Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (26 page)

“I’m sure he’d accept, but choose Bassianus. I’ve watched Aquilius work while we were in winter quarters. He’s too straight and proper for the Tenth. He’ll end up resenting the chaos your lads live in and your men will learn to hate him. It’s a problem best avoided from the start.”

“You think the Tenth are chaotic?”

Again, Atenos laughed.

“In the best possible sense of the word, but yes; of
course
they are, sir. Not in battle, mind. I’m not saying they’re not disciplined and even the general himself acknowledges that the Tenth are the best of his Legions. Chaos
works
for you, and it works well. It wouldn’t work with Aquilius there. Steer clear.”

The big man looked down at Fronto’s scowl.

“Bassianus is a good man. His men are always tired and dirty but smiling. That means he keeps them working and training hard, but fairly and with appropriate reward. He’s your man.”

Fronto stepped back. His neck was beginning to ache in this conversation.

“You could be right. I’d certainly rather have someone who works
with
the lads, rather than just
working
them.”

Atenos laughed again.

“Glad to be of help, legate. Feel free to drop by any time you feel like having a death-defying crap.”

Fronto couldn’t help but return the laugh and nodded in a casual fashion as he turned and strode away across the grass, his arms folded.

The big Gaul was right. Bassianus was almost certainly the man for the job but, as he walked back toward the tents of the Tenth legion, Fronto couldn’t shake off the feeling that passing over the possibility of the hulking Gaul might be a mistake. He was clever enough and clearly brave, but what Fronto hadn’t expected was the man’s matter-of-fact and almost eerily acute assessment of the other centurions on the list. That kind of mind was what
made
a good training officer.

The legate was still thinking hard on the situation, unsure how to proceed, as he approached his command tent and raised his head in surprise to see two men standing by the door flap.

“Can I help?”

The two men saluted. One was one of the duty centurions that Fronto vaguely recognised; the other was a nondescript Roman male in plain tunic, breeches and cloak, sweating and steaming from a hard ride.

As the officer left to return to duty, Fronto pushed aside his tent flap, grateful once again to enter the comfort of his own little world as he heard the first few drops of fresh rain hit the leather.

“So… a courier?”

The man bowed.

“Yes, legate Fronto. I bring a missive from Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus in Rome. He tasked me to deliver it into your hands and no other.”

“Could I respectfully request a bunk for the night and perhaps some food? It has been a long journey and master Priscus felt sure you would want me to wait and take a return message.”

Fronto nodded and waved a hand vaguely at the door while he examined the tube in his hands.

“Find an officer somewhere out there and tell him you’ve got my go-ahead for whatever it is you need.”

He waited as the man nodded respectfully and left the tent, and then eagerly broke the seal at the end of the tube, sliding the scroll out and flattening it on the table before picking it up to read. He smiled at Priscus’ spider-like writing. He was hardly a master scribe.

Marcus.

I hope you are well and everything goes to plan out there. If not I shall want to know why from that Illyrian goat herder that is doing my job. I am sorry that I have not written sooner, but you know how much I hate writing and the courier costs an arm and a leg – feeble joke there, so ignore it.

Matters in Rome continue to descend into trouble. I have managed to gather a pretty impressive group of spies, thugs and borderline criminals here and they are starting to produce results. You would be surprised at some of these results, too.

I have had people following Clodius, as well as his sister and that Egyptian catamite. Each has turned up interesting news. Clodius, if you can believe this, has been visiting the house of Pompey, and not during normal visiting hours. We have seen him in disguise in the middle of the night, slipping out of Pompey’s town house. You might want to pass that on to the general.

Clodia is particularly interesting. She was making a nuisance of herself for a few weeks after you left, showing Clodius up and trying to pin wrongdoings on a number of our acquaintances with no luck. Then, suddenly, she vanished. No one has seen or heard from her in well over a month now. I am personally of the opinion that her brother just got sick of her, stuck her in the gut and dropped her in the Tiber, but it is interesting nonetheless.

And then there’s Philopater. He has been distributing quite a sum of coinage to several families in Rome, all plebeian. I have done a little prying and was rather surprised to find who some of those families were. Three names I recognised and can identify at this stage are Tarautas, Fulcinius, and Volcatius, all of whom are senior veterans in the Eleventh legion and who you might want to have a little word with.

On the home news, I remain at your mother’s house, with a strong armed guard. Your mother and sister are both well and are planning to send you gifts soon if you are staying in Gaul for the season. I may have dropped myself in it when I enquired as to why your sister still lives at home at her age. Me and my mouth. I am so sorry; I never knew. I have trod carefully around her since then, but you know Faleria. She does not even know what a grudge is. Things will be fine.

I hunger for news of what is happening out there and I told the courier to do a little prying around and find out a few choice titbits for me. Feel free to use him to send a reply.

And that has exhausted both my news and my stylus hand. Now I go to raid your ever-depleting stock of good Campanian wine.

Be safe and Fortuna watch over you.

Gnaeus

Fronto smiled as he dropped the scroll back to the table. Interesting and somewhat worrying news, but just to hear from the man was a joy in itself.

“Time to stir up the shit again…”

* * * * *

Crispus frowned at Fronto as he buckled the cuirass at his side.

“Why
my
legion?”

Fronto exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Balbus by his side and looked a little apologetic as he replied.

“Well the way we see it is that when they signed on, Caesar probably had six legions. The Seventh, Eighth, Ninth and Tenth were all veteran legions with long-term experienced commanders. If they had an agenda of their own, they would be trying to lay low. The Eleventh and Twelfth were new and with… untried commanders.”

He shifted uneasily, but Crispus nodded professionally.

“Don’t feel embarrassed, Marcus. When I took command of the Eleventh, I hardly knew one end of a gladius from the other. I was used to putting stylus to tablet in Rome. I was the obvious choice for them, I have to admit.”

He shrugged the armour into place comfortably and reached for his belt and scabbard.

“But what are they here for? They must have been with the legion for more than a year now. Are they waiting to carry out some diabolical plan, or is it already in motion, wheels turning unseen beneath our feet?”

Fronto and Balbus made uncertain noises but said nothing.

“Very well. I think it’s time we went to see the three. I had them taken to the headquarters tent. Until we know what we’re dealing with here, I thought it best to avoid the gossip that would arise inevitably from having them imprisoned in the stockade.”

“How can you have time to get to know all your officers?” Fronto asked, his brow lowering. “I’ve had Carbo serving under me for years and I’m not even sure I’d met him until Priscus went out of the picture.”

Crispus’ smile widened.

“That, Marcus, is because you are, despite all appearances, a tremendously private person. I have noticed that you only open up to a few close friends. I make a point of finding out everything I can about my officers.”

Balbus scratched his bald head.

“So what do you know about them?”

“Fulcinius is the more senior of the three. He’s the Eleventh’s quartermaster. He’s meticulous and I would have
thought
absolutely incorruptible. I have been told before that he has refused to bend the rules even for tribunes, though perhaps that is because he has been hiding something. He has a wife and two children; had a brother too, but lost him in Armenia a few years ago. They served out there together under Pompey.”

Again, Fronto and Balbus shared a look, and the legate of the Tenth formed the name ‘Pompey’ on his lips silently. Balbus nodded.

“What about the others?”

“Tarautas is the chief centurion of the third cohort. First man in his family to go into the military, if I remember correctly. He has a huge family at Rome and in Antium. His uncle is a lanista in Antium with an impressive stable of Gladiators. In fact, in his first few months with the Eleventh, we had a small problem with Tarautas, who was running an illicit ring of fighting competitions for money.”

“Volcatius was in Syria too. He’s the signifer for the second century of the first cohort. Three men in high position in my legion, and all with loyalties that lie elsewhere. That vexes me rather a lot.”

Crispus sighed as he made final adjustments to his armour before turning and opening the flap of his tent. Water dripped, cold and unpleasant, from every point and edge in the camp, the aftermath of the latest dramatic downpour; more likely the intermission before the next act. The headquarters tent stood only thirty yards away, four duty legionaries on guard at the entrance.

He strode out with a military gait, Fronto and Balbus at his heels, both similarly attired. As the three legates crossed the open space to the command tent, the four legionaries snapped sharply to attention.

“You think they might attack us? What could they gain? No, I think this had best be a professional, very private, and reasonable exchange.”

Fronto frowned.

“I hope
they
think so too.”

Crispus gave a dark half-smile as he reached out for the tent flap and strode into the dim interior, the other two officers close on his heel.

The command tent was the largest in the camp, filled, as anyone who knew Crispus would expect, with tables, chairs, maps, cupboards full of tablets and racks full of scrolls. Two braziers supplied the warmth in the room and, along with two oil lamps, also supplied the light.

The interior was therefore dark and gloomy, even with the flap opened, and it took a moment for their eyes to become accustomed to the change.

“Oh shit.”

Crispus and Balbus could only nod, echoing Fronto’s sentiments.

The bodies of three men in tunics and breeches lay in a heap in the centre of the room close to the table. The floor around them pooled with fresh blood and rivulets of the stuff ran down their alabaster faces and limbs, matching the tunic’s crimson.

Balbus shook his head and pinched his nose.

“That’s just
ridiculous
! We hadn’t even spoken to them yet. They couldn’t have known what we were going to do!”