Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘I see that you have begun raising a legion for yourself, Fronto.’

  His host smiled humourlessly from the far end of the room.

  ‘Having a gang seems to be the only way to survive in the city these days, Caesar.’

  He gestured to the seats and the general and Crassus made themselves comfortable, reaching for the water and grapes. To the general’s surprise, the man who escorted them to the room also took a seat and helped himself to the food.

  ‘Everyone here is well acquainted I think,’ Fronto announced, ‘apart from Titus Annius Milo over there, and the excellent and very dangerous Cestus who met you outside.’

  Fronto noted Caesar’s expression and smiled.

  ‘Cestus is now in charge of the household’s ‘guard’ if you wish to call it that. He’s a veteran of seventeen bouts in the arena, recipient of the rudis and a man to stay on the good side of.’

  The small man nodded at Caesar, who returned the gesture, frowning.

  ‘Milo I remember, however’ the general said, straightening again. ‘A tribune of the plebs last year?’

  The man bowed curtly.

  ‘Very well.’ Fronto sat up. ‘Everyone in the room either has good reason to hate Clodius, or is bound by ties to those who do. For the first time in months, we are all in Rome and so is he. In our absence, he’s had free rein in the city causing murder and mayhem. The time had come to deal with him. We simply can’t leave a snake like that in a position to do further harm.’

  There was a general murmur of agreement around them, but Caesar rubbed his brow and leaned forward.

  ‘I have the feeling you are suggesting direct action and even rather illegal violence, Fronto?’

  Their host smiled a feral grin and leaned back.

  ‘You are damn right I’m suggesting illegal violence. If I could have thought of a way to get past his constant array of guards, I’d have kicked the man to death myself before now.’

  Caesar shook his head.

  ‘Don’t think in such narrow terms, Fronto. This is too complex an issue to lunge out like a thug and strike him down. That is Clodius’ way, not that of reasonable, intelligent men.’

  Fronto leaned forward himself, his face filling with angry colour.

  ‘That is the opinion of a man who has yet to feel the full unpleasantness of Clodius. Wait until your little Octavia comes home one afternoon with a broken face, or that pretty niece of yours, and then tell me it’s too complex an issue.’

  The general shook his head.

  ‘I feel for your family, Marcus, but that is still not the way.’

  He turned to Milo.

  ‘If I am not mistaken, you are bound to the great Pompey?’

  Milo nodded.

  ‘And yet you are here, plotting without him?’

  The man shrugged.

  ‘If questioned, I will deny ever visiting this house, but I see no conflict in my behaviour. Pompey charged me with building him a force of very loyal men with low expectations. This I have done and, since Pompey has made no secret of his distaste for Clodius, this could even be seen as a meeting of like minds. As such, I am prompted to enquire as to why the great Pompey himself was not invited to this clandestine meeting.’

  He smiled.

  ‘Or even the noble Crassus’ father?’

  Crassus shrugged.

  ‘It is well for those in such high position to be seen to be uninvolved with such things. I was in two minds as to whether to attend myself as, I believe, was Governor Caesar here.’

  ‘Perhaps. Or perhaps none of you feel comfortable placing your trust in them? Regardless, the fact remains that, yes I am bound to Pompey and yes, I am here. I will not, however, employ my men in any action without the authorisation of my patron. It would be unthinkable to do so, I’m sure you’ll agree.’

  Fronto swept his hands through the air angrily.

  ‘This waffling is getting us nowhere. Clodius is a plague that needs to be dealt with. I’m sure some of you at least agree with this? Cicero?’

  The young officer opened his mouth to speak, but Caesar turned to him.

  ‘Yes, I would be interested to hear the opinion of the noble Cicero, given that he has such a responsible commission in my army and yet his brother, from what I hear, denounces me and my works daily in the senate, supported and urged on by those poisonous dogs Cato and Ahenobarbus.’

  He narrowed his eyes at Cicero.

  ‘It has taken me three years to completely pacify Gaul. That is a drop in the ocean of time compared to what it took Rome’s greatest generals to pacify Africa or Greece, and yet now the senate of Rome call me names and consider my campaign a failure and a waste; they say that I am unable to keep the place down. Why? Because of Cicero, Cato and Ahenobarbus. Clodius blocks my moves in the senate by the exercise of subtle bribery and corruption, and therefore he is my enemy. What should I make, then, of those who oppose me openly?’

  Cicero rounded on him.

  ‘My brother does not attack you, Caesar. He is a just and good man and attacks laws and acts that he deems unworthy of the republic, whatever their origin. Do not feel singled out.’

  Milo laughed.

  ‘I fear you are being a little blinkered by your brotherly love, my friend. Cicero attacks Caesar because he is an easy target at the moment and your brother is still trying to ingratiate himself to the senate after his exile. He is doing nothing more than sacrificing one ally to make several others.’

  The conversation stopped as everyone was aware of a low growling noise. All eyes turned to Fronto.

  ‘This is like being at a meeting of the bloody senate! Everyone talking about their own agendas, no one sticking to the matter at hand. Just squabbling like chickens. The point of this whole meeting was Clodius! What are we going to do about the little shit head?’

  ‘If you’ll pardon me throwing in my lot’

  All heads turned again to face Cestus.

  ‘You are faced with two options. Either you find a way to put an end to Clodius, and this is my speciality, or you work on a method to remove his power. It seems to me that this is a disparate group. Half of us are committed to, and suitable for, one path and the other half to and for the other. The question is which way to go?’

  Caesar shook his head.

  ‘If Clodius turns up dead in a sewer, it will merely raise ugly questions, many of which will be levelled at myself, Pompey and even you, Fronto. Careers could be ruined, exiles considered, or even prosecutions made. The solution is to make Clodius trip himself up.’

  Cicero and Rufus nodded.

  ‘The first step’ the younger officer said ‘is to form a faction: a gathering of like-minded people, and to bring all those who waver on to our side. We need to convince my brother to abandon his attacks on Caesar in the senate. I can do this. We need to try and discourage the same with Cato and Ahenobarbus.’

  He turned to Fronto.

  ‘We need to make sure of our allegiances. The noble Crassus and the great Pompey should be drawn into the matter and, where their allegiances are shaky, they should be redirected, forcibly if necessary.’

  Milo frowned.

  ‘You seem to be edging around saying something about Pompey?’

  Fronto leaned toward him.

  ‘Look, it’s not generally known and I’m not even sure whether we should be speaking to you about it, but there is considerable, though circumstantial, evidence that Pompey has been having dealings with Clodius in secret, while condemning him publically.’

  Milo shook his head and leaned back.

  ‘I have spoken to the man myself. He would rather bed a snake than throw in his lot with Clodius. Whatever he is doing, you can be sure it is not for the benefit of your enemy.’

  Caesar glared at Fronto.

  ‘Was that really necessary? Is this the time to start levelling accusations among the people who supposedly have a mutual enemy?’

  He turned to Milo and made conciliatory gestures.

 
‘I would appreciate it, given the nature of rumour and the uncertainty of everything here, if you would do us the honour of not passing on these spurious accusations to Pompey. I will speak to him myself in due course.’

  The other man frowned for a long moment, but nodded.

  ‘If I were to report every unsavoury rumour I heard to him, I would be running in and out of his house like a courier. If you hold your tongues about this and remain open minded until you are in a position to confirm their truth or falsehood, so will I.’

  Fronto grumbled irritably.

  ‘This is getting us no closer to a solution.’

  ‘On the contrary, I feel that this little meeting has been of great importance and use’ the general smiled. ‘I have had certain fears allayed and am satisfied that all here are of a like mind. We all want to see Clodius declawed.’

  ‘Dead’ corrected Fronto.

  ‘Declawed… or more if the opportunity arises, yes.’

  ‘Dead’ repeated Fronto flatly.

  ‘More important now is to decide how to progress from here. Clearly I will need to arrange a meeting with Crassus and Pompey. Not a great public meeting like the one I attended early in the year, though; a more private affair. In the meantime, Cicero can begin trying to calm things in the senate, though I fear you will have great difficulty with the irrepressible Cato. If you, Milo, will simply keep your own mind open and observe the moves of both Pompey and Clodius, hopefully you will be able to arrive at a definite conclusion as to the truth of any complicity.’

  He smiled at Cestus.

  ‘In the meantime, it would be a good idea that no one with a grudge against Clodius go out in public without adequate defensive measures. His enemies do tend to end up bobbing along the Tiber with no head.’

  He leaned back.

  ‘Does anyone have any suggestions as to how we can prod Clodius in the direction of tipping his hand and perhaps putting a foot wrong?’

  On the far side of the triclinium, Fronto stood, angrily.

  ‘It seems that you all have the situation well under control. I am therefore currently entirely superfluous to this discussion. Please feel free to stay and partake of the food and drink. My mother would be horrified if you left unsatisfied.’

  Casting a baleful look around his companions, he strode from the room.

  Galronus made to rise, but Priscus put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

  ‘Leave him to stew. If he has anyone to rant at, he’ll just wind himself up even further.’

  The two men settled back into their seats as the conversation resumed in depth.

  * * * * *

  Fronto stormed down the street angrily, ignoring the fine misty drizzle that had begun to fall. He had not even bothered to stop and wrap a toga about him or throw on a cloak, and tramped down the paving in an increasingly soggy white tunic.

  It never ceased to amaze him how the cleverest and most powerful people in the world would talk themselves in ineffectual circles without being able to spot the plain truth of the matter, though it was hanging plainly in the air before them.

  ‘Pointless.’

  He ignored the questioning look the old woman threw at him from the side of the street.

  They would argue for another hour and the conclusion would inevitably be that they should do nothing and simply wait to see it something miraculous happened, and Clodius fell down a sewer and drowned.

  He looked up irritably in the drizzle. Ahead stood the temple of Bona Dea, lonely and surrounded by a peaceful garden. Often there would be stalls or at least beggars in the street close by, hoping for a tossed crust from the citizens descending the streets from the Aventine, but the chilling wet had driven them indoors, possibly even into the temple itself.

  On a day like this…

  Fronto’s thoughts whirled in panic as everything went black, a bag thrust over his head and muscular arms were suddenly around his elbows and his midriff.

  His mind reeled, but his body was already reacting like the soldier he was. He stamped down hard on the foot of a man and then raked his heel down the shin of another, all the while lunging and struggling this way and that.

  Had he been able to free his arms, he might have stood a chance, but the grip on his elbows was spectacularly tight and painful, other hands grasping him as he was pulled sharply to his left.

  His mind began to calm despite the circumstances and he noted the creak as an outside gate was opened. Waving his fingers as best he could, he felt the edge of a brick and mortar wall and then felt the brush of a large garden plant with waxy leaves.

  Then he was being bundled unceremoniously through another door and out of the weather. A doorway, eight paces within, and then a right turn. Twelve paces along the corridor and then a left. Two paces and suddenly he was thrust violently to the floor.

  Before he could find his senses and struggle to his knees, however, huge hands clamped themselves around his elbows and shoulders and pushed him down to what felt like a pile of rough sacking. While he struggled in vain, the bag was whipped from his head and he blinked as his eyes adjusted.

  He was in a bare room, reasonably well lit by an unshuttered window opposite. The room was clearly in the process of decoration or restoration from the workmen’s detritus around him: piles of brick and plaster, sacks of goods and tools strewn here and there. The shape blotting out a large portion of the window slowly resolved itself into the shape of a tall man in a grey cloak and tunic, thin and bordering on dangerously so. It was not until the figure turned to the side and nodded at the men holding Fronto that he saw the pronounced jaw and hook nose silhouetted against the white.

  Philopater.

  He drew a sharp breath and bit his lip to prevent crying out as a man unseen to his left grasped his middle finger and snapped it to vertical, breaking the knuckle.

  ‘My employer is inclined to be generous, particularly with the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘Really?’ Fronto panted. ‘Funny way of showing it.’

  Philopater leaned closer, and his features became clearer.

  ‘You are clearly Caesar’s creature. And yet’ he said as he stepped sideways and put his finger to his lip, ‘it is well known in some circles that you are a disapprover of the maniac and do rarely see eye to eye with him. This prompts my employer to take an interest in you.’

  He leaned closer again.

  ‘Sever your ties with the man and stay well out of the way. Be not involved.’

  Fronto laughed.

  ‘Caesar may be less than I would hope, but he’s a paragon of virtue next to you and your master.’

  He bit his lips enough to draw plenty of blood as the fourth finger on his left hand joined the middle one with a snap.

  ‘Torture is hardly likely to win me over, you Egyptian faggot’ he panted.

  Philopater nodded.

  ‘Indeed. You are made of sterner stuff. However, our reach is long. Remember your mother and think about your sister and that lovely little thing you brought back from Gaul. You’re not a medical man, so you probably don’t know that broken skulls can be extremely catching, very contagious.’

  Fronto growled.

  ‘In time,’ Philopater continued, ‘my employer may make you an offer that even Croesus would be hard put to refuse, but a show of faith by disassociating yourself with Caesar is required at this juncture. This will be your one and only opportunity to decide which side of the coin looks more favourable to you; be careful not to waste it in bravado.’

  Fronto nodded, smiling knowingly.

  Philopater frowned at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘What about me?’

  As the man leaned in, Fronto lashed out with his foot, smashing his boot directly into the man’s face and sending him flailing across the floor.

  ‘I was wondering what you’d look like with a flat nose’ Fronto laughed as the grip on his arms tightened.

  The gaunt Egyptian stood slowl
y, unfolding like some Greek war machine. He reached his full height and turned to Fronto, his face covered in blood, his nose broken in several places above a badly split lip.

  ‘Hold him.’

  As the grips tightened further and fresh hands clamped themselves on Fronto’s legs, he watched Clodius’ henchman reach down among the workmen’s tools and pull out a large, wooden mallet of the sort used for removing old plaster.

  Steadying himself against what was to come, Fronto smiled and spat at the Egyptian’s feet.

  ‘Good night, master Fronto.’

  The hammer came round at a dizzying speed, and after the briefest explosion of crimson agony, Fronto’s world went black.

  * * * * *

  Pain.

  Pain and white light.

  Fronto closed his eyes again.

  ‘What?’

  A hand touched his arm, and he flinched.

  ‘Calm, Marcus. It is I.’

  He opened his eyes again, with all the discomfort and pain that brought and slowly focused on the figure of Lucilia by his side. A second shape beyond resolved into that of his sister.

  ‘I…’

  He tried to rise but his world exploded with white pain.

  ‘Lie still.’ The voice of Faleria. ‘Lucilia here has treated your wounds with the consummate skill of a professional, aided by Posco, but it will be hours before you should sit up, let alone go about your ordinary business.’

  Fronto tried to nod, but settled for a painful smile.

  ‘How did I get here?’

  Another voice joined the melee, and he turned to see Priscus and Galronus standing to the other side of the couch.

  ‘You were dumped at the front door in a large grain sack. What in the name of seven stupid Gods were you thinking, leaving the house on your own?’

  Fronto winced, and Faleria waved a finger.

  ‘He’s too weak and bleary for recriminations and anger, Gnaeus. Wait until he’s stronger before you beat him with the stupidity stick.’

  Lucilia leaned forward.

  ‘What can you feel?’

  Fronto laughed sharply.

  ‘Pain.’

  ‘Specifically’ the girl said quietly.