Fronto smiled in return and rubbed his hands together.
“I may need to meet this Milo and buy him a drink. Caesar’s back in Rome, now, along with Crassus, Brutus and the rest. I think we need to call a meeting of all those who have a grudge against Clodius and see what we can turn up. Think you can sneak this Milo in for a meeting tomorrow or the next day?”
Priscus shrugged.
“I can try. Are you actually intending to start a war on the streets of Rome?”
Fronto’s eyes narrowed.
“No point. Clodius already did that. I’m going to end the war.”
Chapter 21
(Late October: House of the Falerii in Rome.)
As the door opened, Caesar stepped back in surprise.
“Nam?” demanded the hulking hairy object that blocked most of the doorway.
The general blinked and turned to look in surprise at the younger Crassus, standing next to him. The officer, now dressed togate and with perfect high-class attire, leaned toward the massive doorman.
“This is Gaius Julius Caesar, governor of Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul and Illyricum, you ignorant oaf. Stand aside: we are expected.”
The man rubbed his chin and shrugged.
“Caesar, yes.” He stepped to one side and straightened. The general was impressed to note the crown of the man’s head brushed the ceiling of the hallway. He and Crassus entered and shivered from the cold dampness in the air. With an almost negligent flick of his hand, the general dismissed Ingenuus’ group of unarmed and dismounted cavalry who had escorted them across the city.
As the guard closed and locked the door behind them, a small man with muscular arms and a number of fascinating scars rounded a corner and bowed.
“Mighty Caesar; noble Crassus, if you would follow me?”
The two men, slapping along with their wet boots and leaving murky footprints on the marble, followed the servant through the house and to the large triclinium.
The room was occupied by six men, lounging on couches or sitting on chairs, several tables between them laden with simple food, jars of wine, goblets and jugs of water. Fronto and Priscus sat with Galronus as though they were in some way separate from the rest.
Caesar looked around, taking in the faces of the other men. Marcus Caelius Rufus, the defendant that Fronto had protected, Quintus Tullius Cicero, brother of the great orator, and lastly a man that he vaguely recognised but could not put a name to.
“I see that you have begun raising a legion for yourself, Fronto.”
His host smiled humourlessly from the far end of the room.
“Having a gang seems to be the only way to survive in the city these days, Caesar.”
He gestured to the seats and the general and Crassus made themselves comfortable, reaching for the water and grapes. To the general’s surprise, the man who escorted them to the room also took a seat and helped himself to the food.
“Everyone here is well acquainted I think,” Fronto announced, “apart from Titus Annius Milo over there, and the excellent and very dangerous Cestus who met you outside.”
Fronto noted Caesar’s expression and smiled.
“Cestus is now in charge of the household’s ‘guard’ if you wish to call it that. He’s a veteran of seventeen bouts in the arena, recipient of the rudis and a man to stay on the good side of.”
The small man nodded at Caesar, who returned the gesture, frowning.
“Milo I remember, however” the general said, straightening again. “A tribune of the plebs last year?”
The man bowed curtly.
“Very well.” Fronto sat up. “Everyone in the room either has good reason to hate Clodius, or is bound by ties to those who do. For the first time in months, we are all in Rome and so is he. In our absence, he’s had free reign in the city causing murder and mayhem. The time had come to deal with him. We simply can’t leave a snake like that in a position to do further harm.”
There was a general murmur of agreement around them, but Caesar rubbed his brow and leaned forward.
“I have the feeling you are suggesting direct action and even rather illegal violence, Fronto?”
Their host smiled a feral grin and leaned back.
“You are damn right I’m suggesting illegal violence. If I could have thought of a way to get past his constant array of guards, I’d have kicked the man to death myself before now.”
Caesar shook his head.
“Don’t think in such narrow terms, Fronto. This is too complex an issue to lunge out like a thug and strike him down. That is Clodius’ way, not that of reasonable, intelligent men.”
Fronto leaned forward himself, his face filling with angry colour.
“That is the opinion of a man who has yet to feel the full unpleasantness of Clodius. Wait until your little Octavia comes home one afternoon with a broken face, or that pretty niece of yours, and then tell me it’s too complex an issue.”
The general shook his head.
“I feel for your family, Marcus, but that is still not the way.”
He turned to Milo.
“If I am not mistaken, you are bound to the great Pompey?”
Milo nodded.
“And yet you are here, plotting without him?”
The man shrugged.
“If questioned, I will deny ever visiting this house, but I see no conflict in my behaviour. Pompey charged me with building him a force of very loyal men with low expectations. This I have done and, since Pompey has made no secret of his distaste for Clodius, this could even be seen as a meeting of like minds. As such, I am prompted to enquire as to why the great Pompey himself was not invited to this clandestine meeting.”
He smiled.
“Or even the noble Crassus’ father?”
Crassus shrugged.
“It is well for those in such high position to be seen to be uninvolved with such things. I was in two minds as to whether to attend myself as, I believe, was Governor Caesar here.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps none of you feel comfortable placing your trust in them? Regardless, the fact remains that, yes I am bound to Pompey and yes, I am here. I will not, however, employ my men in any action without the authorisation of my patron. It would be unthinkable to do so, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
Fronto swept his hands through the air angrily.
“This waffling is getting us nowhere. Clodius is a plague that needs to be dealt with. I’m sure some of you at least agree with this? Cicero?”
The young officer opened his mouth to speak, but Caesar turned to him.
“Yes, I would be interested to hear the opinion of the noble Cicero, given that he has such a responsible commission in my army and yet his brother, from what I hear, denounces me and my works daily in the senate, supported and urged on by those poisonous dogs Cato and Ahenobarbus.”
He narrowed his eyes at Cicero.
“It has taken me three years to completely pacify Gaul. That is a drop in the ocean of time compared to what it took Rome’s greatest generals to pacify Africa or Greece, and yet now the senate of Rome call me names and consider my campaign a failure and a waste; they say that I am unable to keep the place down. Why? Because of Cicero, Cato and Ahenobarbus. Clodius blocks my moves in the senate by the exercise of subtle bribery and corruption, and therefore he is my enemy. What should I make, then, of those who oppose me openly?”
Cicero rounded on him.
“My brother does not attack you, Caesar. He is a just and good man and attacks laws and acts that he deems unworthy of the republic, whatever their origin. Do not feel singled out.”
Milo laughed.
“I fear you are being a little blinkered by your brotherly love, my friend. Cicero attacks Caesar because he is an easy target at the moment and your brother is still trying to ingratiate himself to the senate after his exile. He is doing nothing more than sacrificing one ally to make several others.”