match? Are you blind, daft or simply wrapping yourself in clothes of denial, Marcus?”
“I have neither the time nor the inclination to deal with this, Faleria. Go see her and try to persuade her to meet the Caecilii. I have more important matters to attend to.”
Faleria watched him leave the room and turn the corner before smiling that weak smile again.
“I’m not convinced about that, my brother.”
Fronto stormed through the house, grumbling. Since waking with a start to hear about Priscus’ near miss in the forum, his mood had slowly slipped from disgruntlement into a deeper anger, but the fresh knowledge that Lucilia was prying into areas that were none of her business and causing Faleria pain, whatever she said, had pushed him into borderline fury. He ground his teeth as he slapped across the marble. Even the very air smelled angry and acrid.
Dithering for a moment, realising that goose pimples were rising on his flesh in the cold of the night and that his bare feet were not helping, he detoured by his room, slipped on his boots and gathered his scarf and a cloak before heading out toward the triclinium.
As he strode in through the door, a heated debate was in progress and the voices tailed off slowly, the occupants looking up at him.
Had his mood been lighter, he would have turned his surprise at the presence of Caesar and young Cicero into a quip. Instead, he continued to issue the low rumble of discontent that had begun back in his room.
“Fronto? I was given to believe you were recovering and would not be joining us?”
He glared at the general.
“Frankly, this is
He nodded to Priscus and Galronus, sitting wearily back on a couch next to Milo. The Belgic officer was tending to a patch of bloody, matted hair with a damp cloth.
“I hear Clodius actually had the nerve to attack you in the streets?”
Priscus nodded.
“There were plenty of people about to start with, but I think you’d have trouble finding a witness if you tried. He organised it well: after dark, but during the early lull when most people are indoors eating. I’m afraid we lost some good men tonight.”
Fronto shook his head and then winced at the pain that brought, striding across the room to the flask of wine on the table and taking a swig directly from it.
“I told you we had to deal with him directly.”
Caesar shook his head.
“It’s still not the time. Besides, after tonight every gang and private force the senators can muster will be out in the streets. It looks extremely bad for the government if one man’s force is allowed to effectively control the streets. They will have to do something about it, and that means fielding their own gangs to try and maintain order.”
Milo leaned forward.
“But that’s just asking for trouble; an escalation. Clodius has the edge on the streets. He has the largest gang in Rome and everyone knows it. If other people start trying to muscle him out, there’s going to be trouble.”
Fronto smiled.
“And that gives us the chaos we need to deal with him unnoticed.”
Again, Caesar shook his head.
“He has an
“I’m not having a repeat of the last discussion we had here.”
Caesar sighed.
“The streets are becoming too dangerous for a man to walk alone. The senate cannot keep control, and as soon as there are more gangs out in the night, eruptions will occur. If we sit back out of the way, Clodius is likely to make a slip. With the increase in violence, something will happen and he will be named. Then there will be a trial and he can be dealt with in the correct manner.”
Fronto shook his head.
“Banishment is not good enough. I want his head on a spike, pecked by crows.”
“But once he is tried and banished and out of the city, a great many options open up, Fronto. He will lose his land and his money. Without the money he won’t be able to pay his thugs.” He smiled unpleasantly. “And outside the pomerium, there are no weapon laws and soldiers can be soldiers, if you follow me?”
Fronto blinked.
“You would actually consider open war against him?”
“As I said, there are many options out there, but not within the city. He is just too powerful in Rome. Let things progress naturally and wait until he becomes a viable target, Marcus.”
Fronto sighed.
“I…”
He stopped and frowned.
“What time is it? I assume I slept through the evening meal?”
Priscus nodded.
“Hours ago. So what…”
But by now they were all frowning.
“Smoke!“ shouted Cestus, and rose hurriedly from his couch, rushing to the door. “That’s smoke. Something’s burning!”
As the room burst into activity, Fronto wheeled and ran from the room, stopping in the open peristyle garden outside. Spinning around in panic, he saw smoke rising from the rear rooms of the house, where the wall backed on to another street, a second column from the roof around the bath house, and a third from the atrium area at the front.
He shook his head desperately.
“Priscus? Cestus? Get your men out and check the house over. Get the slaves onto putting out any fires they can find.”
Paying them no further attention, he ran around the corner and into the main area of the house, his head snapping this way and that. The vestibule was filling with roiling smoke and orange flame licked at the front door and danced along the wall, mocking the altar to the house’s guardian spirits. The room where he had so recently been indisposed was empty; he could see directly through the doorway.
Ignoring the thumping in his head, he turned to his right and ran toward the apartments. As he entered the darker corridor that led to them and to the baths beyond, Faleria appeared from a side door, helping their mother, who was coughing and shaking.
“Marcus! What’s happened?”
Fronto took a deep breath. Without even checking, he knew damn well what had happened.
“The house has been fired, Faleria. The front door’s impassable, so get mother out into the garden where she can catch her breath. The servants and slaves will be coming through there too, and Priscus and Cestus are around.”
Without waiting further, he ducked past them and saw a half dozen of Cestus’ men come racing around the corner from their bunk room near the baths.
“Try to put the fires out” he yelled at them
Pushing past them, he approached the door at the corner, wondering for a moment whether a polite knock was a good idea before settling on his course of action. He started to run and had to make a sudden adjustment as he realised that his left shoulder was a bad choice and turned, just in time to hit the door with his right, sending it smashing inwards with a crack. Lucilia sat bolt upright at the sudden intrusion.
“Come on!” Fronto yelled and grasped her wrist, hauling her out of bed and to her feet. She was, fortunately, merely resting while fully dressed and made panicky noises as he hauled her out of the room and into the smoke that was beginning to fill the corridors.
“What’s happening?”
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