Marius' Mules IV: Conspiracy of Eagles (12 page)

“I had a piebald mare. I called her Aphrodite, because she was so sleek and beautiful. I used to have a horse like her on the estate at Alba Fucens, only I called her Hector, because I was initially confused about sex, and…”

Fronto pinched the bridge of his nose and held up his hand to stop the tribune, who may well still be a little confused about sex as far as Fronto was concerned.

“Too much background detail, Hortius. Tell me about Massilia to Divoduron.”

Menenius smiled. “He cannot help it, legate. He likes horses. We were rather swift actually. I went into Massilia, but not to the military staging post. You see my uncle, who was a praetor two years ago, retired to a villa above Massilia and he has enormous influence with both the Greek council there and the local officials at Arelate. I managed to secure us a constant change of horses at the courier stations until we passed
Vienna
, where we purchased several fast horses and just gave the tired ones to some poor sad-looking local each time we changed mounts thereafter. It’s amazing what a little money and influence can achieve.”

Fronto held his tongue, his own opinion of nepotistic and monied influence being unlikely to sit well with these two.

“So you were here before any of us.”

“I would imagine so.”

“And you travelled alone, through
Gaul
? With no escort?”

Menenius frowned i incomprehension. “Yes.
Gaul
is conquered, and no uneducated barbarian would interfere with a Roman officer on official duty. You took an escort?”

Fronto blinked. “Well, no. But I had a Gaul with me, and anyway, we’re more…” his voice tailed off as he could find no way of saying what sprang to mind without levelling an insult or two at the pair. “Fair enough. What of Publius Pinarius Posca?”

Hortius’ brow furrowed. “Pinarius? Did he not travel with those two burly brutes of centurions? He stayed in Massilia to see the sights; wouldn’t accept our offer of relay horses. I think, to be quite honest, that he’s not quite the man we all are, eh, legate? Cannot imagine young Pinarius riding a horse. Probably had a silk-lined wagon.”

The two men burst into an annoying cacophony of snorts and giggles at the idea of Caesar’s wet nephew riding a courier horse. Fronto rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to complain about being lumped in with them as ‘men’ almost as heavily as the urge to try and beat some sense of military decorum into them..

“Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know.”

The two men slowly recovered from their humour and shrugged.

“Any time, legate, my lovely.”

Fronto managed to leave the tent somehow, miraculously, without laying a hand on either of them. He found himself simply grateful that they were not assigned to the Tenth, else he would have buried them both up to their necks in a latrine trench before they ever got as far as war.

The two men exited behind him and moved across the camp, giggling like idiots while Fronto, still breathing deeply in annoyance, strolled back towards his tent.

Throwing the flap aside, he found Labienus and his friend sitting in camp chairs beside his table, with cups of wine, a third poured ready for him. With a nod of thanks, he sank gratefully onto his bunk, undoing his boots and letting them drop to the floor. Labienus shuffled his chair a few feet further away, his eyes quickly beginning to water.

“New boots, Marcus?”

“Bloody women” was his sole reply as he let the other fall, peeled off the now-greyed woollen socks and wiggled his toes, releasing a fresh waft of four-day stink.

“There’s a bath tub in a bathing tent in the command section for senior officers, Marcus, and there’s always heated water ready.”

“How nice.”

“So if you’d like to scrub off your journey first…?”

“No, you’re alright, Titus. I need to rest and have a few cups first.”

Labienus glanced across at his friend, who had also moved his chair a few feet further away.

“I’d like you to meet Piso, Marcus. He’s a chieftain among the Aquitani and now one of the senior cavalry commanders along with Varus and Galronus. They’ll command a wing each, with Varus in overall charge, of course.”

Fronto nodded his greeting, scratching his toes and rubbing his feet with a free hand while consuming the prepared wine with the other, noting with distaste how Labienus had already watered it for him.

“I thought I’d best introduce you. There are still a great number of blinkered officers in this army who will not consider a non-Roman officer worthy of their attention, but I know you’re not one of them. Galronus, after all…”

Fronto nodded as he placed the cup on the table and stretched back on his bunk.

“Pleased to meet you, Piso. You seem, like Galronus, to be a man fond of our custom?”

Piso shrugged. “In weaponry, art and devotion to the Gods, the Aquitani will always be paramount, but I am not beyond being able to see the advantage of a comfortable tunic and a clean-shaven neck. It is my staunch belief that both Roman and
Gaul
have much to learn from one another.”

Fronto smiled appreciatively and nodded toward Labienus.

“A seductive viewpoint that our officer friend here has propounded to me before.”

“Marcus, there’s a particular reason I wanted you to meet Piso. Beyond being an embodiment of what I see for the future of
Gaul
.”

Something in Labienus’ tone made Fronto sit up straight. The staff officer looked nervous; pensive.

“What is it, Titus?”

“Did you know that Caesar continues to draw more levies from the tribes of
Gaul
, Marcus?”

“Well, yes. He needs them to push the Germanic tribes back out.”

“Fronto, Caesar could deal with those invaders with two legions and a single cavalry wing. Do you not think it’s time to put the future of
Gaul
back in the hands of the Gauls?”

Fronto frowned. “That’s what he’s
doing
. He’s summoned the Gallic council so they can decide whether to ask for our help.”

“Marcus, don’t be so blind. Listen to yourself. Caesar has ‘summoned’ the kings of
Gaul
. Only a despot can do that. Caesar places himself above those kings. He only panders to them because he is not yet strong enough to oppose enate!”

Fronto’s stomach knotted and he felt a sudden cold shiver run down his spine. This conversation was starting to sound disturbingly familiar.

“Have you been listening to Cicero and his brother? This is a dangerous path to walk, Titus, and I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”

Labienus shook his head and poured Fronto another cup of wine. “I’m not advocating mutiny or anything like that, Marcus, but I think we need to start questioning the general on his motives and actions and perhaps try to persuade him toward the path of reason. We need to bring him back into concord with the senate before things turn ugly.”

“Enough, Titus. You’re one of the general’s most senior lieutenants. Don’t say anything else you might learn to regret.”

“But Marcus…”

“
Enough
, Titus! I think the pair of you had best leave now before the others get here.”

Labienus rose slowly from his chair, alongside Piso. Before exiting the tent, he paused and turned back, pointing a finger at Fronto. “Think on it, Marcus.”

Before Fronto could shout angrily at him, the two slipped out, leaving Fronto seething and uncertain. What was this damned army he’d come back to? It barely resembled the one he’d left last autumn.

ROME

Quintus Lucilius Balbus sat on the steps of the wide stairway that led up from the forum to the Arx, from which the grand
temple
of
Juno
dominated the skyline. The ancient
temple
of
Concordia
’s featureless and high north wall cast a deep shadow on the stairway, bringing blessed relief from the sizzling sun that already, even in the mid-morning, was unseasonably hot.

His eyes had been straying across the numerous structures that formed the nucleus of the city and the heart of the republic. It had been some time since he’d made a trip to
Rome
, where he’d spent so much of his youth and his early adulthood. The shape and form of the conurbation had changed even in those few years, with ever more grand buildings rising to display the wealth and generosity of various power-seeking benefactors, and each one was accompanied elsewhere by another towering brick hovel; a monstrosity of living quarters that would shame a slave, and yet were clamoured for by the poor of the republic.

And the forum had never been so alive in his youth, or so it probably seemed through the eyes of age. Men, women and children of everyolour and every social status rubbed elbows as though they were equal in the press of people buying goods, haranguing public speakers, making for the law courts, picking purses, or any of the myriad of diversions the forum provided.

He and his family, along with Fronto’s sister, who had formed a worrying alliance with Corvinia that boded ill for his future, had arrived by ship from Massilia last night and made their way to Balbus’ townhouse on the Cispian hill. Faleria had been determined to return to her own home but, with it still undergoing renovation, Balbus had had to insist that she join them as their guest.

His townhouse had remained unoccupied for more than two years, with only a small skeleton staff of servants to keep it clean and intact, and the provisions within were woeful. After an evening of scraping up whatever they could for a meal, sending the servants out to find the few remaining late-night food stalls still open, the womenfolk had decided that the next morning would be a full re-supply shop that would require at least half a dozen servants for porterage, and Balbus himself, in case male choices had to be made, or the family coffers had to be opened to pay the enormous bills.

It had taken precisely ten minutes of struggling through the throngs of people, trying to keep up with the four women who moved like a pack of wolves through the crowd, for Balbus to decide he’d had enough. Stating flatly that he had more intention of joining a theatre troupe than contemplating another minute’s shopping, he had arranged to meet them here.

Here, because two minutes to the north, along the Clivus Argentarius, stood a nice little tavern that would be a good place for the women to take stock of their purchases and for Balbus to silently, and with wine, bemoan his fate among this group of Amazons.

In the meantime, it was rather nice sitting in the shade. His hand dipped into the pack of honeyed dates he’d managed to purchase during the fray and the sweet, sticky treats brought on such a thirst that he had to reach for the skin of grape juice that he’d also bought.

Taking a deep pull, his gaze passed over the top of the skin and locked on the curia building below and to the left, where the senate was in heated debate. At less than seventy yards distance, it was almost possible to hear the subject matter from the steps; almost but not quite. But still, occasionally, the debate would rise in pitch, tone and volume and words would carry this far. The third time he heard Caesar’s name shouted in the building and the roar of assent that followed, he had decided that this situation needed more attention, and had paid an urchin to go stand near the doors and listen in. After all, it didn’t do for a man of stature to lurk outside the senate doors like an eavesdropper. Besides, the stairs were so much more comfortable.

Whatever they’d been discussing in there for the past hour, Caesar had apparently been at the very crux of the matter. Other words had risen from the cacophony, each one as expected as the next:
Gaul
, Pompey, Consul, Glory, Triumph, Cost. Cost. Cost seemed to be an important matter for debate, too.

It was not hard to piece together the arguments from those snatches he’d heard, though the urchin would help later, in return for the three copper cons promised from Balbus’ purse.