S. Turney - Hades' Gate

He had come up with the possibility of setting up a ludus and obtaining a stable of gladiators. A lanista could make a lot of money and the life would be a little more exciting than trimming flowers or arguing with senators. Lucilia had made her thoughts on the possibility of a future as a lanista's wife quite plain.

So not that, then.

The only other possibility that had been raised by Galronus was to return to Caesar, helmet in hand, and request reassignment. Fronto didn't believe for a moment that Caesar would have him back even if he felt inclined to ask. He did not feel inclined to ask. The Remi chief had then suggested the possibility of Crassus' Parthian army, but the idea of spending a few years out in the expanses of deadly sand beyond Syria was hardly a draw. During winter he had been regaled with tales of that region by Furius and Fabius and everything they said had put him further off the idea.

So what was a man to do?

"Feliciter!" barked the old auspex before sagging and making a strange keening sound, drool dripping to his toes.

Fronto blinked, suddenly aware that the witnesses were cheering him.

It was over. He was a married man.

Lucilia was facing him, her face displaying a curious look which reminded him of that expression Faleria always had while buying slaves. Ah well. From a commander in Gaul to one in Rome. At least there would be fringe benefits from this campaign. Now all he had to do was survive the party and he and Lucilia could retire in peace.

* * * * *

"Have you given any more thought to the life of a country gentleman?"

Fronto felt that nagging itch that settled on him at formal occasions and took a sip of his extremely watered wine.

"Quintus, I'm no farmer."

"Shame. See, I have a gift for you; for you and Lucilia actually."

Fronto's eyes rose to the gathering in the large triclinium. Music wafted across the room along with the scented smoke from the braziers that kept the room lit and warmed. The guests had been doing a good job of keeping out of his way so far, possibly because of the look on his face that Balbus had told him was inappropriate for a newly-married man.

"A gift? It's me who gives the gifts to Lucilia."

"I know. But still. You see I've been hoping you would decide to take up the life of a retired gentleman, and I thought that, to that effect… well the long and the short of it is: there's a villa waiting for you on the hill behind Massilia, adjoining my own estate."

Fronto blinked. "What?"

"I got the land very cheap as I know some of the city's council and they're eager to take Roman noble settlers. Gives the city a bit of security and legitimacy in Rome's eyes you see. I've had the same people constructing it as built my own villa, though that was a long time ago. It won't be finished until late summer at the earliest… possibly even next year, if the weather turns bad in summer, but it's yours. You need somewhere to go that's away from the rat race of the city and, let's face it, Faleria needs the villa at Puteoli. Her or your mother anyway."

Fronto stared. "It's… generous."

"It's sensible. Have you given any thought to your future, then?"

"Almost nothing but. I love Lucilia, Quintus, and I'm happy as can be with the marriage, but there's this cloud hanging over me at the moment that I just can't shift. I'm no farmer or politician. As long as I've served with Caesar's guard or the Ninth or Tenth I've been absolutely certain of my place in the world. Now it feels like I've been set adrift on a raft and there's no sight of land. D'you understand?"

"Of course I do. I was lost for my first half year after I left the legion. I knew little else. You'll find a path, but you need to be patient. You need to be patient with the others too. Everyone has your best interest at heart and I know my daughters can be a little fearsome, but they love you — Lucilia especially. Take your time and relax. Treat this summer like an extended period of leave — that way you won't feel quite so lost. And remember that I'm always here to help."

"That is actually surprisingly comforting, Quintus. Thank you."

"Stop worrying about the future for the moment and concentrate on tonight. Your sister deserves your support and approval. There are a number of people who want to talk to you, probably to offer you opportunities, and Galba and Rufus are waiting for you to have time to reminisce. Even Crassus is waiting for a chance to talk. First thing's first, though. Catullus has asked me to introduce you properly."

"Really? Can't imagine what the warbling fellow would want with me."

"Be good. Catullus is in great demand and that 'warbling' was a composition in honour of you and my daughter. He gave of his time and skills as a gift to you and that deserves recognition."

"I suppose. Come on, then."

Balbus smiled and strode across the room to where a thin, well-dressed man sat quietly on a comfortable couch while three heavily white-leaded harpies gushed at him. He looked distinctly uncomfortable at the attention of the three women and that fact warmed Fronto towards him a little. As they approached, the poet turned to look up at him and Fronto was momentarily taken aback.

Catullus was a handsome man in his late twenties or early thirties with a clear — if pale — complexion and short, neat blond hair. He was clean shaven and unadorned apart from a single ring of gold. His toga was plain and old fashioned and he sat at ease, but his eyes almost stopped Fronto in his tracks. They were a glittering emerald colour and girls likely swooned over them, but they carried a hopeless hollowness in them that Fronto recognised all too well. It was a look he had seen in his bronze shaving mirror for years after the deaths of Vergilius and Carvalia. He understood what caused it and what it would do to a man. He also knew how dangerous it was.

"Ladies, may I introduce you to two veteran commanders of Caesar's legions" Balbus said expansively at the three women, who looked less than pleased about the possibility of being dragged away from the famous, handsome poet, but who recognised the barely concealed order from the house's master. As Balbus steered the women away from Catullus, the poet lifted a plain-sandaled foot and pushed another chair towards Fronto.

"Many congratulations, master Falerius."

"No one calls me that. I'm Fronto to most; Marcus to friends."

"I am as yet unaware as to my position in that hierarchy. It is good to meet you… Fronto. You have something of a reputation as a direct man — a man of action rather than words."

"That sounds surprisingly double-edged for what I presume is a complement."

Catullus laughed and once more Fronto noted the hollowness to the sound. It was mechanical and devoid of true feeling. "I apologise. I am known for my somewhat cutting and edgy compositions, as your former commander will be well aware."

"I think Caesar pays little attention to such lampoonery when he's got men like Cicero around bad-mouthing him. Apologies if I puncture your ego, Catullus, but you're only a small fish in that particular pool."

Catullus snapped out the mechanical laugh again.

"Good. Straight talking as I was told. I have a question for you."

"Go on."

"I am informed," the poet said, stretching, "that you are one of very few men indeed who have had dealings with Publius Clodius Pulcher and come out on top; that he in fact is a little afeared of you."

"Slimy, shit-ridden filthy catamite damn well should be frightened of me. If we ever cross paths again, he's going to be a shadow of his former self. In fact, I'd say there's probably only one man that hates him more than me, but that's another story."

Catullus simply nodded at this sudden display of bile and invective.