Balbus nodded.
“Go help Priscus look after your family. Tell him I asked after him.”
“I will.”
The small group spent a moment in silence before Fronto took a deep breath and picked up his bag of freshly laundered clothes.
“Right. Off to jolly old sea we go.”
With a smile, he turned his back to the villa and strode out to the waiting party. He was amused to see the reactions Lucilia was causing. Crassus was openly admiring her, Varus had a strange smirk on his face as though he were weighing her up in some way, and Crispus was looking almost anywhere but directly at her.
“Very well gentlemen, and lady of course. Shall we depart?”
Caro bowed respectfully.
“Just throw those on the cart, Caro. You don’t need to lug them all the way to the docks.”
The slave looked across at Lucilia hopefully and she smiled at him.
“Go and look after father.”
Caro carefully stacked and wedged the luggage in the cart and then delicately helped the young lady up into it before bowing and returning to the villa.
Watching the family in the doorway, waving their goodbyes, Fronto smiled a last smile at them and clambered up onto Bucephalus and trotted off after the party that had already begun to descend the gravelled path down toward the bustling metropolis below.
Falling in at the back, he stretched and leaned back, exposing his face to the late autumn sunlight before glancing once more with some trepidation at the rocking boats in the harbour and the churning surface of the Mare Nostrum.
“She’s going to cause you trouble.”
He blinked and turned to see the grinning face of Varus, riding along next to him. It took him a moment to realise that the man was speaking of Lucilia and not the sea herself.
“She’s going to meet a suitor in Rome. If anything, I’m just a chaperone.”
Varus laughed.
“I think you could be in for a surprise there, my friend. I saw those looks of hers. Keep your drawstring tight and your bedroom door locked.”
Fronto glared at him.
“That’s Balbus’ daughter you’re talking about, Varus.”
“My point precisely” the man replied with a grin.
Fronto turned back to face the party ahead. Lucilia rode almost regally, her travelling cloak having already fallen slightly to reveal pale, creamy shoulders. He swallowed hard and flashed a nervous look across at Varus, who merely grinned and nodded.
The legate of the Tenth, veteran of numerous wars, recipient of the corona civica, and senior commander in the army of the Praetor Julius Caesar, groaned and heaved once more as what was left of his stomach contents disappeared into the roiling waves.
“I feel bloody awful.”
Crispus smiled sympathetically.
“You’ve gone a very curious colour. I can’t decide whether it’s green, yellow or purple depending upon the light.”
Fronto glared at him and spat angrily into the water.
“Charming of Varus to offer me a nice fatty piece of pork, just when…”
He stopped talking and threw himself against the rail, making retching sounds.
“Stop thinking about it. He was only doing it for a joke. He didn’t know you were as bad a sailor as this. No one did. Gods, I don’t know whether I’ve ever met a worse sailor. The sea’s hardly moving.”
The legate lifted his head once again to glare at his young friend.
“Don’t mock your elders.”
The two men fell silent, a friendly smile on the young officer’s face as he patted Fronto on the shoulder sympathetically.
“You poor dear.”
Fronto turned to stare in surprise at Crispus and then realised the voice had come from elsewhere. Of course. Feminine.
Lucilia strode along the deck, her gait steady and rolling with the pitch of the deck as though she had been at sea all her life. Fronto grimaced.
“I’m alright. Just a little seasick.”
“I shall leave you in my lady Lucilia’s capable hands while I return to the table.” Crispus laughed.
Fronto shot him a desperate glance, shaking his head barely perceptibly, but the man slapped him on the shoulder, grinned, and strode off back toward the wooden housing at the rear of the large merchant vessel that served as dining room for the travellers.
He tried to straighten, but the strength seemed to have flooded from him and instead, he slumped against the railing and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist.
“You really do appear to be very unwell. You’ve been vomiting for almost an hour.”
“Thanks for noticing.” Fronto grumbled. “Crispus is the only one who felt it worth coming to check on me. I could have been turning inside out or thrown up my liver by now.”
Lucilia gave him a gentle smile.
“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a little seasickness; bad, yes, but hardly terminal. It may surprise you to hear that strong, unwatered wine, with the addition of ginger, is a traditional cure for the ailment among the Greek sailors in Massilia.”
Fronto glared at her.
“I hardly think I’ll be taking the advice of a nation that would bed a goat it if fluttered its eyelashes.”
She laughed.
“You get so very grumpy when you’re ill. And intolerant.”
He issued another growl and returned to looking down at the waves for a moment before he had to close his eyes again and concentrate hard on keeping his innards where they belonged.
“I sometimes wonder if you are alone because of your little quirks, or if you have these little quirks because you are alone.”
The legate heaved himself up from the railing.
“I think that officially ends our conversation.”
With difficulty, he sidled along the rail away from Lucilia, but she doggedly followed, a curious and thoughtful look on her face.
“There must be some reason. I asked my father, and all he knows is that you apparently never had time. That’s a pathetic excuse if ever I heard one. I’m curious.”
“Don’t be.” He said flatly and without a trace of humour.
“You don’t have to be quite so guarded around me, Marcus. You’d be surprised just how open and understanding I am.”
She hooked her arm around his as he leaned on the rail and he pulled away angrily.
“Will you leave me be? I’m ill and there are some things we are simply not going to talk about.”
She smiled.
“Very well. I’m sure your sister will tell me in time.”
She jumped as Fronto wheeled on her and grasped her by the shoulders.
“This is a subject you are forbidden to raise with Faleria, do you understand me?” he growled, furiously.
Lucilia stared at him and nodded her head, a frightened look on her face.
“Of course… I’m sorry, Marcus. I didn’t mean…”
He turned his back on her and leaned over the rail.
As she turned away, tears in her eyes, and ran toward the wooden shelter, Fronto growled at the passing waves. Curiously, the anger that had risen in him had completely overwhelmed the illness and left him feeling a lot stronger; physically, at least.
He would have to apologise to her eventually of course, but she could stew for an hour first to discourage any further enquiries in that direction.
“You realise that you’ll have to do something soon?”
Fronto turned in surprise toward the prow to find Crassus looking at him with a strange and unreadable expression.
“She may look cowed at the moment,” the young officer noted, “but she’s a fiery one. She’ll not let this rest and sooner or later she’ll hear the story from your sister if she doesn’t hear it from you.”
The legate of the Tenth blinked.
“I wasn’t aware that you knew?”
Crassus smiled sadly.
“I was at her wedding, Fronto. I don’t remember whether Varus was there, but it’s entirely possible that he was too. He was certainly in Rome at the time and moved in Faleria’s circles. It’s hardly a secret, after all.”