Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow (26 page)

Caesar narrowed his eyes for a moment as though weighing up Priscus’ words and finally nodded. ‘You have it.’ He scribbled something on a scrap of vellum and dripped wax, stamping it with his Taurus seal. ‘Get them organised and keep everyone happy. Are we done now?’

He had not looked at Fronto since they first entered the tent.

Priscus shrugged, with a sidelong glance at his friend, and stepped forward to collect the authorisation. ‘Happy with that, General. I’ll leave you with chief bronze-balls here. If he’s suggesting what I think he is, then he’s got testes of orichalcum.’

With a last raised eyebrow at Fronto, Priscus saluted, turned, and strode from the tent.

‘This had better be good, Fronto. I’m in no mood for your insolence,’ Caesar said, coldly.

‘Were you ever, General? I need to ask for something and to offer something, but before I do, we need to clear the air, you and I.’

The general’s gaze hardened yet further, if such were possible. ‘You and I are colleagues, Fronto. You need the army, and I need your command experience. Do not expect anything more than that relationship!’

Fronto stepped three paces forward and placed his hands on the desk face down. ‘Bullshit. If that were the case you’d be putting me in charge of men right now, where I could be of use to you. Or asking my advice. Instead, you’re excluding me and ignoring me out of spite, because I turned my back on you. Get over it, Caesar.’

The general’s expression faltered between anger, surprise and pride. ‘I will not be spoken…’

‘I will speak to you as I see fit until you acknowledge that I am here as one of your officers and put me in charge of a legion.’ He bridled. ‘Preferably the Tenth!’

Caesar actually gave a low chuckle, though there was little humour in it. ‘The Tenth
has
a legate.
All
the legions do.’ He stood from his chair, hammering his fist on the table to punctuate his words. ‘You turned your back on me, Marcus! But not only that! I could have worked
around
that. I am not infallible, but I know it. I would have taken you back into the fold even that very day.  But you walked off into the arms of that overweight, overemotional, warmonger and despot Pompey! And you did it willingly, because you saw him as an
improvement
on me!’

Fronto blinked. He’d never considered it from that angle.

‘How do you think that sits with me, Fronto? You’ve clearly come to a sensible conclusion in the end, though, since you’re back. So now you know. You know that Pompey is a rabid dog, ready to savage the Republic, barely contained in a smiling human shell. Shall I tell you about Crassus? Shall I tell you just how much I have to do just to keep a level of balance that maintains safety for the whole of Rome? You think I fight here for glory?’

He stepped out from behind the desk and marched on Fronto with such force that the former legate actually took a couple of steps backwards, the general’s finger wagging at his chest.

‘You do - I know that. You and Cicero and the others. The dissenters and pacifists. You think I do this for vainglory. Whole portions of the senate are of the same opinion. But you and they have no idea, Marcus. You have not the slightest clue about the pressure under which I find myself every waking moment. Pompey is a raging, bloodthirsty lunatic wearing a thin veil of civility. And Crassus is a plutomaniac. He would
sell
Rome if he was offered the right price. And me? You think I wade through the swamps of Gaul and hunt criminals for fun? Tell me!’

‘Sir?’

‘Tell me why I am here. Knowing now what you do about my peers in the city.’

Fronto’s mind was racing. Caught horribly on the back foot in a situation where he’d expected to have the upper hand, he was struggling, but new thoughts were battering his subconscious. New opinions were beginning to form in his mind. He cleared his throat.

‘You fight to stay ahead of them.’

‘Yes. Yes I do. Pompey is the hero of the pirates and the slave wars. He is a three-time triumphant general of Rome. All the people see - the senate as well as the plebs - is a hero. They might very well hand him a damned crown if he won another victory for the Republic. But you know what Rome would be like if Pompey ruled the roost?’

‘Hades. It would be like Hades. Constant war at the expense of the people.’

‘Yes it would.’ Caesar stepped back and made use of his carefully cleared pacing space. ‘And what of Crassus?’

‘Rome would be a commodity. Everything in it would be a commodity. The only reason he hasn’t risen to the top is because he hasn’t…’ The truth came crashing in on Fronto and silenced him.

‘Precisely!’ Caesar snapped. ‘Pompey has the military record but has to keep his true face hidden. He builds the people theatres and woos them in his bid for supremacy so that they do not see him for what he is. Crassus has the money but needs a triumph to go with his purchase of senators. Both seek the power that Rome cannot bestow - never has since Tarquinius the Proud was exiled and the city abolished the monarchy. And both could conceivably actually
achieve
the unthinkable. And here am I. I am the third player in this Greek tragedy - The Aeneas to their Paris and Hector. I have to do whatever I can to stay ahead of them both. I have less money than Crassus, but more support among the people, and a better record. Pompey is a threat, but with every victory we achieve, I win the plebs over and remove a strut from beneath him. Gaul is my stepping stone to climb above the pair.’

‘And then take the crown.’ Even as Fronto’s lips closed, he started, aware that he’d said out loud something he would barely even contemplate thinking to himself.

‘No, Fronto,’ Caesar said quietly. ‘The Republic has provision for putting a man in charge when necessary: Dictator. It has its uses. But no Roman will wear a crown while I am alive.’

Despite himself, Fronto was impressed. How far he felt this to be the truth was immaterial. The general was born to lead and to persuade, and he had Fronto in his purse now. Both men knew it.

‘I apologise, General.’

‘It was a stupid, short-sighted comment, made in a heated moment.’

‘Not for the comment about the crown. For doubting you against Pompey. The man is an animal.’

‘Better!’ Caesar stopped pacing and leaned back against the table. ‘The fact remains, Fronto, that I have no space for a legate right now. You should stay on staff and advise. Roles will develop in due course.’

‘Ah, well.’ Fronto said and stepped forward, his excitement giving him an edge. ‘The thing is: you asked me to find you a way to excise your Gallic infection and I intend to do so. Give me free rein with my singulares. Give them whatever equipment and supplies they need, and give me the room to work. I will take my small unit and I will bring you Ambiorix.’

‘An offer I can’t refuse?’

‘An offer you
shouldn’t
refuse. For the loss of one officer and a score of men, I will bring you the enemy. But that’s only my side of the deal.’

‘I wasn’t aware this was a deal?’

‘Well it is. In return I ask you to halt your obliteration of the Belgae. Hold off the destruction in order to keep your Gallic allies and start the healing process this country needs. And…’ he grinned, ‘when this is over, you give me the Tenth.’

Caesar frowned. ‘You ask a lot, Marcus. I have vowed to bring Ambiorix down. Not only to the senate and the people, but to Venus herself! Would you ask me to defy a God?’

‘You’re not defying her. I will be your proxy.’

Caesar took a deep breath, his eyes flicking to the map, to the altar through the open doorway into the rear of the tent, and then back to Fronto. ‘I will meet you part way. I will give you weeks. A month, maybe... a head start in your hunt. I need to raise more cavalry, and I need to assure myself of the tribes’ loyalty, so I am calling the Gaulish assembly to meet here. It will allow time for the three new legions to acclimatise and will grant me the opportunity to increase our mounted contingent. Until that is done, I will hold off. But then I move on the Menapii unless you bring me Ambiorix’s head.’ He smiled cruelly. ‘And if you grant me the death of Ambiorix, I will move Hades itself to give you back your legion. How does that sound?’

‘Better than a poke in the eye with a shit-sponge, General.’

‘Then get moving, Fronto, and Fortuna be with you - as it seems she always is.’

‘We’ll move out in the morning, as soon as I’ve raped Cita’s supplies for everything we need. But before I go, I thought I should tell you about Rome.’

‘A hive of villainy. I know the place. Has Clodius got himself killed yet?’

Fronto smiled. ‘Not yet, Caesar. But we were there for Parentalia as we travelled north.’

‘Your father was a sad loss to the Republic, Marcus.’

Fronto felt a sudden pang of guilt. He had not even thought to visit his father’s tomb before they’d left, though it had not been Parentalia then. His mother would have been there for the festival.

‘Perhaps, General, but father was interred in Puteoli. Quintus and I thought it would be fitting to pay a visit and a libation to your mother and your daughter while we were there. After all, with you being a thousand miles away…’

He saw a sudden flair of pain in the general’s face. Almost as quickly as it arrived, it was gone.

‘Thank you, Marcus. All is well? Did you see Atia?’

Fronto shook his head. ‘We had our little meal and made our offerings. Atia had apparently visited earlier. But we had the fortune to cross paths with your great nephew.’

‘Octavian was there?’ the general frowned. ‘Why?’

‘It seemed he felt that the ladies and your ancestors required a little more devotion than had already been given them. He gave them Caecuban wine. A vintage.
The
vintage!’

Caesar nodded and a slow, knowing smile began to reach his face for the first time. ‘He is a good boy, that one. Had Julia had children, they would have been like that, I think.’

‘He’s far too damn worldly-wise for his age in my opinion,’ Fronto said with a sly smile. ‘He reminds me dreadfully of you.’

And Caesar laughed. Just once - and for a moment, Fronto was newly arrived in Gaul once more, with his ambitious general, sharing a joke. The feeling passed in the blink of an eye, but it had astounding cathartic effect. Somehow, it felt as though an obstacle had been overcome.

‘Are we…’ Fronto couldn’t decide what word it was that he sought. Friends? They
had
been friends. And confidantes. Compatriots. Sword-brothers even, at times. But he couldn’t quite put his finger on the word he needed.

Caesar simply nodded. ‘I won’t renege on a vow to the Goddess, Marcus. I give you time to bring me Ambiorix, but once the Gallic assembly is done with, I will move. Find me the villain.’

Fronto stepped back to the doorway and gave a salute. Suddenly he felt like a soldier again, for the first time since he had returned. It felt good. ‘I will, General. Good luck.’

‘And to you. Fortuna seems to coddle you, Marcus. Let us hope she continues to do so. I think I will call a meeting of the officers and make the plans known.’

* * * * *

Fronto approached the tent cautiously. He had no real reason to see Antonius, given that he would be leaving before the council was convened, and certainly not attending the meeting of the general’s staff that was about to be called. In fact, he had plenty to do. But for some reason, the way he’d left things with Antonius after Asadunon was preying on his mind. The two officers had not spoken on the return journey, since they had travelled with different forces.

But, before he and his singulares went off on their insane quest to hunt Ambiorix, he felt it might be important to settle matters with the officer.

Antonius’ own singulares guard stood to either side of the door, their dark skin sheened with sweat in their heavy armour. The men wore a scarlet, eye-piercing red, their cuirasses burnished to mirror brightness. Their helms were of a strange, eastern design, and both men eyed him with hard, unflinching stares. Syrians. Apparently, Antonius had brought them back from their own land. They’d been with him for years.

He’d heard the other officers talking about Antonius’ guards. They were not popular.

‘I need to see Marcus Antonius.’

‘What yo business.’

‘That is between he and I.’

‘No business. No go.’

Fronto ground his teeth. ‘Listen, you weird, tunic-lifting, inbred easterner: I am a staff officer of the army, as is Antonius. He is also a friend. I will speak to him and I see no reason to pass my business though your greasy, dubious hands. Your job is to stop assassins or the unwanted bothering Antonius. Nothing more. Feel free to go in and announce me, but that’s as far as your remit extends, soldier.’

The Syrian who’d spoken stepped forward, his friend coming to join him. Their air of menace was palpable.

‘Get… out… of… my… way!’ Fronto growled at him slowly.

‘What… yo… business?’ Equally forcefully. The second Syrian, he noted, had his hand on the hilt of a slightly curved sword.

‘Is there a problem?’ Fronto jumped as the sudden voice behind his right ear almost made him soil himself. Recovering as best he could, shaking like a leaf, he saw Palmatus and Masgava step past him to confront the Syrians.

‘I jus’ ask he business.’

Palmatus grinned unpleasantly. ‘Perhaps ‘he business’ is ‘he own’? Get out of the way, you sickening catamite.’

Next to him, Masgava flexed something that made every muscle across the upper half of his body dance, even through a mail shirt, and Fronto almost laughed at the expression that passed across the Syrians’ faces. The second guard stepped back into place, and the first lingered only a moment - long enough to realise he was without support - and then saluted and stepped back.

Fronto turned a smile on his friends.

‘Thank you. I was just on my way to see you two. Have you got everything ready?’

‘Getting there. We still need a lot of supplies and equipment and some spare horses. You’ve cleared it with the general, sir?’