Gallia Invicta

to them, Paetus grasped the wrist of her throwing arm with one hand while the other came around from behind her head and clamped across her mouth. As she uttered a stifled squawk, Paetus lifted her bodily off her feet with ease and stepped back into the shadows of the colonnade. Without pausing there to give her time to regain her senses and fight back, he retreated into the temple doorway with her. The interior, dim and shady after the overcast but bright light of the forum, was austere and quiet.

Paetus cast his glance around and noted the two figures in the centre of the open space. A junior priest in his white robes was explaining something to a plebeian in a depressing grey tunic. The two looked up in surprise as Paetus and the thrashing woman entered the building and stepped aside from the bright square of the door.

“You two: out!” Paetus barked and, to illustrate his command, he jerked his chin towards the door. The citizen took one look at the tableau and ran from the room. The priest, on the other hand, approached the door and held his hands out in a soothing fashion, turning to face the pair. He opened his mouth to speak just as he noticed the deadly weapon clutched in the woman’s white hand, the circulation cut off by her assailant’s grip. The priest changed his mind hurriedly, closed his mouth and scuttled out of the door, making frightened sounds.

Finally, Clodia seemed to calm down, her breathing settling just as she brought her foot down hard on Paetus’ own, expecting him to screech and release her. His grip on her wrist tightened as he took his other hand from her mouth. She gasped at the pain in her arm and her spasming fingers lost their grip of the plumbata dart, which fell into her assailant’s outstretched hand. With a grim smile, he let go of her wrist and weighed the dart in his hand.

“That would have been exceptionally unwise, Clodia.”

She glared at him.

“A spoiled girl” he declared, “stamping her feet and throwing things because she is not getting her own way.”

“Who are you?”

Paetus smiled. She really didn’t recognise him, even face to face and a foot apart.

“I am a child of Mars, watching over the wellbeing of Marcus Caelius Rufus and his companions.” He pursed his lips and then smiled humourlessly. “In time, I will become an agent of Nemesis, but for now, Caelius is in my care. I see that the results of the trial appear to be swinging against you. Your petty and personal accusations against an innocent man for your own vain glory are driving your brother ever further away from you and serve no purpose for either of you. You have lost the case, as tomorrow will make clear to you. Let the matter drop and move on with your corrupt and stained life and forget you ever heard the name Marcus Caelius Rufus.”

Clodia glared at him and her lip curled into a snarl.

“Nobody tells me what to do, you piece of refuse. Not my brother; not Caelius; not even Mars himself. When I find out who you are, be on your guard, as I shall add your name to the list below his.”

Paetus smiled, though with clenched teeth the effect was far more frightening than it should have been. Clodia drew a nervous breath as her attacker dropped the dart and grasped her at the shoulders, his hands gathering a bunch of her stola as he lifted her from the floor once again and swung her round to press her against the temple wall, knocking the wind out of her.

“You have no idea, girl; simply no idea. I have been through Hades and back, dragging my feet in the fire of the underworld. I have fought armies, been tortured and killed. I am Mars becoming Nemesis! I have endured more than a human can endure and still I survive. Do not presume to threaten me, and mark my words: stay silent and out of the way. Every step you take into the public light brings you one step closer to my grip and I offer only this one warning.”

To punctuate his point, he shook her so that her head snapped back with a crack against the tufa wall of the temple’s interior. As he stepped back to let her go, she slumped, becoming limp in his grip as she passed out.

Silently, he chided himself. He’d become incensed and had taken things too far, even using part of the speech he was saving for the day he had his hands on her brother. He’d meant to merely warn her off but had ended the encounter by threatening her, claiming a divine duty, and knocking her unconscious against a temple wall. Still, there was little doubt in his mind she would remember this.

Gently, he allowed the woman in his arms to slump to the floor, where he left her propped against the wall. There was no blood on the tufa or her head, so he’d not hit her that hard; she would wake soon enough. Collecting the heavy dart from the floor, he returned to her unconscious form and dropped the weapon in her lap. She might have trouble explaining the possession of a weapon in the forum. He was sure she would talk her way out of it, but the embarrassment would filter back to Clodius too.

Taking a deep breath, Paetus stood and left the temple. There was no sign of the priest near the steps. Perhaps he had gone to Pontifex Maximus to report the defilement of his temple. Wherever he may be, Paetus was pleased to have the time to leave the podium and head back to his lodgings to ponder on the outcome of the day.

Fronto frowned at Priscus.

“Do you ever see dead people?”

The former primus pilus of the Tenth grinned.

“Have you any idea what a stupid question that is, given our profession.”

Fronto’s frown deepened for a moment in confusion before he realised what his friend was talking about and shook his head irritably.

“Don’t be an idiot. You know exactly what I mean. A long time ago I used to see my father from time to time…” he glanced sidelong at Priscus. “After he died, before you make any more smart remarks. I remember seeing him here and there. I’ve never had much use for Gods and priests…”

He turned his eyes upwards apologetically.

“Apart from Nemesis and Fortuna, of course… But there are times that make me question either my beliefs or my sanity.”

Priscus made a face.

“What the hell are you talking about? I swear the longer we stay out of combat, the weirder you get.”

Fronto sighed.

“The spirits of the departed. Mother always said that the manes and the lemures were real; that the manes appeared to give you advice and support when you needed it, and the lemures stalked those who were responsible for their deaths. She thought she saw my father several times too, so she was pleased that I did, but she always assured me, even when I was young, that the restless dead would have no cause to haunt me, cause I was a good boy.”

Priscus rolled his eyes; it was going to be one of those conversations.

“You can get quite peculiar and depressing sometimes, Marcus.”

Fronto glared at him.

“Don’t you believe in anything?”

“Steel.” Priscus answered flatly. “And cake. And wine, and women, and the inability for dice to ever come up right for me, and that politicians should be automatically denied the right to serve with the military.”

Fronto stared at him for a moment and then laughed.

“Fair enough; particularly to that last. But the thing is that, although I don’t sacrifice or do much in the way of libations or praying, that idea has been at the heart of everything I’ve done since I hit adulthood. Looking back, I can’t think of a single occasion where I’ve deliberately caused harm to someone who didn’t deserve it.”

He paused and grinned.

“Plenty of harm to those who did deserve it, mind you.”

His face became serious again.

“Thing is, Gnaeus, that I keep seeing someone that simply can’t be here, and they’re always watching me. It’s starting to make my spine itch and my scalp crawl. And while I can’t say I’m directly and personally responsible for hurting them, I’m still serving and supporting a certain general who is directly responsible.”

Priscus narrowed his eyes.