“Whoa!”
Fronto’s head snapped back to the light at the far side of the gate. Cestus, silhouetted in the arch, was holding up his hand and the wagons were quickly slowed and stopped. The gang behind came on at an even slower pace, closing the gap.
Fronto was about to shout a question ahead to Cestus when he saw the rest of Clodius’ men, spreading from the sides of the street into the gateway, blocking the path ahead.
“Shit. What now?”
Caesar arched his brow and shrugged.
“Now we see what they have to say.”
The two men strode out forward into the shadows until they fell in alongside Cestus. There were perhaps three dozen men in the road ahead. A fight now would be virtual suicide. Some of the men, being outside the city, had taken the opportunity to arm themselves with real weapons. To the rear, a tall man with a scar down his face that permanently closed one eye stepped up. The mob parted before of him.
“You appear to have reached the end of the road. My master sends his regards. He hopes you will allow us to make this quick and painless.”
“Your master can kiss my hairy pink arse!” Fronto barked.
Caesar cast a sidelong glance at Fronto and there was a genuine smile there.
“What?” Fronto hissed back at him.
“You really must have faith in your general, Marcus.”
He turned to the Falerii’s chief house slave, standing by his shoulder.
“Now, Posco, if you would?”
The slave nodded with a smile and drew a small copper horn from the cart beside him. Taking a deep breath, he blew a series of loud, sharp notes and then lowered it. Fronto narrowed his eyes.
“Where did you learn the muster call, Posco?”
The slave merely gave him an enigmatic smile and pointed.
Ahead, beyond the armed gang that barred their way, more men were appearing from the side of the road, falling in to the street and settling in ordered rows.
Caesar smiled at the tall, scarred thug, who was looking over his shoulder in surprise.
“Would you like to kiss Fronto’s ‘hairy pink arse’, or just get the hell out of our way?”
Fronto blinked.
“Who are they?”
The men were falling into military formation and, though in plain tunics and cloaks, a number of them bore a gladius or pugio or a solid legionary shield on their arm.
Caesar grinned.
“Sound off!” he bellowed.
From the depths of the large unit, still increasing in strength, voices called out.
“Servius Tarcus, centurion of the Ninth Legion… retired.”
“Aulus Octavius, optio of the Seventh Legion… retired.”
Other voices were announcing their origins among the crowd and Fronto turned to frown at Caesar, whose grin widened.
“You’d be surprised how many veterans of my legions there are within the city’s bounds, Fronto, and most of them hold a loyalty that goes far beyond receiving their honesta mission. Some of them are your men, even.”
Fronto blinked again and turned to look over his shoulder. The advancing mob behind them had stopped. Lod stepped forward and crouched menacingly.
“Boo!” he barked, and some of the men at the front of the gang actually jumped.
Caesar stepped toward the tall, scarred spokesman.
“Disperse immediately or pay the penalty for public disorder. Your choice.”
The man stood silently for a moment, clearly weighing up his options, but the decision had been made for him. The men of his gang melted away at the periphery into the side streets and doorways and he stood at the centre of a rapidly shrinking force.
“Run, then, and don’t come back” the man said to Caesar defiantly.
The general grinned.
“Oh, we’re not all leaving. Some of us have business yet in Rome.”
The man dithered again, fumbling for another pithy retort but, realising there were now less than a dozen men between him and a century’s worth of veteran soldiers, he threw and angry glance at them, let out an exasperated grunt, and ran off into a side street.
Fronto shook his head.
“You do like to show off, don’t you? Did it not occur to you to let me in on it?”
“And spoil the surprise?” Caesar grinned. “Hardly.”
He looked up at the three women, each heaving sighs of relief.
“Well ladies, it would appear that the way ahead is clear. The veterans of my legions will join Cestus and escort you as far as Albanum and the mansio there. I hope the sea air agrees with you and that we will meet again very soon.”
The ladies of the house of the Falerii smiled gratefully at the general and, waving at Fronto, gestured to Posco to move on. As Priscus slipped down from his seat and wandered across to the officers, Lucilia leaned over the edge and planted a difficult and somewhat unexpected kiss on Fronto’s forehead.
“Hurry back, Marcus.”
Fronto stared at her as the vehicles trundled on, the legionaries falling into escort positions as he rubbed his head and looked at his fingers suspiciously.
Turning, he realised that Priscus and Caesar were both grinning at him.
“Oh, grow up!”
Chapter 24
(Late October: On the Janiculum, overlooking Rome.)
“I can’t see why they couldn’t have met in the city” Priscus grumbled, massaging his painful hip as he stumped slowly up the sloping gravel path.
“Neutral ground. They are the three most powerful men in Rome, so I suppose it’s symbolic.”
“Sym-bollocks is what it is!”
Fronto smiled at his friend. Behind them, Galronus stomped up the path, showing no sign of fatigue. Fronto glared at him and, turning, plodded wearily on. Ahead of them, Caesar walked quietly, as though out for a stroll to enjoy the late autumn air, Aulus Ingenuus striding along beside him, armed now they were well outside the city’s pomerium.
Ingenuus had tried desperately to persuade the general, in light of recent events, to allow the entire contingent of his cavalry guard that had returned from Gaul to escort him today, but the general had insisted on a small accompaniment only.
Ahead, a small group of men loitered at the hill’s crest, lounging on benches or leaning on the decorative balustrade. Fronto squinted and could make out the figure of the younger Crassus, clad in his dazzling white toga. Fronto mentally dismissed the showy garment; whitening it with chalk was a practice rarely carried out these days, and yet, he couldn’t help but nod with approval when he spotted the tip of a gladius sheath below the hem.
“Looks like Crassus and his men are already here.”
Behind them, Galronus hurried to catch up.
“I still do not understand the importance of this. We should be concentrating on Clodius, surely?”
Fronto smiled.
“In a way, we are. I had a lot of time to think last night, Gnaeus, and every time we’ve pushed Clodius, he’s pushed back harder, and each time it’s not us that gets the brunt of it, but my family. I sat chatting to Nemesis last night and came to the conclusion that I had a choice: vengeance against Clodius or looking after those I care about and that simply has to come first. The time to deal with Clodius will come, but when there is no chance of the backlash destroying the Falerii. Anyway, these three men can, between them, make almost anything happen in Rome; or stop it happening. The chaos in the city is only rife because these three are not working together and therefore letting it happen.”
He became aware of Caesar watching him with a frown.
“Not specifically because of you” he added wearily. “But it needs sorting out.”
As the general turned back to face their destination, Fronto glanced ahead and then back over his shoulder. The temple of Janus on the hill’s crest had been chosen carefully as the venue for a number of reasons: it was neutral territory for the three men; it was sacred ground, and no true Roman would commit an act of violence within; it offered an unrivalled view to aid privacy and safety; last of all, the two faced Janus was the master of beginnings, changes and choices and the symbolism of the God’s shrine would not be lost on any man present.