“Get those cleaned up. Lucilia will stitch them for you. If you’re lucky, she might give you a carrot too.”
Priscus frowned at him in incomprehension as Fronto leaned over the prone gladiator and carefully positioned the narrow blade over the heart before leaning on the hilt with his full weight and driving the blade home until he heard the point scraping in the mosaic below. The gladiator gave what sounded like a sigh of relief and shuddered once.
“I always love the games. Gladiators are so exciting” Fronto said with a grin as Priscus reached the labrum, pushed the body out of the way, and started to wash his wounds with the cold water, drawing sharp breaths each time.
“I personally have had about as much excitement as I can take in one day. Can we just have a little boredom for a while, now?”
Fronto laughed as he dropped the blade and sat on the bench.
“I was contemplating bed for a while after this to catch up on my sleep, but now I’m favouring surveying the damage to the wine store. What d’you think?”
Caesar smiled and gave a tug on the straps that held the baggage tightly in the second cart. With a nod of satisfaction, he stepped back.
“It would seem that you are all set, ladies.”
Fronto rolled his eyes as he leaned against the slightly carbon-stained gatepost. Both he and the stable hand had checked the straps more than once, but Caesar had to give his approval and win the smiles of the three women in the front carriage. It was, to Fronto’s mind, born of a pathological need to be lauded for even the smallest things.
Turning to look out into the street, he spied Cestus standing at the far side, looking back and forth.
“Are we good to go?”
The former gladiator had a last check, motioned to a few of his men, and then nodded. Fronto smiled at the three ladies in the wagon.
“Time to go. Once you’re beyond the Porta Naevia, stick to public places and don’t wander out of sight of Cestus and his men. The mansios on your route should be good and secure, but avoid anywhere you suspect might be trouble. Just stay quiet, unobtrusive and safe.”
Faleria leaned over the side of the wagon.
“For the tenth time, Marcus, we know. We’ll be alright. It’s those of you staying in the city I worry about.”
Fronto smiled.
“Let’s move.”
At a wave Posco led the carriage out into the street, the other two wagons grinding and squeaking behind as they began to rumble forward. Fronto accompanied the vehicle with the three ladies, Caesar matching his position at the far side. Priscus sat on the bench of the rear cart, saving his leg as much of the walk as possible. It would be only a little over five minutes to the gate, and then the party would continue to accompany the caravan for the next mile or so until they were clear of the urban area.
Slowly, the three vehicles, accompanied by almost two dozen men, rolled out into the street and, turning, began the slow descent from the Aventine toward the temple of the Bona Dea at the junction with the Via Ardeatina. Fronto glanced across at the general. It would have been closer and more direct to leave the city by the Porta Capena and straight onto the Via Appia, rather than this round-about route that required a connecting road a few miles south, but Caesar had been insistent that this path would be the safest, and the ladies fell over one another to agree with the great orator, whatever Fronto’s opinion.
He grumbled irritably as he walked.
Slowly, the group reached the lower end of the street, the edges here lined with beggars, the concentration increasing as they neared the temple. It had not rained now for days and the streets were beginning to look filthy, coated with animal dung and general detritus. Fronto’s grumbling intensified as he trod in something soft.
Out to the front, Cestus and Lod stepped out into the main road and the gladiator waved a hand. The carts rolled to a halt and Fronto and Caesar loped on ahead to meet the small warrior. As they reached the junction, the reason for Cestus’ gesture became clear.
Off to the left, toward the circus maximus, the street was lined to either side with busy stalls, interspersed with beggars, drunks and occasional respectable folk. The open street in the centre was, however, devoid of the general citizenry of Rome. A surly gang of several dozen men, a match for their own force at least, stepped slowly and menacingly toward them, hammers, pick handles and lengths of wood in their grasp.
“Shit. Clodius has absolutely no fear, does he?”
Caesar nodded and made a very subtle hand gesture.
“Keep moving on slowly and purposefully. All will be well.”
“I hope you’re right.”
The two men retreated toward the carts and their escort and Cestus returned to his position at the front as the caravan turned away down the street. Lod fell in at the rear, walking backwards as six of the guards fell in beside him, carefully eying the sizeable gang that was following them slowly, stalking like a predator cat.
“Why they no fight?”
Fronto, glancing over his shoulder at the huge Celt, was wondering the same thing, and then shook his head in irritation as the answer popped into his head.
“Because there’s more of them ahead. We’re being herded.”
Caesar nodded.
“That is possible, but here the road is far more defensible than by the Porta Capena should the situation arise. I think we will be fine, Marcus.”
“You keep saying that, but even if that’s fully half their force out here, it still means we’re outnumbered two to one.”
The two men fell silent as the carts rumbled on along the street, the population thinning out here as they moved away from the temple and toward the gate and the slum-like region that clung to the outer wall like some parasitic sea creature. Certainly Caesar had been correct about the more defensible nature of this route. The less affluent neighbourhoods in the area led to the insulae and walled blocks to either side of the street pressing in and narrowing the thoroughfare.
A movement caught Fronto’s attention and he glanced across at a narrow side street. Three men were moving slowly down it toward them, wooden clubs in hand. Every ten steps or so brought them past another side street, each with its own small group of thugs converging on them.
“There’s going to be a hundred of them by the time we reach the gate” Fronto noted to Caesar, nodding in the direction of the latest arrivals. The gang following them had almost doubled in size as they moved slowly on.
“It’s important we keep moving. The closer we are to the gate, the safer we are.”
Fronto held less certainty about the defensive nature of the area, but there seemed little else to do as they moved slowly on, the tension building constantly.
“Clodius must have an almost infinite supply of thugs. It’s almost as if he breeds them!”
On the cart just above and behind them, Priscus pointed ahead.
“There’s the gate. We’re almost there.”
Fronto glanced past the shoulders of Cestus and his companion. The Porta Naevia with its single arch of heavy travertine blocks crossed the road fifty yards ahead, just coming into view as they rounded a gentle curve in the road.
“We’re going to make it.”
The carts rumbled on, closing the distance with interminable slowness, and the huge arch grew ever more tantalisingly near, the heavy gates standing open to either side.
“Why is there no one around?” Fronto said nervously.
Caesar shrugged. “One armed gang following another? Even the rudest peasant can spot that kind of trouble approaching, Fronto. You expect them to stay around for the show?”
“Crap.”
Cestus stepped into the shadow of the gateway, three more of his men with him, and the lead carriage rolled under the arch. Fronto bit his cheek.
Behind them they could almost sense the tensing of muscles ready to attack. The silence was taught and dangerous.