Conspiracy of Eagles

shoveller. Sometimes anonymity was preferable to status.

There were no togate figures moving in pairs and Balbus admitted with some disappointment that there was every chance that the two had now separated. If that were the case, he would only stand a chance of locating the red-haired one. The other would blend in too easily; he was too average for easy recognition.

With a sigh, as he stood at the crossroads at the entrance to the forum Holitorium, Balbus gave up. A nice wine, well watered, and a nibble at some of the sweet treats in that pleasant little tavern would help pass the time until he was expected back at the house.

Ducking off to the side, he moved into a less packed street and turned into a side alley that would provide a convenient, short cut-through to the street on which his tavern stood. A woman flapped a rug from a window in an upper floor scattering dust, detritus and dog hair down over him and the narrow empty alley. A few yards ahead, someone had emptied a number of piss-pots from a great height and left a wide, reeking puddle. Stepping gingerly round the edge of the ammonia lake, Balbus happened to glance down a narrow, shady side alley and paused, one foot raised above the golden liquid.

Squinting and frowning, he stepped back and peered down the shady lane. A pile of something white and red at the far end could have been almost anything from discarded laundry to the carcass of a sheep or goat… but for the shock of bright red hair that glinted in a ray of sunlight that happened to find a way down into the gloom, reflecting off a brass pot in a window. That mop of red curls caught Balbus’ breath and made his heart race. The healthy state of his footwear forgotten, Balbus jumped across the small puddle of stinking yellow, landing in a spatter, and ran down the shadowy alley until he reached the pile.

His initial fears confirmed, Balbus used his urine-soaked sandal to heave one body off the other, the corpse rolling onto its back, arm flapping limp against the filthy cobbles, denting an expensive gold signet ring. All their gold still intact about their person stated beyond doubt that this was no common robbery, had Balbus suspected for even one second that that was the case.

No. Both men had been murdered with repeated blows to the chest and gut from a narrow bladed knife of some kind. Blue lips and bruising already flourishing around the mouth suggested that they died of their wounds with a hand clamped over their face to prevent the screaming attracting any unwanted attention.

More damning than anything, though, was the statement that had been made with their death. These murders were as much a message as they were deliberate assassinations, for both had been mutilated, their foreheads sliced and shredded, blood slicked down across their faces and necks and soaking into the white togas.

For both men had had the same symbol carved into their forehead, and Balbus was left with no uncertainty as to the reason for their death.

Turning his back, he walked away, his face sour and angry, leaving the two men bearing the carved ‘Taurus’ bull emblem on their face as a badge on their journey to the underworld.

Chapter 8

(Roman camp near the Rhine)

Galronus nodded. “Lentulus is the obvious choice.”

“No, no, no, no, no” Fronto grumbled, the wine — less watered than anyone else’s in the tent — sloshed over the side of his cup and added a fresh spatter on the legate’s breeches. “Lentulus let his men go berserk chasing down the fleeing tribesmen. Possibly on Caesar’s orders, but a cavalry commander needs to have full control.”

Varus leaned back against a prop of cushions, his sling undone and resting the rigidly-splinted arm on a padded pillow. Despite the argument and concerns of the medicus, he’d been in the saddle again the morning after the battle, unarmed of course, and wincing with every thud of the horse’s hooves, but where he belonged. Between rides, however, he seemed to be mollycoddling the break. He shared a look with Galronus and pursed his lips.

“Marcus, Lentulus was in full control. It was a command decision, whether his or Caesar’s, to sacrifice mercy and potential slaves in order to allow that cavalry wing their revenge. I honestly can’t say whether I’d have tried to rein them in myself. You agreed with him in the debrief! What would you do if the Tenth were hacked to pieces and then given the opportunity to take it out on their attackers?”

“I’d restrain them.”

“No you damn well wouldn’t, and you know it. What is all this about, Marcus. You’re all over the place at the moment. One minute you’re standing up for Caesar and supporting any amount of bloodshed he might suggest, and the next ranting about him over the deaths of enemy civilians. I realise that you’ve always had your differences with the general, but I can’t figure out what’s going on in your head. Sometimes you’re starting to sound like Labienus.”

Fronto glared angrily down into his cup.

“I don’t know, Varus. I’ve never really been able to figure Caesar out. Sometimes he’s the very model of a generous, merciful commander and a good man; other times I see things in him that really worry me; twisted things.”

“Nobody is simply good or bad, Marcus” Galronus shrugged. “That’s a very simplified way of looking at the world.”

“If it hadn’t been for what happened in Rome — the gladiators and Clodius and his men — I don’t know whether I’d even be here this summer. Caesar saved my family, and that’s hard to forget and let go. But something Balbus said to me a couple of months back has really stuck in my head. And then there’s all these divisions in command, and new men drafted in that I wouldn’t turn my back on, just in case.”

Varus shook his head. “I have to admit that the army does seem to be drifting into factions. It’s Caesar’s army, and he pays the men and gives his patronage to the officers. But…” he lowered his voice, “there are clear pockets of men who are plainly anti-Caesarian. It shouldn’t be worrying, but, let’s face it, Caesar wouldn’t be the first praetor to have an army turn against him.”

“You think Labienus would wrest command from the general? You even think he could?”

Varus sighed. “I’ve heard how the tide of opinion flows in Rome, Marcus. Caesar’s got the mob in his pocket, but that’s only so much use. Pompey wouldn’t fart to help Caesar if he needed it and Crassus is busy flouncing about in the east trying to emulate Alexander the Great and building up to invade Parthia. The senate are well- stacked against Caesar and only favours and threats are keeping them from hauling on the leash and dragging him back to Rome.”

Fronto stared at him. “I didn’t realise you were so politically minded, Varus?”

“I just keep my eyes and ears open, Marcus. The thing is: Caesar is balanced on a knife edge these days. If things went wrong, we might find the senate rescinding Caesar’s position and command. They could even prosecute him… hell, if Cicero has his way they’ll declare him an enemy of the state. It sounds so ridiculous and unlikely, but it really isn’t that fantastic.”

Galronus frowned as he thought it through. “And if the senate ends Caesar’s command, Labienus has the authority to turn around and take the army off him; maybe even assume the governorship. Is that really likely?”

“As I say, it all depends on the amount of support Caesar can maintain in Rome. As long as the senate either supports him or is frightened enough not to cross him, he’ll be fine. He still has enough influence, money and men to assure both, I believe. The people love him for his victories, so he’s never short of loyal muscle to hire, if you get my drift.”

Galronus scratched his chin. “It’s maybe worth noting that Caesar hasn’t put Labienus in command of a single action so far this summer. I would guess the general has thought this through to the same end. How long do you think it’ll be before Labienus ends up attached to Cicero’s Seventh and all the other untrustworthy dissenters? I just don’t understand why he hasn’t sent Labienus and Cicero home just to be certain.”

“Because you can’t waste talent on suspicions” Fronto said with a shrug. “Labienus may be arguing a lot and disagreeing with Caesar, but the man has obeyed Caesar’s every command regardless. Disagreement is a long, long way from mutiny, and Labienus is still one of the half-dozen most talented military strategists on this side of the