A series of real and imagined images flashed through Fronto’s head in the blink of an eye: Catullus, fatalistic and sad, relating the prophecy he had been given and then lying twisted and vomit stained on the floor of his villa; Julia, lying lifeless next to her stillborn child, swathed in the blood of the birth bed; Aurelia Cotta rendering down to fat in her burning house; Crassus pinned to the sand with a hundred Parthian arrows; Rome’s silver eagle falling in a collapsing building, the banners of crimson on fire. An end to the Republic? Fronto hated temples and prophecies more than he cared to admit, and yet it was difficult to deny the evidence of this one playing out, and the conclusion was a horrifying prospect. He shuddered and dragged his mind’s eye back from the images.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Fronto shook his head. ‘Despite everything, I feel that to be unwise, General.’ He leaned back and stretched. ‘Rome will be unstable following the loss of Crassus. They will be looking for strength and, if you are occupied in darkest Gaul, they will find it in Pompey. No matter how many your clients in Rome, without a sense of your presence, they will not sway the crowd. Crassus was off in a foreign land. You must not be, unless you wish to hand the city to your enemy. The Republic hasn’t been in this delicate a state since Sulla and Marius were hitting each other with rocks. The eagle mustn’t fall.’
Caesar frowned at that last and the peculiarly intense expression on Fronto’s face, and let out an exasperated breath.
‘Then it seems that I am plagued with having to place one side of my dilemma or the other in the hands of my subordinates. And forgetting all of these issues, there is also much that requires my attention back in Aquileia with the governing of Cisalpine Gaul.’ He rubbed his temples against the threat of a headache. ‘I think perhaps Aquileia is the place to go.’
Fronto was nodding. ‘Close enough to either Gaul or Rome if you are needed. Makes sense, I suppose. Not showing your face in Rome might be dangerous, though.’ A collapsing building; burning vexilla; a falling eagle.
‘I can visit Rome during the winter,’ Caesar sighed, ‘but my presence in the city full time would bring matters with Pompey to a head at a stage at which I am ill prepared to deal with him. In Aquileia I am close enough for the people, but not too close for Pompey. Clodius will still act as eyes and ears in the city for me. And I have others, in the senate. Young Crassus will play my pieces for me, too. Until I can observe what is happening in Rome after Crassus’ demise, I cannot push any more than that without further endangering matters. The big question, then, remains what to do with Gaul.’
‘Winter the troops as usual, and place Vercingetorix’s fate in the hands of Priscus,’ Fronto suggested. ‘He’s been the one at the forefront of the matter for years anyway, and we both know he’s the man to trust with the task.’
Caesar nodded. ‘If I winter the troops in a line beneath the Belgae, right across the land, we should be able to react to anything. And in pairs, given what happened last winter.’
Fronto nodded. ‘And if you’re going to deal with the Carnutes you’ll be north of the Aedui and the Arverni. Concentrate the legions to the west and they will be on hand for anything.’
Caesar nodded and leaned back in his chair. ‘There are matters here that sit uncomfortably with me — principally the failing to make public Ambiorix’s death and the need to keep my wits focused on two fronts of battle. But I agree with your interpretation of the situation.’
The general let out a tired sigh. ‘I have missed your counsel these past years, Marcus. It has not escaped my notice that in your absence things seem to have addled, slowed and complicated. I fear Fortuna is as much yours as you are hers, and she departs with you when you leave.’
Fronto shrugged. ‘I owe her a great deal. Is it your wish, then, that I take up command of the Tenth when Crassus leaves?’
Caesar nodded slowly. ‘I shall have the orders drawn up. I believe I will reconvene the Gaulish assembly at Durocortorum once more before the season ends. The lands of the Remi are the most secure for us in the north, and we will move the legions there and utilise our allies among the tribes to bring the leader of that earlier conspiracy to justice. From there I can disperse the legions to winter quarters easily, and we are close enough to the Carnutes and the Senones to deal with any issues arising.’
‘I presume Crassus will be heading for Rome as soon as he can?’
‘Yes. He already prepares for the journey and will not come as far as Durocortorum with us. And neither, I fear, will you.’
‘Caesar?’
‘I am informed that your young wife is with child — by now probably heavily with child. I imagine she would be pleased to have her husband present for the child’s first days in the world? Women are very sentimental, and events of the past year have somewhat brought home to me the value of family. The rest of our sojourn here will be largely political and ambassadorial, dealing with the chiefs’ assembly again and, without wishing to sound too harsh, you are not the world’s most natural ambassador, Marcus. The army can cope without you until you return in the spring. You have a few very good officers who will command the legion in your absence. And I would suggest you travel home with Crassus. Given the current state of Gaul, the combined protection of your guards will be sufficient to see off all but the greatest of threats.’
Fronto sat in immobile silence for a long moment, guilt coursing through him. In all the adrenaline and danger and fury of the past week and more, he’d rarely given more than a passing thought to Lucilia, and he had all-but forgotten about the pregnancy, but now that Caesar had brought the subject to mind, he suddenly found himself desperate to see her.
She would want him there.
‘Thank you, General. And when your business with the assembly is done, I’m sure Lucilia would be disappointed to hear that you had travelled past Massilia without gracing us with a visit?’
Caesar’s eye twinkled in a manner that Fronto hadn’t seen in years and he realised just how much tension had been dispelled in the last cathartic few months, culminating in this very conversation.
‘I am less convinced that a new mother will be so desperate for guests, Marcus, but thank you for the offer. When I travel south, it will likely be the more direct route, across the Alpes Mountains, past Octodurus. But you never can tell… perhaps I will find reason to come by Massilia. Give my regards to your family, including Balbus.’
Fronto smiled and straightened. ‘Then if there is nothing more for us to say?’
‘No. Go and pack and speak to your officers. Crassus will be ready to leave in the morning, so you would do well to stow your gear tonight.’
* * * * *
Fronto knuckled his eyes wearily. It was now three hours past sunset. His pack was stowed for travelling, he had bathed, shaved and changed into a good, red, officer’s tunic and his favourite soft boots. Now, he would have a few hours’ proper sleep to prepare for the journey.
After leaving the general’s tent he had sought out Carbo and delivered the news of his new command, which had been well received by the smiling pink-faced centurion, and had then looked for Galronus and Priscus, only to discover they had been called to Caesar’s headquarters.
It felt somehow deflating to be preparing to leave after such a busy few months, despite what he was travelling back to. With a sigh, he unlaced his boots and collapsed back into the cot, allowing the calm to enfold him in its sleepy embrace.
The rapping on the door of his small quarters woke him in that fuggy, muzzy state that is the result of being only half way deep in sleep before being roused once more, and he blinked a few times, trying to remember where he was before he sat up and hastily pulled his tunic down a little for modesty.