Fronto smiled and let go as Catháin waved the small party on towards a Greek merchant ship that wallowed at one of the jetties, loading cargo as efficiently as possible in a harbour filled to the gills with Caesar’s fleet, another twenty ships still waiting out at sea for their turn. Fronto watched his wife and children and their eminently capable guards make their way across the wide dockside, ready for the next leg of their journey south to safety, three of the hired hands from Fronto’s small but trustworthy force carrying the bags on their backs and shoulders.
‘They will be safe,’ Cavarinos said, as if reading his innermost thoughts. ‘Greek sailors know the Middle Sea like no others, and each man with them – and the women, in fact – are strong and trustworthy.’
‘I know.’
‘Then stop looking at them with such sad eyes, as though they were leaving you forever. They have a Bellovaci woman with them sworn to your wife’s protection and a warrior prince of the Remi awaiting them. Oh, and some Romans, too.’
Fronto turned a scathing look on the Arvernian, who flashed him a tight smile. ‘You need to focus on the task at hand.’
He nodded and, as the men from the ship unloaded the last of their kit, looked around at the men who had come with him – some through loyalty, some for pay, others for vengeance or some indefinable Gallic motivation Fronto couldn’t quite follow.
Balbus. His father-in-law, old friend and former peer in the legions. Despite the heart trouble that had seen him leave the Eighth half a decade ago, Fronto would say that the old man looked fitter and leaner than he had for years and was, of course, every bit as wise and clever as he had always been.
Cavarinos. To all intents and purposes, the man was one of the enemy, or at least had been so quite recently. But the Arvernian was an enigma. Concerned with the survival of his people more than their ascendance, he had quickly become as close to Fronto as any Roman he could name. The former legate would have no qualms over having Cavarinos at his back. Would that be the same, he wondered, when the men they faced were the Gaul’s countrymen?
Biorix. The hulking Gaulish legionary and engineer who had come to his attention half a decade since and had endured and triumphed through every strand of adversity that Fronto and his bodyguard had encountered these past three years.
Pamphilus and Clearchus. None too bright, it had to be said, but as loyal as the day was long, and with strong arms and stout hearts. And the other three men who had served at the villa were all tried and tested, having fought off the enemy during that heart-stopping night attack – Dyrakhes the slinger, Agesander the boxer and Procles the giant Greek former mercenary.
And the last of the ten-man army was now hurrying back across to them, his eyes rolled upward, watching the gulls that filled the sky with their cries and swooping, aware of the potential for aerial deposits and veering close if he thought they might occur. After all, a gull dropping its business on you was among the luckiest of signs. Aurelius. If Masgava was the head of Fronto’s guard, Aurelius was its heart and soul. The former legionary stopped in front of them, heaving in breaths from his run, though with a curious smile and a splash of white across the shoulder of his tunic.
‘Port officials say they’ve had at least a dozen Gallic ships in over the past day and they don’t keep records down to tribal levels so they can’t confirm if any of them are Ruteni. All Gallic vessels marked down are registered at Narbo, Massilia, Agathe or Heraclea, but that doesn’t help as any of them could belong to the Ruteni and could have been at Massilia. The last was logged a little over two hours ago, so even if the bastards we’re after were on that ship, so long as they were sharp they could be in Rome even now, either by road if they bought horses or by swift passenger ferry upriver. Little chance of us catching them in Ostia.’
Fronto nodded. He’d not expected to contain them here, but had held onto a small thread of hope that it might happen nonetheless. ‘To Rome, then. We know where they’re going.’ He turned at the sound of his name and saw Brutus walking across the dock towards him, a legionary leading the officer’s horse behind him.
‘Decimus. Are you bound for Rome, now?’
Brutus shook his head. ‘Soon. Can’t let this convoy out of my sight, else Caesar will have me strung up. A lot of his consulship and political future rides on these barge-loads. I’ll wait until the last of it is loaded and bound for the city and then follow along, to be safe. I was going to say that I’m bound for the house of Casca, but as soon as I’m done with the duty, I’ll head home and stay there unless Casca requires me. You know our family’s houses in Rome, yes?’
‘I do. Which one?’
‘I’ll be on the Palatine – the villa overlooking the Vestals’ compound.’
Fronto chuckled and Brutus flashed an embarrassed grin. ‘A foible of my grandfather. I think he narrowly avoided prosecution by sealing up two of the more overhanging windows. Anyway, you know where to find me if you need me. And you?’
Fronto shrugged. ‘Home, on the Aventine. The place is back to functioning normally these days, though it’s been unoccupied by anyone but a caretaker for a while.’
‘Right. Good luck, my friend.’
Fronto eyed a wagon-load of booty being manhandled with difficulty across a ramp and into a wide barge. ‘You too.’
Turning away from the dock, he threw a heavy pouch to Aurelius. ‘Take Dyrakhes and Biorix and buy ten horses. They don’t have to be race winners, but I’d prefer it if their legs didn’t fall off as soon as we leave Ostia. The rest of us will gather a few supplies and meet you at the Rome Gate in an hour.’
* * * * *
Fronto sipped his wine – lightly watered to preserve the rich flavour, though taken in a small quantity. A clear head was required now. The others sat on the same folding stools as he, standard fayre for military campaigns, without the comfort of a civilian couch but with ease of transport and storage. The townhouse of the Falerii had been completely restored after the fire that had torn through it, but there was yet little in the way of furnishing or comfort, having not been fully occupied for some time. Indeed Glyptus, the sour-faced but excruciatingly efficient freedman Faleria had retained to maintain the house, was even now out in the city with a purse of coins, purchasing bedding for ten and a few home comforts. It was late in the evening to shop, really, but in this city – the greatest in the world – there was no time of day or night that goods could not be purchased if one knew where to look.
Outside the squeak of bats flitting about in the dark added a harmonious line above the distant surge and murmur of the late night horse race in the circus for the Apolline Games. Each squeak was accompanied by a twitch in Aurelius’ eye and in order to try and concentrate the man’s thoughts on the task at hand, Fronto had been forced to close all the windows despite the growing stuffy heat.
The party of ten had arrived in the city not long after noon, all weapons and equipment safely stowed in their packs in line with Roman law. They had made their way up to the house to a gruff greeting from Glyptus, who had set about lighting the furnace, but they had declined his grudging offer of a meal, instead strolling down to a tavern Balbus knew well on the Gemonian Way, rather aptly named the ‘Huntsman’s head’. The food had been standard fare at slightly inflated prices and the wine an extortionate cost for a poor vintage, but Balbus had been quite right about its unparalleled view of the carcer. They had spent an hour there having a midday meal, and then another slowly supping wine while they observed, filling the void with harmless small talk.
Not one of them had been concentrating on the food or the drink or the gossip, for all their harmless, mundane appearance to passers-by. In fact, their attention had been fully locked on the state prison opposite, its surroundings and the local populace. While it seemed highly unlikely that they might spot a cloaked and cowled figure in a mask strolling through the forum in daylight, they could not preclude the possibility that the Gauls had shed their disguises and were now trying to blend in. There were a few foreigners here, of course. Greeks, Egyptians, Spaniards, Africans, Levantines, Thracians and so on. Not many of the fair haired northerners, of course, but a few. Enough that a subtle Gaul could walk through the streets without raising too much comment.