Gallia Invicta

lady to return home through the streets of the city without an escort.”

There was an unspoken command in the words, masquerading as a request. Fronto gritted his teeth. This woman was far too dangerous to be around, but to refuse her request would be…

He couldn’t actually see any reason why he shouldn’t just turn and leave her here. She was, after all, one of the opposition and probably planning to use him in some wicked way. And yet, as he turned, he realised he was already holding his arm out to her. She took it with a full-lipped, knee-trembling smile. Fronto swallowed nervously as he looked her in the face.

“Where are you headed?”

“Actually, I have no plans. I should be home for the evening meal, but perhaps we should go somewhere to talk? A tavern perhaps?”

Fronto smiled, heaving a sigh of relief. Now he was heading for familiar territory: women that wanted to use him.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea. You see, I’m pretty sure that men usually fall over their tongue when they talk to you and would happily knife their grandmother to spend a night with you but, while you’re very attractive, I’m quite used to dangerous women. I still limp slightly after an encounter with a German woman. I really don’t fancy being the next man to have to defend himself in court because you’ve changed your fickle mind.”

Clodia flashed an angry glance at him.

“I had you measured as a better man than this, Marcus Falerius Fronto. You have an opportunity with me to gain a little advantage over my brother and I strongly suggest you take it. He and I are siblings; we are not friends.”

Fronto smiled unpleasantly.

“That’s as maybe, but I leave politics in the hands of politicians and if I’m going to spend time with vicious women, I prefer ones that bite to ones that corrupt from within.”

Withdrawing his arm, he nodded at her.

“I suspect you can safely make your own way home, lady Clodia, and I also believe that if I have to spend any more time listening to your lies, I might have to go to the baths on the way home to wash the stink of corruption off me. Good afternoon.”

He turned his back on her furious features and strode off.

“Walk very carefully, Fronto” she shouted after him. “My brother is not the only one with friends in low places.”

Fronto sighed. Why was it that every woman he ever met wanted to either use him, or change him, or both? His sister pictured him as a future Consul, Balbus’ wife, Corvinia, had contemplated marrying him off to her daughter, Longinus’ widow had seen him as a replacement for her husband, and that Belgic woman last year…

He suddenly realised he’d never even known her name. Shaking his head, he drew his thoughts back to the immediate situation.

The next month was going to be interesting. Tense… but interesting.

Chapter 4

(Martius: Rome. The house of the Falerii on the Aventine)

Fronto rubbed his head vigorously with the towel. He’d only been outside for ten minutes, but the rain was so torrential that it felt as though he’d done several lengths of the pool at the baths.

“All this for bloody breakfast!”

Priscus, sitting warm and dry on the small seat by the altar to the lares and penates in the vestibule, laughed.

“Well if you wouldn’t wind your sister up so much, life would be much easier for you.”

Fronto glared at his friend but, in truth, Priscus was absolutely right. He’d been very hung over this morning and Faleria had rubbed him up the wrong way, causing him to become increasingly unhelpful and childish. In the end, she had thrown up her arms and told him he could sit and simmer until he’d changed his attitude. Fronto had been happy at the time to see her go, but it was almost a quarter of an hour later before he realised that she had accompanied her mother and taken the slaves with her. Fronto was alone in the house with Priscus and Caelius and no amount of exploring the working area of the house had turned up bread, butter, cheese or milk.

Shunning the remains of the unfinished wine and something grey on a stick he’d bought from a street vendor on the way home last night and had not been able to face since, he’d eventually come to the conclusion that if they wanted to eat, he was going to have to brave the rain and go to the bakery two streets down toward the Porta Capena.

Shaking wildly like a dog after a dip in the river, Fronto grunted, picked up his soggy shopping and nodded at the altar on the way past.

“Let’s go get breakf…”

He was interrupted by a knock at the door behind him and for a moment continued walking before realising that nobody would be opening it for him. He grinned. This was more like being back in Gaul: uncomfortably damp, getting hungry and having to do everything for himself. Throwing the wet shopping bag to Priscus, he turned on his heel and walked to the door, flinging it open, trying his best to mimic the humble stance of a house slave.

“Can I ‘elps thee, master?”

The wet and disgruntled face of Gaius Julius Caesar, Proconsul of Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul and of Illyricum, glared down at him, half a dozen togate figures gathered around behind him.

“If this is supposed to be funny, Fronto, you’re far from the mark, as usual.”

Fronto rolled his eyes. Bloody typical.

“You’ve chosen a nice day to visit, Caesar” he said, straightening. “I wondered where all this sudden rain came from. You must have brought it with you from Illyricum.”

“Is there any danger of you inviting us in out of the downpour?” the general asked, his eyes beginning to narrow in irritation.

“By all means, general. I’d invite you all for breakfast, but I have a single loaf of bread, some cheese that may well be out of date, an amphora of wine with things floating in it and something dead and sticky on a stick. You might be better not taking me up on the offer.”

The general glared at Fronto as he strode in past him and removed the crimson cloak, raking fingers through his thinning hair and discarding droplets of water to the marble floor. Behind him, the men in togas shrugged off their own cloaks and used them to rub their heads. They may be dressed as Roman gentlemen, but Fronto knew the bearing of a soldier when he saw it. He didn’t know these men; Caesar must have brought new blood in from Illyricum. They all looked vaguely Greek. Except.

“I know you from somewhere.”

The man bowed his head, a crown of shiny skin showing through the curly brown hair.

“Appius Coruncanius Mamurra. We’ve met a few times, Fronto. Your sister invites me to her socials. Admittedly I’m often late, and the last time I attended, you and your friends were already in the garden, peeing in the fountain.”

Fronto cast his eyes downward. Damn it. This was why he was more comfortable in the field. He nodded.

“Mamurra. I’ve heard Tetricus talk of you. Famous engineer, right?”

The man bowed again and Fronto tried not to stare at the shiny pink circle in the middle of the man’s hair.

“I have been known to build the odd thing, yes.”

Fronto grinned at Caesar.

“You’ve something in line for the campaigning season then?”

Caesar, having wrung most of the water from his clothing, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Not exactly, Fronto. Shall we go and sit down to talk?”