Something in Labienus’ tone made Fronto sit up straight. The staff officer looked nervous; pensive.
“What is it, Titus?”
“Did you know that Caesar continues to draw more levies from the tribes of Gaul, Marcus?”
“Well, yes. He needs them to push the Germanic tribes back out.”
“Fronto, Caesar could deal with those invaders with two legions and a single cavalry wing. Do you not think it’s time to put the future of Gaul back in the hands of the Gauls?”
Fronto frowned. “That’s what he’s
“Marcus, don’t be so blind. Listen to yourself. Caesar has ‘summoned’ the kings of Gaul. Only a despot can do that. Caesar places himself above those kings. He only panders to them because he is not yet strong enough to oppose the senate!”
Fronto’s stomach knotted and he felt a sudden cold shiver run down his spine. This conversation was starting to sound disturbingly familiar.
“Have you been listening to Cicero and his brother? This is a dangerous path to walk, Titus, and I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”
Labienus shook his head and poured Fronto another cup of wine. “I’m not advocating mutiny or anything like that, Marcus, but I think we need to start questioning the general on his motives and actions and perhaps try to persuade him toward the path of reason. We need to bring him back into concord with the senate before things turn ugly.”
“Enough, Titus. You’re one of the general’s most senior lieutenants. Don’t say anything else you might learn to regret.”
“But Marcus…”
“
Labienus rose slowly from his chair, alongside Piso. Before exiting the tent, he paused and turned back, pointing a finger at Fronto. “Think on it, Marcus.”
Before Fronto could shout angrily at him, the two slipped out, leaving Fronto seething and uncertain. What was this damned army he’d come back to? It barely resembled the one he’d left last autumn.
ROME
Quintus Lucilius Balbus sat on the steps of the wide stairway that led up from the forum to the Arx, from which the grand temple of Juno dominated the skyline. The ancient temple of Concordia’s featureless and high north wall cast a deep shadow on the stairway, bringing blessed relief from the sizzling sun that already, even in the mid-morning, was unseasonably hot.
His eyes had been straying across the numerous structures that formed the nucleus of the city and the heart of the republic. It had been some time since he’d made a trip to Rome, where he’d spent so much of his youth and his early adulthood. The shape and form of the conurbation had changed even in those few years, with ever more grand buildings rising to display the wealth and generosity of various power-seeking benefactors, and each one was accompanied elsewhere by another towering brick hovel; a monstrosity of living quarters that would shame a slave, and yet were clamoured for by the poor of the republic.
And the forum had never been so alive in his youth, or so it probably seemed through the eyes of age. Men, women and children of every colour and every social status rubbed elbows as though they were equal in the press of people buying goods, haranguing public speakers, making for the law courts, picking purses, or any of the myriad of diversions the forum provided.
He and his family, along with Fronto’s sister, who had formed a worrying alliance with Corvinia that boded ill for his future, had arrived by ship from Massilia last night and made their way to Balbus’ townhouse on the Cispian hill. Faleria had been determined to return to her own home but, with it still undergoing renovation, Balbus had had to insist that she join them as their guest.
His townhouse had remained unoccupied for more than two years, with only a small skeleton staff of servants to keep it clean and intact, and the provisions within were woeful. After an evening of scraping up whatever they could for a meal, sending the servants out to find the few remaining late-night food stalls still open, the womenfolk had decided that the next morning would be a full re-supply shop that would require at least half a dozen servants for porterage, and Balbus himself, in case male choices had to be made, or the family coffers had to be opened to pay the enormous bills.
It had taken precisely ten minutes of struggling through the throngs of people, trying to keep up with the four women who moved like a pack of wolves through the crowd, for Balbus to decide he’d had enough. Stating flatly that he had more intention of joining a theatre troupe than contemplating another minute’s shopping, he had arranged to meet them here.
Here, because two minutes to the north, along the Clivus Argentarius, stood a nice little tavern that would be a good place for the women to take stock of their purchases and for Balbus to silently, and with wine, bemoan his fate among this group of Amazons.
In the meantime, it was rather nice sitting in the shade. His hand dipped into the pack of honeyed dates he’d managed to purchase during the fray and the sweet, sticky treats brought on such a thirst that he had to reach for the skin of grape juice that he’d also bought.
Taking a deep pull, his gaze passed over the top of the skin and locked on the curia building below and to the left, where the senate was in heated debate. At less than seventy yards distance, it was almost possible to hear the subject matter from the steps; almost but not quite. But still, occasionally, the debate would rise in pitch, tone and volume and words would carry this far. The third time he heard Caesar’s name shouted in the building and the roar of assent that followed, he had decided that this situation needed more attention, and had paid an urchin to go stand near the doors and listen in. After all, it didn’t do for a man of stature to lurk outside the senate doors like an eavesdropper. Besides, the stairs were so much more comfortable.
Whatever they’d been discussing in there for the past hour, Caesar had apparently been at the very crux of the matter. Other words had risen from the cacophony, each one as expected as the next: Gaul, Pompey, Consul, Glory, Triumph, Cost. Cost. Cost seemed to be an important matter for debate, too.
It was not hard to piece together the arguments from those snatches he’d heard, though the urchin would help later, in return for the three copper coins promised from Balbus’ purse.
His attention was suddenly drawn to the front of the building as the senate house’s doors swung open, releasing the roar of angry and excited politicians into the city. Balbus was less than surprised to recognise the first figure to emerge.
Cicero had his hands raised in triumph as he stepped into the light, beaming at the crowd that had assembled outside, hoping to set eyes on the men who controlled their republic. The great orator had the look of a victorious gladiator, playing to the people. The senators who followed him closely, though Balbus knew perhaps half of the faces at most, were clearly Cicero’s supporters and pets, cheering him on.
The chorus of “Summons for Caesar” was still being echoed around the curia’s interior, and Balbus frowned. Had Cicero already managed to press for such a drastic move in the general’s absence? But the more he listened, the more it sounded like a demand than an announcement.
Cicero had paused on the steps and dropped into conversation with two senators at his side and Balbus’ eyes strayed across the scene until he locked onto the wretch who was dutifully eavesdropping for him. The boy had managed to get himself remarkably close to the city’s most honoured and respected orator. That conversation alone would be well worth the three copper coins.
Balbus started and shrank instinctively back into the shade as his eyes lit upon the small group behind the boy; five men in the drab brown tunics of the Roman poor. They would blend into any crowd with ease. But Balbus had served with the legions for more years than he cared to remember and the stance of a soldier was unmistakable, no matter what he wore. His gaze played across the men, taking in the long sleeves on their tunics, unfashionable, but long enough to cover any marks of military service and the bulges in the tunics at their waists that spoke of hidden daggers.
Cicero and his two favourite pets left the stairs and began to walk across the forum. Balbus felt his heart jump as the boy scurried out of the way and began to jog toward the stairs where he sat, while the five lurking men
