Hades' Gate mm-5, page 37
part #5 of Marius mules Series
Fronto stood for a moment, his gaze swapping back and forth between the two men.
"I want to see that letter, Galronus. Whatever your intentions, don't keep things like that from me again. I want you and Palmatus to go down to the markets and fill a cart with everything we need for a proper send off for Corvinia and Crispus. And don't stint on the wine. Get a lot — good stuff too."
"I will, Marcus. But there's something else you need to see, first."
Fronto's brow creased again at the strange tone of his friend's voice.
"What?"
"In the garden."
* * * * *
For the second time that morning, Fronto stopped dead at a doorway, surprised by what he saw.
On the gravel walkway around the small fountain, which was now missing a number of pieces of decorative stonework following their regular sparring sessions, stood Masgava and Palmatus, each with a drawn sword — one a notched gladiatorial sica and the other a well-used military gladius. Both blades' points were hovering a hair's breadth from either side of their prisoner's neck.
Fronto took two more steps out into the garden, Galronus at one shoulder and Balbus at the other, and shook his head in bemusement at the surprises the day was bringing.
"Paetus? What in the name of seven stinking latrine demons are you doing in my garden?"
The former Camp Prefect of Caesar's army, betrayed by both Clodius and the general, presumed dead on a Belgic battlefield and now back in Rome vowing revenge on his betrayers, smiled coldly.
"It's been a long time, Fronto. Could you have these two raise their blades, you think?"
Masgava and Palmatus kept their weapons hovering over his jugular.
"I don't think so."
Galronus kicked something across the floor and Fronto looked down to see a bronze dagger with a wide crosspiece moulded straight to the blade and tapering slowly to an almost needle-point. A Parthian weapon, if Fronto was any judge.
"This yours?"
Paetus nodded fractionally, aware that too much head movement could draw blood in his current situation.
"You know I have no grudge against you, Fronto. Jove, I've even saved your life a couple of times."
"No quarter offered, Paetus, until you tell me what you're doing armed in my garden."
"Can't you guess, Marcus?" He sighed. "Missing an opportunity is what."
Palmatus pricked the very tip of his blade into Paetus' neck, drawing a tiny bead of blood. "This piece of shit was lurking on the roof, looking down into your atrium, Fronto. Masgava knocked me back to the rear wall when we were fighting, which is bloody lucky, else we wouldn't have seen him at all."
Masgava nodded.
"You're after Clodius?" Fronto asked quietly. "I assumed you'd given up or gone to ground. I've not heard a word of you for over a year." Shaking his head, he gestured to the two men beside the prisoner. "You can let him go. He was here to try and kill Clodius. Can't blame him for that — I felt the urge myself, frankly."
As the two men lowered their swords, Fronto bent and picked up the eastern knife.
"Not over-keen on you attempting to murder a prominent politician under my roof, though, Paetus. I'd prefer it if you could keep your private war out of my house."
The former prefect rubbed his neck, looking at the smear of crimson on his finger as it came away.
"You've some good men here, Fronto. Quick and steady." Stretching, he shrugged. "I've been itching to get to the slimy piece of crap for over a year, but he's permanently protected. I've come close three times now and even managed to get into his house once, but every close call just makes the man more paranoid and draw another level of armour round him. I almost couldn't believe my eyes when he walked unescorted into your house. He doesn't even visit his own clients without an armed guard."
Fronto tossed the Parthian blade into the air, watching it twist as it rose and fell and then catching it by the point and proffering it to Paetus, who took it and sheathed it at his belt.
"So you took your opportunity?"
"You'd be surprised how easy it is to get onto your roof unseen. You might want to look at that, given the number of enemies you have, Fronto."
"I'll manage."
Paetus nodded towards the small table by the stone bench where the Jewish physician had furled his scrolls and was watching with interest. On the table sat a bowl of fruit.
"May I?"
"Be my guest," Fronto replied, "since you apparently are anyway."
Paetus reached out and took an apple, shining it on his tunic and then taking a bite and savouring the taste.
"I miss fresh fruit."
Fronto simply raised his eyebrow questioningly. Paetus grinned. "Sadly, my family's few remaining funds ran out during the winter and I was forced to seek employment in order to fund my ongoing campaign to bring down that monster and his master."
Since Fronto remained silent and questioning, Paetus took another bite and shrugged again.
"I've signed on with Annius Milo."
Galronus and Balbus were suddenly next to the man, three blades wavering at him as Galronus cracked his knuckles. Fronto smiled unpleasantly.
"Milo has no friends here, Paetus. I think you've just outstayed your welcome."
"Come on, Fronto. Milo holds you in surprisingly high esteem, no matter what Pompey might do. And I'm no Pompeian myself — they're just a means to an end. If anyone other than me stands a chance of gutting Clodius it's him."
"Still, I think it's time for you to go."
Paetus smiled and chewed on the apple. "By all means. But I think it only fair to warn you that you might want to think about leaving too."
"Milo doesn't scare me, Paetus."
"It's not Milo to whom I refer. Pompey has given us strict instructions that we are not to lay a finger on you. I suspect he worries that any further interference will damage his political standing in the city. No… there's others that you need to worry about."
Balbus' blade touched Paetus' breastbone, forcing the man to step back almost into the pond.
"Berengarus the German? His time is almost up."
The former prefect nodded. "He's a big one, but I can see how you lot would have no fear of him. Yet I still think you need to reconsider."
"Why?" interjected Elijah, leaning forward from his seat and grasping a plum from the bowl. "What has changed?"
Paetus rolled his shoulders. "Yesterday we escorted Pompey to the Carcer."
Fronto had a flash-memory of the unpleasant, dark prison with its animalistic denizens shuffling around behind the bars; the wraith that had addressed him when he visited.
"The carcer?"
"Yes. The great Pompey, in a moment of magnanimity, ordered that all the inmates he had interred there be freed."
Fronto squeezed his eyes shut. "And Berengarus was there too, I have no doubt."
"He was in the street out the front, yes."
"Did you hear anything more?"
"Sadly, not. We were simply escorting the general. Beyond hearing the initial order I was kept busy, but I think I can extrapolate on what's about to happen. As, I note from your expression, can you."
Balbus turned his head sharply. "Fronto?"
"There are some wicked, horribly dangerous men in there, Quintus. Or there were. Freed and on the streets, they'll have had nowhere to go, but I suspect the big German has a job or two for them."
Paetus smiled. "As I said, we were told not to harm you, so that's exactly what I shall do. We weren't told the Carcer visit was a secret, though, so there you are. Consider it a friendly and timely warning, for the sake of the old days. You've a bad history of getting the shit kicked out of you in this house. Run away, Fronto, while you still can."
Fronto pinched the bridge of his nose and gestured with his thumb over his shoulder towards the atrium. Masgava and Palmatus escorted Paetus from the garden. There were no goodbyes but, as the man disappeared into the darkness, he said "Run, Fronto."
He opened his eyes to find Balbus staring at him.
"What?"
"We can't run, Marcus. The monster needs to die for what he's done."
"I don't disagree, Balbus, but we're not talking about one man now; we might be talking a dozen, and they're mostly going to be very experienced killers. I cannot imagine what was going through Pompey's mind. He's unleashed a plague just to get at me."
Balbus took a step forward. "Don't tell me you're actually thinking of running away, Marcus."
Fronto shook his head and heaved in a deep breath.
"Not as such…"
"Marcus, I have to see this through. Even if you run, I cannot."
"I don't want to run, Quintus, but we're just hopelessly unprepared to deal with this. Alright there are six of us here right now, and even though I'm sure Galronus will stay with us whatever happens, Palmatus and Masgava are free men. They are entitled to leave. And the good physician over there? Well it's not his fight and even if he decided to stay, he's hardly a bred killer! Two years running now I've fought for my life in this place. It's not lucky. Fortuna's gaze doesn't fall on this house no matter how much I pray to her, and you heard how easily Paetus found it to get in."
"You are?" Balbus snapped. "You're thinking of running away."
The two men glared at one another for a moment and the tension rose even with the return of the two warriors from the doorway into the garden.
A cough finally broke the silence. Both men looked around to see Elijah rise from the bench.
"What?" snapped Fronto, somewhat unfairly.
"May I interrupt?" When neither man argued, the swarthy medic reached up and scratched his chin.
"It seems you are being offered both a problem and an opportunity."
"Explain?" asked Balbus sharply.
"I have not been privy to all of your discussions, obviously, gentlemen, but I do believe that you, master Fronto, wish to see your family safe so that you can look to your future career. You, master Balbus, seek revenge for your lovely wife, and while I cannot condone such a course of action, I can entirely understand it and sympathise. Neither of you feel this is the correct time and place to fight them. You are, by your own admission, unprepared, and you worry about the family you have back at your villa in Puteoli."
"That's not an explanation."
"If these people are as bad as you say, staying here and fighting, master Balbus, would leave your families unprotected so many miles away, and these may be the sort of people who would enjoy causing you pain by bringing violence against those you love? Witness the death of Corvinia."
Balbus' face drained of colour.
"He's right, Fronto. They've been loose since yesterday. What if they're not coming for us? What if they're already half way to Puteoli?"
Fronto nodded, appearing calm, though his eyes had taken on a worried wideness.
"Precisely" the Jew replied calmly. "I am given to understand that you are familiar with the land there?"
Fronto nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing in comprehension. "I spent much of my life there."
"And while these unpleasant murderers may well be overly familiar with the streets of Rome…"
"They will be totally un-familiar with Puteoli" Fronto finished, turning to Balbus. "He's right. It doesn't matter whether they've gone or not and whether the girls are there or we send them somewhere secret, we should go there. Get the bastards into my world. I'm sick of spending all my time reacting to problems caused by others. I'm always either struggling to make Caesar's more impetuous plans work or stumbling around in the dark trying to avoid dying at the hands of some piece of shit like Clodius or Hortius and Menenius. It's time I started to take a bit more control."
Balbus sheathed his sword, suddenly all urgent business.
"Time is of the essence, though, Fronto."
"What of the funeral feast?" Palmatus asked quietly from the doorway.
"To Hades with tradition. The girls are more important."
"Of course."
"What's the fastest way to Puteoli?" Balbus asked Fronto, wiping his sweaty brow.
"About two and a half days by horseback riding every available hour. We can shave off maybe half a day by taking a change of horses with us."
"Not so, gentlemen" the Jewish physician smiled, twisting the half-eaten plum in his hand.
"How so?"
"A liburnian vessel with a good captain can cover the distance by sea in less than a day and a half if the weather is right and the ship unburdened."
Fronto turned to the man. "How do you know such things?"
"You think I walked here from Judea? I am a veritable fount of knowledge, good sir."
Balbus nodded. "It'll cost a fortune if we want the ship to ourselves without a cargo."
"We can pay it, Quintus. And even if those murderers are on their way already, we might be able to get there first. If not, we'll have time to prepare for them." He scowled. "Of course it'll take me half a day to stop bringing up my stomach contents when we get there, but it's still worth it."
He spun around and looked at the others.
"None of you owe us anything."
"You're still paying me" Masgava replied with a half-smile.
"Well, if you're paying?" added Palmatus with a grin.
"Thank you. But you, Elijah, I think we are parting ways."
The physician pursed his lips. "I will not take part in your fight, I'm afraid, no. Hippocrates himself bade those of the medical profession pledge to keep all from harm and, while I can see the need for a judicious bending of that rule, I will not break it to kill outright. But I have a duty to care for the young girl until such time as she sees fit to grace us with her light once more. I presume you are not amenable to leaving her in my care in the city?"
Balbus shook his head vehemently.
"Then I will have to join you on your journey, if only for her sake. I can keep her and the ladies company while you soldiers of Rome fight the good fight."
Fronto nodded, his face serious, reflecting that of his older friend. "In that case, Palmatus, consider yourself on a retainer. You do a good job and you can name your own damn wage… same for you Masgava. Medicus? I'll leave it to Balbus to make any arrangements with you, but I'm grateful for your help. And you Jews are supposed to have a direct line to some powerful God if I remember rightly. I'll take it kindly if you'll throw a word in with him for us, since mine seem to be suspiciously absent these days."
The physician smiled indulgently.
"Palmatus: take the good medicus here down to the emporium — he seems to know about the journey. Don't come back until you find a ship's master with a fast vessel who'll take us to Puteoli without cargo. Passage for seven people and seven horses plus personal belongings. Pay whatever you need to but try not to let him know that's the case! At least make an effort to look choosy."
The former legionary nodded and crossed to the Jewish physician.
"Galronus and Masgava? Start packing up everything we'll want to take with us. We don't need anything we can't fit on horseback. I want both my swords, though."
The two men, without bothering to acknowledge the order, moved across the garden towards the armoury.
"Balbus: I suggest you get yourself and Balbina ready for the journey. I'll deal with the beasts. Bucephalus is in Puteoli and we've only got a couple of nags in the stable here, so I'm going to go and see a man about a horse. Six horses, in fact."
* * * * *
"We go for Fronto. Break house. Kill men."
Berengarus' piercing green eyes almost boiled with the desire to cause harm as he glared at the man standing before him, the other's wisps of wild, white hair only reaching up to the big German's chest.
"You are impatient, my gargantuan friend. I understand, but impetuousness carries dangers. We cannot afford to be so impulsive that we leap into the pit without checking for wolves first. All things in good time. When I took your coin you agreed that I would do the thinking."
"Think faster."
The grey, flickering tongue licked the lips in the parchment-skinned face as Tulchulchur, the monster of Vipsul, smiled. "Vengeance is best appreciated slowly and laboriously, else it is over too fast my friend. And vengeance completed is a hollow victory. When Fronto lies skinned and broken before you, you will have no idea what to do next. Achieving such a goal robs a man of his ongoing purpose."
"What you know?"
Tulchulchur laughed — a sound like a hundred tomb gates creaking. "The first man I ever killed was my own father, for what he did to me. It took him nine days to die and he screamed for merciful death every moment of every hour of every day. I was quite distraught when he finally passed. I had such plans for each day of two weeks and missed out on the opportunity to test some theories as to the body's limits. Fortunately, though robbed of my young life's goal, I found my purpose in those nine days. I discovered the one thing that made me whole — the one thing at which I truly excelled. Those remaining dozen tests were carried out again and again as I found new meat worthy of my knives, and the astounding thing was that I discovered there is no limit to possibilities. Every month until I was incarcerated I discovered a new way to cause agony."
He grinned. "Fronto will die, but I fear that so will you when you no longer have him to focus upon."
"Hurry" was all the enormous German said, turning and stamping away into the next room.
The monster of Vispul watched his 'employer' leave the room and shrugged nonchalantly. Berengarus was still young. He would learn.
Tulchulchur — a Demonic appellation he had given himself upon abandoning his birth name — had heard some fantastic estimates of how many men he had killed during his decades-long spree up and down the lands of Etruria and Latium. Some said two thousand, even.
He knew better.
Though he had long ago lost count, he could still attempt a good estimate. Never more than one person a month — until now, but then he had some time to catch up on — and never within fifty miles of the previous victim. One a month was enough; sometimes he could make them last three weeks and more, anyway. To some extent it irked him that he had become infamous for sheer volume. It was the quality of the work that mattered, not the quantity, and he was a master. Quantity would always come if you had the time.
