Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  Gritting his teeth, he padded quietly, barefoot, across the patterned floor toward the shadowy shape. Priscus had somehow managed to pull a heavy wooden slat from the bench and was using it like a sword to parry the blows of the gladiator, though the state of the wood and the tinny, acrid smell of blood announced that he wasn’t doing very well.

  Smiling, Fronto approached the killer and raised the shield above his head.

  ‘Hello’ he said warmly.

  The man spun round, a sword flicking out, ready to deliver a horrible blow but, as he did so, Fronto brought the huge, heavy shield down hard on the man’s unprotected skull, the rounded bronze boss smashing into his forehead just above the eye. The blow was hard enough to send the gladiator flat to the floor, his swords falling away, unheeded, as he passed from consciousness in an instant.

  Priscus looked up at him in surprise as he lowered the wooden slat.

  ‘A shield? Really?’

  Fronto shrugged.

  ‘You’d prefer I spent some time scouring around for something better?’

  Priscus laughed as he reached down and gingerly touched a deep wound on his forearm.

  ‘Thanks. Your style’s a bit peculiar, but your timing’s excellent as always.’

  He paused to deliver a hearty kick, full of feeling, to the unconscious gladiator.

  ‘What do we do? Tie him up and interrogate him?’

  ‘No point’ Fronto shrugged. ‘We know damn well who he was working for and what he was trying to do. Never leave a vengeful enemy behind you.’

  Reaching down, he picked up one of the man’s swords and examined it.

  ‘Ever seen one like this before?’

  ‘Nope. Thin and sharp. Some sort of cavalry weapon I suppose. Hurts, though, I can confirm that for you.’

  Fronto smiled as his friend fingered another wound on his thigh.

  ‘Get those cleaned up. Lucilia will stitch them for you. If you’re lucky, she might give you a carrot too.’

  Priscus frowned at him in incomprehension as Fronto leaned over the prone gladiator and carefully positioned the narrow blade over the heart before leaning on the hilt with his full weight and driving the blade home until he heard the point scraping in the mosaic below. The gladiator gave what sounded like a sigh of relief and shuddered once.

  ‘I always love the games. Gladiators are so exciting’ Fronto said with a grin as Priscus reached the labrum, pushed the body out of the way, and started to wash his wounds with the cold water, drawing sharp breaths each time.

  ‘I personally have had about as much excitement as I can take in one day. Can we just have a little boredom for a while, now?’

  Fronto laughed as he dropped the blade and sat on the bench.

  ‘I was contemplating bed for a while after this to catch up on my sleep, but now I’m favouring surveying the damage to the wine store. What d’you think?’

  * * * * *

  Caesar smiled and gave a tug on the straps that held the baggage tightly in the second cart. With a nod of satisfaction, he stepped back.

  ‘It would seem that you are all set, ladies.’

  Fronto rolled his eyes as he leaned against the slightly carbon-stained gatepost. Both he and the stable hand had checked the straps more than once, but Caesar had to give his approval and win the smiles of the three women in the front carriage. It was, to Fronto’s mind, born of a pathological need to be lauded for even the smallest things.

  Turning to look out into the street, he spied Cestus standing at the far side, looking back and forth.

  ‘Are we good to go?’

  The former gladiator had a last check, motioned to a few of his men, and then nodded. Fronto smiled at the three ladies in the wagon.

  ‘Time to go. Once you’re beyond the Porta Naevia, stick to public places and don’t wander out of sight of Cestus and his men. The mansios on your route should be good and secure, but avoid anywhere you suspect might be trouble. Just stay quiet, unobtrusive and safe.’

  Faleria leaned over the side of the wagon.

  ‘For the tenth time, Marcus, we know. We’ll be alright. It’s those of you staying in the city I worry about.’

  Fronto smiled.

  ‘Let’s move.’

  At a wave Posco led the carriage out into the street, the other two wagons grinding and squeaking behind as they began to rumble forward. Fronto accompanied the vehicle with the three ladies, Caesar matching his position at the far side. Priscus sat on the bench of the rear cart, saving his leg as much of the walk as possible. It would be only a count of maybe three hundred to the gate, and then the party would continue to accompany the caravan for the next mile or so until they were clear of the urban area.

  Slowly, the three vehicles, accompanied by almost two dozen men, rolled out into the street and, turning, began the slow descent from the Aventine toward the temple of the Bona Dea at the junction with the Via Ardeatina. Fronto glanced across at the general. It would have been closer and more direct to leave the city by the Porta Capena and straight onto the Via Appia, rather than this roundabout route that required a connecting road a few miles south, but Caesar had been insistent that this path would be the safest, and the ladies fell over one another to agree with the great orator, whatever Fronto’s opinion.

  He grumbled irritably as he walked.

  Slowly, the group reached the lower end of the street, the edges here lined with beggars, the concentration increasing as they neared the temple. It had not rained now for days, and the streets were beginning to look filthy, coated with animal dung and general detritus. Fronto’s grumbling intensified as he trod in something soft.

  Out to the front, Cestus and Lod stepped out into the main road, and the gladiator waved a hand. The carts rolled to a halt, and Fronto and Caesar loped on ahead to meet the small warrior. As they reached the junction, the reason for Cestus’ gesture became clear.

  Off to the left, toward the Circus Maximus, the street was lined to either side with busy stalls, interspersed with beggars, drunks and occasional respectable folk. The open street in the centre was, however, devoid of the general citizenry of Rome. A surly gang of several dozen men, a match for their own force at least, stepped slowly and menacingly toward them, hammers, pick handles and lengths of wood in their grasp.

  ‘Shit. Clodius has absolutely no fear, does he?’

  Caesar nodded and made a very subtle hand gesture.

  ‘Keep moving on slowly and purposefully. All will be well.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  The two men retreated toward the carts and their escort and Cestus returned to his position at the front as the caravan turned away down the street. Lod fell in at the rear, walking backward as six of the guards fell in beside him, carefully eying the sizeable gang that was following them slowly, stalking like a predator cat.

  ‘Why they no fight?’

  Fronto, glancing over his shoulder at the huge Celt, was wondering the same thing, and then shook his head in irritation as the answer popped into his head.

  ‘Because there’s more of them ahead. We’re being herded.’

  Caesar nodded.

  ‘That is possible, but here the road is far more defensible than by the Porta Capena should the situation arise. I think we will be fine, Marcus.’

  ‘You keep saying that, but even if that’s fully half their force out here, it still means we’re outnumbered two to one.’

  The two men fell silent as the carts rumbled on along the street, the population thinning out here as they moved away from the temple and toward the gate and the slumlike region that clung to the outer wall like some parasitic sea creature. Certainly Caesar had been correct about the more defensible nature of this route. The less affluent neighbourhoods in the area led to the insulae and walled blocks to either side of the street pressing in and narrowing the thoroughfare.

  A movement caught Fronto’s attention, and he glanced across at a narrow side street. Three men were moving slowly down it toward them,
wooden clubs in hand. Every ten steps or so brought them past another side street, each with its own small group of thugs converging on them.

  ‘There’s going to be a hundred of them by the time we reach the gate’ Fronto noted to Caesar, nodding in the direction of the latest arrivals. The gang following them had almost doubled in size as they moved slowly on.

  ‘It’s important we keep moving. The closer we are to the gate, the safer we are.’

  Fronto held less certainty about the defensive nature of the area, but there seemed little else to do as they moved slowly on, the tension building constantly.

  ‘Clodius must have an almost infinite supply of thugs. It’s almost as if he breeds them!’

  On the cart just above and behind them, Priscus pointed ahead.

  ‘There’s the gate. We’re almost there.’

  Fronto glanced past the shoulders of Cestus and his companion. The Porta Naevia with its single arch of heavy travertine blocks crossed the road fifty paces ahead, just coming into view as they rounded a gentle curve in the road.

  ‘We’re going to make it.’

  The carts rumbled on, closing the distance with interminable slowness, and the huge arch grew ever more tantalisingly near, the heavy gates standing open to either side.

  ‘Why is there no one around?’ Fronto said nervously.

  Caesar shrugged. ‘One armed gang following another? Even the rudest peasant can spot that kind of trouble approaching, Fronto. You expect them to stay around for the show?’

  ‘Crap.’

  Cestus stepped into the shadow of the gateway, three more of his men with him, and the lead carriage rolled under the arch. Fronto bit his cheek.

  Behind them they could almost sense the tensing of muscles ready to attack. The silence was taught and dangerous.

  ‘Whoa!’

  Fronto’s head snapped back to the light at the far side of the gate. Cestus, silhouetted in the arch, was holding up his hand and the wagons were quickly slowed and stopped. The gang behind came on at an even slower pace, closing the gap.

  Fronto was about to shout a question ahead to Cestus when he saw the rest of Clodius’ men, spreading from the sides of the street into the gateway, blocking the path ahead.

  ‘Shit. What now?’

  Caesar arched his brow and shrugged.

  ‘Now we see what they have to say.’

  The two men strode out forward into the shadows until they fell in alongside Cestus. There were perhaps three dozen men in the road ahead. A fight now would be virtual suicide. Some of the men, being outside the city, had taken the opportunity to arm themselves with real weapons. To the rear, a tall man with a scar down his face that permanently closed one eye stepped up. The mob parted before of him.

  ‘You appear to have reached the end of the road. My master sends his regards. He hopes you will allow us to make this quick and painless.’

  ‘Your master can kiss my hairy pink arse!’ Fronto barked.

  Caesar cast a sidelong glance at Fronto, and there was a genuine smile there.

  ‘What?’ Fronto hissed back at him.

  ‘You really must have faith in your general, Marcus.’

  He turned to the Falerii’s chief house slave, standing by his shoulder.

  ‘Now, Posco, if you would?’

  The slave nodded with a smile and drew a small copper horn from the cart beside him. Taking a deep breath, he blew a series of loud, sharp notes and then lowered it. Fronto narrowed his eyes.

  ‘Where did you learn the muster call, Posco?’

  The slave merely gave him an enigmatic smile and pointed.

  Ahead, beyond the armed gang that barred their way, more men were appearing from the side of the road, falling in to the street and settling in ordered rows.

  Caesar smiled at the tall, scarred thug, who was looking over his shoulder in surprise.

  ‘Would you like to kiss Fronto’s ‘hairy pink arse’, or just get the hell out of our way?’

  Fronto blinked.

  ‘Who are they?’

  The men were falling into military formation and, though in plain tunics and cloaks, a number of them bore a gladius or pugio or a solid legionary shield on their arm.

  Caesar grinned.

  ‘Sound off!’ he bellowed.

  From the depths of the large unit, still increasing in strength, voices called out.

  ‘Servius Tarcus, centurion of the Ninth Legion… retired.’

  ‘Aulus Octavius, optio of the Seventh Legion… retired.’

  Other voices were announcing their origins among the crowd, and Fronto turned to frown at Caesar, whose grin widened.

  ‘You’d be surprised how many veterans of my legions there are within the city’s bounds, Fronto, and most of them hold a loyalty that goes far beyond receiving their honesta mission. Some of them are your men, even.’

  Fronto blinked again and turned to look over his shoulder. The advancing mob behind them had stopped. Lod stepped forward and crouched menacingly.

  ‘Boo!’ he barked, and some of the men at the front of the gang actually jumped.

  Caesar stepped toward the tall, scarred spokesman.

  ‘Disperse immediately or pay the penalty for public disorder. Your choice.’

  The man stood silently for a moment, clearly weighing up his options, but the decision had been made for him. The men of his gang melted away at the periphery into the side streets and doorways, and he stood at the centre of a rapidly shrinking force.

  ‘Run, then, and don’t come back’ the man said to Caesar defiantly.

  The general grinned.

  ‘Oh, we’re not all leaving. Some of us have business yet in Rome.’

  The man dithered again, fumbling for another pithy retort but, realising there were now less than a dozen men between him and a century’s worth of veteran soldiers, he threw an angry glance at them, let out an exasperated grunt, and ran off into a side street.

  Fronto shook his head.

  ‘You do like to show off, don’t you? Did it not occur to you to let me in on it?’

  ‘And spoil the surprise?’ Caesar grinned. ‘Hardly.’

  He looked up at the three women, each heaving sighs of relief.

  ‘Well ladies, it would appear that the way ahead is clear. The veterans of my legions will join Cestus and escort you as far as Albanum and the mansio there. I hope the sea air agrees with you and that we will meet again very soon.’

  The ladies of the house of the Falerii smiled gratefully at the general and, waving at Fronto, gestured to Posco to move on. As Priscus slipped down from his seat and wandered across to the officers, Lucilia leaned over the edge and planted a difficult and somewhat unexpected kiss on Fronto’s forehead.

  ‘Hurry back, Marcus.’

  Fronto stared at her as the vehicles trundled on, the legionaries falling into escort positions as he rubbed his head and looked at his fingers suspiciously.

  Turning, he realised that Priscus and Caesar were both grinning at him.

  ‘Oh, grow up!’

  Chapter 24

  (Late Octobris: On the Janiculum, overlooking Rome.)

  ‘I can’t see why they couldn’t have met in the city’ Priscus grumbled, massaging his painful hip as he stumped slowly up the sloping gravel path.

  ‘Neutral ground. They are the three most powerful men in Rome, so I suppose it’s symbolic.’

  ‘Sym-bollocks is what it is!’

  Fronto smiled at his friend. Behind them, Galronus stomped up the path, showing no sign of fatigue. Fronto glared at him and, turning, plodded wearily on. Ahead of them, Caesar walked quietly, as though out for a stroll to enjoy the late autumn air, Aulus Ingenuus striding along beside him, armed now they were well outside the city’s pomerium.

  Ingenuus had tried desperately to persuade the general, in light of recent events, to allow the entire contingent of his cavalry guard that had returned from Gaul to escort him today, but the general had insisted on a small accompaniment only.
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br />   Ahead, a small group of men loitered at the hill’s crest, lounging on benches or leaning on the decorative balustrade. Fronto squinted and could make out the figure of the younger Crassus, clad in his dazzling white toga. Fronto mentally dismissed the showy garment; whitening it with chalk was a practice rarely carried out these days, and yet, he could not help but nod with approval when he spotted the tip of a gladius sheath below the hem.

  ‘Looks like Crassus and his men are already here.’

  Behind them, Galronus hurried to catch up.

  ‘I still do not understand the importance of this. We should be concentrating on Clodius, surely?’

  Fronto smiled.

  ‘In a way, we are. I had a lot of time to think last night, Gnaeus, and every time we’ve pushed Clodius, he’s pushed back harder, and each time it’s not us that gets the brunt of it, but my family. I sat chatting to Nemesis last night and came to the conclusion that I had a choice: vengeance against Clodius or looking after those I care about and that simply has to come first. The time to deal with Clodius will come, but when there is no chance of the backlash destroying the Falerii. Anyway, these three men can, between them, make almost anything happen in Rome; or stop it happening. The chaos in the city is only rife because these three are not working together and therefore letting it happen.’

  He became aware of Caesar watching him with a frown.

  ‘Not specifically because of you’ he added wearily. ‘But it needs sorting out.’

  As the general turned back to face their destination, Fronto glanced ahead and then back over his shoulder. The temple of Janus on the hill’s crest had been chosen carefully as the venue for a number of reasons: it was neutral territory for the three men; it was sacred ground, and no true Roman would commit an act of violence within; it offered an unrivalled view to aid privacy and safety; last of all, the two faced Janus was the master of beginnings, changes and choices and the symbolism of the god’s shrine would not be lost on any man present.

  Behind them, the gravelled path led down the Janiculum hill in a wide arc to the Pons Aemilius that would take them back to the city when this was over. Fronto noted with interest part way back down the path, among the rapidly thinning foliage, Pompey striding up the slope with a certain speed as though he were late, half a dozen men rushing along around him, some carrying goods.