S. Turney: The Belgae

Fronto stared at the man.

“What if Priscus can retain his position?”

Carbo shook his head.

“You know that’s not going to happen, sir. You’re in denial. That’s why I have to take charge.”

“ What ?”

Fronto’s voice had gone up an octave and yet, inside, he realised this was not so much through anger, but more a mixture of shock and regret.

“Legate, you’ve lost two senior centurions this year. More than that, I’m very well aware that they were two of your best friends. The reason the Tenth works so well and functions beyond all expectations is that the officers know each other well and work well together. You need people like Priscus and Velius who will talk straight to you…” he smiled that infectious smile again “… and even down to you, when necessary. You need that as much as the Tenth needs you .”

As Fronto watched, his mouth hanging open, Carbo jabbed his vine staff into the ground, hung his helmet on it, strolled over to the cabinet where the last of Fronto’s current wine store was, and poured two cups.

“Drink.”

Fronto stared at the cup and then took it, dumfounded.

“You presume a great deal, Centurion Carbo.”

The shiny pink face split into that wide grin again.

“Servius if you prefer sir, when we’re alone, but Carbo’s fine if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

Fronto took a deep quaff from the cup and stared over the rim at this incredibly insolent man. His face split into a smile.

“I think we’ll get on just fine, Servius. But there’s a condition attached to the position.”

Carbo nodded professionally.

“And that would be?”

“Finding an excuse for me not to travel back to Rome with the general.”

Carbo smiled and refilled his commander’s cup.

“Rome? Now? Not a hope, Marcus. You’ll be busy here for a while. I have some new schedules, promotions, budgets and so on. And we have to select a new training officer. And of course, you need to be here during the hand-over between Priscus and myself. Oh, no. You could be here for weeks.”

Fronto grinned.

“I was hoping you’d say that. A lot of the senior officers will be here shortly, with enough wine to float a trireme. I think it’s time they met you.”

He raised an eyebrow humorously.

“Can you play dice?”

The light of the oil lamps and the fire in the hearth cast dancing golden waves around the shadowy interior of the room. Crimson drapes covered the leaded windows and one had to squint to pick out even the most basic detail on the intricate wall paintings. From the corner of the room in deep shadow, a strong hand reached out, a gold signet ring on the little finger, and collected the jewelled glass from the small table.

Publius Clodius Pulcher raised his own glass in salute to his shadowy companion and took a quick drink, frowning at the taste.

“I distinctly remember telling Appio to get the best Falernian. I suspect he bought a cheap substitute and pocketed the change. I shall have him flogged until he is unrecognisable.”

The hidden figure rumbled and chuckled in a deep voice.

“You will set a dangerous precedent by punishing a man with vision and a taste for profit. Most governors and senators are no better.”

Clodius smiled; a crocodile smile.

“Perhaps. You’ve heard that, despite my best efforts, Cicero has returned from exile?”

“Yes. He will likely pick up where he left off in his attempts to prosecute you.”

Clodius laughed.

“I have taken the first step there. I had him attacked and beaten on the Clivus Scauri yesterday. We also wrecked his house and burned down that of his brother. I trust now that he will think twice before bringing up old cases.”

There was another deep laugh from the shadows.

“Burning down his brother’s house may have been a mistake. The younger Cicero commands one of Caesar’s legions and the man has already set his sight on you.”

Clodius shook his head dismissively.

“Caesar is a jumped up little fish trying to command a pond full of pike. He seems to think he’s invincible, but I assure you, he’s not. I have several people quite close the general, some of whom are somewhat disaffected with him. I am aware of every move he makes, often before he’s made it. No; Caesar’s not a worry to me. My sister … now she’s a worry. I have to find a way to contain her and dampen down her more excessive desires.”

The shadowy figure laughed once more and replaced the glass on the table.

“I had best leave. Terentius’ play will finish presently and there will be comment if I am not seen to stand and applaud at the end.”

As Clodius nodded respectfully, the figure stood in the shadowy corner and wrapped the toga more tightly about himself.

“As always, this conversation never took place. I was never here.”

Clodius nodded again, leaning back on his couch.

“Enjoy the post-theatre party.”

“I shall,” the visitor yawned, “as much as possible. Remember: be careful. And, regardless of what you say, watch Caesar. He may yet surprise you.”

Clodius took another sip of wine as the figure left the room. Moments later he heard the door open and close and he was alone once more. Grinding his teeth, he flung the glass at the fire.

“To Hades Caesar. Damn the man.”