Gallia Invicta

“Who are you talking about?”

“Never mind” Fronto sighed, spotting the door of his family home up ahead in the quiet street. “I’m just starting to feel like a man at the circus, watching the quadrigae racing out of the starting gate and realising too late that he’s backed the wrong driver.”

Again, his companion pursed his lips.

“You saying you’re not going to go back with the general?”

Fronto shook his head, but Priscus noted something uncertain about the manner of the legate of the Tenth.

“No; not that. I’m needed with the Tenth, and they deserve a commander who knows them. But the general is starting to wear on my nerves. The more I look at Pompey and Crassus, the more I think that they’re the future that Rome deserves and that Caesar is a new Sulla in the making, ready to march his men into Rome and…”

He shrugged.

“I’m in service with the general, but it’s more through acknowledgement of our history together than anything else; I certainly don’t need his patronage and we don’t owe him money or anything. I will head out when he issues the call, but I think the time of me keeping my mouth shut and playing along is just about at an end.”

Priscus turned to look back at the assorted group behind them: a well-known politician with a good history, a Gaulish nobleman, a young legate, and a bunch of hired muscle. Hardly the legion he was used to having at his shoulder.

“At least you get to go back. I’ll be staying here for the duration. Try not to start another civil war when you disagree with him, though. Caesar may be powerful and a great orator, but try and remember that your opinion carries a lot of weight with the centurionate and the more impressionable officers, so be careful.”

Fronto smiled.

“Aren’t I always careful, Gnaeus?”

“Are you ever?”

Fronto rolled the dice again on the marble step.

“Shit.”

Grumbling, he fished in his pocket and withdrew two more coins, slapping them irritably down on the step in front of Galronus. The Remi chief grinned.

“You get worse at dice when you are tense.”

“And your Latin gets suspiciously better when you’re winning. I constantly fear that you’re hustling me, Galronus.”

The Belgic nobleman laughed and gathered up the dice, raising a questioning eyebrow at Fronto.

“Go on then. One more.”

Beside them, leaning against the column, Crispus sighed and adjusted his toga.

“Have you ever considered stopping playing games before you run out of coin? No one has been on a losing streak like this since the Carthaginians.”

Fronto shot an irritable glance up at his friend.

“I notice you never put your hand in your pocket!”

“And that is why there is still money in it. Can you not see that Galronus is better at this than you; as well as luckier, of course.”

“Shut up.”

Crispus smiled benignly. He had enjoyed his winter in the city. The previous year, Fronto had shown him the delights of Tarraco, but there really was no place like Rome. It would be sad in a way to return to the legions, but then life there was rarely dull either, particularly with Fronto around. He wondered briefly how Felix was doing in his absence.

A few bony clicks and a sigh announced a further emptying of Fronto’s pocket. Galronus stretched.

“Enough. I can hardly walk with all your coins as it is.”

Fronto glowered at him and examined the dice suspiciously before handing them back to the Gaul.

Crispus smiled again. There was something about Fronto. He was a catalyst in the best sense of the word; a force that brought everyone to his level. Last year he had taken Crispus, a serious and fairly naive young officer, and had taken him under his wing, opening his mind to a number of surprising experiences. The result had been astounding: Crispus had returned to the Eleventh a stronger, more commanding legate with a better understanding of the men who followed him. The life experience Fronto had pushed at him had been invaluable.

And in the same way as Fronto had brought Crispus down to a practical level last year, he had taken Galronus and done something similar with him. The Remi chief was already intelligent and honourable for sure but, in just a few months, Fronto had shown him the very best and the very worst that the city and its people had to offer, and the Gaul had come away with a new view of Rome. He had confided in Crispus a few nights ago after a party, while Fronto lay draped across a couch, drooling, that he had never truly understood why Rome considered itself civilised and everyone else ‘less’ in some way. And yet now, when he returned to the Remi after Caesar’s campaigns were concluded, he would miss the comforts he had discovered…

… if he decided to return to the Remi.

There was a click from the door behind them and the wooden portal swung open. Fronto scrambled to his feet with Galronus and joined Crispus as they backed away behind the columns and out of the way of the basilica’s main exit.

The first person to emerge was Gnaeus Domitius Calvinus, the judge presiding over the trial. Fronto examined the man’s face for any clue, but he was unreadable. Behind him came a number of lawyers and clerks while Fronto tapped his foot impatiently.

It seemed hours as togate men with serious expressions left the basilica before the first face they recognised appeared. Cicero and Crassus stood side by side at the shoulders of Caelius, who wore an ecstatic grin. Fronto sighed with relief. Caelius turned toward them as Crassus and Cicero, deep in conversation, veered off on their own errands.

“Acquitted on all counts” the relieved politician announced with a smile. He grasped Fronto by the arms happily. “Marcus, you should have seen it. Cicero pulled the pair of them to pieces; not just Clodia, but her brother too. They looked like idiots; and not just idiots. They looked like vicious and greedy idiots. The expression on Clodia’s face! I thought she was going to explode.”

Fronto smiled.

“Very good. Now stop jumping around like a six-year-old with a new toy… you’re far from out of danger. Indeed, if I’m not mistaken, now that they have no legal recourse to taking you down, we should be ever more on the lookout for hidden knives, poisoned mushrooms and perhaps the odd incendiary building.”

Caelius’ face fell.

“I hadn’t thought about that. I’m not going to be safe for a long time, am I?”

“Not while Clodia’s around. It’s just possible that her brother will forget about you; consider dealing with you more trouble than it’s worth. After all, it was his sister that started all this, not him. But he can be a vengeful sack of dog vomit, that man, so I wouldn’t be too sure.”

“Then what do we do?”

Fronto shrugged.

“I’ve had the muster order from the general. Start of next week Crispus, Galronus and I head to Ostia with him and his staff and take ship for Gaul. However, my sister has invited Priscus to stay at our house over the winter, and he’s got the brains, experience, money and men to keep you safe. Be very nice to him and stay close. We’ll be back here as soon as either the campaigning season ends or Caesar considers the Gauls subdued, whichever happens first.”

Caelius nodded nervously, his eyes darting around the crowd as though assassins were already lurking there which, of course, they very well could be.

“It may be better for all concerned if I return to Interamna Praetutianorum. We’ve a large estate there and I