(Octobris: the hills above Massilia.)
Fronto reined in and took a deep breath, half in relief and half in nervous anticipation. He almost jumped in the saddle as the general’s hand fell gently on his shoulder.
“You go on first, Fronto. I doubt it would be conducive to good health to have the entire sweaty, travel-worn officer corps follow you in. We will stay here and break our fast until you are ready for company.”
Fronto looked around into the general’s serious, sympathetic gaze and nodded quietly. He wasn’t at all sure about this, now. It had been months since Balbus had left the army and been taken south, pale and gaunt.
After Fronto’s escapade in the Belgic forests, the northeast had settled remarkably swiftly. From the rumours he had heard that next week in camp, the Menapii and Morini had returned to their lands in triumph, considering their resistance a success and claiming to have held off the might of Rome, yet they had notably resumed their peaceful life and trade with the garrison at Nemetocenna while conveniently forgetting about the large Roman army camped in the centre of their territory. Caesar had been irritated by the locals’ attitude, but had been relieved enough that the last resistance in Gaul had finally settled that he had overlooked the situation and allowed them to claim their petty victory, while he prepared to end the season’s campaign.
Early the next week, the army had been sent along the coast to winter there under the steady and stable command of Sabinus, while many of the senior officers prepared to travel back to Rome or to their estates in Cisalpine Gaul, Illyricum or Italia.
The two week journey across the length of Gaul had been swift and purposeful, every member of the group itching to return to their homes, supported by Caesar’s cavalry guard under Aulus Ingenuus, while the baggage train trundled along many days behind under heavy guard. All the way, Fronto had been almost twitching with the need to see his old friend and confirm for himself that everything was truly alright and yet now, as he sat ahorse on the hill above Balbus’ rural villa, the churning waters of the Mare Nostrum and the hectic bustle of Massilia below and beyond, he finally had pause to worry.
Had Balbus even made it back here? There had been no word; the ageing legate would not have sent couriers to Caesar anyway, given the likelihood the entire army would have moved on long before then. What if he had reached this place and then the final boatman had come for him before Fronto arrived? If he was in fine health, would he even be pleased to see Fronto?
The legate shifted uneasily in his saddle and became aware that the gathered officers of Caesar’s army, particularly the longer-serving ones, were watching him intently.
“Best go, then” he said, his voice cracking slightly, and he kicked his horse into life and walked Bucephalus slowly down toward the villa.
The outbuildings were quiet, the orchards heavy and laden with unharvested fruit, the grass long and wild, causing a nervous lump to appear in Fronto’s throat as he rode past them and toward the main house. It would have been easiest to approach through the orchard at the rear of the house, but certain proprieties had to be maintained.
The front of the villa was exactly as Fronto remembered from their brief stop on the way to Gaul. The roses that had been lovingly grown and carefully trained grew up the white walls, reaching toward the red tiled roof and providing just the right splash of colour to make the place look truly homely. No group waited at the gate to speak to him this time.
Fronto took a deep breath as he rode to the front gate and dismounted slowly and nervously. There was no movement in the doorway or the few external windows as he tied the reins to the post and walked quietly down the path.
The door stood firmly shut and again Fronto hesitated as he reached it. Biting the inside of his cheek, he reached out finally and gave three sharp raps on the wood. There was silence and his heart rose into his mouth as he stood in the sweet smelling garden watching for any movement out of the corner of his eye.
He actually jumped a little when there was a heavy metallic click and the door swung inwards. A house slave, thin and tall and likely as old as his master looked Fronto up and down and gave a curt bow. The legate faltered again. The man bore such a serious expression.
“Marcus Falerius Fronto to see your master” he finally said and hoped he’d managed to keep the rising worry out of his voice.
The man gave him a sad look and then stepped to one side.
“If you would care to follow me, sir, I shall lead you to the summer triclinium. The sunlight this time of year brings the room to life.”
Again, the legate faltered as he followed the slave into the house.
“Master Fronto?”
He stopped, his brow raised in surprise as he turned to look down the corridor to the peristyle garden and its covered walkway. Balbina, the household’s youngest daughter, had stopped as she appeared in the corridor from a side room and was staring at him, the glass of water in her hand suddenly forgotten.
Fronto smiled, and the slave came to a halt as he waited patiently. The sight of the young lady was a welcome one; a sign that something of ordinary life went on in the house.
“Balbina?”
“Oh, master Fronto. We wondered whether you would ever come?”
Again, the legate’s heart skipped a beat. Was there something hidden in that?
“You did?”
“Yes. Father has been getting more irritable as the season wore on. He was sure you would be here before the summer’s end.”
A massive weight suddenly left Fronto’s chest, and he felt himself relax almost to the point of collapse.
“Everything was so quiet… I thought…” he shook his head. “Where is your father?”
The girl wandered across to him, and he crouched to meet her smiling countenance.
“He is in the store room. The merchant in Ostia has sent him the wrong wine and he is busy checking each amphora, just in case.”
Fronto laughed.
“Obviously I had more effect on him that I realised. Can you take me to him?”
The slave cleared his throat.
“Pardon, my lady, but I thought to escort legate Fronto to the summer triclinium before I fetched your father?”
Fronto narrowed his eyes at the stressed words, but spun back to Balbina as she replied with a smile “Ah, yes the summer triclinium. A perfect idea. Keep him company Caro, while I fetch father.”
Fronto straightened, his frown still deep as the young lady danced off down the corridor whence she had come. Turning his suspicious frown on the slave, he nodded.
“Lead on, then, Caro.”
What the slave had said about the summer triclinium had been an understatement. The arcade of windows that looked out into the central garden gave a stunning view of the apple, orange and lemon trees outside in their varying stages of ripeness, but the real effect was that caused by the golden sun lighting the red tiles of the veranda opposite and its columns of yellow African marble and the reflected glow this brought to the room.
It was a beautiful sight, and yet Fronto found his attention drawn more to the figure lounging on one of the couches by a low table laden with fruit.
“Lucilia?”
The knowing looks on the faces of slave and young girl alike suddenly fell into place as Balbus’ older daughter looked up, her eyelashes fluttering masterfully, her fingers teasing the bunch of grapes. Fronto suddenly felt warm and extremely uncomfortable.
“Thank you Caro. I shall entertain our guest until father returns.”
Fronto’s mind ran through a number of reasons to protest, but failed to find his voice before the slave had bowed and retreated from the room.
“The Gaulish air seems to suit you, Marcus. You appear in fine health. Ruddy, even.”
Fronto silently cursed the colour rising in his face.
“You look… nice, Lucilia. How are you enjoying country life?”
She laughed, and the sound sent a tingle up Fronto’s spine. He collapsed heavily onto one of the couches.
“I tire of fruit and fields, to be honest” she said, her face slightly lowered in such a careful way as to accentuate her piercing blue eyes with their kohl-blackened lining. Fronto swallowed.
“Yes… well, I’m a city man myself. Pavement and… and so on” he finished weakly. He was finding it extremely hard not to focus on her low neckline with the way the golden glow from the window seemed to focus there.
Lucilia laughed again.
“Father will be very pleased to see you. I’m sure he’s rushing through the villa as we speak at a breakneck speed somewhat detrimental to his health.”
Fronto looked up, tearing his eyes from her chest as he gratefully found a subject to concentrate on.
“How is your father’s health? I have worried all season.”
Lucilia smiled warmly.
“He appears to have taken what happened on duty as a warning. He has slowed his pace of life a great deal, though not” she added drily “his love of the vine. I fear that comes from his association with his colleagues.”
Fronto smiled.
“Wine never did anyone real harm.”
“Perhaps.” She sighed. “No, father is actually in as good a health as I have seen him in years. He plans great works for the villa, but truly few of them are started as he seems to prefer to walk in the orchards and to pop down to the town to visit the markets.”
“Good,” Fronto said with a relieved sigh. “And your mother?”
“Mother is good. She will be busy finalising everything now that she knows you’re here.”
Once more, Fronto’s brow fell into his customary frown, but before he could say anything, there was a shout from the corridor.
“Marcus? By all the Gods it was about time you showed up.”
Fronto stood as Balbus appeared, clad in his tunic and breeches and nothing more. He looked so out of place without the addition of sword and cuirass it took a moment to adjust. Balbus had thinned down considerably in the few months, though not unhealthily so. He appeared more lithe and muscular than he had when he had carried the extra meat required in the field.
“You look so much better than I feared, my friend.”
“It’s been months, Marcus. I’ve had time to recuperate. What kept you?”
Fronto rolled his eyes.
“Gaul, as usual, kept its claws in us until winter was threatening. Finally, I think we can say we have the whole damned place under control. Most of the officer corps is waiting on the hill above to come and check on you, but they deferred to me first.”
He felt something brush his wrist and shuddered involuntarily, turning to see that Lucilia had stood and crossed the room to his side.
“I must go and make sure that mother is being thorough. I will see you later, Marcus.”
He stuttered an affirmative noise as she raised herself on her toes and kissed his cheek before sweeping from the room as though she were floating.
“You’ve gone red” Balbus said with a smile.
“Lucilia’s changed. She’s quite… forward.”
Again the older man laughed.
“She knows what she’s doing. She is the shadow of her mother at that age.”
Fronto nodded and turned, his brow furrowing again.
“What was she saying about her mother finalising things? It sounded like you were expecting me for something.”
Balbus gestured to a seat and clapped his hands. Before they had fully relaxed onto the couches, Caro had reappeared with a tray, two goblets and a jar of wine.
“This would be your ‘wrong’ wine?”
Balbus smiled.
“Happily just mislabelled. I would hate to have had to send it back, given the costs of transporting anything back to Latium.”
The two men sipped, and Fronto pursed his lips.
“You neatly avoided my question.”
“I would have preferred to have broached the matter later, at my own leisure.”
“And once I was up to the eyeballs in soothing wine?” Fronto relied astutely.
Balbus smiled.
“I have a favour to ask of you.”
“Go on…”
“Lucilia is to go to Rome. I am contemplating a match between her and a young man of the Caecilii, but I will not confirm anything until she has had the chance to approve or disapprove. I will not match her against her will.”
Fronto nodded, relieved for some unknown reason, by the news.
“Good family, the Caecilii. She could do well. Why with me, though? Would she not be better travelling with you?”
Balbus shrugged.
“The medicus has warned me against strenuous travel for some time yet, and you know the crossing from Massilia in the autumn and winter months. No, I must stay here until the winter is past, but Lucilia must go to Rome.”
Fronto nodded.
“I would be remiss in my duty to a friend if I refused, Quintus. Where will she be staying? With the Caecilii?”
“Hardly, Marcus. It would be rather unseemly, at least until a match is agreed, to land her upon their doorstep. I was hoping…” he smiled weakly. “Well your sister might take her under her wing and…”
Fronto blinked.
“Gods, you want to turn her into another Faleria? Are you mad? Rome trembles at the presence of just one!”
Balbus smiled uncomfortably.
“I was dreading asking you. I have a cousin who can look after her, of course.”
Fronto sat silently, his teeth grinding.
“No. Of course she must stay with Faleria.” He smiled wearily. “I, however, may have to descend on your cousin with a third woman adding to the matriarchy that is my house.”
Balbus laughed.
“I have missed your companionship, Marcus. Will you have time to stay for a few days? Corvinia has everything packed and prepared, of course. She has had for months, in case you flew past in a hurry once again.”
Fronto grinned.
“I am in something of a hurry to get home, for certain, but a few days would hardly cost me the world. Of course, at least for a few hours you are going to have to play host to the general’s staff who are waiting on the hill, no doubt impatiently, to descend on you. There are friends among them, though: Crispus and Varus among others. It may be that Galronus will also arrive shortly. We had word that he and Crassus and a few others passed through Narbo several days ago to meet up with us before we take ship.”
Balbus smiled and leaned back with his goblet.
“Then we had best spend a private half hour in happy contemplation of the vine before we send out to them, eh? I’m sure you have much to tell me.”
Fronto leaned back, reached for the goblet on the table before him and sagged into the chair as the tension of months flooded out along with the easy conversation.
* * * * *
The party of officers had gathered on the roadway in front of the villa. Fronto frowned as he stepped out of the doorway. Caesar and several of the officers who had no connection to Balbus had made their excuses and left politely the day after they had first arrived, not wishing to put any pressure on the family to accommodate so many guests. The rest had respectfully left the villa then and found temporary lodgings in Massilia until Fronto was ready to sail.
He had expected Crispus, Brutus and Varus, and had hoped to see Galronus, since the officers from the Seventh had apparently arrived in Massilia late the previous evening, but the other four were more of a surprise. Roscius, the quiet and thoughtful legate of the Thirteenth, had separated from the other Illyrian officers who would be taking a different ship, and his presence was unexpected. More surprising was that of Crassus and two of his tribunes that Fronto did not know and particularly the fact that one of these tribunes stood in pleasant conversation with Galronus and the two were laughing. There would be time to ask questions on the voyage, of course.
Turning his back on the men, he stepped to one side to allow Lucilia room to pass, Caro, the house’s head slave walking patiently behind her with both arms straining under the weight of her travelling gear. Fronto shook his head in mock disbelief and smiled as he saw the almost hidden look in Caro’s eye.
As he turned back to the door, the three remaining family members filled the portal. Balbina stepped forward, and Fronto crouched to hug her.
“Will you come back soon?”
The legate grinned.
“I will be here in December, at the latest. I try to be away from home during the Saturnalia, as my sister tends to become a little disapproving of my behaviour during the festival, and Galronus tells me that the following day they have a huge festival to a horse goddess called Epona in Gaul.”
Balbus nodded.
“In Massilia they have a full day of horse races and feasting.”
“Yes, I suspect that’s what Galronus has in mind.”
He stood once more, and Corvinia reached out and embraced him.
“It has been good to see you again, Marcus. We shall have rooms prepared for you and your friends from the Ides of December onwards, but do not be reticent. Come early if you wish it. Please pass on my regards to your family.”
Fronto smiled as they separated.
“Should you have the chance to visit Rome next year, do call in. My mother would be more than happy to meet you, I’m sure.”
He turned to Balbus.
“Another farewell, eh Quintus?”
The older man smiled.
“A temporary one. Two months and I’ll see you again. Corvinia might even let me join you and Galronus at the circuit.”
“I doubt it” she replied with a sly smile.
Fronto grinned at him.
“It feels like I’ve only been here a few moments. I would stay on, but there are things that need my attention at home. You understand?”
Balbus nodded.
“Go help Priscus look after your family. Tell him I asked after him.”
“I will.”
The small group spent a moment in silence before Fronto took a deep breath and picked up his bag of freshly laundered clothes.
“Right. Off to jolly old sea we go.”
With a smile, he turned his back to the villa and strode out to the waiting party. He was amused to see the reactions Lucilia was causing. Crassus was openly admiring her, Varus had a strange smirk on his face as though he were weighing her up in some way, and Crispus was looking almost anywhere but directly at her.
“Very well gentlemen, and lady of course. Shall we depart?”
Caro bowed respectfully.
“Just throw those on the cart, Caro. You don’t need to lug them all the way to the docks.”
The slave looked across at Lucilia hopefully, and she smiled at him.
“Go and look after father.”
Caro carefully stacked and wedged the luggage in the cart and then delicately helped the young lady up into it before bowing and returning to the villa.
Watching the family in the doorway, waving their goodbyes, Fronto smiled a last smile at them and clambered up onto Bucephalus and trotted off after the party that had already begun to descend the gravelled path down toward the bustling metropolis below.
Falling in at the back, he stretched and leaned back, exposing his face to the late autumn sunlight before glancing once more with some trepidation at the rocking boats in the harbour and the churning surface of the Mare Nostrum.
“She’s going to cause you trouble.”
He blinked and turned to see the grinning face of Varus, riding along next to him. It took him a moment to realise that the man was speaking of Lucilia and not the sea herself.
“She’s going to meet a suitor in Rome. If anything, I’m just a chaperone.”
Varus laughed.
“I think you could be in for a surprise there, my friend. I saw those looks of hers. Keep your drawstring tight and your bedroom door locked.”
Fronto glared at him.
“That’s Balbus’ daughter you’re talking about, Varus.”
“My point precisely” the man replied with a grin.
Fronto turned back to face the party ahead. Lucilia rode almost regally, her travelling cloak having already fallen slightly to reveal pale, creamy shoulders. He swallowed hard and flashed a nervous look across at Varus, who merely grinned and nodded.
* * * * *
The legate of the Tenth, veteran of numerous wars, recipient of the corona civica, and senior commander in the army of the praetor Julius Caesar, groaned and heaved once more as what was left of his stomach contents disappeared into the roiling waves.
“I feel bloody awful.”
Crispus smiled sympathetically.
“You’ve gone a very curious colour. I can’t decide whether it’s green, yellow or purple depending upon the light.”
Fronto glared at him and spat angrily into the water.
“Charming of Varus to offer me a nice fatty piece of pork, just when…”
He stopped talking and threw himself against the rail, making retching sounds.
“Stop thinking about it. He was only doing it for a joke. He didn’t know you were as bad a sailor as this. No one did. Gods, I don’t know whether I’ve ever met a worse sailor. The sea’s hardly moving.”
The legate lifted his head once again to glare at his young friend.
“Don’t mock your elders.”
The two men fell silent, a friendly smile on the young officer’s face as he patted Fronto on the shoulder sympathetically.
“You poor dear.”
Fronto turned to stare in surprise at Crispus and then realised the voice had come from elsewhere. Of course. Feminine.
Lucilia strode along the deck, her gait steady and rolling with the pitch of the deck as though she had been at sea all her life. Fronto grimaced.
“I’m alright. Just a little seasick.”
“I shall leave you in my lady Lucilia’s capable hands while I return to the table.” Crispus laughed.
Fronto shot him a desperate glance, shaking his head barely perceptibly, but the man slapped him on the shoulder, grinned, and strode off back toward the wooden housing at the rear of the large merchant vessel that served as dining room for the travellers.
He tried to straighten, but the strength seemed to have flooded from him and instead, he slumped against the railing and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist.
“You really do appear to be very unwell. You’ve been vomiting for almost an hour.”
“Thanks for noticing.” Fronto grumbled. “Crispus is the only one who felt it worth coming to check on me. I could have been turning inside out or thrown up my liver by now.”
Lucilia gave him a gentle smile.
“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a little seasickness; bad, yes, but hardly terminal. It may surprise you to hear that strong, unwatered wine, with the addition of ginger, is a traditional cure for the ailment among the Greek sailors in Massilia.”
Fronto glared at her.
“I hardly think I’ll be taking the advice of a nation that would bed a goat it if fluttered its eyelashes.”
She laughed.
“You get so very grumpy when you’re ill. And intolerant.”
He issued another growl and returned to looking down at the waves for a moment before he had to close his eyes again and concentrate hard on keeping his innards where they belonged.
“I sometimes wonder if you are alone because of your little quirks, or if you have these little quirks because you are alone.”
The legate heaved himself up from the railing.
“I think that officially ends our conversation.”
With difficulty, he sidled along the rail away from Lucilia, but she doggedly followed, a curious and thoughtful look on her face.
“There must be some reason. I asked my father, and all he knows is that you apparently never had time. That’s a pathetic excuse if ever I heard one. I’m curious.”
“Don’t be.” He said flatly and without a trace of humour.
“You don’t have to be quite so guarded around me, Marcus. You’d be surprised just how open and understanding I am.”
She hooked her arm around his as he leaned on the rail and he pulled away angrily.
“Will you leave me be? I’m ill, and there are some things we are simply not going to talk about.”
She smiled.
“Very well. I’m sure your sister will tell me in time.”
She jumped as Fronto wheeled on her and grasped her by the shoulders.
“This is a subject you are forbidden to raise with Faleria, do you understand me?” he growled, furiously.
Lucilia stared at him and nodded her head, a frightened look on her face.
“Of course… I’m sorry, Marcus. I didn’t mean…”
He turned his back on her and leaned over the rail.
As she turned away, tears in her eyes, and ran toward the wooden shelter, Fronto growled at the passing waves. Curiously, the anger that had risen in him had completely overwhelmed the illness and left him feeling a lot stronger; physically, at least.
He would have to apologise to her eventually of course, but she could stew for an hour first to discourage any further enquiries in that direction.
“You realise that you’ll have to do something soon?”
Fronto turned in surprise toward the prow to find Crassus looking at him with a strange and unreadable expression.
“She may look cowed at the moment,” the young officer noted, “but she’s a fiery one. She’ll not let this rest, and sooner or later she’ll hear the story from your sister if she doesn’t hear it from you.”
The legate of the Tenth blinked.
“I wasn’t aware that you knew?”
Crassus smiled sadly.
“I was at her wedding, Fronto. I don’t remember whether Varus was there, but it’s entirely possible that he was too. He was certainly in Rome at the time and moved in Faleria’s circles. It’s hardly a secret, after all.”
Fronto took a deep breath and leaned back.
“Old wounds should not be reopened. You don’t have to be a capsarius to know that.”
“I’m not sure any medicus would agree that this particular one ever truly closed.” Fronto grunted and leaned over the rail again.
“She is a prize, Fronto. She looks at you with little less than naked hunger, and that is rare for a man like you.”
“Thanks. That’s a charming sentiment.”
Crassus laughed.
“I thought you were supposed to be all practical and pragmatic? I’m on my way back to Rome to a glittering future, Fronto. I’m about to meet my twenty sixth year, I have two successful military campaigns under my belt and, when my father gets a province next year, I shall begin my rise through the ranks of Rome. Quite simply, I am a catch that many respectable fathers will consider for their daughters.”
He smiled as he looked Fronto up and down.
“You, on the other hand, have no interest in politics, which means you will likely live out your days taking on officer positions in the army of whatever praetor is busy warring that season, and face down in a wine mug in the subura the rest of the time. I know why, and I realise that you won’t believe me, but I can understand both the allure and the necessity of that for you.”
He straightened.
“But it means that you’re not a great prospect for most noblewomen, and you’re reaching the age where only the matrons, widows and divorcees will look at you.”
Fronto glared at him silently.
“You know I’m right. And you know that Balbus’ life is what you could have if only you would just pick yourself up, dust yourself off and play the game a little. You cannot wallow in self pity your entire life, Fronto. Clean yourself up, apologise to Lucilia and use the time with her that the Gods seem to have miraculously granted you, or you will still be doing this when you drop dead in a muddy field in Germania as a septuagenarian.”
Fronto continued to glare in silence as Crassus shrugged.
“Advice is free, Fronto, but I still don’t give it often.”
With a nod of the head, Crassus walked off along the deck toward the stern, leaving the Tenth’s legate alone at the rail, fuming with himself and entirely unsure why.
* * * * *
Fronto kept his eyes straight ahead. The conversations with Lucilia and then Crassus had ruined what was left of his tattered, sea-sickened mood for the rest of the journey, and he’d felt no relief as the merchant vessel had docked in the port of Ostia and the eager travellers had transferred to one of the numerous barges that ploughed the sixteen miles of Tiber between the great port and the emporium docks by the Aventine.
The curt apology he had planned for Lucilia had never quite come about, and she now moved with a sad and offended look that made it all the more difficult to approach her. The journey along the Tiber, in a great barge hauled upstream by heavy oxen on the bank, had been much the same: quiet and depressing.
In fact, as Fronto stepped onto dry land and stared up at the slope of the Aventine before him, he realised that his dismal mood was constructed partly of the ongoing uncomfortable silence between Lucilia and himself and partly of the nerves gradually increasing as he neared home and wondered what he might now find there.
The group of officers, along with the young lady and the baggage carts, made their way along the waterfront and through the Porta Trigemina into the city proper, though with the crowds and the rickety housing along the base of the hill opposite the docks, the fact that they were now actually in the city of Rome could only be determined by the fact that they had passed through the great triple gateway and the inevitable crowd of beggars that gathered outside, clawing at the hems of the passers by.
At the edge of the Forum Boarium, Crassus and his tribunes, along with Brutus, Roscius, Varus and Crispus separated and went their own ways to family and friends. Galronus fell into position beside Lucilia and the wagon of luggage, while Fronto strode ahead, hardly acknowledging their presence as he walked.
The starting gates of the circus were already busy, preparing for the first race of the day, and the murky, swampy ground around them being churned beneath the feet of the workers was evidence that Rome had suffered heavy rain in recent days. The sky now was a sullen grey that matched Fronto’s mood perfectly as he turned and left the great circus, stomping up the sloping street, past the temples of Luna, Minerva and Diana and that drew an unofficial border between the houses of the wealthy and the dwellings of the poor.
A turn to the left and a further one to the right brought the three travellers to the street of Fronto’s youth with its gentle slope and wide walkways, the south side marked by high walls that surrounded the gardens of other houses. The city residence of the Falerii, roughly halfway along the street, was relatively modest for a patrician residence, evidence of Fronto’s father’s modest and frugal nature. The plain walls, almost entirely lacking in apertures, gave an austere impression.
Fronto strode ahead of his companions yet further and reached for the door, rapping hard on the wood.
There was a pause, while the others caught up with him, the wagon squeaking irritatingly as it rolled to a halt.
The door opened slowly to reveal not the disapproving features of the house’s chief slave, but those of four men Fronto had never seen before. Two had the distinct look of brigands, the third a massive man wearing the braids and beard of a Celt of some variety and the fourth a small, steel-eyed man bearing scars that clearly marked him as a professional fighter of some note.
“Who are you?” the latter asked plainly.
Fronto narrowed his eyes.
“I am the master of this house. Get out of my way.”
The other three moved forward, effectively blocking the entrance with a wall of muscle.
“Gnaeus?” the man’s voice called and, between the bodies, Fronto saw with relief the familiar face of Priscus duck around a corner. The former centurion blinked and stepped out into the hallway.
“Marcus? Thank all the Gods. It’s about time you showed up.”
He turned to the small, wiry warrior.
“Good job, Cestus, but this is the man I work for.”
The four men backed away from the door and fell to one side, nodding respectfully at Fronto. He was on the verge of an irritated outburst, but Priscus, recognising the signs, reached out and drew the legate through the door by the elbow, gesturing to the men.
“This is Cestus. He’s my chief enforcer now. Used to be a gladiator… one of the few ex-gladiators in Rome not currently in the employ of Clodius, I might add. These others are Todius, Aranius and Lod; all good men. No bugger gets in here without being cleared by me or Faleria.”
Fronto stopped, an eyebrow raised.
“First name terms now, eh, Gnaeus?”
Priscus looked past Fronto’s shoulder and grinned.
“Galronus! Good to have you back.”
He paused.
“You have company too?”
“I’ll tell you all about it in good time, when…”
“Marcus?”
He looked up past Priscus to see Faleria, dressed in simple pale green and her hair down and damp, fresh from the baths. Somehow, despite the difficulty he always had with her, something eased inside him. She looked healthy.
“Faleria. How are you?”
She laughed a small surprised laugh and then hurried past the guards and threw her arms around her brother.
“It is far beyond time you were home, Marcus. Gnaeus does a perfect job, but mother has been counting down the days to the Armilustrium. She knew you’d be back before then.”
Fronto smiled with a curious sadness and then looked up at Priscus and gestured with his thumb. The former centurion nodded, limping forward, and gestured to Galronus.
“Come, my friend, I have quarters ready for guests. I presume you’ll be staying the winter?”
The Remi officer smiled and bowed respectfully to Faleria as he passed and joined Priscus, the two disappearing round the corner deep in conversation. Fronto turned to the guards.
“Get that wagon through the side gate and unloaded, then secure the front door and gates.”
Cestus jerked a nod and the four men disappeared out through the front door, respectfully sidling around the young lady in the doorway. Faleria noticed the other visitor for the first time and frowned a question at her brother, her arms still tight around his shoulders.
“This is Lucilia, the daughter of my good friend Balbus. I’ve spoken of him.”
“And of Lucilia, of course” she added with a smile, giving him a final squeeze and then releasing him as she moved on to her new guest.
“Are you here for a time, my dear?”
Fronto turned and shrugged.
“She’s here to weigh up a potential match to one of the Caecilii. Balbus asked if we would be good enough to look after her while she was here. Well, in actual fact, he asked if you’d be good enough.” There was an unspoken question of his own there.
“Of course she must stay here. With Priscus’ little army, there’s nowhere safer in the city these days.”
She smiled as she reached out for Lucilia’s arm.
“Have you been to Rome before?”
“This is my first opportunity to visit, my lady.”
Her hostess laughed.
“If you know my brother, then you’ll realise that I expect little in the way of formality in this house. Call me Faleria.”
“Thank you. And I, Lucilia.”
“Perhaps, if Marcus can spare Gnaeus and some of his men as an escort, I can show you some of the glorious sights of the city in the morning, though you must be exhausted from your journey.”
Lucilia gave Fronto a strange look and shook her head.
“Actually the trip was very uneventful and quiet. Almost silent, in fact.”
Faleria gave Fronto a questioning glance and he shook his head.
“If you two ladies can do without me for an hour or two, I think I ought to see Priscus and catch up on events.”
Faleria shook her head emphatically.
“Not until you have visited mother. She’s in the tablinum outside.”
Fronto paused for a moment and then, nodding, strode off through the doorway to the rear that led into the peristyle garden. Pausing briefly to note the strange juxtaposition of the carefully-groomed garden and the three wooden dummies at the far side, regularly used for sword practice in army fashion, he turned away and into the reception room doorway.
Faleria the elder reclined on a couch, reading a scribbled note on parchment; a copy of the acta diurna made from the tablets in the forum by the house’s chief slave, Posco, for such was the habit of Faleria.
As the light from the doorway dimmed, she looked up and blinked at the silhouetted figure of her son.
“Marcus?”
“Mother.”
Walking slowly in, he wandered across to the couch, where she reached out with her hands. He was shocked to see the trembling in them, but clenched his teeth and reached out to cup them in his own hands and squeeze them.
“I knew you would come home soon. Gnaeus kept telling us you were on your way.”
He smiled weakly.
“I wanted to come earlier, but…”
“I know. Young Gaius needed you too much. He is a drain on your energy, but it is good to attach yourself to a rising star.”
Fronto heaved a sigh and let go of her hands.
“I’m not following him into office, mother, even if he asks me. We’ve not spoken for half a year, so please let’s not launch straight into the old arguments.”
She gazed at him levelly, and he studied her face, dismayed at how much she seemed to have aged in such a short time. There was something about her gaze that…”
He looked down to hide his expression as he realised that one of her eyes was not moving as her gaze wandered. Pausing long enough to be certain of his composure, he looked up again and studied her. The bone around her right eye was bumpy and misshapen, as though it had been badly broken and had set slightly off.
Her wounds from the attack had been worse than Priscus had intimated. Fronto rocked back on his feet, the anger rising in him. Stepping forward again, he embraced her tightly.
“Do not panic, Marcus. I’m fine.”
“Of course you are, mother. And nothing is ever going to happen to you again. I need to go see Priscus. I expect Faleria will be along very shortly with a guest in tow. Quintus Balbus, former legate of the Eighth has sent his daughter to Rome and Faleria has agreed to look after her while she stays.”
The old woman looked up at her son and focused her good eye on him. Fronto flinched slightly at the lack of movement in the other, but more at that penetrating one-eyed gaze. Since his early youth, Faleria the elder had had an uncanny knack of looking directly into his thoughts and soul and laying them bare.
“I see. Make sure you are kind to her, Marcus. You have a habit of driving off those whom you would have closer.”
Fronto took a deep breath.
“She is the daughter of a friend, mother; nothing more. I must attend to business, but I will see you shortly at dinner.”
As he bowed and turned, he was extremely aware of both the penetrating gaze that remained on his back and of the fact that he wasn’t even sure he had convinced himself, let alone his mother.
He was continually assaulted by waves of guilt and anger as he strode purposefully through the house to the quarters set aside for Priscus and his hired thugs. How could he have let this all happen?
As he reached the bunk room, the lame soldier sat on a cot opposite Galronus, watering a jug of wine as he entered.
“Gnaeus?”
“Ah, good. I’m very glad you’re back.”
Fronto sank into one of the bunks.
“I’ve seen mother.”
“She’s been waiting eagerly for you.”
Fronto shook his head.
“She was almost killed. You knew that. That blow to her eye could have done for her.”
Priscus nodded sadly.
“Truly, but it didn’t. She’s a strong woman, Marcus, and it was her decision not to give you the full horrible details of the attack, not mine. She knew it would just torture you, ‘cause you couldn’t come home anyway.”
Fronto glared at him for a moment and then let his gaze fall to the floor before taking a deep breath and straightening.
“This situation needs to be resolved. I’m not having anything like this happening again. We need to end Clodius or at least remove his claws. What have you seen of our mysterious ghost?”
Priscus eyed Galronus for a moment and shrugged.
“There’s been no sign of him since that day in the mausoleum. I went back the next day and the body was gone. Another visit two days later and there was a new unnamed funerary urn in there. I think I must have left some trace of my presence, ‘cause when I went back to his accommodation he’d left. I spoke to his landlord, and he paid the rent in full and left with no further word. No idea where he is now, but I’ve got everyone being very watchful in case he shows up.”
Fronto nodded.
“And Clodius?”
“He has been buying up all the nasty spare muscle in Rome. You can’t lay hands on a good solid thug anywhere in the city, since Philopater’s been everywhere. Even the slave markets are down to just the thin and weedy scholars. Any time you see anyone connected with Clodius, they’re surrounded by a small army. The man must have more muscle under his control than anyone else in Latium.”
Fronto nodded again and leaned back.
“Then we may have to start trying to hire our own muscle from Ostia, Albinum, Tusculum, or Veii. I want that man toothless or dead.”
Priscus smiled.
“I have a hidden weapon at my disposal yet. See, there’s a man called Titus Annius Milo, a former tribune who apparently holds as healthy a dislike for Clodius as we do, and he also has his own private army. Milo’s been in touch with me. He’s staying very much out of the public eye at the moment, but that means that, as far as we’re aware, Clodius knows nothing about him and his men.”
Fronto smiled in return and rubbed his hands together.
“I may need to meet this Milo and buy him a drink. Caesar’s back in Rome, now, along with Crassus, Brutus and the rest. I think we need to call a meeting of all those who have a grudge against Clodius and see what we can turn up. Think you can sneak this Milo in for a meeting tomorrow or the next day?”
Priscus shrugged.
“I can try. Are you actually intending to start a war on the streets of Rome?”
Fronto’s eyes narrowed.
“No point. Clodius already did that. I’m going to end the war.”