Free Marius' Mules IV: Conspiracy of Eagles by S. J. A. Turney Page A

They seem quite happy with him. The Seventh is a bit restive, mind.”
    “Not surprised. They’ll have plenty of chances to prove their loyalty, I suspect. I’m guessing that two new centurions by the name of Furius and Fabius are now in the Seventh? Anything else? What about the Tenth?”
    Priscus shrugged. “Tenth are as good as they’re ever going to be without me sticking a vine staff up their arse on morning parade. Carbo’s a good man. I’ve got him terrorising the worst layabouts. And yes, there’s two new veteran centurions with the Seventh, as well as a few optios and legionaries. You met them then?”
    “The pair travelled with us a way. I’d trust them about as far as I could reasonably spit a donkey. Pompeians through and through.”
    Priscus nodded. “Pompeians they may be, but those two centurions have a hell of an impressive record. Might be just what the Seventh need if they’re going to prove themselves.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Nothing you won’t hear when the Gauls arrive to speak to the general – I expect he’ll tell you about that. Anyway, I am busy, so you’d best go present yourselves before Caesar starts to get angry. I’ll be along shortly.”
    Fronto glanced at Galronus as Priscus turned back to his bureaucracy, acutely aware that they’d just been summarily dismissed by a theoretically inferior officer. The two men shrugged and, ignored by the camp prefect, strode out of the office and turned to make for the large command tent nearby, guarded by six of Ingenuusg cavalrymen.
    The men to either side of the door straightened and crossed their spears again as the two men approached and Fronto drew in a deep breath to announce himself just as the familiar, tight and strained voice of the general issued from the tent.
    “Fronto? Get in here.”
    Galronus smiled at him as the two guardsmen straightened and removed the impediment, allowing them to enter the slightly dim, spacious interior. The general was clearly in his element. Always invigorated by the commencement of a military campaign, and animated in his planning of such, Caesar moved energetically to the desk, his eyes bright, and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms. His hair seemed to have receded a little further over the winter, but otherwise he appeared as young and vital as ever he had.
    “I was starting to think about sending out scouts to try and find you, Marcus.” His sole concession to Galronus’ presence was a respectful nod in his direction.
    “We came with good speed, Caesar, barring a two day layover at Massilia to visit Balbus.”
    “And how is Quintus? Well, I hope? In truth I had hoped to pay him a visit myself on my journey north, though events beyond my control required me to reach the army with all speed.” His face took on a sly smile. “But then, I suspect you had a more pressing need to speak to him than I. How is the lovely Lucilia?”
    Fronto felt the colour rise to his face and once more damned his own blood for it.
    “She’s good Caesar. Look, I’m sorry about this, but there’s some bad news we have to deliver before anything else happens.”
    Caesar nodded. “Best get on with it then.”
    Fronto looked at Galronus, who shrugged uncertainly. Turning back to the general, he clenched his fists by his side.
    “It’s about your nephew, Caesar.”
    “Young Pinarius? I’d assumed he’d come with you. Don’t tell me the half-wit’s got himself waylaid.”
    “I’m sorry, Caesar, but it’s worse than that. I’m afraid he’s dead.”
    “Dead?” The general never even flinched. His eyebrow arched slightly, but the only other sign that the news was of import was a slight whitening of the knuckles as he gripped his own elbows. “How?”
    “He was found in a tavern cellar in Vienna , general. He had been stabbed deliberately. I saw the body myself. I’d put good money on the murder weapon being a standard issue pugio, the blow delivered by a professional hand, and I have some