Free Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) by S.J.A. Turney Page B

has enough ammunition for making my life difficult without you providing a character reference!”
    Priscus slugged down the last of his wine.
    “Where is Galronus, anyway? I thought we were going to the Circus Flaminius for the camel racing?”
    “I imagine he’s only just now waking up with a thick head in the bed chamber of some delightful young lady in the subura. He’ll be here in plenty of time. He’s never late for the first race, you know that.”
    Priscus opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted when the door opened with a polite knock. The shiny, wrinkled, olive pate of Posco, the house’s chief slave, poked round the door.
    “Master Marcus? There are visitors for you. I have shown them into the atrium.”
    Fronto frowned. He and Posco had known one another long enough that he knew the little Greek’s signals; the two were far more friends than master and slave these days and Posco rarely even told Fronto about his visitors, dealing with the various irritating issues himself without bothering his master. The stress he laid on the word ‘visitors’, however, meant that these particular people were out of the ordinary.
    “Would you like them shown through or to meet them there?”
    Fronto frowned.
    “I think you should lead them on in, thank you, Posco.”
    With a nod, the little man exited the room and shut the door.
    “Visitors?” Priscus raised an eyebrow. “Can’t be the general. He won’t be back here for a few weeks. Who then?”
    Fronto shrugged.
    “We’re about to find out.”
    The three waited a minute, listening intently. A number of voices out in the corridor became gradually louder. Posco and three others. One had a deep and rich voice, one somewhat miscellaneous. The third…
    “That’s Cicero!”
    Fronto turned to Crispus.
    “You sure?”
    “I know that voice. Heard it often enough in camp.”
    The pair fell silent as the footsteps reached the far side of the door and stopped. Posco swung the portal open and stepped through with a slight bow.
    “Masters Marcus Caelius Rufus, Quintus Tullius Cicero, and Marcus Tullius Cicero.”
    Fronto stared.
    Quintus he was familiar with from the last two years of campaigning, Marcus Caelius Rufus was prominent enough to be a household name as praetor, tribune and public speaker. Marcus Cicero was something of a surprise: the great orator was not the most favourable advocate of Caesar and deigning to visit one of the general’s senior officers seemed out of character.
    “Gentlemen? To what do we owe this pleasure?”
    The elder Cicero brother shot questioning glances at Crispus and Priscus and then let his gaze fall on Fronto.
    “What we have to say, Fronto, is rather private.”
    Fronto raised his brow.
    “Unless you’re here to tell me you slept with my sister or something, these two can stay. Even them, since they’ve met Faleria…”
    Cicero frowned meaningfully at Fronto, but his younger brother tapped his shoulder.
    “I know them, Marcus. I’ve fought alongside them. Trust Fronto; he knows what he’s doing.”
    Fronto’s stomach began to churn. Politics. This had the stink of politics all over it.
    “Come on, then. What brings three such eminent folk to my house?”
    He gestured to the various spare couches and seats in the room and the three men filed in and sat. Cicero manoeuvred his toga into a more comfortable position.
    “I was, to be frank, rather hoping that Caesar would be here. I hear rumours that he is returning to Rome from Illyricum.”
    Fronto shrugged noncommittally and Cicero steepled his fingers, gazing over the tips and addressing his host in that deep and rich tone.
    “It seems that a viper has arisen in Rome these years past.”
    Fronto laughed.
    “A single one? A nest, I would have said.”
    The orator glowered at him but otherwise ignored the comment.
    “This particular viper has struck time and again and is causing troubles for the more reasonable men in Rome. I fear we have mutual