Marius' Mules

by S. J. A. Turney

  “I can’t think of anyone better, can you? You’re a legionary legate with, and no insult intended here, little of the rigid bearing of a regular staff officer, which means that their surrender will be accepted by a ranking officer, not the high command. Not only that but, apart from myself, you are the man they hate most; the man who destroyed a quarter of their tribe. That will vex them further. Oh, and you seem incapable of even staying awake in court and so, frankly, I’d rather not have you back with us after the recess. Good luck in your new role, Marcus. I think you’d best get going. You’ll want to tidy your tent no doubt, and gather an appropriate retinue of officers.”

  Fronto sat, his head turning and mouth open, trying to think of an excuse, but failing to find one.

  “Fronto, you’re getting shorter on time.”

  Grumbling, Fronto refilled his goblet and threw the wine down his throat before he left the table. As an afterthought, he reached back and swiped one of the smaller jugs of wine.

  “I daresay you won’t need all of this if you have to go soon.”

  * * * * *

  Fronto felt stupid. He always did when he was dressed in full ceremonial uniform. He was fairly sure that Caesar had meant him to deal with the Helvetii looking as he normally did; scruffy and dirty and wearing the trappings of a veteran soldier. That would be the most insulting. Instead, Fronto had sent his cuirass and helmet to the legion’s smithy for a quarter of an hour and they had come back burnished and bright. His red plume had been brushed out and washed and now adorned his helm proudly. He had the red ribbon tied in the military knot around the shiny breastplate, clean boots, and clean red cloak. All in all he looked every inch the Roman general.

  Sitting on a campaign chair in the centre of his command tent, he was backed by a number of officers. Wagering that the Helvetii would not know the uniform of one rank from another, Fronto had filled his tent with tribunes, centurions and optios, a dozen in all. Tetricus, Velius and Priscus stood behind him, all wearing the best clothing and armour available. Everyone below tribune rank had been forbidden from wearing helmets, so that the crests would not give away their ranks. Fronto held his own helm on his lap, with his officer’s vine staff laid across behind it.

  In the last few minutes the camp had been manic as Fronto had given the order for the whole legion to stand to and clear away all the loose equipment. Legionaries had brought all the standards, eagles, flags and maps they could find and arranged them in an honour display at the rear of the tent. As an afterthought, Fronto had ordered the other officers to stand throughout the meeting. It would be uncomfortable, but imposing. With Fronto seated in a campaign chair, the effect would be impressive. He had arranged for one of the low log benches to be brought in for the Helvetii ambassadors. They must be made to feel as small as possible.

  Now it was a matter of waiting. He nervously reached out to the goblet by his side and took a swig of the wine. Behind him Priscus cleared his throat and whispered.

  “Sir, lay off the drink. It won’t look good if you slur at them.”

  Muttering under his breath, Fronto put the goblet back.

  Longinus had been spotted with a number of riders by a lookout a few minutes earlier, and would be here any time now. The sentries at the camps’ perimeters had all been given the instructions as to what Longinus should do with the ambassadors.

  A sentry arrived at the door of the tent and bowed.

  “Sir, Commander Longinus is here with a number of Gauls. Shall I admit them?”

  Fronto nodded. “Yes soldier, show them in.”

  Speaking out of the corner of his mouth, he addressed the assembled officers behind him.

  “Stand straight and tall and keep quiet. I want to you interrupt only if I start drivelling and lose the thread entirely.”

  Just as he closed his mouth, a weary and dirty Longinus entered the tent, a cavalry tribune at each shoulder. Behind him came three Gauls in a similar state. Finally, four more cavalry troopers brought up the rear. As they entered the tent, Longinus seemed to have immediately grasped the situation. He bowed deeply to Fronto and then stood to attention.

  “Permission to dismiss guard, sir?”

  Fronto raised two fingers in the gesture he had watched Caesar use time and time again to show consent.

  Longinus turned to face the four troopers.

  “Dismissed. Report to your camp.”

  Addressing the Gauls, his voice took on a sharper tone.

  “You three! Sit there.”

  He gestured at the low log.

  The three men hurriedly took a seat on the uncomfortable makeshift bench. They looked tired and frightened. Fronto couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. They were beaten and they knew it. The middle of the three had sat astride a horse on a hill not too far from here defiantly threatening the commanders of the army. He must feel broken now. Hardening his heart and steeling himself, Fronto pressed on, maintaining his façade of cold-hearted command.

  “Very well. We shall now hear what you have to say.”

  One of the Gauls looked up at Fronto. He mumbled something to the man in the middle in their native tongue. The chieftain translated into clear Latin.

  “You win. There’s not enough of us left to fight. We have more wounded than healthy and more dead than both of those. We’ll go wherever you want us to go; do whatever you want us to do. Just don’t persecute the women and children. They are all there is now.”

  Fronto waited to make sure they had finished and then scratched his chin reflectively.

  “Very well. Here are our demands. You, along with your allies the Tulingi and the Latobrigi, will return to your ancestral lands near Geneva. Once you return, you will deliver five thousand young men of fighting age and spirit to the garrison commander at Geneva, to form the bulk of the new Geneva garrison. This unit will protect the city and all Roman interests, but will also protect your lands from marauding Germans. You will rebuild your settlements and you will live in peace with the Roman people. You will, before you exit this camp, take the same oath that the Aedui have taken. In addition, you will supply a ten per cent tithe of all goods and food you produce for five years to the decurions of Geneva, beginning one year after your return. You will take a further oath to never ally with the German tribes or any other tribe that defies Rome.”

  He sat back and took a deep breath. That was quite a lot to take in. The chieftain in the centre narrowed his eyes and looked up at Fronto, a glint of his former pride beginning to show once more.

  “General, we will submit to any course of action you deem fit. However, we cannot hope to reach our lands from here without carrying out raids on farmland. It is a long way back to Geneva and we have no food. We will be moving slower than ever with all our wounded. Even when we return our people will starve as there is no farmland cultivated. Also, you have named only two of our allies. What of the Boii?”

  He gestured at the man on his right, obviously one of that tribe.

  Fronto sat forward once more. Sabinus had walked with him down to the camp from the tavern before returning to the trial. The senior staff officer had given Fronto a few pointers and suggestions since the general had left things entirely in his hands. Thank all the Gods for Sabinus. He had predicted almost everything and armed Fronto with a response.

  He smiled benignly at the Gauls.

  “I have arranged for a supply of food to be drawn for you from both the legions and the Aedui, who are not unmindful to your needs. Once you reach the borders of your own land, you may approach the Allobroges, who are allied to Rome. They will supply you with enough food and resources to rebuild your homes and restart your economy. A vexillation of the Eleventh and Twelfth Legions will escort you on your return and smooth over matters with Geneva and the Allobroges. They will also help you transport your wounded and your gear back to your lands.”

  He smiled again.

  “As for the Boii, we have other plans. I take it you are of the Boii?” He gestured in the direction
of the third man, who nodded.

  “The Boii are reputed to be loyal and fierce and extremely valorous. As such, the Aedui have invited you to settle in their lands. You would be bound by the same oath as they, but would come under their jurisdiction, and not ours. The high command is inclined to agree to this. Your tribe will separate when they arrive tomorrow and you will need to see Liscus of the Aedui in the morning. I think that covers everything. Agreed?”

  For the first time the Boii leader to the right addressed Fronto. He stood wearily and stooped. For the first time Fronto realised that he was wounded. From the matted bloody hair and the bloodstains around wounds on his torso and arms, Fronto would easily have pronounced the wounds mortal. How the man had managed was unfathomable. A grudging respect crept into Fronto and he began to understand why the Aedui had such faith in the tribe. The chieftain looked up at the Romans, meeting Fronto’s gaze levelly.

  “Your words are just, Roman. You speak for the benefit of our tribes despite our differences. I doubt your general would offer such consolations as enthusiastically, and so I presume you have been left to deal with all arrangements accordingly. May I speak to you in private?”

  Fronto was taken aback. Not only had he not anticipated any spirit left in these people, he had certainly not expected eloquent speeches in perfectly balanced Latin. Deep in thought for a moment, he focused on the Boii leader.

  “Your Latin is impeccable and you speak with the Rhetoric of a politician. How is this?”

  The man shrugged.

  “We are not animals. I am Boii, but I have also been a citizen of Ocelum. Will you speak to me in private?”

  Fronto stared for a while and finally nodded, rising and beckoning the Gaul outside. The two of them exited, leaving the Roman officers and the two remaining Gauls frowning and regarding each other suspiciously.

  Outside, the Gaul staggered slightly and fell against the tent support. Fronto had been finding it harder and harder to maintain the tough façade and finally he cracked.

  “Sit down man, for Elysium’s sake. If you stand any longer, you’ll fall over.”

  The Boii leader gratefully sank to the grass.

  Making sure that there was no one but the guards in view, Fronto sank to the floor too. With one word he dismissed the guards and the two of them were alone.

  “Alright. I can see you’re an intelligent and educated man. You can probably see through the façade that I’m a soldier, not a politician or high commander, so let’s speak man to man.”

  The Gaul nodded.

  “Indeed, though I think you put yourself down legate Fronto. We all know who you are. You are an able commander and I have the feeling you’re a just man.”

  Fronto nodded.

  “I would like to think so.”

  The Gaul shrugged wearily.

  “Our tribe has staked our future on the plans of the Helvetii. I think it would have paid well had not your general chosen them as his scapegoat for a campaign.”

  Fronto raised his hand to stop the Gaul, but the man continued.

  “No need to deny it, legate. I am well aware of how Roman politics work. Caesar is hungry for war because war fuels careers. We had legitimate cause and concerns. In the end we lost because we were convenient. This is in the past. Rome is the future of this land, whether we like it or not. I know, as I’m sure you do, that Caesar will not stop with the Helvetii. In the end this will become a province and only those of us who do not capitulate will suffer. We have had our fight and made our stand. Now we will sit and await the inevitable.”

  Fronto nodded again. There was a lot of sense and a lot of truth in what the Gaul was saying. It didn’t matter how long it took; this land would be Roman. The Boii recognising and accepting this would be a first step to peaceful domination.

  “What did you want to speak about in private?”

  The Gaul shifted on the grass.

  “There are several thousand of the Helvetii that have not surrendered in the group. They escaped well ahead of your cavalry and will be making for the German border. I will accept the Aedui proposal, and I believe my tribe will support me. There is no future for the Helvetii without Roman support. Whether you can catch these fleeing tribesmen I do not know, but even if you don’t I cannot imagine them remaining a threat. There are not enough of them to create any kind of force and they are unlikely to be treated kindly by the Germans. I thought you should hear this in private. If I speak of it in there, it may cause further trouble.”

  Fronto nodded. He would have to inform Caesar, but he already knew exactly what Caesar would do. Messages would be sent out threatening all the tribes until the remaining Helvetii were found and either returned to Geneva or made an example of. No point in causing trouble among the ambassadors when things were going so well.

  “Very well. It will be dealt with in time, but for the moment we have enough to worry about. Let’s get back inside. I want to get this finished and go for the drink I’ve been thirsting for over the last hour. I’d like to thank you for your candour and your honesty.”

  As they walked back inside, Fronto didn’t even bother retaking his seat. Instead, he addressed the Gauls directly from next to the door.

  “Unless any of you has something to add, I believe we are finished. Anyone?”

  The Gauls remained steadfastly silent.

  “Very well, leave now and settle for tonight within this camp. Your tribes will be joining you tomorrow, and arrangements will then be made.”

  Turning to the other officers, he said “Velius and Gallus, show these men to an area they can make camp and have a guard assigned to them.”

  The two saluted and escorted the Gauls out.

  As soon as the other tribunes and centurions had left, Fronto slumped into the chair and motioned Priscus to the other seat in the corner.

  “Well Gnaeus, looks like we’ve finished with the Helvetii at last. I kind of wish it was us going with them back to Geneva rather than that vexillation. We’re all tired and undermanned, and Caesar’s got something up his sleeve. We’ve not seen the last of Gaul or of blood yet.”

  Speechless, Priscus merely nodded wearily and reached for the wine jar.

  PART TWO: ARIOVISTUS

  Chapter 13

  (Bibracte central square)

  “Pteruges: leather straps that hang from the shoulders and waist of the garment worn under a cuirass.”

  “Aquilifer: a specialised standard bearer that carried a legion’s eagle standard.”

  The morning sun beat down on the baked earth of the square. The gentle sounds of summer surrounded the staff as they sat on comfortably draped benches to one end of the square. Even in his summer uniform, with the linen tunic rather than the wool, Fronto was aware of the spreading patches of damp accumulating around his armpits and the pools of salty sweat collecting beneath the bronzed cuirass and leather pteruges he wore. He could only imagine what the various signifers and cornicens felt like, wearing much the same but having to stand constantly at attention, carrying their heavy trappings of office.

  Next to him, Sabinus wiped his brow for the umpteenth time. Away to the right beyond the career officers sat Caesar in his campaign chair on a hastily constructed wooden dais. Beside the general, Liscus sat on the same dais, seated in his own throne. The Aeduan leader had, over the past few weeks, taken to wearing a very Roman style tunic. He still wore the trappings of his people, including the golden torc around his neck, but had adopted much of the civilised Roman style. Fronto had noted how, over the following week, many of the better-off members of the tribe had taken to sporting these tunics. Somewhere in Bibracte there must by a tailor laughing and counting coins.

  Fronto shuffled uneasily and felt his bare leg peel away from the wood where it had stuck with the heat. He fervently wished he could stand and air himself out a little, but the entire command had to be both present and presentable for the arrival of the chieftains. Word had reached them a couple of weeks ago that an assembly of the Gaul
ish chiefs had been called and that they would be congregating here. Most of the lower ranks continued to relax during their month-long respite after the battle, looking forward to seeing such a grand assembly of barbarians. Fronto and a few of the others knew better. There was no way that the assembly being called here was an accident of timing and, recalling Caesar’s words, he wondered whether the chieftains had come to ask for Caesar’s help against Ariovistus or whether Caesar had, indeed, engineered the whole thing.

  Glancing at Sabinus, he smiled. A good thing the man was here. He was the only member of the staff that Fronto felt remotely comfortable around socially, and the legates and senior officers of the six legions were seated along one side of the square, opposite the various higher-born Aedui. Priscus, taking his place as commander of the Tenth, sat between Balbus and Longinus shuffling uncomfortably in the legate’s uniform he had been allocated by the staff. The ranks of the Roman command glittered in the sunlight and Fronto couldn’t help but wonder what the troops were getting up to without a single senior officer in sight.

  A braying of horns became audible at a distance. That would be the various chieftains arriving at the city gate. They had elected to stay outside the walls in their own camps until the last of their number had arrived and now they were making for the assembly at the square. The discordant blaring of the strange wolf-head-shaped horns grew slowly louder, birds taking to flight from the trees in flocks. Of a sudden, the sound of Roman cornicens echoed round the city, drowning out the native horns. Tetricus was carrying out his duty to the letter. Fronto had assigned him as the senior prefect at the city gate, waiting to greet the Gauls. He had been told to leave the natives in no uncertainty as to who held the power here. Consequently, Tetricus was determined to assert Roman superiority even in the blared fanfares of the arrival. Fronto nodded approvingly. The cornicens were in perfect tune.