‘I know.’
‘Then stop looking at them with such sad eyes, as though they were leaving you forever. They have a Bellovaci woman with them sworn to your wife’s protection and a warrior prince of the Remi awaiting them. Oh, and some Romans, too.’
Fronto turned a scathing look on the Arvernian, who flashed him a tight smile. ‘You need to focus on the task at hand.’
He nodded and, as the men from the ship unloaded the last of their kit, looked around at the men who had come with him – some through loyalty, some for pay, others for vengeance or some indefinable Gallic motivation Fronto couldn’t quite follow.
Balbus. His father-in-law, old friend and former peer in the legions. Despite the heart trouble that had seen him leave the Eighth half a decade ago, Fronto would say that the old man looked fitter and leaner than he had for years and was, of course, every bit as wise and clever as he had always been.
Cavarinos. To all intents and purposes, the man was one of the enemy, or at least had been so quite recently. But the Arvernian was an enigma. Concerned with the survival of his people more than their ascendance, he had quickly become as close to Fronto as any Roman he could name. The former legate would have no qualms over having Cavarinos at his back. Would that be the same, he wondered, when the men they faced were the Gaul’s countrymen?
Biorix. The hulking Gaulish legionary and engineer who had come to his attention half a decade since and had endured and triumphed through every strand of adversity that Fronto and his bodyguard had encountered these past three years.
Pamphilus and Clearchus. None too bright, it had to be said, but as loyal as the day was long, and with strong arms and stout hearts. And the other three men who had served at the villa were all tried and tested, having fought off the enemy during that heart-stopping night attack – Dyrakhes the slinger, Agesander the boxer and Procles the giant Greek former mercenary.
And the last of the ten-man army was now hurrying back across to them, his eyes rolled upward, watching the gulls that filled the sky with their cries and swooping, aware of the potential for aerial deposits and veering close if he thought they might occur. After all, a gull dropping its business on you was among the luckiest of signs. Aurelius. If Masgava was the head of Fronto’s guard, Aurelius was its heart and soul. The former legionary stopped in front of them, heaving in breaths from his run, though with a curious smile and a splash of white across the shoulder of his tunic.
‘Port officials say they’ve had at least a dozen Gallic ships in over the past day and they don’t keep records down to tribal levels so they can’t confirm if any of them are Ruteni. All Gallic vessels marked down are registered at Narbo, Massilia, Agathe or Heraclea, but that doesn’t help as any of them could belong to the Ruteni and could have been at Massilia. The last was logged a little over two hours ago, so even if the bastards we’re after were on that ship, so long as they were sharp they could be in Rome even now, either by road if they bought horses or by swift passenger ferry upriver. Little chance of us catching them in Ostia.’
Fronto nodded. He’d not expected to contain them here, but had held onto a small thread of hope that it might happen nonetheless. ‘To Rome, then. We know where they’re going.’ He turned at the sound of his name and saw Brutus walking across the dock towards him, a legionary leading the officer’s horse behind him.
‘Decimus. Are you bound for Rome, now?’
Brutus shook his head. ‘Soon. Can’t let this convoy out of my sight, else Caesar will have me strung up. A lot of his consulship and political future rides on these barge-loads. I’ll wait until the last of it is loaded and bound for the city and then follow along, to be safe. I was going to say that I’m bound for the house of Casca, but as soon as I’m done with the duty, I’ll head home and stay there unless Casca requires me. You know our family’s houses in Rome, yes?’
‘I do. Which one?’
‘I’ll be on the Palatine – the villa overlooking the Vestals’ compound.’
Fronto chuckled and Brutus flashed an embarrassed grin. ‘A foible of my grandfather. I think he narrowly avoided prosecution by sealing up two of the more overhanging windows. Anyway, you know where to find me if you need me. And you?’
Fronto shrugged. ‘Home, on the Aventine. The place is back to functioning normally these days, though it’s been unoccupied by anyone but a caretaker for a while.’
‘Right. Good luck, my friend.’
Fronto eyed a wagon-load of booty being manhandled with difficulty across a ramp and into a wide barge. ‘You too.’
Turning away from the dock, he threw a heavy pouch to Aurelius. ‘Take Dyrakhes and Biorix and buy ten horses. They don’t have to be race winners, but I’d prefer it if their legs didn’t fall off as soon as we leave Ostia. The rest of us will gather a few supplies and meet you at the Rome Gate in an hour.’
* * * * *
Fronto sipped his wine – lightly watered to preserve the rich flavour, though taken in a small quantity. A clear head was required now. The others sat on the same folding stools as he, standard fayre for military campaigns, without the comfort of a civilian couch but with ease of transport and storage. The townhouse of the Falerii had been completely restored after the fire that had torn through it, but there was yet little in the way of furnishing or comfort, having not been fully occupied for some time. Indeed Glyptus, the sour-faced but excruciatingly efficient freedman Faleria had retained to maintain the house, was even now out in the city with a purse of coins, purchasing bedding for ten and a few home comforts. It was late in the evening to shop, really, but in this city – the greatest in the world – there was no time of day or night that goods could not be purchased if one knew where to look.
Outside the squeak of bats flitting about in the dark added a harmonious line above the distant surge and murmur of the late night horse race in the circus for the Apolline Games. Each squeak was accompanied by a twitch in Aurelius’ eye and in order to try and concentrate the man’s thoughts on the task at hand, Fronto had been forced to close all the windows despite the growing stuffy heat.
The party of ten had arrived in the city not long after noon, all weapons and equipment safely stowed in their packs in line with Roman law. They had made their way up to the house to a gruff greeting from Glyptus, who had set about lighting the furnace, but they had declined his grudging offer of a meal, instead strolling down to a tavern Balbus knew well on the Gemonian Way, rather aptly named the ‘Huntsman’s head’. The food had been standard fare at slightly inflated prices and the wine an extortionate cost for a poor vintage, but Balbus had been quite right about its unparalleled view of the carcer. They had spent an hour there having a midday meal, and then another slowly supping wine while they observed, filling the void with harmless small talk.
Not one of them had been concentrating on the food or the drink or the gossip, for all their harmless, mundane appearance to passers-by. In fact, their attention had been fully locked on the state prison opposite, its surroundings and the local populace. While it seemed highly unlikely that they might spot a cloaked and cowled figure in a mask strolling through the forum in daylight, they could not preclude the possibility that the Gauls had shed their disguises and were now trying to blend in. There were a few foreigners here, of course. Greeks, Egyptians, Spaniards, Africans, Levantines, Thracians and so on. Not many of the fair haired northerners, of course, but a few. Enough that a subtle Gaul could walk through the streets without raising too much comment.
And then, finally, they had made their way to the public baths to scrape away the dirt of travel and refresh themselves, all the while listening to the conversation and gossip of the men sharing the great complex with them. Anything might be of use after so long away from the city, after all. Fronto had been fascinated watching Cavarinos as he experienced a true Roman bath complex for the first time. The Arvernian had used Fronto’s baths at the villa, of course, and had learned, with some surprise and perhaps a little scorn, how such things as stri
gils and spongia worked. But having fully depilated naked slaves tending to his personal hygiene seemed to cause something between fascination and horror for the Gaul.
A little walk around, introducing those who had not visited the city before to its ways and districts, and finally they had returned to the house of the Falerii in time for an evening meal as the sun descended behind the Aventine’s slopes. Glyptus was either a far better cook than Fronto had taken him for or, as Fronto suspected, one of the local and better cauponae owners was grinning at a small pile of coins and an empty ingredients larder. Now, as evening rolled on, in private and with the day’s research to work through, the ten of them sat around a model of the forum’s western end and the slopes of the Capitoline constructed out of boxes, bowls, pots, pans, wax tablets and anything else Fronto could find to add to the growing plan in his tablinum.
‘So how is this carcer run?’ asked Cavarinos, peering at the small ceramic honey pot that represented Rome’s infamous prison.
Fronto nodded to Balbus. ‘You’re more informed on city matters than me these days, Quintus?’
The old man leaned back and coughed. ‘Well, now. For a start there is no permanent guard staff on the place. What you need to remember is that the carcer is only a temporary measure. It is a place where important criminals or captured enemies are kept until their fate is decided, not a punishment in itself. As such there are occasions when the place is completely empty for protracted periods, though in times of war and civil strife it can be quite busy. As such it becomes the responsibility of the consuls in office at the time. Often control of the carcer is delegated by those consuls to one of their clients. When Pompey was in office, his man Afranius was responsible and the place was full of Pompey’s enemies, so Afranius brought a sizeable force of loyal men to run the place.’
‘And now?’ prompted Aurelius.
‘The current consuls are Claudius Marcellus the younger and Sulpicius Rufus. If Pompey still had control of the carcer, there would be little chance of our gaining access to it after Fronto’s disagreement with the man. But even Pompey might have been easier than these two. Marcellus is an outspoken enemy of Caesar, a true hater of the proconsul, and he is the man with current control. It might be possible to circumvent him by going to Rufus, but although Rufus has never officially stood against Caesar, he has often spoken out against him and I think would be no friend to us. Besides, playing off one consul against another usually has bad repercussions. Anyway, Marcellus was a tribune in Pompey’s army early in his career and he’s put one of his former officers in charge of the carcer along with, I understand, five former legionaries. I think we can assume they are experienced veterans and incorruptible. Marcellus ran his campaign for consul on the ticket of stamping out corruption, so he would have to be careful about his employees.’
‘If they are so incorruptible, can we not just go to this Marcellus or his officer and tell them about the Sons of Taranis?’ mused Cavarinos. ‘Surely they would put the security of Rome’s most important prisoner above petty rivalries?’
Fronto snorted. ‘If you think your tribes are prone to infighting, you’ve a thing to learn yet about Rome. Most of the powerful men in the city hate most of the other powerful men, and no small amount of them would burn down half the city to embarrass their opposite numbers. We used to have a bit of balance when Crassus was still in the picture, as there were three camps and something of a stalemate. But now it’s polarised and everyone is either for Pompey or for Caesar. You say the wrong name to the wrong people and you’ll be wandering the street looking for your teeth.’
Balbus sighed and turned to Cavarinos. ‘What our friend is trying so eloquently to say is that divisions run so deep in Roman politics these days that Marcellus might well free Vercingetorix himself just to embarrass Caesar if he thought he could get away with it. He certainly wouldn’t listen to us and take action to stop the Sons of Taranis. In fact, he’d probably welcome their intervention. If Gauls from a land that Caesar claims to have conquered manage to free their king and get him out of Rome, Caesar would suddenly find himself extremely unpopular in all circles.’
Cavarinos shook his head. ‘How your people ever conquer lands is beyond me.’
‘So,’ Fronto murmured, tapping the honey pot with a finger, ‘six men inside who will have nothing to do with us, and no way to readily gain access. That puts us more or less on the same footing as the enemy. The difference is that they have to find a way in. We just have to stop them doing so. That’s our main advantage.’
‘Wish we knew where they were,’ muttered Biorix. ‘That would make things a great deal easier.’
‘True, but we don’t. And barring the disfigured Molacos, who will have to be extremely cautious and is probably not going outside at all, we have no idea what they look like. We will have to be truly alert and perceptive. No one is to get too drunk while we’re in the city, and everyone is expected to get a good night’s sleep every night. If the worst comes to the worst, there are people we can call on in the city: Caesar’s niece and family, Brutus, old friends from the army. But we can’t drag them into this unless we need them. The more people involved the more likely something will go wrong.’
‘The Sons of Taranis will have to examine the carcer and learn what they can,’ Cavarinos said. ‘They do not have the advantage of being able to pass for city folk like you. Most of them might not speak Latin or at least will speak it with a thick accent, so they will be limited in terms of who can do their research. Moreover, they will not have the level of knowledge of Balbus here. There is every chance that we are already way ahead of them in finding out everything we need to know. That means that they will likely still be watching the carcer.’
‘Good point,’ Fronto nodded. ‘And if they are, we may be able to spot them. So our first goal is to put a watch on the carcer ourselves. We’ll have pairs of men watching the place from the Huntsman’s Head. Most of you are more than capable of blending in at a city tavern. Stay on the alert side, but try to look like you’re relaxing on your day off. While two men observe there, the rest can stay here out of sight and rest. We’ll rotate the duties so that a pair is never repeated. Sadly myself, Balbus and Cavarinos are off the list. We are far too well known to the enemy, though we might stay nearby to be on-hand at times. With Fortuna’s grace, the Gauls will slip up and we’ll catch them watching the place. If we can get a lead on them before they make any real move, then we’re in with a chance. We might be able to mob them early.’
‘What if we get involved in a fight?’ Dyrakhes mused. ‘You say we’re not allowed weapons in the city and I understand you not wanting to break the law, but you can bet that these Gauls aren’t bothered. If they’ve come this far they won’t baulk at concealed weapons. I fought in the pits in Tergeste, but I don’t relish the idea of facing well-armed men with only my fists if I can avoid it.’
The others nodded and Fronto sighed. ‘It’s not simply a matter of not wanting to break the rules, Dyrakhes. It’s a sacred law as old as the city. When you cross the pomerium – the sacred boundary of the original city – there are rules as old as the gods. Carrying a weapon of war in public is a terrible violation. It doesn’t apply in your own homes, of course, and it doesn’t apply to tools and eating knives and all that. And there’s some bending of the boundaries, to be honest. When I was young, before Sulla extended it thirty years ago, the pomerium barely covered the centre and stopped just this side of the circus. My great grandfather built this house before the Aventine became the domain of the plebs largely because this hill was outside the pomerium then and he felt safe from flaunting sacred law. Caesar officially broke the law by crossing it and coming to this house a few years ago, since he should have laid down his governorship to do so, but no one would dare cross the general at the time, and many would argue that the recent extension to the pomerium wasn’t legal anyway and that Caesar hadn’t crossed the true one. Even some magistrates probably only consider the original ancient pomeriu
m a proper legal boundary.’ He frowned as he realised that he’d drifted off into an almost tutorial explanation, and smiled at himself. Age, perhaps? His grandfather had done that a lot.
Balbus gave him an odd look. ‘The long and the short of it is that a man can be fined, beaten, exiled or even executed for carrying a weapon within the pomerium, depending on his status, so we do not do it even if it puts us at a disadvantage. But,’ he smiled, ‘there are no rules against carrying a good eating or whittling knife, or a cleaver, or even a good stout staff. Just weapons.’
Fronto nodded. ‘And that is what we’ll do. Permissible arms only. We’ll start in the morning.’
Aurelius shook his head. ‘Respectfully, sir, the Sons of Whores or whatever they’re called won’t be sleeping on it. They might even be there right now, trying something. If we’re settled on the plan – that for now we observe and try to spot the enemy – we should start right away.’
‘Everyone is exhausted after the journey, Aurelius.’
‘Not really, sir. I understand the taverns on the Argiletum and the Clivus Argentarius stay open ridiculously late if not all night, so the Huntsman’s Head will probably be the same. I’ve pulled all night watches many times in the legion and I’ll feel better in a lively place than here with your unusually loud and large collection of bats. I’ll take on the first watch.’
‘I will too,’ murmured Biorix. ‘I know the look of a tribesman as well as Cavarinos there. And who better to look like a couple of retired veterans enjoying a cup of wine than a couple of retired veterans?’
Fronto sat thoughtful and silent for a moment. ‘Alright. Pamphilus and Procles will relieve you in the third watch of the night. That should give them ample time to rest first. Once you’re relieved, you two, get straight back here and to sleep. I need everyone on their toes.’
Marius' Mules VIII: Sons of Taranis Page 43