ache of his creaking bones and clicking joints. Closing his eyes, he savoured the sip of wine and then opened them at a gurgling sound, only to find Lucilia adding a healthy dose of water to his beaker. Glaring at her, he caught the mirth on Balbus’ face across the room and sighed, sipping the now-respectfully-watered wine as he reached to the plate of cheeses on the small table next to him.
“Can you afford a lay-over?”
Fronto gave a non-committal shrug.
“A short one. You know the general. Doesn’t do to keep him waiting too long, but we’ve been quite quick so far. Perhaps a couple of days? There’s an office in the agora apparently staffed by a couple of ex-legionaries assigned by Priscus. They’re organising all the transport of men and goods to the army. It looks like the new camp prefect has taken half the responsibilities of the chief quartermaster from him.”
Balbus grinned. “I’m sure Cita will just love that. Have you reported to them yet?”
“No. I thought I’d leave it for now.”
“I will go in the morning” said Galronus quietly from his seat at the room’s end. He had seemed thoughtful and quiet since he arrived, though Fronto put it down to the awful sea voyage. The five of them sat in a rough circle.
Balbus shook his head. “Stay and relax, friend Galronus. I’ll send one of my lads down tomorrow morning to start organising things for you. That way they can just meet you here in two days and pick you up at the villa with your beasts and goods.”
A brief frown of regret passed Fronto’s face as he pictured all the dockside taverns and their owners reaching out to take his coin. It was quickly replaced by a genuine smile. Time later for that. For now: other things were required.
“Are Corvinia or Balbina joining us?”
“Corvinia is preparing a repast that will double your weight and Balbina is helping her. I think Balbina’s sulking a little as I told her the adults had to talk before she could see you.”
“Yes” Fronto said quietly. “There are things we have to discuss, Quintus.”
He glanced sidelong at Lucilia and waggled his eyebrows.
Balbus burst out laughing, almost choking on his own wine. “Lucilia, my dear, I suspect that my dear friend Marcus would like you to step out and occupy yourself while we menfolk talk.”
Fronto carefully avoided Lucilia’s glare. He shot a quick glance at Faleria too, but she simply smiled sweetly and called out “I’ll be along shortly, Lucilia.”
Lucilia nodded once, curtly, at her father, shot a warning glance full of daggers at Fronto, and trotted daintily from the room, her stola swishing about her knees with that hypnotic sway that Fronto was resolutely ignoring right now.
Once she had left, Fronto waited for the door to close and opened his mouth to speak, but Balbus held up a cautionary finger and waited almost a minute in silence. Finally, somewhat muffled by the door, they heard Lucilia ‘harrumph’ and patter off across the marble. Balbus smiled. “She reminds me so much of her mother at times.”
Fronto coughed uncomfortably.
“You have something important to say?” Balbus nudged.
“Erm… yes. Sort of.”
“Something that involves Lucilia?”
“Well… erm. Sort of, yes.”
“Has she done something disgraceful?”
“No. No. Not that. Sort of… erm…”
Fronto collapsed into an uncomfortable silence, horribly aware that a pink stain had risen to replace the pallid grey of his cheeks.
“For the love of Venus, Marcus, he’s playing with you!” came a muffled voice from beyond the door. Balbus roared with laughter, and Fronto glared at the wooden portal, wishing he was somewhere on a battlefield, up to the knees in gore, facing a thousand screaming Gauls; even on a ship! Anywhere instead of this.
Settling from his laugh, Balbus took on a more serious face and turned to address the door.
“If you do not go and find your mother and leave us to this, Lucilia, the conversation might never happen.”
A huffy noise rose from behind the door, and footsteps pattered away again. Fronto narrowed his eyes. “Is she…?”
“She’s gone. Now calm down, pretend you’re ordering a general advance with cavalry on the wings and auxiliary support, and
“Nothing untoward has happened, Quintus. I’ll state that for the record. And I didn’t try to drive a wedge between her and the Caecilius boy.”
Balbus nodded sagely. “She has been writing to her mother, who has in turn been abusing my ears and straining my patience. I am painfully aware of how headstrong the women of my family are. Am I to believe then that Lucilia has succeeded in her quest to entrap you?”
Fronto sighed and, with an apologetic face, tipped the heavily-watered wine from his beaker into a houseplant next to him and replaced it with neat red liquid, taking a sip.
“I was sort of hoping to move things along nice and slowly, but the girl seemed Hades-bent to get me signed up, hog-tied and becoming a father before I can even shave again.”
“It’s in the nature of girls, Marcus.”
“It’s a difficult situation. You’re my friend, Quintus. I know there’s an age difference between us — frighteningly, not as wide as the one between Lucilia and myself — but I never saw you as a father figure. It would be… weird.”
Balbus smiled expansively.
“Don’t forget that Caesar and Pompey are almost the same age and related in the same manner, and yet there’s no discomfort in their relationship.”
Fronto shook his head. He wouldn’t have said that, though he understood the point his friend was trying to make.
“I just don’t want you to have to say yes to anything you don’t approve of, just because we’re friends. Family is family, and she’s your daughter, after all.”
Balbus smiled and looked down. When he raised his head again, his eyes sparkled. “To be honest, Marcus, I’m more than happy with the match. I was more worried that you’d been forced into something you didn’t want. Feel free to tell me now if Lucilia has pushed you into this.”
Fronto laughed weakly.
“Well she
Balbus shook his head. “Mars would melt and Fortuna pluck out her eyes before they let anything happen to you on the battlefield, Marcus. The match is approved if you wish it.”
Fronto swallowed. His throat had suddenly gone dry. This felt like handing over his sword to the executioner.
“I do, Quintus. A betrothal of… what? A year, for decency?”
Galronus frowned and leaned forward. “Why delay? Among the Remi, we marry when we find the right match. There is no need for a time to show the people of the tribe first.”
Fronto glared at him.
“If I remember rightly, the Remi don’t even pause to remove their breeches, if you get my drift.”
Galronus shrugged. “When the match is right, the match is right.”
“Let’s say less than a year” interjected Faleria from her couch nearby. “We’ll have to organise everything so that we can fit it in during the winter break between campaigns?”
Fronto suddenly felt his stomach flip again as it had on the ship.
“Errrr… alright then.”
Faleria gave him an encouraging smile, and then turned to Balbus.
“Can I suggest, Quintus, that you and I work out the details later: the ring, the gifts, the money and so on. And, of course, the date, the location, informing those who need to know and all the other minutiae?”
