“I know you’re there. I saw you from across the street, before I struck the blow here. You have my word I will not stand in your way.”
Paetus shook his head angrily. Even now, trying to remain as uninvolved as he could, he had still failed. Biting his cheek in irritation, he dropped from the wall and landed on the pavement, his knees bent, a few feet from the leaking corpse.
“You look well, Paetus. Funnily enough, now that you’re a civilian, or a ghost, or whatever it is you purport to be, you’re in better military shape than you ever were as a soldier.”
The former camp prefect straightened.
“You, on the other hand, Fronto, are in the same state as ever: filthy and wounded.”
The other two were approaching across the street.
“Paetus.”
He looked up at Priscus and nodded respectfully.
“Why this strange charade, Paetus? What is it you want? Clodius? Caesar? Me?”
“Hardly you, Fronto. You must know I could have killed you a hundred times now if I’d wanted.”
“Indeed. Priscus tells me you’ve been something of a guardian spirit to the Falerii? I suppose I should thank you?”
Paetus smiled.
“More happy coincidence, really. My troubles are not with you, yet I did not set out to protect you, but to ruin Clodius. The two goals are happily often in concert, however.”
He cocked his head.
“You knew about me, but you’ve never mentioned it to Caesar? It warms me to you, I have to say, but I also have to enquire as to why?”
Fronto shrugged.
“Not everything is appropriate to report. You should go now. The fight inside will be over soon and then the general will come out here. You don’t want to be here when that happens.”
Paetus smiled.
“True. You’ve dealt Clodius a heavy blow tonight. He will seek revenge and it will come like the breath of the draco, fiery and lethal. Get out of Rome as soon as you can. This will seem like a simple brawl compared to what he will do next.”
Fronto smiled.
“I will deal with it when it comes. Clodius will fall in time.”
“Clodius is mine, Fronto. Do not concern yourself with him. Events are even now in motion. His end is coming. Not immediately, but when it does it will be painful and ignominious. Leave him to me.”
The former prefect smiled at him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“It was good to speak to you again, Marcus.”
Fronto smiled in return.
“And you, but Clodius is only yours if you beat me to him.”
The two men stood for a moment in silence, and then the fugitive turned and disappeared down the street, fast and quiet.
“I feel for him.” Priscus sighed.
Fronto nodded.
“He was right about Clodius’ reaction, though. Time for the Falerii to beat a temporary retreat, I fear.”
Chapter 23
(Late October: House of the Falerii in Rome.)
Fronto stood in the atrium, gingerly rubbing his aching shoulder and side.
“What’s the upshot?”
Priscus glanced across at Cestus, who straightened from where he leaned against the soot-blackened wall.
“We lost twelve men from the guard, two slaves to the attackers and two to fire. Three men are wounded and one slave, but they’ll all mend in time. That leaves the household support at six slaves and Posco, and fourteen guards, not including the seven we have out in the city.”
“And the enemy?”
Now Cestus smiled unpleasantly.
“Twenty eight dead.” His smile became yet more vicious. “Well, there were twenty four, but we took the opportunity to finish off four more wounded ones we found when it got light.”
Fronto nodded.
“Not bad, given the circumstances.”
“There is one thing” the former gladiator said with a sigh. “Castor and Pollux, the two assassins, escaped. Don’t know how they got away, but they’re not among the bodies. Too clever, that pair.”
Fronto frowned for a moment and then remembered the two killers that had come to the fore as Cestus sent the defenders inside.
“Nothing we can do about that. Philopater’s body makes it all worthwhile, though.”
Priscus leaned against the wall.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do with it? Going to send the skull to Clodius?”
Fronto shook his head.
“No. That’s beneath us, Gnaeus.” He turned to Cestus. “Get all twenty nine, including Philopater, into a cart, take them down to the end of the street, opposite Bona Dea, and dump them in a pile, weapons and all. Let’s leave a no-nonsense message for Clodius.”
Cestus nodded and turned to leave, pausing for a moment.
“I’ll take six men to help and leave eight here with you. The other lads in the city will be reporting in shortly, so you should be safe.”
As he left, Fronto and Priscus sighed and looked one another up and down.
“Time we hit the baths and got all this soot off, eh?”
Fronto nodded.
“In a minute. Something to do, first. I’ll catch you up.”
Clasping hands, he watched Priscus hobble off toward the baths, before turning to stride wearily through the corridors toward the garden.
Faleria and her mother sat in the tablinum, along with Lucilia and Posco.
“Mother?”
“Marcus. Who does this man think he is to invade our house? If your father were still alive…”
Fronto smiled.
“The years he has been gone have somewhat magnified his legend, mother. I fear he would have fared no better than we. Rome is changing. The city he knew is gone, replaced by a lawless labyrinth of intrigues and criminals.”
He glanced across at Lucilia.
“And I brought you into it. I should not have done that. I should have left you in Massilia, and I’m sorry about that.”
The young woman shrugged.
“You are not to blame for the state of the Republic, Marcus.”
He sighed and straightened.
“Rome is no longer safe for good people. It’s no longer safe for the Falerii. You must leave.”
Faleria bridled and glared at him.
“If you think that a gang of cutthroats is going to frighten me out of the city…”
She faltered as Fronto swept his hand across in front of him.
“Don’t be stupid, Faleria. You saw what happened last night. You’ve become targets now, and I simply won’t
