S. Turney: The Great Revolt

He frowned, and the furrowed brow slowly resolved into a wicked, dark grin. His sword lowered.

‘What in the name of seven fallen Vestals happened to you? You look like a hairy cow’s arse.’ Fronto leaned against the doorframe and shook his head with a grin. ‘No, no, no. You make a cow’s arse look good .’

Priscus slipped from the horse and landed badly, almost falling. It was only then that Fronto saw through the hair and the dust and dirt of the journey and realised how bone-tired — how truly exhausted — and deadly serious his friend was. He straightened, allowing all humour to drain from him once more. The rather battered and scarred figures of Furius and Fabius on the horses behind bore that same look, which made Fronto swallow noisily as the pair slid from their saddles and joined Priscus, one of them shutting the gate behind him and securing the courtyard.

‘What’s up?’ Fronto breathed.

Priscus straightened, stretched, and nodded to the villa’s master. ‘This city still have Caesar’s courier office?’

‘Of course.’ Now Fronto was worried. ‘Why?’

‘Then let’s get down there. I have to write a letter to the general and I’ll need your authority to get it sent expedited.’

‘Tonight?’

‘Preferably yesterday, but tonight will have to do.’

Fronto shook his head. ‘The courier service doesn’t operate during the hours of darkness by Massilian law, just like any other business. It’ll have to wait ‘til first light tomorrow. Besides, I’ve seen you write letters. It’s like watching an ape reading Plautus: slow and painful. It’ll take most of the night for you to write it!’

Priscus sagged a little. ‘Fronto, this is urgent .’

Fabius and Furius walked their horses forward — on his nicely tended lawn, noticed Fronto — and the latter clapped his hand on his commander’s shoulder. ‘It’s been weeks, Priscus. One night more will make no difference.’

There was a long pause and finally Priscus nodded. Fronto was about to reply with a cutting remark concerning their hirsute barbarian appearance when Lucilia stepped to his side, her eyes wide. ‘Gnaeus?’

Priscus gave an exhausted smile. ‘Lucilia.’

The young woman, immaculate and dressed in an elegant pale green chiton with gold accessories, jabbed Fronto so hard in the ribs he wheeled on her, his eyes bright.

‘What was that for?’

‘Being a terrible host.’ She pushed open the front door, raised her voice and shouted inside. ‘Eudora? Send for the stable boy and tell him there are three horses here to groom, feed and then settle in. And tell the cook that we have impromptu dinner guests to add to our gathering. Three soldiers with, I suspect, very healthy appetites.’ As Fronto stood, flapping his lips wordlessly in the face of his wife’s stream of commands, her handmaid Eudora appeared. Lucilia went on without pause. ‘And make sure the furnace is stoked and the baths are clean. Make up three rooms in the south wing with fresh linen and water bowls, then send for Antinos and tell him there will be plenty of armour and weapons wanting cleaning and oiling.’

Eudora nodded her understanding, clearly having somehow memorised a list of which Fronto had already forgotten all but the last two things, and scurried off.

Fronto turned an embarrassed and faintly apologetic look on the guests and was about to speak when Lucilia hauled him inside.

‘Sorry for my boorish husband, Gnaeus… and you too, Lucius and Tullus. The Gods alone know how he manages with all the discipline and ritual of the legions, when he can’t even manage the simplest of courtesies at home.

Fabius and Furius shared a look that Fronto caught and noted down for future reference when they pissed him off and he wanted an excuse. Priscus simply smiled.

‘I would dearly love to bathe and change clothes, I have to admit. I have not bathed since we passed through Narbo, and even that was a poor excuse for a bath. Sadly we are standing in all the clothes we own right now.’

Lucilia shook her head. ‘Marcus has a small mountain of new tunics, boots, socks and so on that he never touches because they’re not ‘worn in and comfortable’. Apparently, ‘worn in and comfortable’ means shabby, dirty and almost past saving. Come in, you three, where it’s warm. The Ianuarius air is unusually temperate, but it still carries a chill. Since you’ve closed the gate, your horses can roam the lawn freely until they’re tended to. Would that Galronus and my dear sister in law were here to greet you, but they are back at Puteoli, with Marcus’ mother. Family business ,’ she added with a sly smile.

The three visiting soldiers stepped into the atrium, and Priscus narrowed his eyes, looking sidelong at Fronto as he scratched at several days’ growth of beard. ‘There’s trouble afoot, my friend. We are in the proverbial sewer and Jupiter just took a mountain-sized shit!’ He suddenly remembered their company and turned an apologetic look to Lucilia, who brushed it aside.

‘If you heard some of the filth my father and my husband come out with together over a few cups, you wouldn’t worry about a word like that.’

‘ Priscus !’ hissed Fronto.

‘Sorry, yes. We were down at Gergovia among the Arverni, managing to set up deals and arrangements with a few of the native nobles who were apparently still pro-Rome when Gaul basically erupted next to us.’

Fronto frowned.

‘Our friend Vercingetorix — who we used to know as Esus — is on the ascent, Fronto. He took Gergovia with a force of loyal rebels and put all dissenters to the sword. We barely made it out alive, and we’ve been running ever since, heading for yourself and Caesar.’

‘Via Narbo?’

‘We overheard the Gaulish shi… scumbag… saying that they’d destroyed the mercantile station at Cenabum and cut the supply lines up there, so we couldn’t trust the Rhodanus valley. We came over the mountains and south. And it was a bugger of a trip, too. Have you any idea how high the passes are. There’s a lot of snow this time of year, too.’

‘Do you think it was just the first move in the game?’ Fronto hazarded. ‘Are they starting to pull things together at the moment, or do you think they’re already moving and putting their plan into action?’

Priscus pursed his lips and regarded Fronto levelly. ‘What do you think? They’ve just taken over the Arverni by force, and they’re obviously allied with the Carnutes now, ‘cause it was them who flattened Cenabum. How long would they now have to plan before any tribes still allied to us took action? No. They must already have had most things in place before a move as overt as this. The big rising we’ve been expecting is already happening, and we’re totally unprepared, despite everything we’ve done.’

The legate of the Tenth nodded his agreement as a slave arrived carrying a tray bearing two jugs and four cups, hovering expectantly. Fronto grabbed the tray and placed it atop the lararium — the altar to the household spirits — that stood close to the door. As the man scuttled off, Fronto poured four cups of wine and left the others to water their own, tipping barely a mouthful of dilutant into his own. He may have already spilled on his leg, but it was not through drunkenness.

‘If they are making their move, the bastard’s timed it nicely. Caesar’s in Aquileia, the legions are in the north, and the officers are scattered about either up there or on furlough down here. It’ll take time to pull everything together, and I’d be willing to bet that’s what the Arverni turd’s counting on.’

Lucilia gave the four men an indulgent smile and excused herself, ducking back through into one of the interior rooms. ‘I shall just go and inform father of your arrival and explain to the others.’