Ahenobarbus did. For only a moment, and it was clearly painful to do so, but Antonius nodded. ‘Your information is received with gratitude, Ahenobarbus. Now let me help you in return.’
Swiftly, Antonius drew his sword and plunged it into the broken officer’s heart.
‘What did he say,’ Caesar asked, quietly.
‘It would appear that both Cato and Scipio fled ahead of him. Cicero is now the most senior man up there.’
Caesar nodded. ‘Cicero is too sensible to fight on. Good. This is almost over, gentlemen.’ He gestured at the body on the rope. ‘Someone get rid of that before it starts to smell.’
* * *
The deputation came the next morning with Cicero at the head. He looked tired and lean. Behind him was a small group of senators who looked utterly out of place in just tunic and boots, dirty and hungry. A few tribunes, too, and a small honour guard of legionaries under a centurion. None of them managed to stand with any real pride.
‘What are your terms,’ Cicero said, with no preamble as he came to a halt thirty feet from the rampart.
Caesar rubbed his hands together and then hooked them over the fence in front of him.
‘There will be an amnesty for all commanders,’ he said in a loud voice. Cicero had the grace to look surprised. ‘I have no wish to make further enemies within the republic when all of this could have been avoided by simply granting my request for the consulate a year ago. How selfish of men like Pompey, and yourself, to waste a sea of Roman blood in dreadful civil war simply to keep me from a consulate which I rightly deserved. But I am not here for recriminations. Pompey will fall into my hands soon enough, and then this entire disaster can be put right. For now, all officers will lay down their commands and retire from any public position they currently claim to hold. They will become private citizens once more. If, when this war is fully concluded and we all return to Rome, the senate then votes those men fit to hold such positions once more, they will of course be allowed to do so.’
Fronto nodded. Not only clemency, but the most generous terms he could hope to hear. Perhaps men like Cato who had snuck away at night might come to regret not seeking the general’s terms, after all.
‘And what of the men,’ asked another voice: Marcus Junius Brutus, cousin of the man who still served as Caesar’s naval expert and once a close friend of the general’s. Caesar’s face took on a sad expression at the sight of his old friend.
‘Each man on that ridge will come down to the plain before the defences and will throw down his arms. They will then be given the choice of amnesty and freedom to return to their former life, or continuing service in the forces of Rome, though taking a new oath and joining the legions that won the field at Pharsalus and were depleted in doing so.’
A ripple of surprise ran through the entire deputation then. None of them had expected mercy on this scale.
‘Let this be an end to this bloody and destructive civil war,’ Caesar announced. ‘Pharsalus is not a victory to celebrate with a triumph. It was a field of blood that should never be repeated. Let us heal the republic.’
Fronto smiled and nodded, though he was under no misapprehension that this was the end of the war. Attius still held Africa with his legions, and Pompey was at large somewhere, as were Labienus, Cato and Scipio. The war was not yet over. But at least the battle was.
Chapter 26
Fronto finished fastening his belt and pinned his least limp and stained cloak about his shoulders. For a moment he considered taking his helmet, but this was not war, and the day’s heat was already building. A sweaty head was not to be sought for no reason, after all. Examining himself in the slightly warped bronze mirror, he nodded. He looked like he always did: like a soldier, not a nobleman, of a warped, bronze, wobbly one..
Leaving the tent, he was surprised to see Salvius Cursor standing nearby, similarly attired though less crumpled and stained. The tribune still had pink-stained bandages wrapped around his head, though the bruising to his upper face and ear was now fading rapidly. Fronto had visited the man in the sick tents several times, noting with a mix of irritation and pride how desperate Salvius was to get out of the hospital and back into the ranks of the legion. But the medicus had been adamant that it would be half a month yet before the tribune was fit even for the lightest of duties. His skull was still slowly knitting together, even though the bleeding had long since stopped.
‘Sir.’
‘Medicus relented has he?’ Fronto asked, though he already had an inkling that this was not the case.
‘Not quite, sir. Discharged myself. I’m fine so long as no one pokes me in the head.’
‘Why now?’ After all, it had been two days since the surrender of the army on the hill and, though Fronto had received a summons from Caesar, there were no signs that the army was preparing to depart.
‘There’s a rumour going around that Caesar is going to march off and chase down Pompey.’
‘Ah yes. I might have guessed. The faintest chance that you might get to strangle the old bugger and even beheading wouldn’t make you lie still.’ He looked the tribune up and down with pursed lips. The man seemed perfectly compos mentis, at least as he ever did, and was the right colour again, at least. And it felt odd not having the lunatic there to disobey his orders, too. He shrugged. ‘Try not to get yourself in trouble. I’m on the way to see Caesar.’
‘Yes.’
‘I was summoned.’
‘Yes.’
‘You were not,’ Fronto added, pointedly.
‘I shall wait outside.’
Shaking his head in faint exasperation, Fronto stomped off towards the general’s headquarters, with Salvius at his side. He rolled his eyes at their approach, noting the somewhat ostentatious sign of their total victory. In the open area before the headquarters tent, the captured standards and eagles of Pompey’s army stood, planted in the ground. It was like a glittering metallic forest. One hundred and eighty standards and nine eagles made for a lot of silver in the bright sunlight, and the men of Ingenuus’ praetorian guard around the tents had been trebled, protecting the precious standards and eagles, should any legionary drunkenly wonder whether he could get away with swiping one and living easy for the rest of his life. They strode through the narrow path between the gleaming prizes and reached the headquarters tent, where two more guards waved Fronto in and eyed Salvius suspiciously, as he stopped outside and began to look around the standards with interest.
Inside, Caesar’s great table was spread with a huge map of the region. Wooden markers had been placed all over the map indicating units, generals and other points of interest. Other than Caesar, three other figures occupied the tent: Marcus Antonius, Decimus Brutus and Galronus. An odd, but interesting trio.
‘Good,’ Caesar said, fingers drumming on the elbows of his crossed arms. ‘Fronto, we have made decisions as to our road onward from here. We cannot ignore Africa now, it being the strongest enemy garrison remaining, and equally we cannot forget Rome, and the prize it will now become for our opposition. Additionally, there are numerous Pompeian elements surviving that we need to take care of.’
Antonius nodded. ‘The beauty is that we are much stronger since the addition of Pompey’s legionaries to our own forces.’
‘Quite. I am therefore dispatching Antonius here with your legion, Fronto, the Tenth. They and the Ninth are by far the most depleted and deserving of rest after Pharsalus. In Italia, Antonius will pension off the older veterans into key positions for the potential defence of Italia and Rome, and keep the legions at the heart of things, ready to rebuild, probably at Cremona or Aquileia.’
Fronto felt a strange mix of elation and disappointment. If the Tenth were to be garrisoned and partially disbanded, then his command was gone, given to Antonius. Perhaps he was done. He could go back to Tarraco, see his family at last. But a nagging little irritation at the base of his skull urged him on, to see this whole storm of shit through to the end, and the republic restored to peace.
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Antonius laughed out loud. ‘I must play dice with you for money, Fronto. Your face is an open book. I could read your intentions so easily. Panic not. You will not return to Italia with me. I am charged with the defence there, because I am glib and likeable, and I can play a part in the senate as well as on the battlefield. You, on the other hand, are a warhorse and of little use in the nicer social circles. No, you’re not done yet, my friend.’
Again elation and disappointment, though this time the other way around. No going home, but a chance to finish this. Caesar nodded.
‘Antonius is simply my rear-guard. We must move, and we must do so decisively, if we are to keep our momentum. We have had word of Pompey. It seems he is in the north, now. He has been seen near Amphipolis, on the coast up near the Bosphorus. I had assumed he was making for Syria initially, but perhaps he now has other ideas. Because he still has something of a power base in Syria, I am sending Calvinus with three legions thither, where they will impose control and prevent any support for Pompey. With luck he will still go there, but we cannot be certain. One thing that concerns me is word that Cassius and a sizeable part of Pompey’s now-fragmented fleet were bound for the Hellespont. If Pompey can link up with a section of his navy we will almost certainly lose him.’
‘So you head to Amphipolis?’ Fronto said. ‘And with all speed, hence the cavalry commander.’ He nodded in Galronus’ direction.
‘Quite. If at all possible, I would like to catch Pompey while in that place, before he can begin to form an army again. Word of his ignominious actions at Pharsalus will not precede him, and quite possibly his reputation remains intact in the east. If he can gather men at Amphipolis and ships from Cassius, then we face a further test. Our advantage currently lies in the fact that our opponents’ forces are fragmented and widespread. We can overcome them all, piece by piece, and put an end to this, but we must act upon them before they can combine into strength once more.’
‘The potential involvement of the fleet also explains Brutus,’ Fronto noted. ‘None of this explains my presence.’
‘Can you not guess, Marcus? I need my terrier. With or without the Tenth, I need the man who won me the flank at Pharsalus. I have appointed Canuleius to the gathering of warships in the Adriatic, since it is beginning to look as though we might need them, and he has ties that might be of use in that respect. So, with his departure, the Sixth is without a legate. The Sixth is one of the few legions that is still relatively strong and fit and energetic. They will be my armoured fist, while the cavalry are my spear. We shall chase down Pompey, I with the cavalry riding ahead, the Sixth following on by forced marches as we once did in the lands of the Belgae if you remember? You are the man to lead them on, Fronto. Bring the Sixth to Amphipolis with all speed.’
Fronto nodded with only a slight frown, his eyes straying to the huge map. ‘Amphipolis must be two hundred miles from here. Certainly not far off that. With the cavalry you can do it in six days?’
‘Five, Galronus here assures me.’
Fronto rolled his eyes. Damn it. ‘Alright, five. I can get the Sixth there in five days too, but that it at forty miles a day. That’s a lot, as you know. With campaign kit they will be tired at the end. If you intend us to fight a battle at Amphipolis we need to march slower than that and preserve our strength.’
Caesar shook his head. ‘Speed is the concern here. If we have to fight a battle, then we have failed in our goal, which is to catch Pompey before he can gather a force. Five days it is. We have brought in extra allied horse units, and we now have eight hundred horse. The able, hale manpower of the Sixth is three and a half thousand. That should be adequate to deal with one man and his personal guard.’
Fronto nodded. ‘As long as nothing goes wrong. I have one request.’
‘Oh?’
‘Salvius Cursor is standing outside, almost chewing through his own lip with worry that he will not be allowed to face Pompey. I would like him to accompany us as senior tribune of the Sixth.’
‘I thought you were rarely keen on Salvius’ somewhat violent and unorthodox approaches?’ Antonius said with a strange smile.
‘He has proved himself, and if it’s terriers you want, for Pompey hunting, then Salvius is your man.’
‘He was sorely wounded at Pharsalus,’ Caesar said, brow furrowed. ‘Is he well enough?’
Fronto shrugged. ‘I think so. I can’t guarantee that he won’t go all funny if you poke him in the head, but that’s what helmets are for.’
Caesar exchanged a look with Antonius, who paused for a moment and then nodded. ‘Very well. Salvius and Fronto with the Sixth. Go to your command and prepare them. We leave in an hour.’
* * *
In fact, it was day six when Fronto and his new legion finally laid eyes on Amphipolis. Not because they could not keep up the pace upon which he had agreed, but because travelling with the cavalry meant inevitably travelling in the cloud of dust they created, and it was enough to ask the men to march forty miles a day in full kit under a hot sun, without having them do it in a dust cloud.
Caesar had not been overly pleased but had eventually agreed and on the second day of the journey the Sixth slackened their pace a little and let the cavalry pull far enough ahead that the dust had settled before the legions passed through.
The lands they traversed were something of a catalogue of ancient names for Fronto. He had received a good education, of course, like any good Roman boy of a patrician house. He‘d enjoyed the tales of gods, heroes and war and ancient Greece was full of those, and the names of the places they passed by and through resonated with him.
Crannon, where, following the death of Alexander the Great, Macedonian forces under Antipater had crushed the Athenians, slid by on their left as they approached Larissa, which had now thrown open its gates to victorious Caesar and foresworn its former allegiance to Pompey. Mount Olympus, home of the gods, passed by on their left in its lofty majesty, while they made their way from Larissa to the coast. Pydna, scene of two great Roman victories over the Macedonians, languished now in happy obscurity near the sea. Other names: less famous but equally evocative, lands of ancient battles and homes of heroes now legend. For days they passed such places, passing the great city of Thessalonike and its peninsula and finally bore down on their destination.
Amphipolis lay on a rocky spur nestled into the curve of a river, between two ranges of high hills. Encircled by strong walls that had already been partly consumed by the extending urban sprawl, the city of red roofs spread up the slope to a high rocky acropolis bearing an ancient temple.
Leaving the Sixth on the western side of the river to make camp, judiciously away from the city itself, Fronto told Salvius to settle the men for the night. The tribune all-but vibrated with the desire to join his commander in the city and pursue news of Pompey, but grudgingly followed orders and Fronto, with just half a dozen guards, rode across the bridge and into Amphipolis. He was pleased to discover that Caesar had clearly done the same with his horsemen, as Galronus’ cavalry were encamped on the green between the river and the city, though there was no sign of the commanders.
It was not hard to locate the Roman officers in the city. Moving up through the ancient curving streets, Fronto reached the agora below the acropolis’ buttressed walls, presuming the general to be somewhere in the city’s political heart. Half a dozen of Caesar’s praetorian guards sat on their horses outside a grand looking building, with several riderless animals. Fronto and his men rode over to them and slowed.
‘The general is inside?’
One of the guard nodded and gestured to the door, so Fronto slid with only minimal difficulty from his saddle and, handing his reins to one of his own men, strode in through the door into a cool, dark interior corridor. Following voices speaking in Latin, he found the other officers in a large room with a balcony overlooking a pleasant garden with a view across numerous roofs to the river, beyond which the Sixth was busy making camp.
‘Ah, Fronto. Abou
t time,’ Caesar said.
Fronto nodded to Galronus and Brutus and saluted the general in such a casual manner as to be almost insubordinate.
‘It would appear that we have missed Pompey,’ Caesar said with just a tinge of irritation. ‘By only a few days. It appears that he sought to drum up support here, in lands that had long held an allegiance to him, but the people of Macedonia and Thrace have seen sense and thrown their support behind the true senate and republic of Rome. Pompey lingered as long as he dared and tried everything he could, to no avail. I have already thanked the boule of Amphipolis for their steadfast attention to duty and their loyalty and made it known that they will be remembered for it.’
‘But still we missed Pompey. Do we know where he went from here?’
Brutus nodded. ‘He took ship. I made some enquiries and it is clear that he was bound for Mytilenae.’ He noted Fronto’s bafflement and clarified. ‘An island city off the Asian coast, some two hundred miles southeast of here.’
‘Oh good,’ Fronto grunted. ‘Another two hundred miles.’
‘But these should hurry by,’ Brutus smiled, ‘by ship.’
Fronto fixed him with a withering glare, and Brutus gave a guilty chuckle. ‘Ah yes. I forgot how bad a sailor you are. Can I suggest you load up with ginger and mint to ward off the worst of it?’
‘Better to empty my stomach and try and shit myself inside out so there’s nothing to bring up on board.’
Brutus chuckled again, and Fronto tried to make his glare a little more angry.
‘Fear not,’ Caesar said with a smile. ‘We shall march from here to the Hellespont tomorrow and cross there with what few ships Brutus can gather.’
‘I’ve already begun acquiring them,’ Brutus winked.
Caesar nodded. ‘ Brutus will take the ships up to the Hellespont to meet the army, after which we shall cross, and then march fast down the Asian coast, hopefully catching our quarry at Mytilenae, which lies just off the coast. And given the rather open nature of sea travel and our lack of definite knowledge of Pompey’s plans, I shall dispatch a fast ship to Athens and instruct Calenus to send his cohorts from the Twenty Seventh to Cyprus, where they can be on hand to move in any direction as required.’
Marius' Mules XI: Tides of War Page 39