Sons of Taranis (27 page)

Fronto ground his teeth and tried not to lose his temper. Market was still three days away. What was Ambustus doing? A decade of command coursed through Fronto's veins as he leaned towards the insolent legionary and brought his angry face so close his breath would fog the man's eyeballs.

'I may not be wearing the knotted belt of command, soldier, but you might recognise the stripe on my tunic denoting my former rank. I held, and still do hold, the ear of Gaius Julius Caesar, proconsul of Rome, and your commander's commander. I hold a rank of authority in both Massilia and Rome and served over a decade TRYING TO KEEP RUNTS LIKE YOU FROM GETTING THEIR HEADS TORN OFF BY GERMAN CANNIBALS!' As the soldier leaned back against the wall, away from the blast of fury that had burst from Fronto's maw, the former legate allowed a horrible smile to cross his face. 'Now I am going inside to speak to the
prefect
,' he announced, trying to demonstrate the gulf in rank that separated him from this entire outpost's staff in one stressed word. 'You can try and stop me, though I strongly recommend against it, or you can exercise that fat, blubbery useless arse of yours by running ahead to warn Fabius Ambustus that I'm coming.'

The soldier nodded hastily, clearly not trusting his tongue to words, and slipped in through the doorway. Fronto paused long enough to glare daggers at the other door guard. 'I do not wish to be disturbed, understand?'

The soldier quailed and nodded, and the officer turned from him and stumped into the building, his escort following close on behind.

Fronto had been to visit the man a few times. Like all military bureaucrats, Ambustus considered himself about three ranks more important than his uniform confirmed. He ran the office in Massilia like a despot of ancient times, but it was hard to argue with the efficiency with which he maintained Caesar's supply, transport and courier system through the port. Some of the value of his role had disappeared several years ago when the general had finally opened up the secondary trade route through the Helvetian territory from Vesontio, but during the summer sea and river transport was still by far the fastest way to move anything.

Each room in the building was occupied by a different actuarius or librarius, each surrounded by piles of writing tablets, sheaves of vellum and scrolls of parchment, each scribbling furiously or affixing their stamp to an official request or record. For a moment, Fronto was struck by an unusually high level of activity even for this place. On previous visits there had always been one or two rooms at least that lay dormant, their occupant off for the day or at midday meal. Not so, today. In fact, each and every one appeared fraught. Still, he resolved not to weaken his purpose. He would know why the offer of transport had been rescinded without a jot of notice.

Ambustus sat behind his desk, rubbing one hand through his thinning hair as he counted down a list with his other forefinger, his lips moving silently. The legionary who had run ahead was standing to one side of the room looking extremely nervous.

'Prefect?'

The man held forth a hand without looking up, his voice rising to a whisper as he counted over the top of the interruption. When he'd reached the bottom of the page, Ambustus scribbled his figure in a tally column on another sheet and straightened.

'Ah, the inimicable Fronto and Catháin and your small group of heavies. I see you have taken to intimidating my men now. What can I do for you? Nothing trivial, I hope?'

Fronto felt his ire rising again and Catháin's hand clapped down on his shoulder in warning. He allowed the anger to subside. Few bureaucrats reacted well to provocation.

'Prefect Ambustus, my sincere apologies for this intrusion, but the matter is of extreme import to my business. I shall not keep you long.'

The man leaned back in his chair. 'Go on, sir.'

'I have a large cargo of amphorae that are due to be shipped to Rome on the afternoon tide.'

'Poor timing, I'm afraid.'

'So I gather. The captain of the Demeter would not allow the loading of the cargo, despite the fact that my factor here tells me that the ship rides so high in the water she can only be empty, and all her rigging and crew appear ready to set sail. I had believed we had a deal in respect of my shipping cargo in any vessel that has space.'

Ambustus gave an exaggerated sigh. 'Would that such were possible, Fronto. I realise this might seriously damage your business. What vintage is the cargo?'

Fronto narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 'A poor native brew.'

'Ah well. Sadly, I was going to offer to buy a portion of the cargo in recompense, but I cannot stomach the local wines. There is, then, very little I can do. My hands are tied.' He held up his hands open palmed to demonstrate the phrase. Fronto narrowed his eyes further.

'I suppose I could find a small cut to help ease your troubles, Ambustus...'

The prefect frowned and then, realisation dawning, lowered his hands again. 'You misunderstand me, Fronto. I am not seeking a bribe. This is not a matter of sweetening the pot until I relent. I simply cannot give you permission to load the Demeter.'

'Why not?' snapped Fronto.

Ambustus gave Fronto a pointed look, nodding at his companions meaningfully. The former legate pursed his lips in annoyance, but turned to Masgava and Catháin. ‘All four of you head back outside and wait for me there. I'll be along presently.'

The big Numidian gave him a disapproving look, but the four men backed out of the room and Fronto waited until he could hear nothing but the rhythmic work of the clerks. 'Alright. What's this about, Ambustus?'

The prefect sighed and gestured for Fronto to sit. When the former legate made it quite clear that sitting was not going to happen, he took a deep breath.

'It is not just the Demeter, Fronto. I cannot allow you to load any cargo on any Roman vessel in port.'

Fronto opened his mouth to shout something, but Ambustus pushed on.

'It is not my decision, before you threaten to have me beaten, Fronto. I am required by order of the proconsul himself to keep every Roman vessel in port empty and prepared to sail at short notice. Every ship that arrives will become subject to that order, and each ship already in port has been forced to empty itself of any cargo and cancel all shore leave for its crew.'

Fronto felt the wind taken from his sails at the realisation that the prefect was, in this case, completely powerless.

'Why?'

Ambustus leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. 'If I tell you this, it is told in confidence to a member of Caesar's staff, for all your retired status. I will hold you to your military oath and expect you not to breathe a word of it to another living soul. Do you understand?'

Fronto, rather taken aback by the vehemence of the man's words, nodded. 'Agreed.'

'There are small caravans of slaves and booty coming in all the time and being stored under guard in anonymous warehouses in Massilia, but I have been told to await one particularly large convoy, following which all goods in storage are to be combined with the new arrival and shipped to Rome in one fleet with solid military escort.'

'A big convoy, then?'

'The centurion who delivered the orders intimated that I would be able to buy most kingdoms with the proceeds from it. Booty the likes of which you will never have seen. So you understand why I cannot release the ship to you. You could ask the captain, but unless he is willing to defy the proconsul's orders, you will have no better luck there. It simply cannot be done.'

Fronto sagged slightly. The man was right. It mattered not how angry he became or what arguments he could marshal, no captain or officer in Massilia was going to defy Caesar's orders, even for a senior officer. No amount of honey could sweeten the pot enough for that.

'My apologies for wasting your time, Ambustus. I appreciate your candour.'

The prefect gave a troubled smile. 'I'm truly sorry, Fronto. I do hope you can find alternative transport until this matter is resolved, and rest assured that as soon as my hands are no longer tied by the proconsul's needs I will happily release any free space to you. In fact I wish I could help you defy the boule more than I can, given the stink they are raising over our blocking up of the port with so many ships docked without intention to sail.'

'Thank you, Ambustus. I'll take my leave and keep my tongue. Good luck with your task.'

Turning on his heel, he marched from the room and through the corridors until he emerged into the sunlight once more, where his friends had gathered in a small knot and were arguing. They fell silent as they saw him and waited impatiently as he strolled over.

'The prefect cannot help us and it's not his doing. No Roman ship is leaving port for the foreseeable future by order of the proconsul, and nothing will change that, We need to find an alternative transport for the Helvian wine as fast as possible.'

'Why are the ships impounded?' Aurelius asked curiously.

'I cannot relay that information, I'm afraid. I gave my word.'

'Caesar's treasure convoy,' snorted Catháin, and Fronto frowned at him.

'Keep your voice down, man. Where did you hear that?'

'In a bar yesterday. It's only rumour, but it's well-supported by visible evidence. They say a treasure convoy is coming to Massilia on its way to Rome.'

'And it's supposed to be secret,' murmured Fronto. 'I don't think even most of the army know yet by the sounds of it. Keep this to yourself, man. If word leaks to the wrong sectors of Gaul and that convoy is attacked, there could be a hell of a backlash at us.'

Catháin shrugged. 'The news is out there, Fronto. Perhaps you should tell the prefect, so he doesn't blame you?'

Fronto sighed again. 'I suppose it'll be common knowledge soon enough anyway. Since no Roman ships are moving, the Massilian boule are hounding Ambustus. When he's forced to explain why or lose his deal with the city, the council will know, and within a day word will be on every street. I suspect I'm safe. Safer than that convoy, anyway.'

'Regardless, my prime concern has to be finding another ship for the Helvian amphorae.'

Catháin nodded. 'There are two or three fairly friendly Baetican and Lusitanian traders in port today, all down at the shitty end of the docks. They're not popular because they trade almost exclusively with the Iberian ports and those around the Pillars of Hercules, and they have a monopoly there that most Massilian Greeks would eat their own grandmother to find a way into.'

Fronto snorted. 'I'm damn glad I've got your extensive knowledge working for me and not for them, then.'

Catháin gave him a look loaded with hidden messages, and Fronto made a mental note to raise the man's salary and buy him a gift before he decided that Spaniards might pay better.

'Come on. Let's go see these Baeticans, then.'

* * * * *

Fronto slumped against the doorframe as he entered his villa, pausing to kick off the soft leather boots and remove his cloak, tossing it towards the hook near the altar to the household spirits and missing by a wide enough margin to knock over the statues of the penates and scatter incense ash all over the marble floor. Waving a tired hand at it, he staggered into the atrium. It had been a tiring day and a bad one, too. Thankfully, Catháin had managed to pull his backside out of the flames once more with a personal introduction to a Baetican captain who knew the strange northerner well enough to call him 'arse-face'. Still, a potential thousand percent profit had been halved at best. And further trade deals going on looked to be troublesome with the lack of cheap transport.

Still, the Baetican had taken them at a price that Fronto knew to be more than reasonable, given the current situation. The man was making a rare journey to Rome instead of west, delivering cargoes of oysters and red ochre pigment from the Balearics that he'd collected en route. His appearance at Massilia at all was pure chance, since he had a small shipment of tin from Baetica that he'd failed to unload in the Balearics but would sell well in the Greek port.

His spirits flagged again as he heard Andala deep in discussion with Lucilia, both voices raised not in anger but in some sort of concern. That boded ill for Fronto. He edged quietly through the atrium on bare feet and peered around the doorway into the triclinium.

Lucilia lay on one of the couches, her hands weaving fretfully. Irritatingly, Andala reclined on the one next to her like some Roman matron at leisure. He started to move angrily, his mouth opening to shout, even as he registered two more sights that stilled his movement and his tongue both.

One was the fact that, despite his having hidden the fine gladius with the orichalcum hilt, Andala now had one of his more utilitarian military blades in her lap and was cleaning the leather binding on the grip.

The other was the sight of two of his men standing with their hands behind their backs, faces downcast. One was a recent acquisition whose name he couldn't yet remember. The other was Clearchus, one of the brothers who'd worked for him for months. Even a brief glance at distance drew his attention to the bruising on their arms and, as Clearchus raised his face to answer a question, Fronto was stunned at the damage to it. One eye was swollen shut, the nose twisted at an agonising angle and the lip swollen and raw. Both men were liberally spattered with blood.