Conspiracy of Eagles

“What have you got your weasel Clodius doing?” Fronto demanded.

“I’m sorry?” replied the general, a dangerous edge entering his voice.

“Clodius. You’ll no doubt be interested to hear that Lucilia Balba escaped and told her father all about it. But not so my sister. Oh, no. Faleria’s still missing. But then you know that, don’t you?”

“Marcus, calm yourself and breathe. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do” snarled Fronto, storming across the room and slamming a blood-stained fist on the table, letting the parchment skitter across the surface to the general, who picked it up with a frown. “I knew when I was talking to you in Britannia that you were holding something back from me; something you knew I wouldn’t like. Were you ever planning to release her? I mean, surely it would have been better to just cut her throat and bury her, so that I never found out about it?”

“Fronto…”

“No, no, no, no, no. You delayed didn’t you. Because you hate to waste a commodity that might be of use later. And you waited too long, because Lucilia escaped and now she’s a liability rather than a prize. You cocked up, Caesar, and I heard about it. I found out!”

Caesar stood slowly and slid the parchment across to him.

“I will state again, Marcus, and swear to Venus Genetrix herself that I was not aware of her captivity, as your friend seems to suggest in his letter. I hold both your sister and the family of Quintus Balbus in very high esteem. Had I been aware of their abduction, I would have released them and been the one to break the news to you myself.”

Fronto was shaking his head. “You can’t hide your secrets from me. I knew you were up to something. I can read your expressions, Caesar; I’ve known you a long time.”

The general gestured to the others to leave, and Varus, Rufus and Brutus filed out of the room, their faces a mix of shock and embarrassment. As soon as the door clicked shut, Caesar sat once more and picked up a tablet and stylus, beginning to write furiously.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m writing you three messages. The first is to Publius Clodius Pulcher ordering him to release your sister and warning him that I will be returning to Rome very soon to deal with him. The second is an authorization that will give you access to every resource in my army’s supply and courier train between here and Massilia, so that you can use as many horses as you need to travel home at speed and have the best accommodation en-route. The last is to the captain of my trireme in the port of Massilia, granting you full use. Get home, Fronto and sort this out.”

Fronto stood for a moment, wreathed in anger, concern, confusion and gratitude, hardly able to figure which way to turn.

“But you’re not telling me something!”

“Marcus, there’s a lot I’m not telling you. Some of it is for your own good, and some of it is for mine. Rest assured though that I am not party to this abhorrent act. Now stop wasting time spitting in my face and go and help your sister. I will be a week behind you at most.”

Fronto stood staring helplessly at the general for a moment, not quite sure what to believe, and finally nodded, grasping the three tablets carefully as Caesar sealed them one by one, wiped his signet ring clean and then sat back.

“What the hell was that about?” Brutus said quietly as Fronto emerged from the building. Varus and Rufus had moved off, but the young legate stood with his arms crossed, waiting.

“I need to get back to Rome. Make sure the Tenth is looked after; they’ve fought hard this autumn.”

Brutus nodded and turned as his fellow legate strode on past. “Good luck, Marcus.”

Fronto, barely hearing him, fixed his eyes on the dirty figure of Galronus staggering wearily across the road towards the building that served as a mess hall, a gesticulating Priscus at his side. The cavalryman dragged his feet and looked like he hadn’t slept for several days and was waving away the busy figure of the camp prefect as he walked.

“Galronus?”

The two men paused at the sound and sight of Fronto and the Remi noble broke into an exhausted smile.

“Marcus! I’m so pleased to see you.”

“No time to rest. Get back to your horse; we need to be in Rome before I even have time to shit.”

Galronus blinked at him in surprise.

“Marcus?”

“Clodius has abducted Faleria. Come on!”

Instantly, the cavalryman shook off his fatigue, his eyes flashing with the same anger present in Fronto’s. The two men nodded at Priscus and ran off towards the stables of the cavalry as though freshly awoken.

Priscus stood silent for a moment. Should he go with them? There was nothing he’d prefer, and certainly Marcus would welcome his help. But the camp prefect’s place was here, particularly at this stage of the year’s campaigning.

Scratching his head irritably, he caught a legionary running past and hauled him to a stop.

“Sir?” the legionary saluted in a panic.

“I have a job for you lad. I want you to find someone for me.”

Chapter 21

(Vienna, on the Rhodanus, 160 miles north of Massilia)

Galronus dropped heavily from his horse and almost staggered with fatigue as he led the beast towards the stable area of the Sweeping Eagle, their first stop within the traditional borders of the Republic. Fronto slid down with equal lack of grace from his own mount and grasped the reins to lead the beast on. He’d have felt more confident riding Bucephalus back home, but had decided to leave the magnificent black in the care of Varus, opting for the speed to be gained from a constant change of courier horses on the road south.

“I’m for an unhealthy quantity of wine tonight” Fronto said without humour. “I need a proper sleep for a change.”

Galronus inclined his head in agreement. “Once we stow the gear. A good hot meal is high on my agenda too.”

Nodding, Fronto strode towards the door into the courtyard and stable area. The groom appeared as if from nowhere as the two men neared the entrance and reached up to take the reins, leading the beasts into their stalls for the night.

Leaving the young man to his work, the two officers hoisted their bags over their shoulders. It had only occurred to Fronto almost a hundred miles from Gesoriacum that he’d not arranged the transport of the rest of his gear, but figured that half of it would stay with the Tenth as usual and that Priscus would find a way to ship the more immediate and personal kit to Puteoli for him. For what he had in mind at the moment, all he required was clothes, a horse, a sword and a bad temper.

The interior of the Eagle was heaving with drinkers, diners and gamers intent on their dice and various miscellaneous competitions. Fronto looked around for the familiar figure of the proprietor, Lucius Silvanus, but could not spot the large ex-soldier among the press. Every table appeared to be full, but he felt fairly sure that someone would respectfully make room for them to sit and eat once they were ready.

Gesturing to Galronus, he shoved his way through the throng to the bar, surprised at the lack of shown deference until he remembered that he was wearing only his stained, battle-scarred tunic, breeches and military cloak, a utilitarian gladius at his side. Without digging out his better kit, he looked not unlike any other off-duty soldier.

The bar was being tended by a bulky Gaul with hands like hams and arm-hair like a bear, and by a young woman who would have been stunningly attractive were it not for the pox scars and the missing ear that was just