Marius' Mules V: Hades' Gate (10 page)

The fleeing man sensed his freedom in his grasp and dived towards the woods, desperate to reach its shadowy safety.

Hauling back their arms, both of Ingenuus' men hurled their spears in a last effort to catch the man or to wound him at the very least. The first spear thudded into a tree bole less than two feet from the runner's head. The other, a magnificent or incredibly lucky shot, missed the man's thigh by a mere hand-breadth, but jammed into the leafy ground and stuck out at an angle, just high enough to catch the runner's ankle as he attempted to leap the obstacle.

Priscus closed his eyes in relief as the fleeing man suddenly sprawled head first into the mud and leaf-mould at the forest's edge. By the time the man had recovered enough to pull himself partly up, he found that he was at the business end of three cavalry swords, the ever-professional prefect Ingenuus and his companions gesturing back towards the vanguard of the army.

The Tenth's new legate watched the approaching man intently, wondering whether he would try and make another break for it. He would be stupid to try, with Ingenuus and his friends' swords at his neck, but sometimes desperation led a man into the trap of stupidity.

Slowly, as he approached, the figure became more identifiable but it was only when he came close and raised his head defiantly that Priscus heaved a sigh of relief and felt the satisfaction of a task completed. Furius was still radiating confusion, but Priscus heard Caesar's breathing tighten.

"Dumnorix" the general hissed, his voice laced with venom.

Priscus nodded. Furius leaned closer. "Dumnorix as in the one we saw on that message?"

Still nodding, Priscus turned from the sight of the weary prisoner and clapped his hand on Furius' shoulder. "The very same. Soon as you mentioned that name, I knew we were on to something. I've been hoping we'd get our hands on him, but I didn't imagine it would be this quick and easy. Fortuna smiles on us, Furius."

"But who
is
he, sir? Some kind of Belgic chieftain?"

"Oh no, Furius. No Belgian this one. He's Aedui, from down at Bibracte."

"But the Aedui are long allies of Caesar."

"Not
this
prick. When we last saw him he was a lot fatter and haughtier, but I know that face. Dumnorix was a ringleader of a plot four years ago, when we first set foot in Gaul; a plot which led to the death of a lot of good cavalrymen and the murder of a popular tribune, and almost the death of Fronto too. He was let off a bit too leniently, though, due to our need to stay in with the Aedui at the time - stripped of his titles and money and exiled. Soon as I saw his name on that scrap of message, I knew the knob-end was up to his old tricks, and what he's been doing since he was kicked out of Bibracte. And now we've got him without the need to keep the Aedui happy. This time I think the general might like to have him broken?"

He looked up at Caesar, who was still unleashing the full force of the infamous Julian malice at the scrawny, dejected figure before them, eyes burning and lip twitching. "Bind him tight and strap him to a horse, none too comfortably either." He turned to Cingetorix, who was still standing beside Priscus. "My apologies for entertaining doubt, chief of the Treveri. Do you require our aid to secure your lands once more?"

The intended humiliation of the question was not lost on the chieftain, who tried to stand straight and proud, despite having been saved from an ignominious death by the timely arrival of Caesar's legions.

"Respectfully Caesar, now that your men are rounding up the majority of Indutiomarus' friends and warriors, I should have no trouble breaking his influence in the oppida of the Treveri. Should your legions remain to aid me, though, I fear it might send others running to his cause instead."

Caesar nodded and looked up at the legionaries of the Seventh and Tenth herding captives from the forest.

"Very well. We look to have around a couple of hundred prisoners now. I trust you will have no difficulty with my removing them from Treveri lands and putting them under close guard among my veterans?" He glanced down at Dumnorix and then across at the tall figure of Indutiomarus who was being propelled towards them, his arms folded behind his back, struggling against the four legionaries who held him. "And the interrogation of a few, of course."

Cingetorix looked ready to argue for a moment, but lowered his head and closed his mouth, nodding silently.

"Go and quell the rebellious spirit among your people, Cingetorix. I have urgent business this summer, and I would hate to have to interrupt it in order to return here and remind you of your oaths. Do I make myself clear?"

Again the chieftain nodded, his head remaining bowed.

Priscus smiled at Furius. "I couldn't have planned it any better. Two of the biggest ringleaders in chains at one accidental stroke. See? I'm wasted as a legate. We might just be able to avert this inferno before it builds ready to blow, Furius."

The tribune nodded. "Let's get Britannia out of the way first, sir, eh?"

Priscus grinned. "Time to kick a few British arses, eh? Shame Fronto's missing this. Wonder what he's up to? He'll be married by now. Bet he's pacing like a caged lion."

Chapter Three

IUNIUS

"There won't be any bookmakers."

Fronto smiled at Lucilia. "There are always bookmakers. Sometimes you need to know where to find them is all."

The look in his young bride's eye seemed to be trying to convey some sort of warning, but Fronto shrugged off the worry. For the first time since last autumn he was in for a bloody good fight. He might not actually be
involved
in it - probably a good thing given how his knee was holding up and how he seemed to get out of breath even climbing a flight of stairs these days - but he would get to admire the skill at arms of professional fighting men. And perhaps make some money if he still knew form to any extent. And there might even be wine involved, since Pompey had pride of place and they were joining him.

The only minor irritation was that Galba was here somewhere in the throng but would not be in a position to share his encyclopaedic knowledge of the games. It was said that the stocky noble who had fought alongside Fronto for years now had such an intimate knowledge of the world of the lanista and his property that he had never yet lost a bet on a fight. He would certainly be a handy man to have close by, given the meagre amount of cash Fronto had managed to sneak out of the house. Lucilia had been adamant that Pompey was supplying everything they need so money was unnecessary. Not, Fronto simmered, when you knew where to look for a bookmaker.

Lucilia was suddenly waving, though she stopped herself short of shouting at the noble lady - such would have been inexcusable behaviour for a Roman matron of patrician blood. Even the expansive waving was perhaps over the top. But then, most noble-blooded visitors to the monstrosity that stood before them would be borne by litter and accompanied by guards. Not so the Falerii. Fronto had suggested transport, but Lucilia had chided him and suggested a walk, given the lovely weather, and that was
another
thing that had set him glowering: after the walk all the way from the Aventine, his knee was already playing him up and he knew he would be sitting with a painful throb throughout the games.

Perhaps wine would alleviate that.

His gaze fell upon the subject of Lucilia's gesticulating and he noted with sourness that the lady Julia, daughter of Caesar, had just alighted from a ridiculously comfortable-looking litter. Pompey Magnus, her husband, stood at the front of the portable couch, speaking to a heavy-set man with the look of a professional fighter as half a dozen hired guards kept a space open between the pair and the bustling crowd all about. The gulf between the two noble families - Pompeius and Falerius - was brought home to Fronto when his view was suddenly obscured as a man reeking of fish bumped into him, almost knocking him over. He spun to berate the man, but already had no idea where he was in the press.

"Should have had a pissing litter and guards."

"Did you say something, Marcus?"

"Doesn't Julia look radiant, dear" Fronto said, smearing a horribly fake smile across his face - the one that made him look faintly constipated.

"She does. She's waving us over. Come on."

As they moved forwards, Fronto's gaze rose from the beauty of Julia and her bulging, pregnant stomach, past the litter and the private army of Pompey's to the enormous structure that the former general had commissioned several years ago and which had only just had the finishing touches added to it.

It was, he had to admit, a breath-taking piece of work. You could fit the entire timber and tile theatre of Tarraco inside this massive marble one five times over, let alone the huge portico and temple group that formed a part of the whole complex. It was easily the tallest building in the entire region of Rome.

It was almost impossible to get one's head around the sums of money that Pompey must have forked out to pay for this thing. It was a display of wealth and pomp beyond anything Fronto had previously imagined. The general had been granted three triumphs in his time - a magnificent achievement - and yet the people of the city would forget those ostentatious displays in short order as the political climate changed and swung about. But this enormous grand design would stamp the name of Pompey the Great on the city forevermore. It was a legacy, if nothing else. It was also the first theatre of any permanence that had graced the great city.

"Where are Galronus and Faleria? They were supposed to be meeting us."

"Faleria said they'd join us inside" Lucilia replied calmly, still smiling at Julia. "She and Galronus have a few things to attend to first."

Grumbling, Fronto followed her through the crowd, grateful when it began to ease off as Pompey's mercenaries spread out and held the crowd back to facilitate their approach. Julia smiled at them warmly, holding out both arms in welcome.

"My dear Lucilia. Faleria has spoken of you numerous times. I am so pleased you could join us."

As Lucilia bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement, Julia shifted her gaze to the sullen male. "Marcus. You look well."

Fronto gave her a weary smile. "Kind; if not entirely true. Good to see you, Julia. How's knob-nos…" he shrivelled slightly into himself and coughed to cover his words. "Sorry. How's life?"

"Life, Marcus, is superb and, despite the difficulties of having to heave this lump around on a daily basis," she paused to pat the rounded bump, "everything gets better day upon day. My beloved cannot wait to be a father again."

Fronto's eyes slipped sideways to the well-padded figure of the general standing a few paces away. Pompey had become a little out of shape in recent years of political luxury. But then Fronto was hardly the frontline fighter he had been a few years ago. Something about the way the man stood, however, suggested that he considered himself anything but 'past it'. He would still present a powerful opposition in a fracas, the grumpy ex-soldier suspected.

"Fronto." A curt, simple greeting. It could easily have been seen and heard as offhand, even insolent. Fronto knew this man, though. The greeting was simple enough in terms of words. The man's eyes, however, drank in every nuance of Fronto's bearing and attitude, filing away important details, identifying strengths and weaknesses. His expression moved from one of haughty distance to one of expectant companion. Fronto could feel himself being weighed up and tested. His greeting and first words to this man who had so opposed his own general at times would be paramount to the forming of any future relationship, good or bad. Fronto paused for only a heartbeat before allowing a friendly smile to reach his lips.

"It's hot as a camel's scrotum in this crowd. Let's get inside and find some cheap wine."

He tried to ignore the horrified look his wife suddenly shot at him and the bemused expression on Julia and kept his twinkling, smiling eyes on Pompey.

The ageing general's eyelid flickered once and for a moment it looked as though he might explode. He did. In uproarious laughter.

Throwing his head back and letting out a bear howl of humour, Pompey Magnus reached out and threw an arm around Fronto's shoulder.

"Given our history, Fronto, I really did expect you to approach me with sour distaste, or at the very least unhappy respect. I am heartened to find you the same Fronto of whom tales are told in the military. Come. Let us cool down this 'camel's scrotum' and find some wine. Not cheap stuff though. I have three jars of the best stock waiting for us inside. I suspect your friend the Gaul will appreciate a jar?"

Fronto grinned. "Galronus? I have no doubt. Come on then. Show us this theatre of yours then."

Pompey, still chuckling, turned and strode towards the nearest entrance, two of his hirelings leading the way, clearing the crowd aside. Fronto reached out with his arm for Lucilia to lean on, but she had already stepped away from him and was deep in conversation with Julia. Shrugging, aware that the ladies' safety was assured by the ring of Pompeian guards, he strode off after the general, trying not to limp.

The arcade of columned arches that formed the ground floor arc of the theatre's outer wall presented dozens of points of entry, but the organisers of the games had placed railings across most of them, limiting access to only one point on the northern arc and one on the southern. As they made their way up to the southern access, the guards now physically pushing the general public aside to allow for their passage, Fronto realised how many people were going to be disappointed today. Certainly this monstrous theatre could hold a great number of spectators, but nothing like the number jostling towards the entrances to buy a small inscribed bone ticket.

As the guards cleared their way, Pompey simply waved to the factor at the table by the gate, who brushed aside his box of tokens and marked off the honoured editor and his guests on a wax tablet.

If anything, the heat was even less bearable in the confines of the tunnels, and once they made their way through the arched opening and out into the sunlight, Fronto breathed a deep sigh of relief. The theatre was all the more spectacular in its internal dimensions and, as they descended the half dozen steps to the front seating ring with an unrivalled view of the proceedings, Fronto drew a deep breath at the vast swathe of people already seated.