Early the next week, the army had been sent along the coast to winter there under the steady and stable command of Sabinus, while many of the senior officers prepared to travel back to Rome or to their estates in Cisalpine Gaul, Illyricum or Italy.
The two week journey across the length of Gaul had been swift and purposeful, every member of the group itching to return to their homes, supported by Caesar’s cavalry guard under Aulus Ingenuus, while the baggage train trundled along many days behind under heavy guard. All the way, Fronto had been almost twitching with the need to see his old friend and confirm for himself that everything was truly alright and yet now, as he sat ahorse on the hill above Balbus’ rural villa, the churning waters of the Mare Nostrum and the hectic bustle of Massilia below and beyond, he finally had pause to worry.
Had Balbus even made it back here? There had been no word; the aging legate would not have sent couriers to Caesar anyway, given the likelihood the entire army would have moved on long before then. What if he had reached this place and then the final boatman had come for him before Fronto arrived? If he was in fine health, would he even be pleased to see Fronto?
The legate shifted uneasily in his saddle and became aware that the gathered officers of Caesar’s army, particularly the longer-serving ones, were watching him intently.
“Best go, then” he said, his voice cracking slightly, and he kicked his horse into life and walked Bucephalus slowly down toward the villa.
The outbuildings were quiet, the orchards heavy and laden with unharvested fruit, the grass long and wild, causing a nervous lump to appear in Fronto’s throat as he rode past them and toward the main house. It would have been easiest to approach through the orchard at the rear of the house, but certain proprieties had to be maintained.
The front of the villa was exactly as Fronto remembered from their brief stop on the way to Gaul. The roses that had been lovingly grown and carefully trained grew up the white walls, reaching toward the red tiled roof and providing just the right splash of colour to make the place look truly homely. No group waited at the gate to speak to him this time.
Fronto took a deep breath as he rode to the front gate and dismounted slowly and nervously. There was no movement in the doorway or the few external windows as he tied the reins to the post and walked quietly down the path.
The door stood firmly shut and again Fronto hesitated as he reached it. Biting the inside of his cheek, he reached out finally and gave three sharp raps on the wood. There was silence and his heart rose into his mouth as he stood in the sweet-smelling garden watching for any movement out of the corner of his eye.
He actually jumped a little when there was a heavy metallic click and the door swung inwards. A house slave, thin and tall and likely as old as his master looked Fronto up and down and gave a curt bow. The legate faltered again. The man bore such a serious expression.
“Marcus Falerius Fronto to see your master” he finally said and hoped he’d managed to keep the rising worry out of his voice.
The man gave him a sad look and then stepped to one side.
“If you would care to follow me, sir, I shall lead you to the summer triclinium. The sunlight this time of year brings the room to life.”
Again, the legate faltered as he followed the slave into the house.
“Master Fronto?”
He stopped, his brow raised in surprise as he turned to look down the corridor to the peristyle garden and its covered walkway. Balbina, the household’s youngest daughter, had stopped as she appeared in the corridor from a side room and was staring at him, the glass of water in her hand suddenly forgotten.
Fronto smiled and the slave came to a halt as he waited patiently. The sight of the young lady was a welcome one; a sign that something of ordinary life went on in the house.
“Balbina?”
“Oh, master Fronto. We wondered whether you would ever come?”
Again, the legate’s heart skipped a beat. Was there something hidden in that?
“You did?”
“Yes. Father has been getting more irritable as the season wore on. He was sure you would be here before the summer’s end.”
A massive weight suddenly left Fronto’s chest and he felt himself relax almost to the point of collapse.
“Everything was so quiet… I thought…” he shook his head. “Where
The girl wandered across to him and he crouched to meet her smiling countenance.
“He is in the store room. The merchant in Ostia has sent him the wrong wine and he is busy checking each amphora, just in case.”
Fronto laughed.
“Obviously I had more effect on him that I realised. Can you take me to him?”
The slave cleared his throat.
“Pardon, my lady, but I thought to escort legate Fronto to the
Fronto narrowed his eyes at the stressed words, but spun back to Balbina as she replied with a smile “Ah, yes the summer triclinium. A perfect idea. Keep him company Caro, while I fetch father.”
Fronto straightened, his frown still deep as the young lady danced off down the corridor whence she had come. Turning his suspicious frown on the slave, he nodded.
“Lead on, then, Caro.”
What the slave had said about the summer triclinium had been an understatement. The arcade of windows that looked out into the central garden gave a stunning view of the apple, orange and lemon trees outside in their varying stages of ripeness, but the real effect was that caused by the golden sun lighting the red tiles of the veranda opposite and its columns of yellow African marble and the reflected glow this brought to the room.
It was a beautiful sight, and yet Fronto found his attention drawn more to the figure lounging on one of the couches by a low table laden with fruit.
“Lucilia?”
The knowing looks on the faces of slave and young girl alike suddenly fell into place as Balbus’ older daughter looked up, her eyelashes fluttering masterfully, her fingers teasing the bunch of grapes. Fronto suddenly felt warm and extremely uncomfortable.
“Thank you Caro. I shall entertain our guest until father returns.”
Fronto’s mind ran through a number of reasons to protest, but failed to find his voice before the slave had bowed and retreated from the room.
“The Gaulish air seems to suit you, Marcus. You appear in fine health. Ruddy, even.”
Fronto silently cursed the colour rising in his face.
“You look… nice, Lucilia. How are you enjoying country life?”
She laughed, and the sound sent a tingle up Fronto’s spine. He collapsed heavily onto one of the couches.
“I tire of fruit and fields, to be honest” she said, her face slightly lowered in such a careful way as to accentuate her piercing blue eyes with their kohl-blackened lining. Fronto swallowed.
“Yes… well, I’m a city man myself. Pavement and… and so on” he finished weakly. He was finding it extremely hard not to focus on her low neckline with the way the golden glow from the window seemed to focus there.
Lucilia laughed again.
“Father will be very pleased to see you. I’m sure he’s rushing through the villa as we speak at a break-neck speed somewhat detrimental to his health.”
Fronto looked up, tearing his eyes from her chest as he gratefully found a subject to concentrate on.
“How
Lucilia smiled warmly.
“He appears to have taken what happened on duty as a warning. He has slowed his pace of life a great deal, though not” she added drily “his love of the vine. I fear that comes from his association with his
