Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  Crassus laughed.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be all practical and pragmatic? I’m on my way back to Rome to a glittering future, Fronto. I’m about to meet my twenty sixth year, I have two successful military campaigns under my belt and, when my father gets a province next year, I shall begin my rise through the ranks of Rome. Quite simply, I am a catch that many respectable fathers will consider for their daughters.’

  He smiled as he looked Fronto up and down.

  ‘You, on the other hand, have no interest in politics, which means you will likely live out your days taking on officer positions in the army of whatever praetor is busy warring that season, and face down in a wine mug in the subura the rest of the time. I know why, and I realise that you won’t believe me, but I can understand both the allure and the necessity of that for you.’

  He straightened.

  ‘But it means that you’re not a great prospect for most noblewomen, and you’re reaching the age where only the matrons, widows and divorcees will look at you.’

  Fronto glared at him silently.

  ‘You know I’m right. And you know that Balbus’ life is what you could have if only you would just pick yourself up, dust yourself off and play the game a little. You cannot wallow in self pity your entire life, Fronto. Clean yourself up, apologise to Lucilia and use the time with her that the Gods seem to have miraculously granted you, or you will still be doing this when you drop dead in a muddy field in Germania as a septuagenarian.’

  Fronto continued to glare in silence as Crassus shrugged.

  ‘Advice is free, Fronto, but I still don’t give it often.’

  With a nod of the head, Crassus walked off along the deck toward the stern, leaving the Tenth’s legate alone at the rail, fuming with himself and entirely unsure why.

  * * * * *

  Fronto kept his eyes straight ahead. The conversations with Lucilia and then Crassus had ruined what was left of his tattered, sea-sickened mood for the rest of the journey, and he’d felt no relief as the merchant vessel had docked in the port of Ostia and the eager travellers had transferred to one of the numerous barges that ploughed the sixteen miles of Tiber between the great port and the emporium docks by the Aventine.

  The curt apology he had planned for Lucilia had never quite come about, and she now moved with a sad and offended look that made it all the more difficult to approach her. The journey along the Tiber, in a great barge hauled upstream by heavy oxen on the bank, had been much the same: quiet and depressing.

  In fact, as Fronto stepped onto dry land and stared up at the slope of the Aventine before him, he realised that his dismal mood was constructed partly of the ongoing uncomfortable silence between Lucilia and himself and partly of the nerves gradually increasing as he neared home and wondered what he might now find there.

  The group of officers, along with the young lady and the baggage carts, made their way along the waterfront and through the Porta Trigemina into the city proper, though with the crowds and the rickety housing along the base of the hill opposite the docks, the fact that they were now actually in the city of Rome could only be determined by the fact that they had passed through the great triple gateway and the inevitable crowd of beggars that gathered outside, clawing at the hems of the passers by.

  At the edge of the Forum Boarium, Crassus and his tribunes, along with Brutus, Roscius, Varus and Crispus separated and went their own ways to family and friends. Galronus fell into position beside Lucilia and the wagon of luggage, while Fronto strode ahead, hardly acknowledging their presence as he walked.

  The starting gates of the circus were already busy, preparing for the first race of the day, and the murky, swampy ground around them being churned beneath the feet of the workers was evidence that Rome had suffered heavy rain in recent days. The sky now was a sullen grey that matched Fronto’s mood perfectly as he turned and left the great circus, stomping up the sloping street, past the temples of Luna, Minerva and Diana and that drew an unofficial border between the houses of the wealthy and the dwellings of the poor.

  A turn to the left and a further one to the right brought the three travellers to the street of Fronto’s youth with its gentle slope and wide walkways, the south side marked by high walls that surrounded the gardens of other houses. The city residence of the Falerii, roughly halfway along the street, was relatively modest for a patrician residence, evidence of Fronto’s father’s modest and frugal nature. The plain walls, almost entirely lacking in apertures, gave an austere impression.

  Fronto strode ahead of his companions yet further and reached for the door, rapping hard on the wood.

  There was a pause, while the others caught up with him, the wagon squeaking irritatingly as it rolled to a halt.

  The door opened slowly to reveal not the disapproving features of the house’s chief slave, but those of four men Fronto had never seen before. Two had the distinct look of brigands, the third a massive man wearing the braids and beard of a Celt of some variety and the fourth a small, steel-eyed man bearing scars that clearly marked him as a professional fighter of some note.

  ‘Who are you?’ the latter asked plainly.

  Fronto narrowed his eyes.

  ‘I am the master of this house. Get out of my way.’

  The other three moved forward, effectively blocking the entrance with a wall of muscle.

  ‘Gnaeus?’ the man’s voice called and, between the bodies, Fronto saw with relief the familiar face of Priscus duck around a corner. The former centurion blinked and stepped out into the hallway.

  ‘Marcus? Thank all the Gods. It’s about time you showed up.’

  He turned to the small, wiry warrior.

  ‘Good job, Cestus, but this is the man I work for.’

  The four men backed away from the door and fell to one side, nodding respectfully at Fronto. He was on the verge of an irritated outburst, but Priscus, recognising the signs, reached out and drew the legate through the door by the elbow, gesturing to the men.

  ‘This is Cestus. He’s my chief enforcer now. Used to be a gladiator… one of the few ex-gladiators in Rome not currently in the employ of Clodius, I might add. These others are Todius, Aranius and Lod; all good men. No bugger gets in here without being cleared by me or Faleria.’

  Fronto stopped, an eyebrow raised.

  ‘First name terms now, eh, Gnaeus?’

  Priscus looked past Fronto’s shoulder and grinned.

  ‘Galronus! Good to have you back.’

  He paused.

  ‘You have company too?’

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it in good time, when…’

  ‘Marcus?’

  He looked up past Priscus to see Faleria, dressed in simple pale green and her hair down and damp, fresh from the baths. Somehow, despite the difficulty he always had with her, something eased inside him. She looked healthy.

  ‘Faleria. How are you?’

  She laughed a small surprised laugh and then hurried past the guards and threw her arms around her brother.

  ‘It is far beyond time you were home, Marcus. Gnaeus does a perfect job, but mother has been counting down the days to the Armilustrium. She knew you’d be back before then.’

  Fronto smiled with a curious sadness and then looked up at Priscus and gestured with his thumb. The former centurion nodded, limping forward, and gestured to Galronus.

  ‘Come, my friend, I have quarters ready for guests. I presume you’ll be staying the winter?’

  The Remi officer smiled and bowed respectfully to Faleria as he passed and joined Priscus, the two disappearing round the corner deep in conversation. Fronto turned to the guards.

  ‘Get that wagon through the side gate and unloaded, then secure the front door and gates.’

  Cestus jerked a nod and the four men disappeared out through the front door, respectfully sidling around the young lady in the doorway. Faleria noticed the other visitor for the first time and frowned a question at her brother, her arms still tight around his shoul
ders.

  ‘This is Lucilia, the daughter of my good friend Balbus. I’ve spoken of him.’

  ‘And of Lucilia, of course’ she added with a smile, giving him a final squeeze and then releasing him as she moved on to her new guest.

  ‘Are you here for a time, my dear?’

  Fronto turned and shrugged.

  ‘She’s here to weigh up a potential match to one of the Caecilii. Balbus asked if we would be good enough to look after her while she was here. Well, in actual fact, he asked if you’d be good enough.’ There was an unspoken question of his own there.

  ‘Of course she must stay here. With Priscus’ little army, there’s nowhere safer in the city these days.’

  She smiled as she reached out for Lucilia’s arm.

  ‘Have you been to Rome before?’

  ‘This is my first opportunity to visit, my lady.’

  Her hostess laughed.

  ‘If you know my brother, then you’ll realise that I expect little in the way of formality in this house. Call me Faleria.’

  ‘Thank you. And I, Lucilia.’

  ‘Perhaps, if Marcus can spare Gnaeus and some of his men as an escort, I can show you some of the glorious sights of the city in the morning, though you must be exhausted from your journey.’

  Lucilia gave Fronto a strange look and shook her head.

  ‘Actually the trip was very uneventful and quiet. Almost silent, in fact.’

  Faleria gave Fronto a questioning glance and he shook his head.

  ‘If you two ladies can do without me for an hour or two, I think I ought to see Priscus and catch up on events.’

  Faleria shook her head emphatically.

  ‘Not until you have visited mother. She’s in the tablinum outside.’

  Fronto paused for a moment and then, nodding, strode off through the doorway to the rear that led into the peristyle garden. Pausing briefly to note the strange juxtaposition of the carefully-groomed garden and the three wooden dummies at the far side, regularly used for sword practice in army fashion, he turned away and into the reception room doorway.

  Faleria the elder reclined on a couch, reading a scribbled note on parchment; a copy of the acta diurna made from the tablets in the forum by the house’s chief slave, Posco, for such was the habit of Faleria.

  As the light from the doorway dimmed, she looked up and blinked at the silhouetted figure of her son.

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘Mother.’

  Walking slowly in, he wandered across to the couch, where she reached out with her hands. He was shocked to see the trembling in them, but clenched his teeth and reached out to cup them in his own hands and squeeze them.

  ‘I knew you would come home soon. Gnaeus kept telling us you were on your way.’

  He smiled weakly.

  ‘I wanted to come earlier, but…’

  ‘I know. Young Gaius needed you too much. He is a drain on your energy, but it is good to attach yourself to a rising star.’

  Fronto heaved a sigh and let go of her hands.

  ‘I’m not following him into office, mother, even if he asks me. We’ve not spoken for half a year, so please let’s not launch straight into the old arguments.’

  She gazed at him levelly, and he studied her face, dismayed at how much she seemed to have aged in such a short time. There was something about her gaze that…’

  He looked down to hide his expression as he realised that one of her eyes was not moving as her gaze wandered. Pausing long enough to be certain of his composure, he looked up again and studied her. The bone around her right eye was bumpy and misshapen, as though it had been badly broken and had set slightly off.

  Her wounds from the attack had been worse than Priscus had intimated. Fronto rocked back on his feet, the anger rising in him. Stepping forward again, he embraced her tightly.

  ‘Do not panic, Marcus. I’m fine.’

  ‘Of course you are, mother. And nothing is ever going to happen to you again. I need to go see Priscus. I expect Faleria will be along very shortly with a guest in tow. Quintus Balbus, former legate of the Eighth has sent his daughter to Rome and Faleria has agreed to look after her while she stays.’

  The old woman looked up at her son and focused her good eye on him. Fronto flinched slightly at the lack of movement in the other, but more at that penetrating one-eyed gaze. Since his early youth, Faleria the elder had had an uncanny knack of looking directly into his thoughts and soul and laying them bare.

  ‘I see. Make sure you are kind to her, Marcus. You have a habit of driving off those whom you would have closer.’

  Fronto took a deep breath.

  ‘She is the daughter of a friend, mother; nothing more. I must attend to business, but I will see you shortly at dinner.’

  As he bowed and turned, he was extremely aware of both the penetrating gaze that remained on his back and of the fact that he wasn’t even sure he had convinced himself, let alone his mother.

  He was continually assaulted by waves of guilt and anger as he strode purposefully through the house to the quarters set aside for Priscus and his hired thugs. How could he have let this all happen?

  As he reached the bunk room, the lame soldier sat on a cot opposite Galronus, watering a jug of wine as he entered.

  ‘Gnaeus?’

  ‘Ah, good. I’m very glad you’re back.’

  Fronto sank into one of the bunks.

  ‘I’ve seen mother.’

  ‘She’s been waiting eagerly for you.’

  Fronto shook his head.

  ‘She was almost killed. You knew that. That blow to her eye could have done for her.’

  Priscus nodded sadly.

  ‘Truly, but it didn’t. She’s a strong woman, Marcus, and it was her decision not to give you the full horrible details of the attack, not mine. She knew it would just torture you, ‘cause you couldn’t come home anyway.’

  Fronto glared at him for a moment and then let his gaze fall to the floor before taking a deep breath and straightening.

  ‘This situation needs to be resolved. I’m not having anything like this happening again. We need to end Clodius or at least remove his claws. What have you seen of our mysterious ghost?’

  Priscus eyed Galronus for a moment and shrugged.

  ‘There’s been no sign of him since that day in the mausoleum. I went back the next day and the body was gone. Another visit two days later and there was a new unnamed funerary urn in there. I think I must have left some trace of my presence, ‘cause when I went back to his accommodation he’d left. I spoke to his landlord, and he paid the rent in full and left with no further word. No idea where he is now, but I’ve got everyone being very watchful in case he shows up.’

  Fronto nodded.

  ‘And Clodius?’

  ‘He has been buying up all the nasty spare muscle in Rome. You can’t lay hands on a good solid thug anywhere in the city, since Philopater’s been everywhere. Even the slave markets are down to just the thin and weedy scholars. Any time you see anyone connected with Clodius, they’re surrounded by a small army. The man must have more muscle under his control than anyone else in Latium.’

  Fronto nodded again and leaned back.

  ‘Then we may have to start trying to hire our own muscle from Ostia, Albinum, Tusculum, or Veii. I want that man toothless or dead.’

  Priscus smiled.

  ‘I have a hidden weapon at my disposal yet. See, there’s a man called Titus Annius Milo, a former tribune who apparently holds as healthy a dislike for Clodius as we do, and he also has his own private army. Milo’s been in touch with me. He’s staying very much out of the public eye at the moment, but that means that, as far as we’re aware, Clodius knows nothing about him and his men.’

  Fronto smiled in return and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘I may need to meet this Milo and buy him a drink. Caesar’s back in Rome, now, along with Crassus, Brutus and the rest. I think we need to call a meeting of all those who have a grudge against Clodi
us and see what we can turn up. Think you can sneak this Milo in for a meeting tomorrow or the next day?’

  Priscus shrugged.

  ‘I can try. Are you actually intending to start a war on the streets of Rome?’

  Fronto’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘No point. Clodius already did that. I’m going to end the war.’

  Chapter 21

  (Late Octobris: House of the Falerii in Rome.)

  As the door opened, Caesar stepped back in surprise.

  ‘Nam?’ demanded the hulking hairy object that blocked most of the doorway.

  The general blinked and turned to look in surprise at the younger Crassus, standing next to him. The officer, now dressed togate and with perfect high-class attire, leaned toward the massive doorman.

  ‘This is Gaius Julius Caesar, governor of Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul and Illyricum, you ignorant oaf. Stand aside: we are expected.’

  The man rubbed his chin and shrugged.

  ‘Caesar, yes.’ He stepped to one side and straightened. The general was impressed to note the crown of the man’s head brushed the ceiling of the hallway. He and Crassus entered and shivered from the cold dampness in the air. With an almost negligent flick of his hand, the general dismissed Ingenuus’ group of unarmed and dismounted cavalry who had escorted them across the city.

  As the guard closed and locked the door behind them, a small man with muscular arms and a number of fascinating scars rounded a corner and bowed.

  ‘Mighty Caesar; noble Crassus, if you would follow me?’

  The two men, slapping along with their wet boots and leaving murky footprints on the marble, followed the servant through the house and to the large triclinium.

  The room was occupied by six men, lounging on couches or sitting on chairs, several tables between them laden with simple food, jars of wine, goblets and jugs of water. Fronto and Priscus sat with Galronus as though they were in some way separate from the rest.

  Caesar looked around, taking in the faces of the other men. Marcus Caelius Rufus, the defendant that Fronto had protected, Quintus Tullius Cicero, brother of the great orator, and lastly a man that he vaguely recognised but could not put a name to.