Turning his back on the havoc just as Fronto’s magnificent black horse Bucephalus was walked slowly and carefully ashore, he led the small group up the street and out of the port. As they passed into the city itself, Lucilia was suddenly next to him and then past, as though drawn inexorably by the ever-nearing presence of her family. Sharing a glance, Fronto, Galronus and Faleria picked up their pace and hurried along behind. A local she may be, but no girl in her right mind travelled the streets of a port city on her own.
The journey was a tough one; exhausting, in fact. A mile through the rising streets of Massilia, back northeast away from the port, and then two more turning north on roads that led toward the villa district, rising through the hills behind the shore all the time. Barely half a mile from the edge of the great trade city, a solid, stable road of Roman construction ran along a carefully levelled terrace, stretching from Cisalpine Gaul in the east across to Narbo Martius in the west. A milestone claimed the road as Roman territory and marked the point where the local road from Massilia joined the republican highway.
The small group of travellers moved onto the strangely empty main road and walked some half a mile northwest until they found the familiar track that led off to the villas of the Roman nobles who had chosen to settle on the hills above Massilia.
And finally, their hungry eyes lit upon their destination.
The villa of Balbus had thrived since Fronto’s last visit. The garden and building itself were as neat as ever, but the complex also showed signs of growth. Four new buildings had risen to one side, including two bunkhouses for servants or slaves. Ordered rows of newly-planted vines, barely reaching above the soil, marched off down the slope toward the sea, their green tips catching the last of the light.
A slave rushed around the yard and the gardens, lighting lamps and torches where they would be most needed, as labourers returned wearily from the estate beyond, baskets and tools on their shoulders. Fronto smiled.
“Looks like your father’s turning into a farmer. Or a vintner.”
Lucilia grinned back at him. “That’s probably just to cater for your visits, my love. Come on.”
With Galronus looking around appreciatively, perhaps seeing for the first time the possibilities raised by the marriage of Gallic agriculture and Roman organisation, the four stepped into the garden. Newly acquired benches, arbours and a decorative dolphin fountain graced the frontage of the villa, and the walls had been freshly painted with red and white following the winter depredations.
Fronto frowned at the door, which stood open as slaves and servants rushed back and forth, settling everything for the night. He felt sure someone would have informed the villa’s master that a trireme had been seen docking in the port.
“Marcus, you look positively grey!”
Despite himself, Fronto jumped a little at the sudden words that issued from close behind him. Turning, he saw Quintus Lucilius Balbus, former commander of the Eighth legion, lounging on a curved stone bench under a pergola, his arms folded and a sly grin on his face.
Fronto drank in the sight of his old friend. Balbus had aged more than he should have in half a year, but strangely it did not sit badly on him. While he looked a little older, he looked a great deal healthier and happier than he had last time they had met. He had bulked out a little and achieved the rosy complexion of a compulsive gardener. Laughter lines creased his face and he wore a straw hat that had seen better days and a tunic and breeches that, while cut to military pattern, were covered with the stains of fruit and soil.
“You become a farmer, Quintus?”
The older man laughed, a deep rich sound, and then stood and enfolded Fronto in a crushing hug, releasing him only when he realised that Lucilia was waiting impatiently.
“Daughter. You’ve seen fit to pay a quick visit to your father, then?”
His eyebrow arched in mock anger, but he couldn’t hold the expression for long as Lucilia rushed into the gap left by Fronto and threw her arms round his nicely-padded ribcage.
“Father, I wish we’d come sooner, but…”
“I know. You had trouble keeping this one out of the taverns long enough?”
Fronto shot him a sour glance, which set the older man laughing again.
“Come on inside. I’m sure we have a great deal to discuss.”
Fronto sank back into the comfortable couch, allowing the cushions to enfold him and take the edge off the 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.