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
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.”
Fronto took a deep breath and leaned back.
“Old wounds should not be reopened. You don’t have to be a capsarius to know that.”
“I’m not sure any medicus would agree that this particular one ever truly closed.” Fronto grunted and leaned over the rail again.
“She is a prize, Fronto. She looks at you with little less than naked hunger, and that is rare for a man like you.”
“Thanks. That’s a charming sentiment.”
Crassus laughed.
“I thought you were supposed to be all practical and pragmatic? I’m on my way back to Rome to a glittering future, Fronto. I’m about to meet my twenty sixth year, I have two successful military campaigns under my belt and, when my father gets a province next year, I shall begin my rise through the ranks of Rome. Quite simply, I am a catch that many respectable fathers will consider for their daughters.”
He smiled as he looked Fronto up and down.
“You, on the other hand, have no interest in politics, which means you will likely live out your days taking on officer positions in the army of whatever Praetor is busy warring that season, and face down in a wine mug in the subura the rest of the time. I know why, and I realise that you won’t believe me, but I can understand both the allure and the necessity of that for you.”
He straightened.
“But it means that you’re not a great prospect for most noblewomen, and you’re reaching the age where only the matrons, widows and divorcees will look at you.”
Fronto glared at him silently.
“You know I’m right. And you know that Balbus’ life is what you
Fronto continued to glare in silence as Crassus shrugged.
“Advice is free, Fronto, but I still don’t give it often.”
With a nod of the head, Crassus walked off along the deck toward the stern, leaving the Tenth’s legate alone at the rail, fuming with himself and entirely unsure why.
Fronto kept his eyes straight ahead. The conversations with Lucilia and then Crassus had ruined what was left of his tattered, sea-sickened mood for the rest of the journey, and he’d felt no relief as the merchant vessel had docked in the port of Ostia and the eager travellers had transferred to one of the numerous barges that ploughed the sixteen miles of Tiber between the great port and the emporium docks by the Aventine.
The curt apology he had planned for Lucilia had never quite come about and she now moved with a sad and offended look that made it all the more difficult to approach her. The journey along the Tiber, in a great barge hauled upstream by heavy oxen on the bank, had been much the same: quiet and depressing.
In fact, as Fronto stepped onto dry land and stared up at the slope of the Aventine before him, he realised that his dismal mood was constructed partly of the ongoing uncomfortable silence between Lucilia and himself and partly of the nerves gradually increasing as he neared home and wondered what he might now find there.
The group of officers, along with the young lady and the baggage carts, made their way along the waterfront and through the Porta Trigemina into the city proper, though with the crowds and the rickety housing along the base of the hill opposite the docks, the fact that they were now actually in the city of Rome could only be determined by the fact that they had passed through the great triple gateway and the inevitable crowd of beggars that gathered outside, clawing at the hems of the passers by.
At the edge of the Forum Boarium, Crassus and his tribunes, along with Brutus, Roscius, Varus and Crispus separated and went their own ways to family and friends. Galronus fell into position beside Lucilia and the wagon of luggage, while Fronto strode ahead, hardly acknowledging their presence as he walked.
The starting gates of the circus were already busy, preparing for the first race of the day, and the murky, swampy ground around them being churned beneath the feet of the workers was evidence that Rome had suffered heavy rain in recent days. The sky now was a sullen grey that matched Fronto’s mood perfectly as he turned and left the great circus, stomping up the sloping street, past the temples of Luna, Minerva and Diana and that drew an unofficial border between the houses of the wealthy and the dwellings of the poor.
A turn to the left and a further one to the right brought the three travellers to the street of Fronto’s youth with its gentle slope and wide walkways, the south side marked by high walls that surrounded the gardens of other houses. The city residence of the Falerii, roughly halfway along the street, was relatively modest for a patrician
