This was a statement.
This was, in fact, a declaration of war.
The public might not see it yet, but this was a direct challenge to Caesar by one of the duly elected consuls of Rome, a man with ties to Pompey. Even if they could not bring a prosecution against the general while he remained Proconsul of Gaul or when he took up his consulship, his enemies were today making their statement clear. Fronto could picture Caesar’s face when he heard about this. In a mad, fleeting moment, he pictured Caesar, incensed beyond all reason, finishing mopping up the last of the rebel spirit in Gaul and then sweeping down against Rome with twelve legions. It was a mind-blowing thought. And not impossible. Sulla had done just that, after all.
What were these mad men doing? What was Marcellus doing? Trying to start a war with Caesar?
‘…and so with the support of the Senate of Rome, I sentence this Gaul to six lashes with the scourge for the crime of impersonating a citizen of the republic. He will then be returned to the carcer until he is well enough to travel, following which he will be returned to Comum there to show his scars to a proconsul who thinks he can ride roughshod over the senate.’
‘Shit,’ Fronto said to himself, drawing some murmurs of agreement from the few crowd members around him, though his comment was not directed at the scene in the forum, where Crispinus was shaking out the scourge. In fact, he had been cursing himself for getting caught up in the action and forgetting to keep his eyes on what he was actually here for. He glanced around the forum again, failing to spot anyone but Aurelius by the rostrum and the brothers on the steps of Concord’s temple. His gaze rose once more to the slope, where the crowd had melted away, following the action down to the forum. He could see two figures that had to be Procles and Agesander from their size and shape, standing by the side of the road up there. At least nothing had happened there so far. That was a relief. It was only now striking him that the carcer was currently manned by half its staff right now, while most of Fronto’s men were in the forum. Damn it. He threw a prayer up to Fortuna that the carcer stay secure for now and returned his attention to the crowd.
He almost missed it. In fact, he did the first time.
His gaze had passed across the dark figure and fell upon Aurelius and it had been that hackle-raising sixth sense that had made him double-take and look back across the curia behind the scene. The scourge blows were being delivered now, and the Comum man was screaming and shrieking fit to shake the gods. The crowd were in that curious mix of disgust and fascination, Pompey’s partisans cheering it on, Caesar’s supporters – notably fewer – yelling their disapproval. But past that scene and past the rostrum with its unpleasant consul and his lictors, a figure moved. Almost hidden by the shadows of the arcade that was all that remained of the senaculum, the figure was well hidden.
Fronto held his breath at the sight of the hooded cloak and waited. Sure enough, the figure turned and he caught a momentary glimpse of light shining on a glazed surface within. The bastards were here. In broad daylight and in their cloaks!
His desperate gaze picked out Aurelius nearby and he realised that the former legionary was intent on the scourging and had not noticed the figure so close to him. Fronto started to move. It would be a struggle to get through the crowd.
As if that same sixth sense that had so alerted Fronto was at work for the enemy too, the cloaked figure turned for a moment and looked straight at him. Then the Gaul was moving, running past the entire complex towards the Subura where he could easily lose pursuit in the maze of streets and alleys. Fronto cursed. He would never get there in time to stop the bastard.
Damn, damn, damn, damn. He pushed against the crowd but someone pushed him back and he thumped painfully against the column.
‘Aurelius!’ he bellowed. Such was the volume desperation lent his voice that many of the crowd turned towards him, despite the graphic scene playing out before them as the fifth of six blows was delivered to the shuddering, weeping man standing at the centre of a spray and pool of his own blood and flesh, a puddle of vomit by his foot.
‘For the love of Venus look at me, Aurelius,’ he yelled again. After a few tense heartbeats in which he watched the cloaked figure retreating from the scene, finally Aurelius caught sight of him and waved an acknowledgement.
‘Get him!’ Aware that his words would not carry that far, Fronto climbed onto the decorative lip of the column base. It wasn’t much, but it pushed him another half-foot above the crowd. Clinging to the column with one hand he gestured desperately with the other, pointing at the near-invisible figure, motioning for Aurelius to turn round. As the legionary dithered, apparently unsure what the gestures meant, Fronto felt his frustration rising.
His eyes darted to the side and he spotted Pamphilus and Clearchus moving. Even the dimwits had understood.
Finally, Aurelius turned, scratching his head. For a moment, Fronto thought he’d lost the man, for the cloaked figure had dipped out of sight. Then, in a stroke of luck, the clouds parted for just a heartbeat and a rare gleam of sunlight picked out the cloaked shape moving to the next building. Aurelius was running immediately.
‘Thank you, Fortuna.’
Cavarinos, Dyrakhes, Balbus and Biorix were moving now, having spotted him, everyone converging on the edge of the forum where the road ran up past the carcer and other ways led into the Subura. Aurelius was out of sight in moments and Fronto could do little but offer up another prayer to Fortuna and trust to Aurelius’ abilities. But if one had been here, perhaps there were others…
Casting his gaze around the forum even as the execution ended and Marcellus harangued the crowd with anti-Caesarian politics, Fronto could spot no others. Cavarinos and Balbus were now at the place from where Aurelius had been watching. Fronto fought through the crowd and as he converged on the group, he spotted Pamphilus and Clearchus emerging from the press on the left. His eyes widened in disbelief.
Pamphilus’ hand emerged from his voluminous cloak, and gripped tight in the fist was a gladius, unsheathed.
‘No!’
The fool. What was he doing?
As he turned to try and stop the idiot, a murmur of anger rippled through the throng. Fronto struggled, trying to push between two of the crowd to get to them, but a man in a dark blue tunic with the muscles of a blacksmith and a lantern jaw beat him to it. The man yelled something at Pamphilus and the Massilian idiot reacted instinctively, lancing out with the sword. He managed to cut a deep line along the big Roman’s arm and the man roared and threw himself at the Massilian.
Pamphilus dodged the big man and started to run the other way. Fronto burst from the crowd, but was clearly too late to prevent chaos erupting. His spirits sinking even further, he watched Clearchus also draw a sword from his cloak and run to the defence of his brother. The last he saw of either of them was both brothers disappearing with a shout and a flurry of tunics amid the press of angry citizens who piled onto them, kicking and punching. Fronto turned to see Balbus shaking his head in disbelief and jogged over towards them.
‘Idiots,’ the old man said, rather unnecessarily. Fronto nodded. ‘In a way I hope the poor bastards get kicked to death down there. If they make it through, that scourge will come out again for the backs of two Massilians.’
‘And they work for you,’ added Cavarinos.
‘Gods, yes. I can’t wait for the backlash from this to land at my front door. Our one consolation from all this is that Aurelius left the forum on the trail of one of the Sons. With luck we’ll have a lead on their location shortly, so long as Aurelius is careful and doesn’t get himself killed. Come on. Let’s go speak to the others up at the carcer.’