Marius' Mules V: Hades' Gate (24 page)

"Our apologies to you gentlemen for asking you to join us" Faleria addressed Rufus and Galba directly. "Lucilia and I may need a little advice and support, and our dear Marcus' comrades from the legions seemed the best place to turn."

Fronto felt a cold stone in his belly. This was about him, just as he had suspected.

"Marcus?"

Uh-oh. What now? "Yes?" he replied suspiciously.

Faleria cleared her throat preparing to go in for the attack. "You have spent half a year now moping around Rome, splurging the family's savings on chariot racing, gladiator fights, cheap wine and the like. You wake late and are rarely abed before the moon's apex. Your wife is patient, but not endlessly so, and I have little of that particular virtue left. Mother would have thrown you out of the house in the old days. It is time that you turned your mind to the future."

"I've had my mind on little else anyway."

"That seems unlikely. What plans do you have?"

Fronto sighed and leaned back. "I am torn, dear sister. I miss my command." He held up a calming hand as Faleria narrowed her eyes and started to interrupt. "The Tenth has been my life for nearing a decade, and the Ninth before them. Half my good friends are either still serving out in Gaul or lying under a marker somewhere in a sodden valley. When it's silent and my mind wanders, it wanders back there. But I drew too thick a line beneath my name in Caesar's ledger last autumn. I was right in what I said and possibly in what I did, though, and I'm not sure that I would wish to serve under him again, even if he would have me. But that's the crux of the matter - I fear the general would not accept my service again. And so Gaul is out."

Balbus and the others nodded seriously. They all had experience with the general, who was not known for his forgiving and kind nature. Even Faleria, who was on good terms with the general's daughter, harboured a glint of steel in her eye - it was a man known to serve Caesar who had taken her and Lucilia captive last year, after all. Whether true culpability lay with Caesar as well, or just with Clodius, the connection drove a wedge between the families.

Fronto sighed and continued.

"I suspect that Crassus would welcome me in Syria. It's said that he's building an army to rival that of Caesar in order to head east and squash the Parthians once and for all. He'll want experienced officers and although his son and I don't generally see eye to eye, young Crassus knows my worth. I could probably do well under Crassus in the east as he values useful commodities. The only problem is…"

"…is that I will not let him go" Lucilia said flatly. "The Parthian deserts are a death sentence for all but the Parthians themselves. Stories abound of Roman subjects found dead along the Euphrates from Parthian incursions. The Republic has not dealt well with Persia and I see no reason for Crassus to achieve where so many others have failed. Even if he does take Parthia, there is a high likelihood that half his army will die from the conditions out there. No, I will not have my new husband ripped from my arms and parched to death in an eastern desert. Better he fawn to Caesar and serve in conquered Gaul."

Fronto gestured at his young wife. "There, as you can see, is the issue with Crassus."

He sat up straight again. "Pompey is on the verge of making me an offer, I believe, though he keeps dancing around the subject. He's sitting in Rome playing with politics, but I sense he's twitching to take to the field once more - he's just waiting for the time to be right. The problem is: with Caesar conquering Gaul and Britannia and Crassus moving against Parthia, Pompey's in danger of losing his military credibility. He needs a new victory to stay safely ahead of his peers. Once he's decided what to do, I suspect he'll have an offer for me."

"You'd take up a command with Pompey?" Galba frowned. "You say there's no going back to Caesar now, but you'll
really
have crossed the line with him if you do that."

Fronto sank back uneasily. "I'm not sure. The offer would be tempting and might be the only military option open to me, but" he lowered his voice somewhat unnecessarily given the company, "the problem is that I'm not sure I trust Pompey any more than I trust Caesar. Possibly even less."

"But you are set on a military command?" Rufus asked quietly.

"I'm not built for anything else really. I can't even conceive of how a man can sit in the senate without losing his temper and beating them all to a pulp. Or falling asleep. Or one and then the other. And I'm no gentleman farmer. No offence, Balbus, but I've no idea what end of a vine goes in the ground and which serves the wine. I'd die of boredom. So any offer of military command is my only real choice, I suspect. Of course, I could just wait and see who's made consul next year and get in with them, maybe get myself a more independent command?"

Galronus nodded and glanced briefly at Faleria. "I have no urge to rush back to Caesar's command. Either Gaul is settled and now all-but Roman, in which case there is no need for us, or - and I suspect this to be the case - my countrymen will rise in ever greater numbers, in which case I would sooner or later be forced to choose between my old family or my new."

"Not a happy position" Fronto agreed, trying not to think about Galronus' recall orders that sat safe in Fronto's desk, unseen by their intended recipient. "But perhaps we could still serve on staff somewhere. There's always revolts and incursions in Africa and Numidia, or the old northern Greek states. Sooner or later an army will be sent out there. And there have been stirrings in Noricum, Illyricum and on the borders of Aegyptus with the strange people south of them. Something will come up, and we might get a command with a less political, more objective commander."

Balbus cleared his throat unhappily. He looked painfully embarrassed as he turned to Fronto. "I don't wish to sound unkind, Marcus, but you're not really suited to the military life anymore, no matter what you might wish."

Fronto stared in surprise at his friend, who recoiled a little sheepishly.

"Explain." He said flatly.

"Well, without dancing too wide around the subject, you're a bit of a mess."

A dangerous flash of anger passed across Fronto's gaze, but Faleria was nodding. "Quite right. Out of shape. You've put on a lot of weight Marcus, and I hear you wheezing when you come in, having climbed the Aventine."

"I…"

"And your knee is weak as anything" Lucilia added. "You can't walk more than a mile or two without needing to sit and rest it."

"Now listen…"

"I have to admit that I'm having to walk slowly so you can keep up" Galronus added unhappily.

"Anyone else? Am I ugly too? Or too old?"

"Marcus, we're not trying to be mean but you are badly out of shape. You're not the man who went to Gaul five years ago."

"It's just a bit of extra padding and a weak knee. It can all be put right."

"Then do it."

"What?" he turned to stare at Faleria, whose defiant gaze bored into him.

"You say you can put it right? Do it. Get yourself fit and healthy again. Then you might be able to obtain one of these military commands you so desire. And at least in the meantime it'll give you something to do other than drink, gamble and sleep."

Galronus was nodding seriously.

"And you!" Faleria snapped, turning on him and causing the Remi nobleman to blink in surprise. "If you seriously intend to take me to wife, you need to curb your own circus-going habits. Marcus may be fatter than you…"

"Hey!"

"… and drink more, but you're in danger of becoming one of those slaves to the races and I have no intention of living my life as a 'circus-widow'."

"Not fat!" yelled Fronto angrily.

"Oh be quiet, Marcus."

"I think perhaps we ought to be going" Rufus said hurriedly, rising from his seat, his eyes meeting an equally uncomfortable Galba. "Time is running away with itself."

"Sit down" said Faleria forcefully, a deliberate hard smile on her face. "You haven't touched the food yet."

* * * * *

The guard at the gate eyed Fronto up and down suspiciously.

"What you want?"

"To speak to the owner of the establishment."

"Who you?"

"My name is Marcus Falerius Fronto. Now please either fetch, or escort me to, the lanista."

The guard ran his tongue around misshapen yellow teeth and finally shrugged, unlocking the gate and swinging it open. Fronto stepped inside, his gaze following the sounds of furious combat off to the left, where the gladiators of the school could be seen behind the training area's surround - a solid wall to waist height, with a barrier of iron bars driven in above, creating a barrier some fifteen feet high, with spikes facing inward at the top. Twenty or more men hammered at the palus or moved through a series of planned strikes and parries on the far side. To one end a huge, shaven headed creature was lifting a roof beam with one of his counterparts hanging from each end, the strain showing on his face but not stopping him lifting it past his head.

Despite his reservations and his denial of how bad he had let his fitness level become, Fronto suddenly felt tremendously old, weak, fat and lazy watching the men beyond the bars. Turning his attention back to the guard, who'd now locked the gate once more, he strode across the paved courtyard to the house attached. The sweaty, filthy guard passed him off at the door to a house slave - probably a eunuch - in a green tunic, who made motions to follow, unable to address Fronto due to his lack of a tongue.

Fronto followed through the overly-opulent house that reeked of overcompensation for a low birth, and entered the tablinum, where he was bade to sit and offered wine. He smiled his acceptance, but changed his mind at the last moment and waved the jug away.

For a while he sat alone in the office, his gaze taking in the gaudy decoration and wondering if this was what most people thought the older patrician families did with their houses. So much gold and crimson it was actually quite painful to look at - as though the legendary King Midas had exploded in the centre.

Finally, as he was beginning to become restless, Lucius Tubero, owner of the house and the fourth-most successful lanista in Rome, entered with a warm smile and a low, sweeping bow. Of course, there
were
only four lanistas in Rome.

"Master Falerius, it is an honour to extend to you the welcome of the house of Tubero. Will you take food or wine?"

"Thank you, no" Fronto said with a friendly smile. "To be honest, I'm in a bit of a hurry." He shifted the bulky weight of his toga slightly. He still hated wearing them, but as a badge of rank they helped people take you seriously. They also, as Faleria had pointed out none-too-kindly, hid a bulging waistline rather well.

"I was not warned of your visit, sir" the lanista went on, sycophantically bowing again. "Had I been, you would have been welcomed fittingly."

"This is fine, thank you, Tubero. I'm not in the market for pomp and splendour. I'm in the market for a gladiator."

Tubero's face fell, though only for a heartbeat before being replaced by a hopeful smile. "Just the one, dominus? Difficult to hold even the simplest match with one."

"I'm not staging a match or any sort of game, private or public" Fronto said in a business-like manner.

"Oh?" the face fell a little again.

"I'm looking to purchase a single man for myself."

"Oh…" the man leered.

"Not like that!" snapped Fronto angrily. "I want a personal trainer… for my nephew" he added weakly.

"Ah. Well my gladiators are the best in Rome, dominus, so you have come to the right place, but they are not cheap, I will warn you."

Fronto nodded. "I had a feeling."

"Could I ask how you came to choose the house of Tubero for your needs?" the man asked hopefully. Fronto smiled. Almost anyone reputable would have gone elsewhere, but Fronto had his reasons.

"Of course. I am informed that a week or so ago you came by a fresh purchase from the house of Oculatius? A Numidian."

"Him!" the lanista almost spat, and then his mouth curved into a smile and his face took on a desperate hope. "Oh him? You mean the Murmillo?"

"Masgava. I am led to believe that he is troublesome. Even the harsh rule of Oculatius could not control him. It's said that he sold him on to recoup some money, as the alternative was just to dispose of him."

Tubero's fake smile became wider and easier. "I fear you hear falsehoods, sir. The one they call Masgava is spirited, certainly, but no trouble. He will be the pride of my stable when he is broken."

Fronto smiled in return. "He has now been in the stable of all four of Rome's lanistas, and I suspect half a dozen others before he reached the city. If he's not broken now, you're unlikely to manage it."

Tubero's smile slipped and a lot of his hope vanished down the lopsided lip. "What's your bottom line, dominus?"

"Three hundred denarii. No more."

The lanista shook his head, the usual business patter taking over. "Respectfully, three hundred is
ridiculous
, dominus. Even a green, untried youth would go for more than that. Masgava is a veteran of the games - a champion. He could command ten times that."

"He could if he were less trouble. I don't know how much you got him for at your bargain price, but I know that Oculatius only paid two hundred for him, so you can't have spent more than two hundred and fifty. Probably less. You've had him for a week and I'll wager that already he's causing issues."

"He is calm and happy with his lot, dominus. I couldn't possibly sell him for less than five hundred."

"Let's go have a look at him" Fronto suggested, standing. Tubero, his face starting to take on a distinctly unhappy taint, rose and followed him back out to the courtyard. The ugly gateman glanced once at Fronto and then turned back to the street outside. The three other guards who patrolled the courtyard and the divide between training area and private domicile moved slightly more to attention as their employer arrived. Fronto instantly wrote them off as unworthy when compared to a real soldier. The house of Tubero was not wealthy enough even to hire ex-legionaries as guards - these were thugs, beggars and criminals with cudgels.