‘So how is this carcer run?’ asked Cavarinos, peering at the small ceramic honey pot that represented Rome’s infamous prison.
Fronto nodded to Balbus. ‘You’re more informed on city matters than me these days, Quintus?’
The old man leaned back and coughed. ‘Well, now. For a start there is no permanent guard staff on the place. What you need to remember is that the carcer is only a temporary measure. It is a place where important criminals or captured enemies are kept until their fate is decided, not a punishment in itself. As such there are occasions when the place is completely empty for protracted periods, though in times of war and civil strife it can be quite busy. As such it becomes the responsibility of the consuls in office at the time. Often control of the carcer is delegated by those consuls to one of their clients. When Pompey was in office, his man Afranius was responsible and the place was full of Pompey’s enemies, so Afranius brought a sizeable force of loyal men to run the place.’
‘And now?’ prompted Aurelius.
‘The current consuls are Claudius Marcellus the younger and Sulpicius Rufus. If Pompey still had control of the carcer, there would be little chance of our gaining access to it after Fronto’s disagreement with the man. But even Pompey might have been easier than these two. Marcellus is an outspoken enemy of Caesar, a true hater of the proconsul, and he is the man with current control. It might be possible to circumvent him by going to Rufus, but although Rufus has never officially stood against Caesar, he has often spoken out against him and I think would be no friend to us. Besides, playing off one consul against another usually has bad repercussions. Anyway, Marcellus was a tribune in Pompey’s army early in his career and he’s put one of his former officers in charge of the carcer along with, I understand, five former legionaries. I think we can assume they are experienced veterans and incorruptible. Marcellus ran his campaign for consul on the ticket of stamping out corruption, so he would have to be careful about his employees.’
‘If they are so incorruptible, can we not just go to this Marcellus or his officer and tell them about the Sons of Taranis?’ mused Cavarinos. ‘Surely they would put the security of Rome’s most important prisoner above petty rivalries?’
Fronto snorted. ‘If you think your tribes are prone to infighting, you’ve a thing to learn yet about Rome. Most of the powerful men in the city hate most of the other powerful men, and no small amount of them would burn down half the city to embarrass their opposite numbers. We used to have a bit of balance when Crassus was still in the picture, as there were three camps and something of a stalemate. But now it’s polarised and everyone is either for Pompey or for Caesar. You say the wrong name to the wrong people and you’ll be wandering the street looking for your teeth.’
Balbus sighed and turned to Cavarinos. ‘What our friend is trying so eloquently to say is that divisions run so deep in Roman politics these days that Marcellus might well free Vercingetorix himself just to embarrass Caesar if he thought he could get away with it. He certainly wouldn’t listen to us and take action to stop the Sons of Taranis. In fact, he’d probably welcome their intervention. If Gauls from a land that Caesar claims to have conquered manage to free their king and get him out of Rome, Caesar would suddenly find himself extremely unpopular in all circles.’
Cavarinos shook his head. ‘How your people ever conquer lands is beyond me.’
‘So,’ Fronto murmured, tapping the honey pot with a finger, ‘six men inside who will have nothing to do with us, and no way to readily gain access. That puts us more or less on the same footing as the enemy. The difference is that they have to find a way in. We just have to stop them doing so. That’s our main advantage.’
‘Wish we knew where they were,’ muttered Biorix. ‘That would make things a great deal easier.’
‘True, but we don’t. And barring the disfigured Molacos, who will have to be extremely cautious and is probably not going outside at all, we have no idea what they look like. We will have to be truly alert and perceptive. No one is to get too drunk while we’re in the city, and everyone is expected to get a good night’s sleep every night. If the worst comes to the worst, there are people we can call on in the city: Caesar’s niece and family, Brutus, old friends from the army. But we can’t drag them into this unless we need them. The more people involved the more likely something will go wrong.’
‘The Sons of Taranis will have to examine the carcer and learn what they can,’ Cavarinos said. ‘They do not have the advantage of being able to pass for city folk like you. Most of them might not speak Latin or at least will speak it with a thick accent, so they will be limited in terms of who can do their research. Moreover, they will not have the level of knowledge of Balbus here. There is every chance that we are already way ahead of them in finding out everything we need to know. That means that they will likely still be watching the carcer.’
‘Good point,’ Fronto nodded. ‘And if they are,
we
may be able to spot
them
. So our first goal is to put a watch on the carcer ourselves. We’ll have pairs of men watching the place from the Huntsman’s Head. Most of you are more than capable of blending in at a city tavern. Stay on the alert side, but try to look like you’re relaxing on your day off. While two men observe there, the rest can stay here out of sight and rest. We’ll rotate the duties so that a pair is never repeated. Sadly myself, Balbus and Cavarinos are off the list. We are far too well known to the enemy, though we might stay nearby to be on-hand at times. With Fortuna’s grace, the Gauls will slip up and we’ll catch them watching the place. If we can get a lead on them before they make any real move, then we’re in with a chance. We might be able to mob them early.’
‘What if we get involved in a fight?’ Dyrakhes mused. ‘You say we’re not allowed weapons in the city and I understand you not wanting to break the law, but you can bet that these Gauls aren’t bothered. If they’ve come this far they won’t baulk at concealed weapons. I fought in the pits in Tergeste, but I don’t relish the idea of facing well-armed men with only my fists if I can avoid it.’
The others nodded and Fronto sighed. ‘It’s not simply a matter of not wanting to break the rules, Dyrakhes. It’s a sacred law as old as the city. When you cross the pomerium – the sacred boundary of the original city – there are rules as old as the gods. Carrying a weapon of war in public is a terrible violation. It doesn’t apply in your own homes, of course, and it doesn’t apply to tools and eating knives and all that. And there’s some bending of the boundaries, to be honest. When I was young, before Sulla extended it thirty years ago, the pomerium barely covered the centre and stopped just this side of the circus. My great grandfather built this house before the Aventine became the domain of the plebs largely because this hill was outside the pomerium then and he felt safe from flaunting sacred law. Caesar officially broke the law by crossing it and coming to this house a few years ago, since he should have laid down his governorship to do so, but no one would dare cross the general at the time, and many would argue that the recent extension to the pomerium wasn’t legal anyway and that Caesar hadn’t crossed the true one. Even some magistrates probably only consider the original ancient pomerium a proper legal boundary.’ He frowned as he realised that he’d drifted off into an almost tutorial explanation, and smiled at himself. Age, perhaps? His grandfather had done that a lot.
Balbus gave him an odd look. ‘The long and the short of it is that a man can be fined, beaten, exiled or even executed for carrying a weapon within the pomerium, depending on his status, so we do not do it even if it puts us at a disadvantage. But,’ he smiled, ‘there are no rules against carrying a good eating or whittling knife, or a cleaver, or even a good stout staff. Just weapons.’
Fronto nodded. ‘And that is what we’ll do. Permissible arms only. We’ll start in the morning.’
Aurelius shook his head. ‘Respectfully, sir, the Sons of Whores or whatever they’re called won’t be sleeping on it. They might even be there right now, trying something. If we’re settled on the plan – that for now we observe and try to spot the enemy – we should start right away.’
‘Everyone is exhausted after the journey, Aurelius.’
‘Not really, sir. I understand the taverns on the Argiletum and the Clivus Argentarius stay open ridiculously late if not all night, so the Huntsman’s Head will probably be the same. I’ve pulled all night watches many times in the legion and I’ll feel better in a lively place than here with your unusually loud and large collection of bats. I’ll take on the first watch.’
‘I will too,’ murmured Biorix. ‘I know the look of a tribesman as well as Cavarinos there. And who better to look like a couple of retired veterans enjoying a cup of wine than a couple of retired veterans?’
Fronto sat thoughtful and silent for a moment. ‘Alright. Pamphilus and Procles will relieve you in the third watch of the night. That should give them ample time to rest first. Once you’re relieved, you two, get straight back here and to sleep. I need everyone on their toes.’
Aurelius and Biorix said their farewells and left the room, and Fronto peered at his large model. ‘I suppose there’s not much else we can do until we know more. I’ll leave this here for further use, but I guess we would all be best served now by getting some sleep. In the morning I’m going to the city tabularium to see what I can find out that might be of use.’
* * * * *
Fronto unrolled the next scroll and ran his finger down it until he found the name he was looking for. Lucius Curtius Crispinus. There he was in ink: Marcellus’ carcer man. A former senior centurion out east who’d received his retirement early while Marcellus was the legion’s senior tribune. Seems the two had been linked even then. When Marcellus came back to Rome so did Crispinus, ignoring the nice parcel of Illyrian land he’d been granted as his honesta missio. The scroll told a story of an exemplary officer. Decorated numerous times on campaign, winner of the
corona aurea
. Fronto’s kind of officer, in fact. He reached up for the other ledgers he’d brought from the shelves. After some furious rifling through, he stabbed a finger down on the centurion’s name again. Interesting. Crispinus owned that estate in Illyricum but also occupied one of Marcellus’ town houses rent free. He was clearly indispensable to the consul to be kept in such a manner, but what was
truly
interesting was that Crispinus also had his name on the deeds of another property on the Viminal. A property that had previously been registered to Pompey himself until he had moved his family to the grand new house by his great theatre. Did Marcellus know that his client centurion was bypassing him and taking handouts directly from Pompey?
It made little difference to the matter in hand. Crispinus might be a true veteran centurion with an excellent record – he might be incorruptible and the paragon of Roman
virtus
– but either way, whether he was Marcellus’ man or Pompey’s, it put him a long way from Fronto’s reach. Marcellus was an enemy of Caesar, and Pompey… well, everyone knew where
that
was going. And Fronto was well known for his connection to Caesar. A dead end there.
With the deep sigh of the thwarted, Fronto returned the documents to their assigned places and left the building, the clerk by the exit giving him a cursory look-over to make sure he had removed no files from the place. Despite the danger of recognition by the Sons of Taranis, he took a quick dip across the long sloping road to the open front of the Huntsman’s Head with its excellent view of the carcer. Pamphilus sat, looking somewhat irritable, toying with his bread and cheese. Across the table from him sat the hulking shape of the Greek marine, Procles. Fronto had expected a certain amount of irritability from Pamphilus, having been split from his brother Clearchus, but really between them they barely produced enough brightness to illuminate a barrel. Splitting them up and pairing them with more inventive thinkers had been a natural decision and Procles, for all his size and shape, was a surprisingly quick-witted man.
‘Morning, lads.’
‘Marcus,’ nodded Procles, talking over the top of Pamphilus who’d started to call him sir. Anonymity was important at times like this.
‘What news?’
‘Oh this morning’s fascinating,’ grinned Procles, patting a spare seat. Fronto sank into it and poured himself a cup of their wine. ‘Do tell.’
‘Well, Procles smiled,’ glancing around to make sure no one was listening too closely. ‘There might only be six men inside, but they change regularly. They do shifts with three changes a day, if I’ve worked out my timings properly from what Aurelius told me. And the latest shift arrived not long ago, but only five of them arrived. Six men left and five entered. Since then we’ve heard a lot of raised voices from inside, but you can’t quite hear what they’re saying from here.’
Fronto frowned and opened his mouth to answer but at that moment the carcer door opened with a bang and two men appeared, one angry and one clearly anxious.
‘To the barracks, Corvus, and fetch another man.’ Crispinus. It had to be. Fronto had spent most of his adult life around centurions and he knew the tone. The way that voice carried across the open space it was clearly used to filling a parade ground. The man being lashed by the former centurion’s tongue quailed nervously. ‘Statius is never late for work. Something’s happened to him, sir.’
Crispinus waved a dismissive hand. ‘He spends too much time in the drinking pits of the Subura. Probably got himself knifed, but I’ll look into it later. Can’t be below compliment with
these
guests, now get going.’