Chapter Ten
FRONTO reached down and picked up the exquisite coloured glass containing the expensive Chian and took a sip. Barely watered at all, it warmed as it coated his mouth with a rich, velvety taste. He smiled.
‘If you want to just give me money, then give me money. You don’t have to muck about with all this.’
‘This?’ Balbus raised an eyebrow inquisitively and Fronto grinned at his old friend and, more recently, father-in-law.
‘You buy the best wines I can import at the standard full price I charge the unwitting and you save them for when Lucilia or myself visit. I’ve noticed this. Even Pamphilus and Clearchus have commented on it, and neither of them could outthink a milestone. You know I would just bring a good amphora when I visit anyway.’
‘You don’t think I save all of it for you, do you?’ Balbus chuckled. ‘My favourite Greek medicus in the city tells me that thick red wine is actually good for my heart, and the less water I add the better. Imagine that? And so, if I’m not watering it down, of course I’m going to choose the very best. I’ve had trouble with the heart for years, but I’m currently in rude health and I intend to remain that way long enough to watch my grandsons take the toga virilis and get enslaved by some Roman girl with swaying hips and fluttering eyelashes.’
Again, Fronto grinned, though with a touch of sadness at the core of the smile. Balbus was perhaps two decades older than Fronto, and he himself was no glowing youth, long past the age when most Romans fathered their children. He hoped the old man’s heart would hold out that long. He made a mental note to take a jar of this very same vintage to the temple of Aesculapius… Asklepios, damn these Greek naming conventions… and use it as a libation in favour of the old man’s health.
‘Anyway, what were we talking about?’
‘You were worrying about your slaves,’ Balbus smiled, taking another pull on his wine and smacking his lips appreciatively.
‘Lucilia keeps pointing out that you have no issues with keeping slaves.’
‘Lucilia looks a lot but sees little.’
Fronto frowned. In his experience it was much the other way around. ‘Go on?’
‘There is not a single slave in this house, Marcus. Many of them were brought here as slaves, but I paid a good weekly stipend and set manumission at an easy target to reach. Of the slaves I have bought since I settled in Massilia, only two did not work hard, do me proud, and buy their own freedom within the year. And both of those two I sold in the end to the fishing concerns. One was lazy and one was greedy and neither had a future with my house, so now they work hard gutting fish, when they could have had an easy life here. I have seven former slaves, now freedmen and -women, working in my household and lands. And they all continue in their former roles, but for a decent wage. You’d be most surprised I expect to hear that the best paid of them all was a totally unbroken Aedui girl, who it turned out has an affinity with horses. She now manages my stable and has three lads working for her. I’ll not introduce you to her, given your history with comely Gauls…’
Fronto gave his father-in-law a black look.
‘And the other fourteen staff I have here,’ Balbus went on, ‘are all ex-military, hired after they received their honesta missio, or in one case released early with a missing arm. He turned out to be an excellent cook. He made that fine meal you just ate, in fact. I trust my ex-legionaries, and it saves me having to hire guards like yours. Any pair of hands in my villa could pick up a sword with at least some skill and put the pointy end in an interloper, regardless of their daily duties.’
Fronto nodded at his friend’s sense and wondered how Lucilia would take it if he explained that her father didn’t really trust slaves in his household either. He sighed.
‘Anyway, it’s this Andala woman that bothers me. Her and Lucilia are starting to get very close. They act far more like giggling girls together than mistress and slave and it’s making me very nervous. It’s like living with a crocodile and a bear and finding the pair of them shaking paws and eyeing you up while they lick their lips. It’s only a matter of time before Lucilia embarks on another of her ‘I have to change Marcus campaigns.’
‘Really, Marcus. My daughter can be a handful, but she knows what she’s doing running a household. She learned from the best.’
‘She gives that Bellovaci girl far too much freedom.’
Balbus chuckled again. ‘This from the man who doesn’t like keeping slaves.’
‘That’s not what I mean. Did you know that the day before yesterday I came in late and found that while Lucilia and the boys were fast away in the arms of Morpheus, Andala was sitting in my office polishing my best gladius? I wanted to rant at her, but that would have woken Lucilia and I somehow know that I’d come off at the end as the loser in that encounter. But I took the sword from its customary place on the wall and hid it under my bed with the old campaign tunics and cloaks. And the girl is always in our rooms now. Lucilia seems to have promoted her to looking after the boys. Wouldn’t you be nervous?’
'I say again, Marcus: she knows exactly what she's doing.'
Fronto sighed and sat back with his glass of Chian, giving it an appreciative sip. ‘The only bright side is that one of my former soldiers, Aurelius – you remember him?'
'The one with the bats, yes?'
'That's the one. He seems to have something of a torch burning for her, and I've noticed the odd look when she observes him that reminds me of the German cavalry when they spot a small, poorly-armed patrol. Guarded hunger. I'm going to try and foster the thing from both sides – see if I can pair them off and get her out of my hair, but that in itself is difficult as it means I'll have to spend time at the villa instead of hiding out in the warehouse.'
Balbus snorted.
'Have you had any news from Gaul?'
Fronto tried to fight the all-too-familiar sense of loss as he ran over the list of friends now passed who would have been the ones to send him all the news. Now only Atenos remained in the Tenth, and Atenos was about as likely to write a letter as he was to paint his backside blue and dance on a table asking for a 'Syrian Surprise'. In fact, the only person who had sent Fronto a missive since the day he left Caesar's camp had been Varus, and the cavalry officer had been brief and terse.
'Little. But I hear rumours. I tend to spend time down with Caesar's supply officer in the town, and news leaks through. Sounds like there are numerous small revolts breaking out across the north.'
'Nothing dangerous, though?'
'No,' Fronto shrugged. 'Just last ditch attempts from a defeated people. After Alesia even their best were beaten, and they knew it. Only idiots and lunatics will hold out now.'
'Have you given any thought as to what will happen when the proconsul finishes his term and heads back to Rome?'
Fronto blinked, and Balbus smiled oddly. 'You fool no one, Marcus. You can play the wine merchant for a while. You might even turn out to be good at it. But we all know that one day you'll go running back to the military. You are the oddest imaginable Roman patron, you know? All the others use the military as a stepping stone. Not you. Sooner or later, once he's made consul, Caesar will find a new front upon which to fight, and as soon as he does, you'll go running.'
'Not again.'
Balbus barked out a short laugh. 'Don't be absurd, Marcus. Of course you will. If I hadn't collapsed in action years ago I'd be racing back myself. Hell, despite any arguments I might have with Caesar, I'd be heading to his command tent now if I could. You're not a home body. You never were.'
'Life's full of surprises, Quintus. My acceptance of the quiet life might just be one of them.'