Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘My left hand feels like it’s been under the wheel of a cart. My ribs are aching, as are my shoulders and neck. But my face feels like I fell off the Tarpeian Rock head first.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Good?’ he enquired in astonishment.

  ‘Yes,’ Lucilia replied. ‘If you can feel the pain then there is no permanent damage to your system. If you couldn’t feel the pain, I would have panicked. And you have only mentioned the wounds we had already located.’

  Fronto sighed.

  ‘Philopater and his gladiators. They really went for it.’

  He grinned.

  ‘But I broke the bastard’s nose in the process.’

  Priscus nodded.

  ‘Well at least that’s something. The gathering are long gone, but Milo has stayed on for a while. We’ve been knocking about a few ideas.’

  Fronto clenched his good hand and turned his head painfully to look at them.

  ‘Here’s an idea: get out there with a bunch of men and find Clodius and Philopater. Follow them and see if there’s any hope of getting them alone. If you get the chance, bag ‘em up like they did to me and bring them here.’

  Priscus nodded.

  ‘We were planning to do just that, but I didn’t want to go before you woke.’

  Fronto smiled at him.

  ‘Thank you, the pair of you. I should listen to you more often and not run off on my own.’

  Priscus and Galronus nodded to him and then left the room, their voices fading as they moved through the house.

  He turned back to the two women.

  ‘I had no idea you were a medicus?’

  Lucilia laughed.

  ‘Hardly, but where we live there is not a great deal of access to a proper medicus and I have grown up taking care of the horses at the villa. The shape may be different, but the principle is the same.’

  Fronto blinked.

  ‘You’re a horse healer?’

  ‘After a fashion.’

  She leaned closer.

  ‘You had a narrow escape there, Marcus. That blow to your head could very easily have killed you, or at least left you blind, deaf, or a gibbering lunatic. Faleria has told me about what’s happening.’

  Fronto sighed.

  ‘Has she indeed. Thank you, Faleria. Balbus will not appreciate us drawing his daughter into all of this.’

  Faleria approached and waved her finger admonishingly in his face.

  ‘You cretin. You drew her into this when you agreed to bring her to Rome. I’m just giving her appropriate warnings. She cannot be expected to look out for herself if she is unaware of the dangers. Really, Marcus; there are times when I wonder how you command a legion, when you don’t seem to have even the tiniest fragment of common sense.’

  She tapped the finger on his forehead and then stepped back.

  ‘Try and remember that you’re home now, Marcus, and you have friends and family around to help.’

  Lucilia gently mopped his temple, and he winced at even the faint, whispery touch of her hand.

  ‘It feels like I’ve been kicked by a horse!’

  ‘It looks a lot like it, too’ Lucilia smiled.

  ‘Just try and lie still for a while and be calm.’

  Faleria, behind her, straightened.

  ‘I must go and speak to Posco about the arrangements for the evening meal. And before you argue, you’re eating alone in here, where you can rest.’

  Lucilia nodded and patted him gently on the chest.

  ‘Absolutely right. I’ll keep you company while you eat.’

  The wicked little knowing smile on Faleria’s face was not lost on him as she turned and left the room. Fronto sagged and closed his eyes.

  * * * * *

  Priscus nudged Milo and nodded to Galronus. The three men ducked back behind the temple of the Penates and Priscus glanced around himself once more. Dusk had descended less than an hour ago, and now the last of the light was threatening to vanish, oil lamps, braziers and torches springing to life all around the forum behind them and up on the Palatine hill to their right. The temple was closed now and no lights flickered in the window.

  The dozen men they had brought with them as protection lurked between the buildings back down the slope, ready to rush out and engage if needed, but conveniently out of sight otherwise. The occasional passing figure gave them all a curious glance, but no more; too much interest in gangs of thugs in Rome was an unhealthy thing to have.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Milo turned to Priscus and shrugged.

  ‘They appear to be alone. It’s too easy. Everything about this tells me to stay away.’

  Priscus nodded.

  ‘It is just a little too convenient.’

  The three men, shadowed by their hired help, had located Clodius in the early afternoon outside the entrance to the theatre, a great timber structure in the Velabrum so tall that it almost matched the heights of the Capitol. The man had spent the next few hours visiting a number of houses, spending no longer than a quarter hour in each, most of his large bodyguard remaining outside on each occasion.

  His shadowing pursuers had almost given up following him when, beside the house of the Vestals, Clodius and his guards had met up with Philopater and a second gang. Priscus had strained his eyes trying to get a good look at the Egyptian’s face. He would have loved to have seen that smashed nose, but the light was too low and the distance too great.

  Just as the three men were about to gather their own hirelings and leave, there had been a brief altercation between Clodius and his chief enforcer. The nobleman had sent most of his men with Philopater, who had taken the large force and left toward the subura, heading back to the Clodian residence. The half dozen men that remained with him were the biggest and most disciplined-looking of the bunch, and the group headed off past the slopes of the Velian ridge and away from the forum.

  ‘I’d give good money to know where he’s going. Either Philopater disagreed with him going there, or he doesn’t want that Egyptian scum with him. Either way, it’s an interesting development.’

  Milo nodded.

  ‘Then we just follow and observe. No attack.’

  Galronus rumbled behind them.

  ‘Fronto wants him dead. There’s seven of them. The three of us could take them down even without your men.’

  Again, Milo shrugged.

  ‘Something feels uncomfortable about the situation.’

  ‘Shit!’

  The pair turned back to Priscus, who had peered around the corner of the temple at their quarry but had just ducked sharply back.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s looking directly up here. How could he have seen us?’

  Galronus’ jaw firmed.

  ‘He couldn’t. He must have known we were here already.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  They became aware that moment of a cacophony of bangs, thuds and shouts back among the buildings on the lower slope of the Velian. Cries of dismay marked the location of Priscus and Milo’s gang as Philopater’s much larger force fell on them from the rear, clearly intent on murder.

  ‘He’s attacking us?’ Milo queried in astonishment. ‘Now, in the centre of the city? But there are witnesses?’

  He gestured to the figures moving along the Via Sacra below, but Priscus snarled.

  ‘As if any passing grocer is going to get in the way of this lot!’

  Galronus flexed his knuckles and turned back, but Milo put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Are you mad? There must be fifty of them.’

  Galronus growled angrily, but a voice cut through the early evening air from down by the edge of the marsh beyond the Via Sacra and distracted them.

  ‘Little boys intent on mischief should not be out so late. Your mothers will be worried.’

  Priscus sighed.

  ‘Looks like we’re in the shit now, lads. Fight or run?’

  Milo shook his head. ‘Run if we can.’

  The situa
tion was worsened with the sound of the brief struggle among the buildings behind them coming to a close. The dozen men they had brought along had hardly bought them enough time to argue their course, let alone pursue it.

  Galronus nodded to them.

  ‘I will distract them. You run back.’

  Priscus stared at him.

  ‘The only way you have to distract that lot is to let them beat you to a pulp. Come on.’

  Without waiting for conversation or argument, Priscus ducked out around the temple and ran down the slope, his lame leg giving him a peculiar and ungainly gait, across the white paving of the Via Sacra, where he disappeared into the shadows around the shrine of Jupiter on the far side.

  He stopped, catching his breath, heaving in air, as Galronus and Milo followed suit, pelting down the hill at breakneck speed and across the open ground in between. Priscus looked up, to the left and right, trying to decide what to do, as he rubbed his hip vigorously. His leg felt as though it were on fire. He could not keep this up for long. He could not tell the other two, but there was no hope of him getting back as far as the house of the Falerii.

  Philopater’s men were emerging between the buildings on the Velian hill, looking down the slope, trying to spot their prey. Other small groups of men, almost certainly another part of the Egyptian’s force, were slowly stalking down the Via Sacra from the forum, converging on their current location. To the other side, Clodius and his half dozen burly thugs were closing the net. The members of the general public had, to a man, vanished, making themselves conveniently absent in the face of such danger.

  ‘We’re hemmed in on three sides.’

  The shrine in whose shadows they lurked unseen was small, nothing more than an ancient altar surrounded by a brick wall as high as a tall man and with an iron gate; hardly a place to hide or defend against a large force.

  ‘We’re going to have to make a break for it and head up the Palatine.’

  The others nodded their agreement and, taking a deep breath, Priscus sprang out of the darkness, the other two men hot on his heels, and, ignoring the screaming pain in his hip and thigh, loped in his strange manner as fast as he could up the cobbled street that led up to the heights of the Palatine, closed shops lining it as it ascended into the gloom. Here and there, at the top, lights flickered among the houses of those wealthy enough to afford land on the hill that was the very heart of Rome.

  Panting with the ascent, they passed the shattered pylons to either side of the street that marked the ruins of one of the city’s most ancient gates, disused for centuries, and finally crested the top. The road led to a wide open space with an ornamental fountain at the centre, ornate decoration around the edges. From here half a dozen smaller roads led off among the wealthy villas, but Priscus focused on the one straight ahead that would take them across the plateau and which opened into the great stairway that led down toward the end of the circus and the Porta Capena.

  ‘That way!’

  The three men took a desperate breath, becoming aware in the sudden quiet of the noises of close pursuit back down the street. Sharing a quick, desperate glance, they ran on into the open space. Already, the former centurion’s leg was juddering, threatening to collapse under the strain and he was starting to fall behind the others. By the time they crossed the Palatine, he would be flat on his face.

  Priscus cursed himself as they ran for underestimating the audacity of the man. They were in the very centre of Rome, just after nightfall. There were fewer people about in the chilly damp air than during the day or on a warmer night, but still there must have been at least twenty people witnessed the attack tonight. The man clearly had no fear of discovery or recrimination. It was said that Clodius ‘owned the streets’, and Priscus was starting to see how the saying had come about.

  He was trying to figure out a way to gain distance on their pursuers and keep himself in the game when a squawk from ahead startled him. A thrown rock connected with Galronus’ skull hard enough to knock him from his feet. The Remi nobleman fell with a shout, rolling on the pavement. In former times, Priscus would have leapt lithely over him. Not now. Not with the leg the way it was. He tried to clear the rolling form, but his foot barely left the ground and he came down with a crash, falling over the prone form of Galronus.

  Milo skidded to a halt and turned. Priscus waved at him.

  ‘Go on. Get back to the house and tell them what happened.’

  Priscus glanced around them in desperation. Only three men had emerged at the top of the slope, one of Philopater’s smaller gangs that had approached from the forum end. If he and Galronus could just stand and take them on…

  A shout made him turn back. Milo had stopped. Another force of perhaps a score of men was approaching out of the gloom from the direction of the circus, cresting the slope on the very road they were making for. Milo backed toward his fallen companions.

  ‘We may be in trouble.’

  Priscus tried to rise, heaving the stunned Galronus as he did. Neither of them had the strength or stamina to stand. Milo backed up to them and ground his teeth. Clodius appeared over the crest of the hill behind them, followed by Philopater and a large group of murderous men.

  Briefly, Priscus considered the other exits from the square. They could perhaps have got to the Velabrum and descended the hill there to get lost among the shops and narrow streets. But there was simply not enough time and, even had there been, he had not the strength. There was nowhere to run as the two forces converged on the three men, trapped between the pincers in a vice of mercenaries. Lights in the nearby houses went out as self preservation led their occupants to an expedient ignorance of events in the square outside.

  ‘It would appear that the Gods are favouring you tonight, Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus. And your friends.’

  Priscus frowned as he regarded the man who effectively controlled the streets of the city. Clodius and Philopater had stopped at the edge of the square, their followers gathering around them.

  Glancing over his shoulder he heaved a sigh of relief.

  Cestus strode out of the front ranks of the other force, the hulking figure of Lod, the Celtic giant beside him. The former gladiator bore no blade, according to Roman law, but the wooden stave he carried would be, in his capable hands, better than a sword in most.

  The small warrior crouched close to the trio of desperate men.

  ‘It would appear that the lady Faleria is right: master Fronto’s suicidal bravado is infectious.’

  Priscus grinned, heaving in air in deep gulps.

  ‘How the hell did you know where to find us?’

  Cestus laughed.

  ‘Good grief! I’ve had men shadowing you since you left the house. I’m not about to allow a repeat of what happened to Fronto. I have a reputation to maintain.’

  Priscus turned again as Clodius shouted to them.

  ‘Be grateful. You’ve been given a reprieve, but the sky is lowering by the hour and it will fall on you and yours presently.’

  The man turned and strode off among his men. Philopater continued to glare at them, lingering for a moment then, grinning, drew a finger across his throat meaningfully and turned to leave.

  Milo looked across at Priscus, who had begun to chuckle.

  ‘What’s so bloody funny?’

  ‘Did you see the shape of his nose? Like a strawberry!’

  Chapter 22

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

  Fronto slipped his legs over the side of the bed in the large room that had once been his father’s and let his bare feet fall to the marble floor with a cold slap.

  ‘Get back in.’

  ‘Not a chance in Hades, Faleria.’

  ‘You’re in no state to be walking around. Lucilia said at least a day before we were to let you even get up, let alone walk around.’

  ‘It’s just bruising and the odd crack, Faleria. I’ve suffered worse in the stands at the circus. Where are they all?’

  Faleria sighed
.

  ‘They’re in the summer triclinium discussing what to do next.’

  Nodding, Fronto slowly pushed himself upright and, wobbling for a moment, began to stretch his arms and gently test his legs. Certain moves with his left arm sent waves of pain through his shoulder and chest, any sharp movement in his neck was excruciating and there was a constant dull pain in his head but, other than that, he appeared to be in working order. Frowning, he took a tentative step forward. No problem there. They seemed to have left his legs alone nicely.

  ‘I’m fine. A bit of exercise and a couple of cups of good unwatered wine to wash away the headache, and I’ll be back to normal.’

  ‘You’re an idiot, my brother.’

  He turned and grinned at her.

  ‘Your insults are getting formulaic, Faleria.’

  ‘I worry about you. Don’t do anything stupid.’

  He moved toward the door and then stopped, a frown on his face.

  ‘Where is Lucilia, anyway? I haven’t seen her in hours. I thought at one point she was never going to let me out of her sight again.’

  Faleria cast her eyes downwards.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We had a little chat, Marcus.’

  His eyes narrowed as he turned back toward her.

  ‘About?’

  ‘About Verginius and Carvalia. Don’t be angry with me, Marcus.’

  Fronto’s eyes hardened, and he began to grind his teeth.

  ‘I specifically forbade her from talking to you about this.’

  Faleria nodded.

  ‘It was a long time ago, Marcus. It doesn’t pain me to talk about it like it does you.’ She smiled weakly. ‘And her reasons for enquiring appeal to me.’

  Fronto shook his head.

  ‘She’s an impulsive girl with idiotic ideas.’

  Faleria fixed him with a strange look.

  ‘She’s been in Rome for over a week and has not yet even asked about the possibility of visiting the house of the Caecilii. Do you really think she has any intention of meeting her proposed match? Are you blind, daft or simply wrapping yourself in clothes of denial, Marcus?’

  ‘I have neither the time nor the inclination to deal with this, Faleria. Go see her and try to persuade her to meet the Caecilii. I have more important matters to attend to.’