from three different ludi, all chosen and paid for by my own eye and hand. I particularly like the look of the two Numidians and the Cretan from the school of Cornelius Vatia in Capua. Most surprisingly, one of the Numidians has been trained as a Murmillo and not the usual retiarius or the natural horseman that most Lanistas seem to think necessary for the desert-dwellers."
"I shall keep an eye on them, then. I trust you're not expecting death matches?"
Pompey raised an eyebrow. "Largely, no… it plays havoc with the purse-strings. But it will be necessary to offer the crowd the occasional death. You of all people should have no qualms about death in the arena, Fronto?"
"Not especially. When it's deserved. A fool or a coward deserves what he gets. A good man should always be nurtured, though. That's one thing commanding a legion for far too many years has taught me."
An uncomfortable silence descended on the pair at the unfortunate reminder of Fronto's previous patronage. The former legate glanced to the side and was surprised to see just a flicker of something on Pompey's face that passed in half a heartbeat and was replaced by a serene calm.
Just for that tiny flickering moment, something had twisted the man's face and it surprised Fronto so much he had not known what to make of it. Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage, carefully controlled and concealed, but there nonetheless. Rage presumably brought on by the thought of Caesar. It occurred to Fronto that, were it not for the beautiful, pregnant young woman who sat a few seats further along and who created a bridge between two of the most powerful men in the Republic, there was every possibility that Caesar and Pompey would have drawn blood from one another by now. Well… Julia and the shared knowledge that Crassus loomed in the east as a threat to them both.
According to Fronto's tutors when he was a young man, a tripod was the most stable base for any structure. Picturing Caesar, Pompey and Crassus together holding up the state in their quivering, blood-stained hands, he was inclined to doubt the truth of that statement.
Suddenly the pleasant host Pompey was back, reaching out to Fronto and tapping his cup.
"You're empty. Demetrios? Attend!"
"Yes, Dominus."
As the Greek boy filled the cup, Fronto moved the vessel along with the jar as the boy tried to take it away, doubling the intended quantity of wine in it. He grinned.
"Your health." With an exaggerated flourish, he tipped the tiniest drop of water into the cup and lifted it to take a pull of the heady, rich liquid within.
"I note" Pompey said with casual interest, "that you arrived on foot today? And unescorted too. Brave, given the crowds and the ugliness of the streets in these times."
Fronto shrugged.
"Lucilia fancied the walk. To be honest, we don't keep that many guards or slaves in the house. More down in Puteoli, of course, 'cause it's a working estate, but not here."
"You don't have a full complement of slaves?" Pompey asked with genuine and earnest concern. "How does your house function? I could honestly give you half a dozen of ours. I seem to buy them monthly and I have trouble even remembering how many I have, let alone their names and functions. I could give you a dozen and not even notice they'd gone."
Fronto shrugged. "It was my father's doing, really. He used to keep plenty of slaves, but then there was the uprising down in Capua and all the trouble - well of course you remember it better than most." Pompey nodded quietly. He had been one of the generals involved in ending the rebellion of Spartacus a couple of decades earlier. "Well", Fronto went on, "father came to the conclusion that unless a slave had proven his value, he couldn't be trusted. And those that he considered valuable, he tended to give their freedom anyway. By the time I came back from my first tour with Caesar, a few years after the slave war, there were only half a dozen slaves left in the villa and father had replaced
"I shall keep an eye on them, then. I trust you're not expecting death matches?"
Pompey raised an eyebrow. "Largely, no… it plays havoc with the purse-strings. But it will be necessary to offer the crowd the occasional death. You of all people should have no qualms about death in the arena, Fronto?"
"Not especially. When it's deserved. A fool or a coward deserves what he gets. A good man should always be nurtured, though. That's one thing commanding a legion for far too many years has taught me."
An uncomfortable silence descended on the pair at the unfortunate reminder of Fronto's previous patronage. The former legate glanced to the side and was surprised to see just a flicker of something on Pompey's face that passed in half a heartbeat and was replaced by a serene calm.
Just for that tiny flickering moment, something had twisted the man's face and it surprised Fronto so much he had not known what to make of it. Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage, carefully controlled and concealed, but there nonetheless. Rage presumably brought on by the thought of Caesar. It occurred to Fronto that, were it not for the beautiful, pregnant young woman who sat a few seats further along and who created a bridge between two of the most powerful men in the Republic, there was every possibility that Caesar and Pompey would have drawn blood from one another by now. Well… Julia and the shared knowledge that Crassus loomed in the east as a threat to them both.
According to Fronto's tutors when he was a young man, a tripod was the most stable base for any structure. Picturing Caesar, Pompey and Crassus together holding up the state in their quivering, blood-stained hands, he was inclined to doubt the truth of that statement.
Suddenly the pleasant host Pompey was back, reaching out to Fronto and tapping his cup.
"You're empty. Demetrios? Attend!"
"Yes, Dominus."
As the Greek boy filled the cup, Fronto moved the vessel along with the jar as the boy tried to take it away, doubling the intended quantity of wine in it. He grinned.
"Your health." With an exaggerated flourish, he tipped the tiniest drop of water into the cup and lifted it to take a pull of the heady, rich liquid within.
"I note" Pompey said with casual interest, "that you arrived on foot today? And unescorted too. Brave, given the crowds and the ugliness of the streets in these times."
Fronto shrugged.
"Lucilia fancied the walk. To be honest, we don't keep that many guards or slaves in the house. More down in Puteoli, of course, 'cause it's a working estate, but not here."
"You don't have a full complement of slaves?" Pompey asked with genuine and earnest concern. "How does your house function? I could honestly give you half a dozen of ours. I seem to buy them monthly and I have trouble even remembering how many I have, let alone their names and functions. I could give you a dozen and not even notice they'd gone."
Fronto shrugged. "It was my father's doing, really. He used to keep plenty of slaves, but then there was the uprising down in Capua and all the trouble - well of course you remember it better than most." Pompey nodded quietly. He had been one of the generals involved in ending the rebellion of Spartacus a couple of decades earlier. "Well", Fronto went on, "father came to the conclusion that unless a slave had proven his value, he couldn't be trusted. And those that he considered valuable, he tended to give their freedom anyway. By the time I came back from my first tour with Caesar, a few years after the slave war, there were only half a dozen slaves left in the villa and father had replaced
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