Marius' Mules

by S. J. A. Turney

  Fronto and Balbus both looked up to a crag behind the Tenth, where Caesar and the staff officers stood surveying the battle. Fronto waved an arm above his head, a red scarf clutched in his hand.

  Caesar nodded and a staff officer next to him repeated the gesture. Fronto turned to his trumpeter and issued another order. As the short call rang out over the battlefield, the Ballistae ceased their deadly rain, Longinus reined his cavalry in on the crest of the hill, and the legions broke off their brutal task and pulled back in a line.

  Caesar surveyed the battlefield. There had been hardly any loss among the legions, and all the shield walls had held. The Gauls were a different matter entirely. With perhaps a third of their army intact, they had nowhere to turn and no way to escape. Their one surviving chieftain sat astride his horse, desperately issuing commands and trying to pull his force into order.

  The general smiled. His legions and their commanders had worked well together, and Balbus and Fronto had even come up with the idea of using the siege engines in situ, which Caesar had not even considered. He climbed onto his white charger and rode to the edge of the hill. The field was now deep in an eerie silence: the only sound the moaning of the wounded and dying.

  Raising his voice so high that his throat gave him discomfort, he addressed the Gauls.

  “Barbarians, you have lost the battle. Must the butchery continue until no one is left, or will you surrender your arms?”

  The Gaulish chief shouted back.

  “What assurances would you give us if we surrender?”

  Caesar smiled. He had been ready for this.

  “Many of your countrymen will be mobilising against us, though many others fight for us. You chose to side with the Helvetii, a people who launched an attack on the forces of Rome. That was your mistake. We do not have the time or the resources to make prisoners or slaves of you, and I will not set you free to rouse your allies against us. There are only two paths open to you. Join us, or die where you stand.”

  A groan rose from the Gauls as Caesar went on.

  “If you hold this recent alliance with the Helvetii so dear to your hearts, you must accept what honour demands and die on this field. If you are willing to accept Roman command, you will be divided and dispersed between our existing auxiliary units. You will fight for us, among units of Gauls who follow the path of Roman civilisation, and you will have the honour of fighting under trusted Gaulish commanders. You have a minute to make the choice before I order the slaughter to begin. Choose wisely, Gaul, for not only your life, but the lives of your people rest on your shoulders.”

  To emphasise Caesars words, Fronto and Balbus gave signals. The front ranks of the legions locked shields once more and levelled their swords. The artillery crews reloaded the Ballistae and aimed them into the centre of the army. The rear ranks of the legions hefted their javelins and stood poised ready for the throw. And on the crest of the hill, Longinus’ cavalry formed up in a line four deep. The Gauls knew; had to know that they were staring death in the face, with no uncertainty.

  The Gaulish army shuffled their feet and muttered among themselves. Tense seconds passed. Caesar held his hand up, his ornately decorated sword in hand, ready to drop and give the signal.

  With seconds to go, the Gaulish chief held his spear and his broad-bladed sword high in the air.

  “Death to Rome!”

  The Gaulish army surged in four directions at once, slamming into the Roman legions and sweeping toward the deadly cavalry.

  Shaking his head sadly, Caesar let his arm fall. Four thousand javelins swept through the air and into the mass. Bolts from five heavy Ballistae flew into the crowd, two taking the leader from his horse, the other three carving a path through both flesh and metal, often taking more than one target at a time in the press of warriors. The initial volley thinned the crowd by about ten percent, felling men across the field. The Seventh and Eighth Legions pressed forward between the arms of the other legions, carving their way and pushing the mass of Gauls into the waiting cavalry of Longinus on the hill. The Eleventh and Twelfth Legions came behind them, surrounding the artillery and the baggage trains and taking the place of the shield wall, javelins at the ready.

  Fronto, leaving the mop-up to Priscus, joined Balbus and the two of them rode up the hill to where Caesar stood sadly, watching the obliteration of the barbarian army.

  “Such a waste” he sighed. “Why will they not accept the inevitable? We must make more of an effort to win them over.”

  Fronto smiled a grim smile.

  “Don’t waste your sympathy, sir. They had their chance, but the Gods are with us. This is a glorious victory. It’ll enhance our reputation at home, strike fear into the hearts of the Gauls, and make our legions proud and strong. That’s value beyond a few auxiliary troops.”

  Balbus nodded, standing next to Fronto.

  Caesar sighed. “I suppose you’re right Fronto, but I don’t like to waste resources.”

  Words shared in other times made Fronto and Balbus cast a sidelong glance at each other. This was a man who thought of the military as a tool. Would he be as cold when it came to his own?

  Balbus shook his head as if clearing it from a daze.

  “Caesar, I must go.” He mounted his horse in a swift move, belying his advanced years.

  Fronto and Caesar stared at him.

  Balbus tapped his temple. “Idiocy. We have to leave a few survivors to spread the word to the other tribes.” With the hastiest of salutes, he galloped off in the direction of Longinus and his cavalry.

  Fronto and Caesar looked at each other.

  The legate was the first to break the silence. “Balbus is wasted as a legionary commander. He’s good, but he should be with you, planning strategy.”

  Caesar smiled back at him. “It totally escaped me too, Fronto, and you know how much I hate not having covered every angle. Such as basic thing.”

  Watching the last of the resisting Gauls perish in the press between the legions and the cavalry, Fronto sighed contentedly.

  “That’s it then sir. From here on in, it should be easy all the way over to the other side of the Rhone. The Gauls will be much more cautious about making a move now, and we know we can handle anything they throw at us here. I was pleased at how the Eleventh and Twelfth handled this. Professional; like they’d been doing it for decades. I think it might be a good idea to get all the legates and higher level centurions together for a feast tonight. They deserve a celebration. Oh, and we should make wine and extra meat available for the rest of the centurions in their camps tonight.”

  Caesar smiled at the legate. “That, Fronto, is why I wanted you on the staff. Very well, issue the word to the officers. Tonight we celebrate.”

  Deep in the centre of the battlefield, Longinus, now dismounted, pulled the golden torque from the neck of the chieftain. He wandered over to the body of the chieftain’s horse, stepping over a tangle of corpses.

  Longinus had a love of horses. It was his one talent and his one passion. He had ridden over the plains and hills of Latium since he was very young, tending his father’s stable on a daily basis. He had seen the magnificent black stallion from his vantage point at the top of the hill and had marvelled. Of all the bodies on the field, this was the one he would regret most. Wiping an unbidden tear from his cheek, he pulled the iron bolt from the body and draped his own expensive saddle blanket over the horse.

  Chapter 5

  (Near the convergence of the rivers Saone & Rhone)

  “Galician: Breed of horse from the north of the Spanish peninsula, strong, hardy and short, bred from a mix of Roman and native Iberian horses.”

  “Tolosa: Roman town in southwest France conquered at the end of the second century b.c., now Toulouse.”

  Longinus stood in the stables, stroking Bucephalus’ nose. He had named his own black Galician after the famous steed of the conqueror Alexander. In much the same way, this horse had been wild and untameable when Longinus had been assigned to Spain as
a young cavalry officer. His own horse that he had brought from Italy had been past his prime by that time, and Longinus had regretfully put the beast out to pasture and taken the black as a project of his own. Now the stallion was the envy of the officer class. Reaching within his cloak, he produced an apple and held it out on the flat of his hand. Bucephalus nuzzled his wrist and took the fruit from his hand gently with a brushing of his soft lips.

  A voice from behind startled him and he turned sharply.

  Fronto grinned.

  “Passing time with a distant cousin, Longinus?”

  Struggling for words, Longinus patted Fronto on the shoulder, leaving a trail of the saliva from the horse’s mouth on the red cloak.

  “Just trying to find someone above your level to talk to.”

  Fronto grinned. A month ago he might have taken offence at the comment. Now, he was considerably more at ease with the legate.

  “We’re getting together at Balbus’ tent. I’ve been speaking to the General. I’ve a plan, and there’s a lot to discuss.”

  Longinus nodded.

  “I’ll be there shortly. Just got to go back to my tent and change.”

  “Yes, you do smell a bit like a horse’s rear end.”

  Smiling, Fronto walked off before Longinus could get in the last word.

  Balbus’ tent was warm and flickered with the light of oil lamps and burning braziers. Couches had been set around the edge so that the officers could sit in a comfortable environment to discuss the campaign.

  When Longinus arrived, Fronto was already there, along with Balbus, Crispus, Galba and Priscus. Wine stood on a low table in the centre, a spare goblet already full.

  As Longinus took the glass and sat, Balbus gestured at Fronto, who cleared his throat.

  “Gentlemen. I don’t know how much any of you know about the tribes of central Gaul. I don’t personally know a great deal, but I’ve been sort of forced to study a lot of maps since Caesar put me on the staff. Have any of you heard of the Aedui?”

  They all shook their heads except Balbus, whose brow creased in deep thought.

  “I’ve heard of them. They’re one of the larger peoples unless I’m mistaken. Lots of connections with other tribes. Don’t think we’ve ever had any trouble with them, have we?”

  Fronto shook his head, unrolling a map on the table.

  Prodding various positions on the map, he outlined the situation to the other officers.

  “The Aedui have long been allies of Rome, trading with our people and maintaining a comfortable border with Roman lands. The problem is that the Helvetii are currently passing through the lands of the Aedui and are looting and burning as they go. We cannot allow them to ravage the lands of our allies. Moreover, if they are allowed to move any further in the direction they are heading, they will be within raiding distance of our lands again, and the town of Tolosa will be in danger. If we do not defend the Aedui who, by the way, have sent messages to Caesar asking for our aid, we both endanger Tolosa and any other alliances we hold with Gaulish tribes. If we go to help the Aedui, we have our opportunity and motive to destroy a large portion of the Helvetii, and we stand the chance of expanding our alliances among the tribes. The Aedui are not a long way off accepting Roman status. I assume the potential benefits of this will not escape any of you.”

  Murmurs of assent among the officers.

  “The problem is that the Helvetii have almost reached the river Saone, and they will be hard to trap once they’re crossed. Caesar has authorised an attack on the Helvetii.”

  He pored over the map for a moment and then stabbed down with his finger.

  “This is the only place where they can feasibly cross the Saone, and the army could reach them in a matter of a few hours. I have already passed the word to the deputies to get the necessary legions mobilised. Only three of the legions are moving to take them out. The other three will remain here.”

  He glanced at Crispus. “I’m sorry, but the Eleventh are still getting the camps in order, and they and the Eighth will be required by Caesar. The Seventh are a good, established legion, but I’m not sure how much I can rely on young Crassus’ command ability, so I don’t want him with me. We’ve beaten these local tribes four times now, but they seem to keep coming, and Caesar will want at least half of the legions in case of a further attack before we leave their territory. So, the Ninth, Tenth and Twelfth will sortie in a little over an hour, under my command, along with as much of the auxiliary cavalry as we can bring.”

  Galba leaned forward scratching his bristly chin.

  “So Caesar isn’t going to be commanding the army?”

  Fronto smiled at the other legate, a smile that was cold yet hopeful.

  “Caesar doesn’t think we can catch them. He intends to march the army on in the morning when they’re rested and try to catch the Helvetii on lower ground. I have persuaded him to give me the chance, though. He still wants a considerable force to move on with, but has authorised three legions under my command. This is why you’re here, Priscus. I want you to take full command of the Tenth in this action. I’m no accomplished general, and I’ll have my hands full controlling the field. You’ll have to be legate for the day.”

  Priscus snorted suddenly, coughing as the wine went up his nose. Wiping his face, he sat forward.

  “You can’t be serious. I’m fine controlling them in camp and I can march the legion across country, but the Tenth know you’re their legate. They won’t be happy following me into battle.”

  Fronto rounded on Priscus.

  “Don’t be an idiot, Gnaeus. Who do you think held them together while I was in Geneva? A battle’s easier to control than a hundred mile march! You’re quite capable, and you’ll bloody well do as you’re told. You’re not taking a primus pilus’ pay for sitting on your fat arse.”

  For a few moments, Fronto and Priscus locked eyes until, calming down, Fronto smiled again.

  “Sorry. Been away for a while and I’m a bit tense.”

  “Balbus, you’re going to be the senior man remaining here. You’re going to have to look after all our baggage train and siege engines. We have to move fast and we can’t take all the traditional accoutrements. I’m sorry to dump this administrative nightmare on you, Balbus, but I don’t want young Crassus handling my legion’s gear, so who else could do it?”

  He turned then to Galba.

  “The Twelfth are going to have the opportunity to distinguish themselves here. This is your first chance, and I want you to look good for Caesar. When we move out, you’re the vanguard. I’m going to have the Ninth and Tenth pulling out to the sides. When we find them, I want to trap them against the river with a horseshoe of troops. The Twelfth will be the centre, and probably the hardest hit. Think your lads can handle it, Galba?”

  The newly appointed legate smiled a grim smile.

  “Oh, we’ll do you proud sir.”

  Fronto stopped for a moment. He had never been called ‘sir’ by a legate before. He was opening his mouth to point out that it was inappropriate between equals when he remembered that he was not only a staff officer, but the effective general in the field and would have overall command.

  “Good.” Rather lame, he thought.

  He turned to Crispus.

  “I’m sorry you won’t be getting the chance here, but there’ll be other battles for your men. In the meantime, you’ll be a third of Caesar’s direct army. You’ll be right under the general’s eye, and this is your chance to impress him with your efficiency. Good luck, man.”

  Crispus nodded, his serious face betraying nothing of his disappointment.

  “That’s it, I think.” Fronto stood and made to leave.

  “Oh,” he said, turning again, “Longinus, I want you to stretch your cavalry out in a wide horseshoe behind the three legions. We need to keep it closed. You’ll have to plug any gaps and prevent anyone from getting away.”

  “I want all three legions ready to move within the hour. We’ll form up near that co
pse on the hill. Balbus, we’ll rejoin you late tomorrow. I know the route Caesar’s taking. If we hit any real trouble, I’ll send a rider to catch up with you.”

  Balbus stood, locking forearms with Fronto in an age old gesture of comradeship.

  “Good luck Marcus. I think you’re right; he’s being too cautious. Make some history for us.”

  Fronto smiled grimly.

  “Oh I intend to, Quintus. I intend to.”

  As the officers moved off quickly, heading to their commands, Priscus caught up with Fronto.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little risky sir? I’d feel better taking six legions against them. I don’t like thinking we’ve come all this way to walk into something unprepared.”

  Fronto patted him on the shoulder.

  “We sometimes have to take a chance, or we’ll never achieve our goals. Don’t worry. The three legions can handle it, and I’ve studied the maps. We can make the ground work for us.”

  “I hope to hell you’re right sir. Are you coming back to the Tenth?”

  “No, you’ll have to get them mobilised. I have other fish to fry. When I met with Caesar, Crassus was there. He suggested that one of the staff be assigned to baby-sit the Eleventh while we were away. I’m damned if I’m going to let Crispus suffer the indignity of being constantly overruled by a chinless idiot. He’s a legate, and will be treated as such. I just need to have another quiet word with Caesar once Crassus has gone, that’s all.

  Thirty five minutes later Fronto left Caesar’s tent, an air of satisfaction about him, and rode up the hill to where the legions were already assembled. Trotting to the highest ground in the centre, he motioned Priscus, Longinus and Galba to join him. Priscus looked decidedly uncomfortable on a horse and had, after much consideration, left his vine staff and centurion’s crest with his gear. Clearing his throat, Fronto addressed the crowd.

  “Gentlemen, we are going to engage the Helvetii. Gods willing, we’ll send the whole lot of them to their barbarian Gods. If not, we want to make them suffer so much they’ll never think of crossing us again. You’re all travelling very light, and I want you all to break speed records on the march tonight. We won’t have the support of artillery or auxiliaries, and we’re attacking at only half our full strength. Still, we are better equipped, better trained, and better in every way than the Helvetii. We should be able to catch them in an uncomfortable situation and cut them to pieces. If we lose here, Caesar will likely have to turn back and head for home, and I know none of you want that. On the other hand, if we are successful, we’ll be the envy of the world, and Caesar will be grateful. I know you know what that means, so give it everything you’ve got tonight. Think of the victor’s wreath.”