Gallia Invicta

“Sod off.”

The sound of feet tramping on gravel increased and finally Pompey, his strangely chubby, good-natured face rosy from the climb, appeared at the platform.

“Good morning, gentlemen. My hearty apologies for any tardiness.”

Crassus, behind them, spoke quietly and respectfully.

“No tardiness, master Pompey. Caesar and my father await you inside.”

The general smiled warmly at them.

“I had the forethought to have wine and food brought up for you all, in case this goes on too long.”

Behind him, three of his men crested the slope and carried a large basket and an amphora across the paving, laying them to rest near the spot where Fronto leaned on the balcony with his friends.

“Thank you” Crassus nodded, and Pompey gave them a military salute before striding into the temple, turning and closing the door as he entered.

Priscus grinned and slapped his hands together as he watched the basket being opened and spied the array of bread, fruit, meats and cheeses within. One of Pompey’s men began removing the contents and arranging them on trays.

“Nice.”

Fronto grinned and, crouching, reached inside.

A sharply-drawn breath and he suddenly paused. His hand withdrew and he stepped back to his friends at the railing. Priscus frowned. The legate’s face had slid into an angry grimace.

“What’s up?”

Fronto grabbed his arm and turned him round so that the three of them leaned forward over the railing, looking down toward the city, facing away from the crowd.

“I know him.”

“Who?”

“That man of Pompey’s. He’s not actually Pompey’s man.”

Priscus sighed.

“Try and make more sense.”

Fronto grumbled.

“He’s got two rings on his fourth finger. I saw them together recently, holding down my leg while that Egyptian bastard Philopater beat me to a pulp.”

Galronus frowned at him.

“You’re sure? No one else could be wearing those rings?”

The legate shook his head.

“I’m positive. Galronus, no Roman man wears more than one ring. It’s tasteless, gaudy and simply not done. But the rings are fairly memorable too. They’re both signet rings.”

Priscus narrowed his eyes and Fronto nodded.

“A lion with a sword?” he said quietly.

“That’s Pompey’s seal!” Priscus said, his tone incredulous. “He trusts one of his men with his own seal?”

Fronto waved his hands, trying to warn his friends to lower their voices. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and was irritated to see that, while the man was still emptying the basket, he was also watching the three of them attentively.

“The other one shows a cornucopia. Ring any bells?”

Priscus nodded.

“Clodius. So what do we do?”

Fronto shrugged.

“I favour flattening his face into the floor, myself.”

Priscus nodded his agreement and the pair started violently as Galronus suddenly jumped up.

“He runs!” the Remi officer shouted.

Fronto and Priscus spun around, but the man had abandoned his basket and was already away, disappearing around the rear corner of the temple to the astonishment of the rest of the gathered escort.

Without comment or question, Galronus was already off, his feet pounding on the slabs as he ducked and weaved between the goods being offered around and the gathered dignitaries and servants, heading toward the corner around which the man had run.

Fronto picked himself up and ran after them and Priscus, sighing and muttering about his leg, stood and hobbled at high speed around the near side of the temple in the hope of cutting the man off and saving himself a run.

The panting legate rounded the end of the temple at speed, vaguely aware of the sound of heated debate coming from within as he entered the shade at the building’s rear, his head snapping this way and that. The man had vaulted over the balustrade at the far side and was busy speeding away down the hill, away from the city and toward the Via Aurelia, Galronus close behind and running with the speed of a horse and the surety of a mountain goat.

Managing a somewhat graceless and clumsy leap over the railing, Fronto continued his pursuit, Priscus appearing at his awkward pace at the far side of the temple.

There would be little chance of either of them catching the man at this pace; it was all down to Galronus, though that was clearly no long shot, given the strength and speed of the man.

Suddenly Fronto’s world spun and blurred as his running foot came down on a fallen apple and slipped, sending him into a forward roll that carried him a dozen paces further down the slope, where he slid painfully to a halt. Angrily, he rubbed his head, brushing the sticks from his hair, and stood, gripping one of the many fallen apples that lay scattered around on the slope. For a moment, he glared at the fruit angrily.

Ahead, Galronus had closed and was almost on the running man. Tensing, the Remi warrior leapt, hurtling through the air and hitting the man just below the waist, his arms wrapping around the target’s legs. As Priscus came sliding to a painful halt next to Fronto, the pair watched Galronus and his prey disappear in a flurry of arms and legs, leaves, sticks and dust hurtling into the air and forming a cloud around them.

Moments later, the fugitive managed to struggle free and clambered to his feet, drawing back his leg to deliver a mighty kick to Galronus’ ribs when Fronto’s thrown apple caught him on the temple with a surprising amount of force, knocking him back to the ground, stunned.

Fronto grinned at Priscus, who shook his head.

“How the hell you pulled off that throw I’ll never know. I’ve seen you at festivals trying to put a ball in a bucket. You couldn’t hit the Porta Fontinalis with a rock if you were standing underneath it.”

Fronto’s grin widened, but there was an absence of humour in it.

“You forget; Nemesis is my patron, and she’s working hard today.”

The two men picked their way down the slope, being careful not to fall and tumble once more. Ahead, Galronus had restrained the fugitive and now had his arms wrenched around behind his back in a painful and restrictive manner. A minute more and the Fronto and Priscus joined the pair. The man had recovered from his stun, but his struggling had died down, pinned as he was. Fronto narrowed his eyes.

“Clodius must value you to let you wear his seal like that? And Pompey too?”

The man merely drew a deep breath and glared, silently.

“I’m sure you remember me?” Fronto asked pleasantly. “I remember you, for certain. Have you nothing to say?”

“If you value your life, you’ll let me go” the man barked, a hint of menace in his voice. Fronto laughed.

“You’re hardly in a position to dictate terms. Clodius can’t threaten me any more than he already does. I’m not afraid of him.”

The man snorted.

“It is Pompey Magnus of whom I speak. I am his man and he will not take kindly to this treatment of his factor.”

Priscus sighed.

“I think you’ll find that Fronto here considers himself beyond and above mere politics. I honestly believe he thinks he’s the hand of Nemesis at work.”