Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘What did you really give Pompey.’

  ‘You don’t need to know that, Caesar.’

  The general eyed him suspiciously.

  ‘I would say that whatever it was gave the man rather a shock. After you left, he hardly said a word other than to hurriedly agree with anything I said. Honestly, I suspect that if I’d suggested he dress as a woman from now on, he would be having his hair curled and pinned up as we speak.’

  Fronto grinned.

  ‘Marcus, I want to know what you’ve done.’

  ‘I’ve settled things, Caesar. Leave it at that. I think you’ll find that Clodius’ claws have been dulled. The great Pompey will, I suspect, be very careful to keep control of Rome for you while you’re away.’

  The general continued to glare at him and finally shook his head in exasperation.

  ‘You are an infuriating man, Marcus Falerius Fronto.’

  ‘I have been told that, yes.’

  The two men sighed and stretched. Smiling, Fronto proffered a mug of wine to the general.

  ‘Thank you, but no. I have much to do. Another week or so of planning and organising things with those two and then it will be time for me to return to the provinces.’

  Fronto looked across in surprise.

  ‘You leaving so soon?’

  ‘I have a number of matters to attend to in Illyricum and more in Cremona. I need to do something about the Veragri at Octodurus. I’d like nothing more than to lead the legions there and make them pay for what they did to the Twelfth, but that could just cause another set of eruptions in Gaul. So, what I’m thinking of doing is sending Mettius and Procillus with a chest of money and a small escort and buying enough peace and goodwill across the Alps to persuade them to open the trade route I need. It might be simpler and less costly in the long run.’

  He smiled curiously.

  ‘Also, I am reorganising the legions prior to the next year. Priscus is insistent that there are men in the legions, once of Pompey’s army, who are of dubious allegiance, and since Priscus is now my camp prefect, I can hardly ignore his concerns. I will be taking him with me to arrange matters; all my rotten legionary eggs shall be placed in one basket and I may then hand that basket to the Germans or the British when I see them.’

  Fronto raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Germania?’

  Caesar smiled.

  ‘Gaul is pacified, or will be when I’ve bought the Veragri, but the German and British tribes are restless. They must be subdued before they have an adverse effect on the settlement of Gaul. Prepare yourself, Marcus. Next spring, we move on to pastures new.’

  Fronto sighed.

  ‘Could you not have swapped your governorship with Pompey? Spain is so much warmer and friendlier than the far north.’

  The general laughed.

  ‘Make the most of the winter, Marcus. Next year could be a difficult one.’

  ‘Aren’t they all?’

  The two men fell silent and stared off down through the woods at the city below. Rome glistened in the sun. There were times when the city was simply breathtaking.

  Fronto sighed. Britannia meant ships and sea journeys.

  ‘Great.’

  * * * * *

  Posco looked up over the edge of the well where the bucket slopped water this way and that, and balanced it on the brick surface, a smile breaking out across his face. He turned to the slave girl next to him, who was busy lifting a yoke and settling it on her shoulders to receive the water.

  ‘Drop that and run inside. Tell the mistress that the master has returned.’

  She looked up in surprise and squinted at the hill, past the outbuildings and the edge of the great sulphurous crater that bounded the eastern edge of the estate and past which the main road ran. A lone figure on horseback was making its way down across the grass from the road.

  ‘Go on, girl. Quickly.’

  As she removed the yoke once more and ran back into the front door of the villa and to the atrium in search of the house’s mistresses, Posco quickly washed his hands in the bucket and dried them on his tunic before walking out toward the arched gateway with its canopy of crawling vines.

  Fronto looked tired, but the smile he wore dispelled the tension Posco had been feeling ever since they had arrived almost two weeks ago.

  Standing respectfully aside, he watched as his master approached and finally, as he reached the gate, haul on the reins and slide from the horse before tying him to the fence.

  ‘Posco… am I glad to see you?’

  The slave grinned.

  ‘And I you, sir. I have sent word to the mistress.’

  Fronto nodded, stretching.

  ‘I am ready for a bath, a meal and a large mug of wine, Posco.’

  ‘May I ask why sir travels alone? We were expecting master Priscus or master Galronus at least?’

  ‘They will not be joining us, Posco. I winter with the family alone this year. Priscus is preparing to return to the legions as their new camp prefect and Galronus decided to stay in the city and try his luck at the circus again. I tried to tell him we have one in Puteoli, but I fear that Gaul has become more of a Roman than I will ever be.’

  The slave smiled again.

  ‘I shall have the baths heated ready for you, master. The evening meal is not prepared yet, but if you will allow a few moments, I will arrange something to tide you over, sir.’

  Fronto grinned.

  ‘The drink will do in the meantime. I haven’t had a local wine in a very long time.’

  Another slave appeared and took Bucephalus’ reins, leading the magnificent beast to the stable as Posco accompanied his master through the garden toward the villa’s door.

  As they approached, the figure of Lucilia appeared in the archway, her deep blue chiton emphasising her pale skin and ebony hair, the simple gold earrings and necklace glittering in the afternoon sunlight. She was, simply, breathtaking.

  Posco, busy chattering away, realised suddenly that he was alone and turned to find that his master had stopped a dozen paces back. He smiled.

  ‘I’d best get to the baths.’

  Grinning cheekily, he scuttled off toward the bath house, mentally cataloguing the tasks he would have to complete before dinner. On the way, he found young Pegaleius watering the garden and, grasping him by the arm, took him along to help.

  Lucilia smiled at the weary traveller.

  ‘You rode alone?’

  Fronto nodded and started to walk forward again slowly, unable to take his eyes from her.

  ‘Was that wise?’ she asked. ‘With so many troubles, I mean?’

  He grinned.

  ‘I think the troubles are largely past. Clodius will no longer be any trouble. Pompey the great is sweeping Rome clear of all its mess and I have hired workers and artisans to repair the house and left a few men to look after it.’

  ‘So you are here for the winter?’

  ‘I am here for the winter’ he smiled. ‘At least until spring. I see no desperate reason to return to the city.’

  He eyed her questioningly.

  ‘Though you may have one?’

  She frowned in incomprehension.

  ‘The Caecilii?’ he said, an unspoken question in his eyes. ‘A young man who has probably been expecting you for some time?’

  The smile that flooded her face warmed his heart.

  ‘I expect he has already received a letter calling off the match’ she said with a contented sigh. ‘I left mother working on father. She can be very persuasive.’

  Fronto laughed.

  ‘You are as expert a manipulator as any politician in Rome, Lucilia.’

  She smiled as he finally approached her and reached out, taking her in his arms and enfolding her in them tightly.

  There was silence for a long moment until finally she loosened her own grip and pushed her head back, looking up into his eyes.

  Fronto smiled and leaned down to meet her kiss.

  This was going to be a winter t
o remember.

  END

  Book 3 Author's Note

  Love it or hate it! It was important to me, with this third year of Caesar's wars, to start broadening the scope of the series. Having solidly set the tone with the military campaigning in books one and two, it was time to begin exploring some of the political and social aspects of the war.

  Those aspects come in the form of Clodius Pulcher and the other two members of the triumvirate. I would produce an extremely blinkered view of the war if I were to concentrate solely on the action in Gaul and not begin to draw in elements of the wider world - particularly in Rome, where the political state was becoming extremely taut and having an effect on the famous general and his clients and friends.

  This extra dimension has also allowed me to explore more of the character and background of Fronto, which I believe has given our favourite legate a little extra depth and humanity.

  In any series, be it novels, movies or television, there is the danger of new episodes becoming repetitive and 'samey'. I hope desperately to avoid falling into that trap and I believe that straight military accounts going on with this series would become slightly tedious for the reader.

  Do not worry, though!

  I have no intention of turning the Marius' Mules series into a political 'soap-opera' in Rome. Enough writers have covered the situation in the Eternal City - and done it well - that to devote too much time to it would be to rehash work needlessly. All I wish to do is add a dimension to the military tales. Books four and five will reflect this, though there will be future titles devoted more strictly to the military side. After all, everyone's favourite Gallic hero will become active soon enough.

  I have, as usual, taken some liberties with characters. I have started to show the strain appearing in Caesar, having cracks appearing here and there. But the strongest characterisation - and possibly the most unfair - is that of the younger Crassus. There is a reason for this - beyond the need for solid antagonists: Crassus is shown in Caesar's writings to be a very able military commander and Caesar has praise for him, even leaving him to completely command the army in the southwest. However, the details of Crassus' activities are a little telling, I feel. Events such as his treatment of the tribes that led to the Veneti's revolt are the actions of a harsh man, given to punishment rather than conciliation and that, added to the portrayals of his father as a somewhat mercenary, selfish and domineering man lead me to believe that for all Crassus' vaunted military expertise, there were some serious negatives to his character.

  The reader may by now have noted a theme woven into this tale. There is something in it of the exploration of what it meant to be either Gaulish or Roman - or indeed both - and the ethical considerations on both sides.

  For all the general belief that Rome considered the Gauls barbarians, we have to remember that this is a modern concept. To Rome, the Greek word 'barbaroi' simply means foreigners or outsiders. They are 'not Romans'. This does not mean that no Roman could have respect for a Gaul. Indeed, when Rome was still a young republic, the Gauls had sacked the city. Moreover, Narbonensis and Cisalpine Gaul had been part of the republic for many years and a certain understanding of the Celtic world must have informed Roman thought. Thus characters like Labienus, starting to understand the enemy perhaps more than his own people.

  Gallia Invicta brings more politics and thought into the series and I hope it captures you the way it was intended.

  Simon Turney - March 2013

  Young Marcus Fronto and the Temple of Doom.

  (A short story set ten years before the events of Marius’ Mules)

  Marcus Falerius Fronto rolled over to stare into the eyes of the girl next to him. Vibia smiled back at him, her voluptuous lips framing her perfect teeth. She languished in the bed next to his muscular body, half-wrapped in light, wispy garments that did little to hide her shape and…

  Fronto swallowed and his eyes bulged dangerously.

  ‘You’re a what?’

  Vibia smiled in an astoundingly relaxed way to Fronto’s mind.

  ‘Relax, Marcus. I’m not actually a vestal virgin.’

  Fronto, still staring, allowed himself to heave a deep sigh of relief. Last night’s debauchery among the taverns in the Subura had left him with a dull thumping in his head, a number of gaps in his memory of the night before and an otherwise entirely unfamiliar young lady at his side. He’d been out to celebrate his assigning to Spain, where he’d join the new quaestor, taking ship from Ostia in a few days’ time. And things had become a little blurred. He distinctly remembered losing a number of wagers and chasing a number of young women along the street with Geganius. The end of the night was still shrouded in mystery, though.

  ‘Shit, girl! You can’t go round saying you’re a vestal. You’ll get in serious trouble, and you nearly gave me a bloody heart attack.’

  He saw the amusement flickering in her eyes and growled.

  ‘Where the hell are we, anyway? Last thing I remember was that little bar below the Tabularium.’

  Vibia’s mouth split into a wide grin.

  ‘We’re in the house of the vestals, Marcus.’

  ‘What?’

  Fronto shook his head. Was the girl deliberately trying to break his brain, or was he just plainly beyond simple understanding this morning?

  Vibia sighed lightly.

  ‘I’m the most unusual girl you’ll ever sleep with, Marcus. I was chosen late to be one of the vestals. I’m not a girl any more, despite what they all think, but I haven’t taken the vow as yet.’

  Fronto frowned.

  ‘I wasn’t aware there was a delay?’

  ‘There usually isn’t, but they had trouble finding someone quickly to replace one of the priestesses who just passed on, and I was what you might call a ‘last-minute find’ by the pontifex maximus.’

  ‘Last minute find?’

  Vibia nodded. ‘Normally they would deliberate a lot longer, but the public opening of the temple for the festival is in two days and they need a full complement of novices and priestesses.’

  She grinned.

  ‘I was on the way to the temple last night when you and your friend found me. I will be taking the vows in…’ she frowned and tried to judge the light outside the window, ‘… about two hours.’

  Fronto shook his head madly.

  ‘That’s insane! Why would you do such a thing? You might not be official yet, but you might as well be. If they catch us they’ll bury you alive anyway, and they’ll whip me to death in the forum!’

  He bit his lip and pulled the covers up to just below his eyes as though people could see him already. Grumbling, he pointed a finger accusingly at the girl beside him.

  ‘You had no right to go marching around the backstreets of the city unescorted at night. You might as well have been inviting it. It’s your father that should be whipped!’

  Vibia laughed a light laugh.

  ‘For Vesta’s sake, Marcus…’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ interrupted Fronto, a panicked look in his eyes.

  ‘Marcus, I wasn’t alone. Your friends sort of ambushed my escort and you promised to walk me on. You’re a patrician with a good name. And as for ‘why would I do such a thing?’: well, you were fairly insistent, my dear. I hardly think all the blame can be laid at my door, now can it?’

  Fronto’s eyes were darting back and forth nervously.

  ‘Oh shut up!’

  Again Vibia laughed. Her lightness was really starting to grate on him.

  ‘How the hell do I get out of here?’

  ‘Do you remember how we got in?’

  ‘Vibia,’ Fronto growled, ‘the state I was in last night I’m lucky I woke up in Latium with two legs and not chained to some Cilician slaver and rowing for my life!’

  Again that gratingly happy laugh. Fronto growled once more and slowly slid sideways out of the bed, closing his eyes and wincing until his feet fell to the cold marble with a ‘plop’.

  ‘Where are my clothes?�
�

  ‘The way you flung them off last night, they could be anywhere.’

  Fronto grunted, once again vastly unhappy with his own inability to think past the present. His sister had always said that wine would be the death of him. He’d always assumed she meant through ill health rather than stupidity and girls.

  ‘Never mind… I think I can smell them!’

  Vibia laughed quietly as her erstwhile lover hunted around the small room in the shadows, the only light from the high window that he daren’t get too close to. The only noise was the gentle background hum of the forum not too distant, interrupted by the slapping of bare feet on marble.

  The quiet was split sharply as Vibia snorted at the sight of Fronto standing, holding his tunic in one hand as though it might wriggle to escape, while he gave a tentative sniff to the breeches in the other. He squinted and shook his head at the offensive odours that issued from the garments.

  ‘What in the name of Bacchus did I do last night? My clothes smell like the shit-shovellers at the circus!’

  Without expecting a reply and with a look of mixed disgust and fear, Fronto climbed into his breeches and pulled on the tunic. The white linen was a mottled grey and yellow colour.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting your underwear, Marcus?’

  Fronto stared down at the floor and prodded something she couldn’t see with his foot. As she collapsed into a fresh bout of laughter, Fronto growled.

  ‘If you would be so kind as to get rid of them for me. Perhaps you could burn them in the sacred fire? I’ve probably pissed Vesta off as much as I can anyway. I’m certainly not putting the bloody things back on. I think something’s spent the night living in them!’

  He sighed as he began fastening his caligae around his ankles.

  ‘No. I think I’ll go ‘gladiator’ until I get home and then bathe and change and hope the Gods don’t know where I live.’

  Another nervous flick of his eyes.