As carefully as he could he lifted his foot, causing the faintest of scrapes from the gravel underfoot.
‘Stop sneaking around like a thief and get back inside.’
Fronto felt himself jump, leaving the ground in shock for a moment, and turned to note in particular the arched brow of Lucilia where she stood behind him, her fists on her hips in the universal sign of a disgruntled spouse. The army could use a couple of hundred of her, he thought, aware that after two decades of military service and at the peak of his physical fitness he had not even reached the safety of the gate before messing up and making a noise, and yet this delectable — if irascible — young woman had managed to plant herself right behind him absolutely silently.
His heart seemed to be attempting to set some kind of speed record as he plastered his most ingratiating smile across his face.
‘Listen, beloved…’
‘Be quiet,’ she said in a calm, quiet voice that somehow managed to contain all the power and command of a military order backed by horns and standards. He had shut up before he had even thought about whether to… Lucilia certainly had that quality about her. She pursed her lips and Fronto experienced a moment of hope that he wasn’t in trouble, but then realised it wasn’t a matter of absolutes, but the degree of trouble that she was considering.
‘You agreed to the deal, Marcus. One more season… perhaps two. But you are a father now, and not getting any younger, and as soon as Caesar has this new province calmed and this rebellion you keep whiffling on about is put down, you are handing over your command and settling. Even Galronus has taken a step back from the army.’
Fronto felt the lurch that he experienced every time he thought of retirement and almost spoke, but stopped himself in time.
‘And once you have done that,’ she went on, ‘whatever you decide to do…’ she held up a warning finger, ‘and no, it will not involve any kind of arena or stadium,’ Fronto felt his spirits sink a little lower again, ‘you will need connections and the goodwill of the leading figures in the city. Remember, Marcus, that we are not in Rome now. In fact we are not even in the Republic as long as Massilia remains an independent city. We are subject to their laws and decisions.’
She pointed an angry finger at the doorway that led inside. It had never looked more like an executioner’s blade to Fronto. Her voice jacked up a notch.
‘My father — your friend — has put a lot of effort into getting those men here tonight. Five of the city’s most important men, and they are all here to see you. All so that you can form a network of allies in local government rather than blundering along as you normally do, like a blind hedgehog in a maze. It has been almost ten minutes since you went to the latrine, and if I have to listen to my father make one more embarrassing ‘pushing out a difficult one’ comment, I swear I will not be responsible for the murder spree of Olympian proportions that will ensue.’
Fronto quailed under that gaze and found that he was nodding meekly, again without having consciously made that decision. Somehow without Galronus around to add a little strength to his backbone, he seemed to cave all the easier.
‘Now get your sorry backside back into that villa and put on a show of being an erudite, grateful and entertaining social host so that all this effort is not for nothing.’
Fronto nodded again and watched as her eyes fell to the stain on his leg.
‘But go via the atrium and clean off that leg quickly in the impluvium pool. And it’s dripped on your shoes too, so change them for your spares — the soft ones, mind, and not those clod-hopping nailed military abominations.’
Fronto managed to recover a little and smiled disarmingly. ‘Beloved, you need to lower your voice,’ he said in a quiet and calm fashion. ‘You’ll wake the boys.’
‘The boys,’ she replied in a dangerous tone, ‘are out for the night now. You exhausted them earlier, and don’t think I didn’t see you dipping your finger in the wine and rubbing it on their gums. I told you before that when I saw you do that again I would have you dipped in the horse trough and you could sleep in the stables for the night.’
Fronto’s meek nod returned as his resistance drained. Things had been so different at the villa since Galronus had taken ship for Campania a month ago. He had lost his support and had never felt quite so exposed to feminine control. Damn the man!
‘Where were you going anyway?’
Fronto swallowed. If he even dared mention the Dancing Ox, his favourite little tavern down in the city, he knew he would wake the next day with a world-shaking headache. ‘Erm…’ he said, his mind racing to try and find an acceptable reason to be out in the front courtyard in the dark of a Ianuarius evening.
‘I thought I heard horses,’ he rattled out, trying hard to sound convincing and, as he saw Lucilia narrow her eyes, he cupped his hand to his ear. Yes. Definitely. Running horses. A lifeline to grasp for.
‘You don’t think I would leave you alone tonight? I went to the latrines, but I was taking the long route back for fresh air when I heard them. Do you hear them?’
Lucilia gave him another dangerous look. ‘Yes. Though unless they’ve been running on the spot for the last few minutes or you have developed godlike hearing, you are talking utter rubbish.
‘Shh…’
Her eyes widened and blazed as Fronto put a finger to his lips and frowned, turning in the direction of the increasing noise of drumming hooves.
‘Don’t you dare…’
This time, Fronto placed his finger on her lips and the look he shot her stopped her anger in its tracks. ‘What is it?’ she whispered.
‘Those are cavalry, not civilians, and armoured, too.’
‘Really? Whose? Ours? Gauls? How do you know?’
Fronto simply peered out into the night. The regular, syncopated drumming hooves of three riders who were familiar and comfortable with a shared pace. The sound of mail shirts shushing with the horses’ motion. The rattle of metal fittings, scabbards and helmets. Almost certainly Roman. If they were Gauls they were the more Romanized variety and using similar kit, but then there were tribes like that. Probably no threat, but then, as Lucilia had just reminded him, they were not actually within the republic’s bounds here.
Wordlessly he crossed to a large plant pot from which grew a well-trimmed shrub and reached down behind it, into the narrow gap against the wall. With a measured breath he withdrew a plain, traditional soldier’s gladius and slid it from the scabbard.
‘When did you put that there?’
Fronto, still peering off across the dark ground beyond the villa’s low wall, shrugged. ‘I have a few in handy hiding places.’
‘You’ll move them before the boys start walking,’ she hissed.
‘Lucilia,’ he replied, pressing his finger harder against her lips as he raised the sword ready, the thunder of hooves so close now their noise was almost deafening in the quiet night air.
The figures resolved slowly as they rounded the small copse of trees that marked the edge of the villa’s grounds and the fork in the drive that separated the road to their home and that of Lucilia’s father. Fronto tried to pick out the details of the three men, but all he could tell was that they appeared to be cloaked and mailed and moving at pace. He hefted the blade again, glinting in the moonlight.
The three horses pounded along the gravel road and through the gate. Fronto stared at these intruders. They could hardly be hostile, for their blades were still sheathed, but they were hairy, tangled, messy fellows, wrapped in travel cloaks and stained armour and…
He frowned, and the furrowed brow slowly resolved into a wicked, dark grin. His sword lowered.