Fronto stepped slowly into the shadow and bowed.
“I apologise for my breach of etiquette, gentlemen. I realise your time and privacy is important and I shall not keep you, but for a moment.”
“Get on with it, man” Crassus sighed.
Fronto nodded.
“Yes, of course. I have a message for master Pompey that could not wait until after the meeting.”
Pompey smiled at him warmly.
“Indeed?”
Fronto strode across to him, bowed, and withdrew a hinged, folding wax tablet from within his tunic, passing it to Pompey. With a bow, he stepped back and strode toward the dazzling doorway.
“Thank you, gentlemen” he said with a nod and, withdrawing, pulled the door shut behind him.
Silence filled the temple and Pompey turned the tablet over in his hands, examining the seal that crossed the join; it was his own. With a frown, he snapped the seal and opened the tablet.
“Well?” Crassus demanded impatiently. “What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait a half hour?”
In the darkness neither of them could see the colour drain from Pompey’s face as he stared down into the tablet. The wax that formed the two pages had been scraped out hastily to make room for the finger that sat in the centre, its two signet rings mocking him and announcing in no uncertain terms that his clandestine dealings with Clodius were no longer merely a rumour.
Swallowing nervously, he looked up and forced a smile, snapping the tablet shut and tucking it away into his toga.
“It seems that my son Gnaeus has suffered a fall whilst riding. He will be fine. This could have waited… my apologies.”
Crassus nodded.
“No apology necessary, my friend. I know how it is when a son injures himself. It fills the heart with butterflies and pushes it up into the throat. We should be finished very soon and you can go and see him.”
Caesar narrowed his eyes as he studied the man opposite him.
“Yes,” he said very slowly and deliberately, “you should certainly look after your own.”
The sun beat down on the Janiculum as the doors of the temple swung open. Fronto stood alone, twenty yards from the door beneath a tree and it was to him that Caesar strode as his peers returned to their escorts.
“What did you
“You don’t need to know that, Caesar.”
The general eyed him suspiciously.
“I would say that whatever it was gave the man rather a shock. After you left, he hardly said a word other than to hurriedly agree with anything I said. Honestly, I suspect that if I’d suggested he dress as a woman from now on, he would be having his hair curled and pinned up as we speak.”
Fronto grinned.
“Marcus, I want to know what you’ve done.”
“I’ve settled things, Caesar. Leave it at that. I think you’ll find that Clodius’ claws have been dulled. The great Pompey will, I suspect, be very careful to keep control of Rome for you while you’re away.”
The general continued to glare at him and finally shook his head in exasperation.
“You are an infuriating man, Marcus Falerius Fronto.”
“I have been told that, yes.”
The two men sighed and stretched. Smiling, Fronto proffered a mug of wine to the general.
“Thank you, but no. I have much to do. Another week or so of planning and organising things with those two and then it will be time for me to return to the provinces.”
Fronto looked across in surprise.
“You leaving so soon?”
“I have a number of matters to attend to in Illyricum and more in Cremona. I need to do something about the Veragri at Octodurus. I’d like nothing more than to lead the legions there and make them pay for what they did to the Twelfth, but that could just cause another set of eruptions in Gaul. So, what I’m thinking of doing is sending Mettius and Procillus with a chest of money and a small escort and buying enough peace and goodwill across the Alps to persuade them to open the trade route I need. It might be simpler and less costly in the long run.”
He smiled curiously.
“Also, I am reorganising the legions prior to the next year. Priscus is insistent that there are men in the legions, once of Pompey’s army, who are of dubious allegiance, and since Priscus is now my camp prefect, I can hardly ignore his concerns. I will be taking him with me to arrange matters; all my rotten legionary eggs shall be placed in one basket and I may then hand that basket to the Germans or the British when I see them.”
Fronto raised an eyebrow.
“Germania?”
Caesar smiled.
“Gaul is pacified, or will be when I’ve bought the Veragri, but the German and British tribes are restless. They must be subdued before they have an adverse effect on the settlement of Gaul. Prepare yourself, Marcus. Next spring, we move on to pastures new.”
Fronto sighed.
“Could you not have swapped your governorship with Pompey? Spain is so much warmer and friendlier than the far north.”
The general laughed.
“Make the most of the winter, Marcus. Next year could be a difficult one.”
“Aren’t they all?”
The two men fell silent and stared off down through the woods at the city below. Rome glistened in the sun. There were times when the city was simply breathtaking.
Fronto sighed. Britannia meant ships and sea journeys.
“
Posco looked up over the edge of the well where the bucket slopped water this way and that, and balanced it on the brick surface, a smile breaking out across his face. He turned to the slave girl next to him, who was busy lifting a yoke and settling it on her shoulders to receive the water.
“Drop that and run inside. Tell the mistress that the master has returned.”
She looked up in surprise and squinted at the hill, past the outbuildings and the edge of the great sulphurous crater that bounded the eastern edge of the estate and past which the main road ran. A lone figure on horseback was making its way down across the grass from the road.
“Go on, girl. Quickly.”
As she removed the yoke once more and ran back into the front door of the villa and to the atrium in search of the house’s mistresses, Posco quickly washed his hands in the bucket and dried them on his tunic before walking out toward the arched gateway with its canopy of crawling vines.
Fronto looked tired, but the smile he wore dispelled the tension Posco had been feeling ever since they had arrived almost two weeks ago.
Standing respectfully aside, he watched as his master approached and finally, as he reached the gate, haul on the reins and slide from the horse before tying him to the fence.
“Posco… am I glad to see you?”
The slave grinned.
“And I you, sir. I have sent word to the mistress.”
Fronto nodded, stretching.
“I am ready for a bath, a meal and a large mug of wine, Posco.”
“May I ask why sir travels alone? We were expecting master Priscus or master Galronus at least?”
“They will not be joining us, Posco. I winter with the family alone this year. Priscus is preparing to return to the legions as their new camp prefect and Galronus decided to stay in the city and try his luck at the circus again. I
