Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘I know you from somewhere.’

  The man bowed his head, a crown of shiny skin showing through the curly brown hair.

  ‘Appius Coruncanius Mamurra. We’ve met a few times, Fronto. Your sister invites me to her socials. Admittedly I’m often late, and the last time I attended, you and your friends were already in the garden, peeing in the fountain.’

  Fronto cast his eyes downward. Damn it. This was why he was more comfortable in the field. He nodded.

  ‘Mamurra. I’ve heard Tetricus talk of you. Famous engineer, right?’

  The man bowed again, and Fronto tried not to stare at the shiny pink circle in the middle of the man’s hair.

  ‘I have been known to build the odd thing, yes.’

  Fronto grinned at Caesar.

  ‘You’ve something in line for the campaigning season then?’

  Caesar, having wrung most of the water from his clothing, pinched the bridge of his nose.

  ‘Not exactly, Fronto. Shall we go and sit down to talk?’

  Fronto shrugged.

  ‘By all means, but we should go to the triclinium, there’s a guest in the main room sleeping off the effects of last night. Galronus is around somewhere; possibly in the garden face down. Shall I fetch him?’

  Caesar shook his head.

  ‘Not so important. It’s you and Priscus I’m here to see.’

  Shivering in the cold, damp air, he turned to follow Fronto into the dining room. The general stopped to nod at Priscus with a measure of respect and familiarity. The Camp-Prefect-in-waiting gave a small bow in return and then followed the group in, limping with a rhythmic grunt.

  Once the party were all seated, Caesar stretched and locked Fronto with a searching gaze.

  ‘I’ve only been back in the city for a few hours and already I hear the most astounding rumours about your activities, Fronto. My niece is very well informed. I look forward to hearing all about it, but first let me give you a ‘heads up’ as they say.’

  Fronto nodded. All business; something had unsettled the general.

  ‘A message reached me a few weeks ago at Salona, courtesy of Brutus’ mother Sempronia here in the city. It would appear that young Crassus, busy wintering away in northwestern Gaul, is about to cause a Gallic uprising; or possibly he has already done so.’

  Fronto groaned.

  ‘I was really beginning to hope we’d settled things in Gaul. Every year we go there, have to sort some arrogant bastard out and then you announce that Gaul is conquered again… until the next rebel pops up.’

  Caesar nodded grimly.

  ‘It is very much as you say and, I have to admit, it’s starting to make me look bad in the eyes of the senate. I cannot keep pronouncing Gaul conquered and then having to go back and sort the damn place out again forever. But it’s a little… delicate. I have a great deal tied up in my alliance with his father; as much as I do with Pompey, if not more. I cannot simply remove the runt and send him running back to daddy. So, sadly, we’re going to have to go and make sure this revolt either doesn’t happen at all, or fails to become noteworthy back home.’

  Fronto sighed and reached across to Priscus, motioning for him to pass the bread and cheese. As he did so, Fronto shrugged.

  ‘I’ve sort of been expecting the call to arms, anyway. It’s a few weeks earlier than I expected, but still…’

  Caesar shook his head and then reached out speculatively for the loaf of bread that Fronto had finished with and was about to discard.

  ‘May I? Don’t panic over the call, though, as I’m not planning to head out for a few weeks yet. There are things I need to do in Rome: I have to see Crassus and Pompey, and spend a little time with Atia and her family. I have to renew a few acquaintances, and pass on my gratitude to Sempronia. It was she who knew to send the message from her son on to Illyricum. Besides, half the staff officers and legates will need to be informed and gathered. I believe Crispus is here somewhere?’

  Priscus nodded.

  ‘He’s returned to staying at his family’s house on the Esquiline, general. I think he’s sick of waking up with a bad head.’

  Fronto hurriedly chewed through his mouthful, speaking with a mouth packed with bread and cheese and dropping crumbs onto the floor.

  ‘If Crassus is causing that much shit, shouldn’t we get back as fast as possible?’

  Caesar shook his head.

  ‘Gaul may be important, but it’s only one of my worries at the moment. Besides, young Brutus seems to be keeping things in order, with the help of some of the veterans. He’s even gone as far as building a fleet on the Loire to prepare to deal with the coastal tribes.’

  Fronto nodded appreciatively.

  ‘He does think ahead, that one. Clever lad.’

  ‘So…’ the general said, pulling himself up a little in his seat, ‘what’s this I hear about you getting involved with half the criminals and politicians of Rome?’

  Fronto took another bite of cheese and shrugged.

  ‘Your friend Clodius is messing with things. Him and his sister, anyway. They’ve taken Caelius to court, and Cicero and Crassus are defending him. Well…’ he added with a grin, ‘they’re defending him in court. Me and Priscus and a bunch of lads with stout wooden clubs are defending him everywhere else. It’s him that’s asleep on the couch in the other room.’

  ‘Indeed’ Caesar nodded. ‘I’d heard that he was involved. You do know, I presume, that Caelius Rufus is one of the names on a list I have of people that work for Clodius and cannot be trusted and will need to be dealt with in due course?’

  Fronto chuckled mirthlessly.

  ‘I think if he was still in Clodius’ pocket there would be considerably fewer knife-wielding maniacs out to gut him in the street. You might find that Caelius is one of the most useful people you could meet in the near future, so long as Cicero and Crassus can keep him away from execution.’

  He looked up at Caesar from beneath lowered brows.

  ‘So long as you do right by him and don’t send him the way you did with Paetus, that is.’

  The general’s features hardened.

  ‘Paetus was a fool and a tool; nothing more. Don’t start getting sentimental over people you feel sorry for Fronto. There are too many of them for comfort.’

  Fronto glowered for a moment, but let the matter pass.

  ‘You might want to speak to both Crassus and Cicero as soon as possible’ he added. ‘I’m just playing bodyguard, but the pair of them know what’s happening in more detail. They seem quite positive that they can destroy Clodius’ case.’

  ‘Fair enough’ the general nodded. ‘The trial is set at the start of Aprilis, yes? I think we can delay our departure until after that. I would rather like to be around for the event. Where are your mother and sister, by the way? I was hoping to pay my respects while I was here.’

  Fronto leaned back.

  ‘Mother wanted to go shopping this morning, and Faleria felt the pressing need to be a long way away from me. In her defence, I did smell like a dead bear this morning.’ He sniffed his tunic and winced. ‘And the rain hasn’t helped much. Now I smell like a soggy dead bear.’

  Two of the new officers exchanged quiet words in Greek.

  ‘Don’t you know it’s rude to do that?’ Fronto glared at them.

  ‘I am dreadfully sorry, legatus. I was led to believe that you were not a man to stand on ceremony.’

  Fronto glared.

  ‘Not with people I know. You I wouldn’t know from Socrates!’

  Priscus grinned uncomfortably through the tension that hung in the air.

  ‘The legate is suffering with a bad head this morning and is quick to anger. I suggest you stick to good honest Latin for now. Fair?’

  The toga-clad Illyrian nodded hastily.

  ‘Good.’ The former primus pilus of the Tenth turned to Caesar. ‘I expect I know the answer, general, but does the call up include me on the roster? It’s getting quite dangerous in Rome at the moment. I might
just be safer in Gaul.’

  Caesar smiled.

  ‘I’ve already appointed a temporary camp prefect for the season to hold the position for you, Priscus. You rest for a few months more yet. I’m sure there will be plenty of action for you to come back to when you’re fully recuperated.’

  Fronto smiled as he saw the Greek-speaking fellow with the attitude in the corner go white at the mention of Priscus’ name. He laughed.

  ‘Let me guess? That fellow over there’s your temporary camp prefect?’

  Caesar nodded, his face betraying no emotion.

  ‘Ha. No wonder you went pale. Hey Priscus… meet the man who’s covering for you.’

  Priscus smiled at the Greek-speaking man.

  ‘You’d better not screw my legions up for me before I’m ready to take over.’

  The man gulped and nodded.

  ‘And a word of advice? Speak Latin. If you start to spout your fancy Greek around the legions, someone like Balventius will bury you up to the waist in the latrines… face down!’

  Fronto grinned wolfishly, and Caesar gave him a weary smile.

  ‘Well this has all been very pleasant but, in the absence of your family to visit, I fear that’s all that need be said at this time. I’ll be at my home for the next few days when I’m not with friends. Find me there if you need to speak to me, or leave a message.’

  Fronto nodded and he and Priscus rose with the visitors, escorting them back into the vestibule and to the front door. As the men adjusted their togas and cloaks, readying for the torrential rain outside, Fronto stepped past them and opened the door. Caesar peered out into the deluge and gestured to his host.

  ‘Are you aware you’re being observed, Fronto?’

  Fronto leaned past him and squinted into the rain. On the far side of the street, lurking in the shadows beneath the wall and shrubbery that surrounded the garden opposite, a young woman in ragged clothes crouched, her eyes locked on the house’s door.

  Fronto nodded wearily.

  ‘Don’t let the vagrant clothes fool you. She’s one of Clodia’s servants. I’ve seen her shadowing me in the forum. Looks like they’ve started watching the house now. That woman is beginning to become a powerful pain in the arse.’

  Caesar frowned.

  ‘You’ll have to do something about her, of course.’

  Fronto nodded with a cheeky grin.

  ‘Absolutely. She looks starving. Priscus? Go ask her if she’d like some breakfast.’

  As Priscus laughed and threw a cloak over his head, Caesar shook his head in exasperation.

  ‘Should I live a thousand lifetimes, I swear I will never understand you, Fronto.’

  Without waiting for a reply, the general, along with his escort, strode out of the door and hunched his shoulders against the rain as they turned and made their way down the street, past the humorous tableau of Priscus offering bread to the bewildered spy.

  * * * * *

  The first day of the trial of Marcus Caelius Rufus ended without pomp or ceremony, reminding Paetus of the adjournment of a meeting, with the various attendees gathering up their notes and shuffling them before filing out silently to go about their own business for the evening. The public were not admitted to the basilica during this private session, of course, yet Paetus had spent his youth around the forum and knew, like many others raised within its boundaries, how to get a personal view of these private matters.

  The eastern end of the top step of the temple of Castor and Pollux, for example, beneath the ornamental colonnade, gave a partial view of the interior of the Basilica Aemilia through one of its high windows. Much of the interior was still hidden from view, and there was no hope of listening in, of course, but to keep an eye on things, the point of view was unrivalled.

  Paetus, grateful for a break from the incessant rain, had spent his day here quietly and undisturbed, other than having to shoo a couple of children away when he’d returned from purchasing his lunch. His position gave him a clear view of the open space where the advocates and prosecutors strode about, espousing their views. Apart from Crassus and Cicero and Caelius himself, the respected senator Gaius Coponius and Clodius’ pet praetor Quintus Fufius Calenus both took turns to give their own, probably spurious, evidence, along with many less notable noblemen.

  And finally, with the outcome still hanging in the balance, the trial had ended for the day, the doors were unlocked, and the basilica began to empty. Paetus watched carefully as the togate figures emerged; a studious man could tell a lot from facial expressions and body language.

  Many of the men involved in the case bore the stony, serious gaze of the career lawyer. Such a high profile trial brought most of the legal minds in Rome out of the woodwork, whether they were required or not.

  Then Cicero and Crassus appeared, and Paetus sighed with relief. Crassus was known for his stony features anyway, but the chuckle he gave at some unheard comment of the smiling Cicero spoke volumes about the direction the trial was taking. Paetus’ conclusion was confirmed twice more, principally as Caelius appeared at the door to be greeted instantly by Fronto and Priscus who had been sitting on the marble steps outside. Briefly his eyes flicked across to the Gaul – Galronus he was called apparently – and Crispus, each leading a small gang of men and closing on the emerging group protectively.

  Caelius’ grin threatened to separate the top of his head from his body. And then Clodius and his sister emerged, followed by a gaggle of family and assorted cronies. The man had a face like thunder and gesticulated wildly as he argued with Clodia, whose own features raged between fury and helpless despair. Paetus nodded to himself. Good. Anything that might go wrong for Clodius was a step toward his own revenge.

  The argument between the siblings reached a crescendo when Clodius drew back his hand and gave his sister a ringing slap across the cheek, causing her to stagger, the colour draining from her already porcelain face. Paetus almost chuckled at the sight, particularly given that the pair were still in full view of many of their courtroom opposition.

  Turning his back on her, Clodius gestured to his followers and strode off into the city. Clodia stood for a time, the colour slowly returning to her cheeks as the shock turned into low, burning anger. After a brief discussion with the two advocates, Fronto, Priscus and Caelius turned and made their way across the square, past the temple where Paetus stood, and heading toward the circus and home. As they moved out into the open space their hired hands, in two groups led by Crispus and Galronus, appeared from among the crowd where they had been lurking, watching for trouble, and gathered as a protective unit around the defendant. Paetus smiled. Even in the winter months, back in Rome and in civilian clothes, Fronto could not shake the habit or appearance of a soldier. No wonder he’d never made a go of it in politics. The man was like a ballista: direct and to the point and as military as they came.

  The silent observer was smiling at the mental picture of Fronto addressing the senate when unexpected movement caught his eye. The temple of Castor was, apart from himself, emptying. Most of the people beneath the colonnade were here for the same reason as he: to get the best possible view of a trial that involved some of Rome’s greatest men. However, now that the basilica was emptying, most of the interested onlookers had descended to try and get close to the parties involved. Indeed, even most of the beggars had also descended, smelling the wealth as it passed.

  One figure, however, was moving against the human tide. Clodia, in her finery, cut a graceful figure; hardly subtle in any way, drawing appreciative and hungry glances from the men around her as she climbed the steps to the far side of the temple portico where Paetus stood. The former prefect watched her with interest, his eyes narrowing. She cast her gaze around the temple façade as she reached the top step and he slumped against the column in the manner of a drunk. Her eyes passed across him, barely noting his presence, a testament to how much he had changed in the last year, given that he had met Clodia at social occasions in Rome a number of times in the o
ld days when his wife had been...

  Paetus shook away the morbid thoughts. This was no time for a descent into misery. There was something suspicious about Clodia’s stance and the way she checked out her surroundings, and the former prefect tensed.

  Reaching into her stola, Clodia withdrew an iron object around half a foot long that must have been very uncomfortable to secrete in such a way. Paetus frowned at the item. He’d seen them before in the supplies of some of the Greek-speaking auxiliary units that fought with him under Valerius at Zela a decade earlier: plumbata – a throwing dart, heavy and deadly.

  He was already moving before he’d made his decision. After his potentially disastrous move to prevent Caelius’ assassination weeks ago, he was now committed to the path; besides, it was the right thing to do. Would Caelius ever know of his silent guardian, Paetus wondered as he stepped up behind Clodia, who was testing the weight of the heavy dart while judging the distance to the laughing figure of Caelius, striding across the forum?

  Clenching his teeth and with a single glance to make sure that no one of consequence was paying attention to them, Paetus grasped the wrist of her throwing arm with one hand while the other came around from behind her head and clamped across her mouth. As she uttered a stifled squawk, Paetus lifted her bodily off her feet with ease and stepped back into the shadows of the colonnade. Without pausing there to give her time to regain her senses and fight back, he retreated into the temple doorway with her. The interior, dim and shady after the overcast but bright light of the forum, was austere and quiet.

  Paetus cast his glance around and noted the two figures in the centre of the open space. A junior priest in his white robes was explaining something to a plebeian in a depressing grey tunic. The two looked up in surprise as Paetus and the thrashing woman entered the building and stepped aside from the bright square of the door.

  ‘You two: out!’ Paetus barked and, to illustrate his command, he jerked his chin toward the door. The citizen took one look at the tableau and ran from the room. The priest, on the other hand, approached the door and held his hands out in a soothing fashion, turning to face the pair. He opened his mouth to speak just as he noticed the deadly weapon clutched in the woman’s white hand, the circulation cut off by her assailant’s grip. The priest changed his mind hurriedly, closed his mouth and scuttled out of the door, making frightened sounds.