dangerous women. I still limp slightly after an encounter with a German woman. I really don’t fancy being the next man to have to defend himself in court because you’ve changed your fickle mind.’

  Clodia flashed an angry glance at him.

  ‘I had you measured as a better man than this, Marcus Falerius Fronto. You have an opportunity with me to gain a little advantage over my brother, and I strongly suggest you take it. He and I are siblings; we are not friends.’

  Fronto smiled unpleasantly.

  ‘That’s as maybe, but I leave politics in the hands of politicians and if I’m going to spend time with vicious women, I prefer ones that bite to ones that corrupt from within.’

  Withdrawing his arm, he nodded at her.

  ‘I suspect you can safely make your own way home, lady Clodia, and I also believe that if I have to spend any more time listening to your lies, I might have to go to the baths on the way home to wash the stink of corruption off me. Good afternoon.’

  He turned his back on her furious features and strode off.

  ‘Walk very carefully, Fronto’ she shouted after him. ‘My brother is not the only one with friends in low places.’

  Fronto sighed. Why was it that every woman he ever met wanted to either use him, or change him, or both? His sister pictured him as a future consul, Balbus’ wife, Corvinia, had contemplated marrying him off to her daughter, Longinus’ widow had seen him as a replacement for her husband, and that Belgic woman last year…

  He suddenly realised he’d never even known her name. Shaking his head, he drew his thoughts back to the immediate situation.

  The next month was going to be interesting. Tense… but interesting.

  Chapter 4

  (Martius: Rome. The house of the Falerii on the Aventine)

  Fronto rubbed his head vigorously with the towel. He’d only been outside for less than quarter of an hour, but the rain was so torrential that it felt as though he’d done several lengths of the pool at the baths.

  ‘All this for bloody breakfast!’

  Priscus, sitting warm and dry on the small seat by the altar to the lares and penates in the vestibule, laughed.

  ‘Well if you wouldn’t wind your sister up so much, life would be much easier for you.’

  Fronto glared at his friend but, in truth, Priscus was absolutely right. He’d been very hung over this morning, and Faleria had rubbed him up the wrong way, causing him to become increasingly unhelpful and childish. In the end, she had thrown up her arms and told him he could sit and simmer until he’d changed his attitude. Fronto had been happy at the time to see her go, but it was almost a quarter of an hour later before he realised that she had accompanied her mother and taken the slaves with her. Fronto was alone in the house with Priscus and Caelius and no amount of exploring the working area of the house had turned up bread, butter, cheese or milk.

  Shunning the remains of the unfinished wine and something grey on a stick he’d bought from a street vendor on the way home last night and had not been able to face since, he’d
eventually come to the conclusion that if they wanted to eat, he was going to have to brave the rain and go to the bakery two streets down toward the Porta Capena.

  Shaking wildly like a dog after a dip in the river, Fronto grunted, picked up his soggy shopping and nodded at the altar on the way past.

  ‘Let’s go get breakf…’

  He was interrupted by a knock at the door behind him and for a moment continued walking before realising that nobody would be opening it for him. He grinned. This was more like being back in Gaul: uncomfortably damp, getting hungry and having to do everything for himself. Throwing the wet shopping bag to Priscus, he turned on his heel and walked to the door, flinging it open, trying his best to mimic the humble stance of a house slave.

  ‘Can I ‘elps thee, master?’

  The wet and disgruntled face of Gaius Julius Caesar, Proconsul of Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul and of Illyricum, glared down at him, half a dozen togate figures gathered around behind him.

  ‘If this is supposed to be funny, Fronto, you’re far from the mark, as usual.’

  Fronto rolled his eyes. Bloody typical.

  ‘You’ve chosen a nice day to visit, Caesar’ he said, straightening. ‘I wondered where all this sudden rain came from. You must have brought it with you from Illyricum.’

  ‘Is there any danger of you inviting us in out of the downpour?’ the general asked, his eyes beginning to narrow in irritation.

  ‘By all means, general. I’d invite you all for breakfast, but I have a single loaf of bread, some cheese that may well be out of date, an amphora of wine with things floating in it and something dead and sticky on a stick. You might be better not taking me up on the offer.’

  The general glared at Fronto as he strode in past him and removed the crimson cloak, raking fingers through his thinning hair and discarding droplets of water to the marble floor. Behind him, the men in togas shrugged off their own cloaks and used them to rub their heads. They may be dressed as Roman gentlemen, but Fronto knew the bearing of a soldier when he saw it. He did not know these men; Caesar must have brought new blood in from Illyricum. They all looked vaguely Greek. Except.