Marius' Mules

by S. J. A. Turney

  The musician, taken by surprise, put the long, curved horn to his mouth and blew the call.

  Crispus heard the bleating over the sounds of combat and glanced to the other end of the wall in surprise. The Tenth were swarming over the wall and toward the Germans. That wasn’t the plan; they were to defend the fort. Longinus and his men had done their job well and the legions had been prepared. The Eleventh had been hit by them a couple of minutes ago, but why the hell would Fronto abandon the plan and go for such foolhardy actions?

  For a moment Crispus was dumbfounded, totally unsure what to do with this change of plan. He knew that the Roman position was strong; that they could hold the wall for ages without falling, and that a march into such a large army against unknown odds was risky at best. All of his knowledge of tactical histories urged him to sound the Tenth’s recall. For some reason, though, he found himself shouting at his cornicen “Sound the advance!”

  The Eleventh, deep in the bloody business of Roman frontline warfare, heard the call. Despite their situation, the shield wall pulled a little tighter together and, slowly, smashing at German arms and faces with their huge, bronze shield bosses, they pushed the mass back from the slope.

  Crispus smiled. Fronto wouldn’t be alone. The Eleventh would be there to defend his flank, as they always were. He had disagreed with everything Fronto had said this morning and was damned if he was going to see the man lying dead on this field due to lack of support.

  All along the fortifications, the legions had swept forward into the Germans. Fronto had been the first down the bank, in front of the Tenth’s leading centurions. He had been the first member of the Tenth to take a German life. After almost an hour of brutality the news had reached Crispus, standing on the wall behind his troops and cheering them on, of the death of Longinus. He had been ashamed later for having temporarily left his legion, but he had to see. Varus, the cavalry prefect, had brought the body back, and had laid it on one of the platforms, where the body was in full view of the field. Crispus had looked down at the corpse and had felt something harden inside; a knot of twisted pain and cold anger.

  The young man had fought in the engagements of the Eleventh before, but had fought carefully and calmly and usually at the edge or the rear, when only rarely the enemy actually reached him. Now white, cold, icy fire flowed through his veins and his senior officers, tribunes and centurions alike were shocked to see the young, educated, well-spoken and noble Crispus hauling his own soldiers out of the way in order to get to the enemy, growling like a starving wolf.

  Fronto and Crispus met up as the sun began to sink behind the hills. The Germans were finally retreating into the safety of their camp, though many of their army’s rear ranks had returned considerably earlier. Countless dead of both sides lay strewn across the battlefield and as they walked, the two legates had to stumble and sidestep the grisly remains. The two, blood soaked and grimy, walked stiffly, tired and with no smile playing across their lips.

  With the centuries of their legions moving slowly, victorious, across the field back to their camp, the legates paused at the embankment. Varus sat on the platform next to the body of his commander, drinking unwatered wine directly from the jug. He looked up as he saw the two approach and held the jug out wordlessly. Crispus reached out and took the container, upending it and pouring the wine into his mouth and across his face in a torrent, washing the blood from his skin. He threw the empty jug onto the platform. Fronto looked around at the Tenth, dragging themselves back to camp, and grasped the mail shirt of one of the immunes legionaries.

  “Find me wine. Plenty of wine.”

  The soldier took one look at Fronto’s face and hurried off into the camp as the legate turned back to see Crispus crouched by the body. He tore a long strip of blood-soaked tunic from the commander’s corpse and tied it round his upper arm. As Crispus turned back, there was a tear in the corner of his eye. The legates of the Tenth and Eleventh dropped heavily to the turf platform.

  * * * * *

  The sound of hundreds of hoof beats distracted Fronto from his train of thought and his voice trailed away. He dropped the wine jug to the turf and he, Varus and Crispus all turned to look at the new arrivals. Caesar sat astride his white charger, with Crassus beside him and Ingenuus with a number of the cavalry.

  Crispus struggled to his feet and stood roughly to attention, faltering a little. Varus followed suit. Fronto merely hauled himself around to face the General and remained slumped. Caesar looked down at the scene with one eyebrow raised.

  “What…”

  His voice tailed off as his wandering gaze took in the body on the platform behind them.

  “Longinus?”

  Fronto sighed deeply and took another swig of wine.

  “He fell protecting the legions while they got into position. We’ve been mourning him, as you can see. I’ve read his will. I think you should look too.”

  Caesar dismounted and strode up the bank. Standing before the body, he lowered his head in respect and then sat with the others, motioning Varus and Crispus to do the same. Looking up briefly, he noticed the other riders. Crassus wore an impatient frown, Ingenuus a look of genuine distress.

  “Crassus? Ingenuus? I think you should dismount and join us. The rest of you, go report to your comrades.”

  As Ingenuus dismounted, Crassus coughed.

  “Caesar, the cavalry are without a commander. Most of them are Gaulish levies. Perhaps I should go and make sure all is in order? They may desert without command.”

  Varus rose to his feet, shaking.

  “They are not cowards or animals, and they do not need shepherding! Will you not join us and drink to my commander?”

  Crassus glanced at Caesar and then back at Varus.

  “He is not your commander. He’s gone. When I am your commander, you will not speak to a superior officer like that. Caesar? Permission to take command of the cavalry?”

  Fronto jumped to his feet just in time to wrestle Varus back to the grass.

  “Don’t do anything stupid. Let the mindless fop make a fool of himself,” he hissed in the prefect’s ear. Turning to Caesar, he spoke in a more audible tone.

  “I presume you have no intention of putting him in command of the cavalry?”

  Caesar cleared his throat.

  “I’m making no decision about it now. Longinus is still warm. Crassus, if you’re not joining us, you should head back to your legion for the time being.”

  Crassus grunted.

  “Yes, General.”

  Turning, he rode off.

  Fronto suddenly realised that Ingenuus was leaning over the body. He wandered over to the young prefect and patted him on the shoulder. The man had risen high in the ranks but he was still very young, inexperienced and impressionable. He glanced up at Varus.

  “Can you take him somewhere and talk to him?”

  Varus, his face still red, nodded and beckoned to Ingenuus. The two wandered along the bank. Caesar looked at Fronto and Crispus.

  “I want to see any prisoners you took. Just a couple, if you have lots. Can they be brought out here?”

  Crispus and Fronto shared a glance.

  “There aren’t very many sir, if you get my drift?”

  The General nodded. Crispus stood, shakily.

  “I need to exercise my muscles for a moment anyway and perhaps dip myself in a horse trough. With your permission, Caesar, I’ll bring you all the prisoners. Both of them.”

  As he staggered off down the inside of the bank, Caesar looked at Fronto.

  “Both of them?”

  Nod.

  “I see that you were well in the middle of the action, by the state of you?”

  Nod. Swig of wine.

  “The corpses and line of battle across the field show that you didn’t exactly defend the wall, am I right?”

  Nod.

  “Marcus, you’re one of the best. Certainly the best I have in this army, but I can’t have you endangering the entire campaign th
rough insane stunts brought on by grief and rage. And I particularly cannot let you lead Crispus down that path. He’s young and naïve. He’s lost a figure he respected today. You are the nearest thing he has here to a father, and how you treat him will affect his whole future. Are you going to speak to me?”

  Fronto looked up and took another swig of wine.

  “Longinus is gone. We couldn’t get to him in time. Don’t underestimate how well-liked he was.”

  “You and he used to hate each other.”

  Fronto glared angrily at Caesar.

  “Don’t pick apart what you don’t understand. We never hated each other. We were just different, and there was a resentment. We were both mature and sensible enough to overcome our differences, and he became a damn good friend. One of the best. And a good cavalry commander. If you let Crassus run amok with them, our cavalry will all either die or desert. Here.”

  He held out a parchment that Caesar gently took from his hand and unfurled before letting it roll up again a second later.

  “His will? It wasn’t meant for me to read. What do I need to know?”

  Fronto sighed.

  “He left me his best cloak. Bit of a joke I think, the old bastard. Left me his horse too, would you believe it? Other than that, he appears to have left his sword to Varus, though I haven’t told him yet. The rest of his stuff goes back to his family in Italy.”

  Caesar nodded.

  “He obviously held you in more esteem than I thought. He loved his horse a great deal I understand. Other than that, fairly ordinary, yes?”

  Fronto nodded.

  “Apart from one thing. He wanted me to propose Varus as his replacement should this happen. He specifically stated him in the amendment he made at Vesontio. Surely you can’t select Crassus.”

  Caesar sighed.

  “I cannot always do what I wish, Marcus. I am not a God, so I must sometimes do as I am required. I have to give Crassus a chance. I can stop him doing something if he does it wrong, but I cannot prevent him from trying. I owe his father much too much for that.”

  “So you’re going to ignore this?”

  He waved the will at Caesar.

  “It is my prerogative and my duty to assign commanders, not their own. I would be happy to accept Varus and would go with the recommendation were he the only candidate. He has proved himself a number of times. However, Crassus wants it, and he’s currently got the more important claim. Things may change, Marcus. There’s a long way ahead of us yet. Crassus will get his chance to prove he can do it, but only one chance. No more.”

  Fronto nodded unhappily.

  “If you’d like, I’ll speak to Varus and tell him all about it.”

  “Thank you Marcus. Here comes Crispus with the prisoners. Before he gets here, I want you to remember one thing. Crispus is going to look to you now. He’s very young, and he takes inspiration from the other commanders. Be sure you inspire him correctly and not toward chaos, yes?”

  Another unhappy nod.

  The two surviving prisoners of the German attack were dumped unceremoniously at the foot of the bank. Crispus indicated the auxiliary soldier standing beside him.

  “This is one of our Aeduan allies who speaks both their language and ours fluently.”

  Caesar looked down at the Aeduan cavalryman.

  “You’ll translate for them and I?”

  “Yes Caesar.”

  “Ask them why Ariovistus won’t come out and fight me.”

  A brief and garbled exchange followed between the prisoners and the auxiliary, after which he turned to face the General.

  “It’s a little hard to explain, Caesar, but… well you know how before the legions are committed, a Haruspex is consulted, and the entrails of a bird are opened in order to determine the auspices for the day?”

  The General nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, Ariovistus has his own Haruspices to consult, but his are Matrons of the tribes; revered old women. They cast bones and determine the will of their Gods from how the bones fall and, if they fall wrong, Ariovistus will not commit.”

  “And the bones keep falling badly for him?”

  The auxiliary exchanged brief words with the prisoners again and then addressed the General once more.

  “They do not need to, Caesar. They cast their bones once when they first arrived and they informed the King that if he attacked before the new moon, the Gods would not let him win. Thus he has committed to small actions only and won’t commit his main force until then.”

  Caesar frowned.

  “How long to the new moon, Crispus?”

  The young legate shrugged.

  “A little over a week, I suppose.”

  “Too long. I won’t let their barbarian superstitions prolong this stand-off.”

  Crispus cleared his throat.

  “Sir, we are just as superstitious in our observance of ritual Haruspicy before taking action.”

  Caesar nodded.

  “Yes, but frankly, I’ve never believed in them. I go along with it to keep people happy but life is what you make it, Crispus, and I intend to make it difficult for Ariovistus. We hold Longinus’ funeral tonight. I want everything out of the way before tomorrow because in the morning we set upon the Germans.”

  He turned and called over to the two cavalry officers. Varus and Ingenuus walked over to the General and stood side by side.

  “Sir?”

  “Gentlemen. I want you to arrange a pyre for your commander. This ballista…” he patted the weapon that stood next to Longinus’ body “will be removed to the camp interior. The pyre will be built here on this platform, and it should be high. I want the Germans to be able to clearly see it burn. Have torches lit all along the defences.”

  Fronto glanced over at Caesar, a sad look about him.

  “You can’t even give Longinus a send off without making a statement with it, can you General?”

  Caesar glared back at Fronto. The man was usually only this bold when they were in private. It could cause trouble if he started questioning his commander in front of other officers. Still, Caesar was aware of the grief clutching him at the moment and, whether he should have said it or not, he was, of course, correct. His glare lessened.

  “Marcus. Anything that might give us an edge could save other lives. Besides, Longinus would have been the first to agree.”

  Fronto snorted.

  “I suppose so. If you’re going to do it like this, though, do it properly.”

  He turned to Varus and Ingenuus.

  “Go and find Priscus of the Tenth and get him to send a forage party into the woods. We want thousands of torches making. One for every spectator when we burn Gaius.”

  Varus and Ingenuus bowed and, turning, went about their tasks.

  Fronto turned round to see Crispus and Caesar look at him.

  “We line them all up on the field before the pyre, but also before the German camp. Can you imagine what a sight eight thousand burning torches will be? Shame we haven’t got the rest of the men here.”

  Caesar nodded.

  “Still, it will be a great send off for Longinus and a sight to behold for Ariovistus. And, in the morning, we will force the man to fight us. If he will not come out, we will go in!”

  Chapter 20

  (The field before the small fort)

  “Actuarius: Clerks, both civil and military. In the legions, Actuarii existed from the very top command levels, down to century levels, where excused-duty soldiers served in the role.”

  The Pyre burned bright on the wall. There was a slight wind disturbing the smoke, though it blew high and away above the soldiers. Two legions and all the attached Auxilia stood before the wall with burning torches held high.

  Fronto stood with the two cavalry officers and Crispus, Crassus and Caesar on the platform near the body. He could see Priscus down below in front of the Tenth. The primus pilus was sweating with the heat and the effort of continuously holding the torch high. The rest of the men wou
ld be suffering in much the same way. The pyre had only been lit for fifteen minutes, and they would have a long time to go yet.

  Fronto wore Longinus’ good dress cloak that had been left to him and Varus bore the good quality Spanish cavalry sword that had been willed to him. The rest of his goods had been packed to send to his family, along with a letter from Fronto, one from Varus and one from Caesar. As a last gesture, before Varus lit the wood of the pyre, he laid his own much-used blade at the commander’s side. Fronto had caused much raising of eyebrows among the command when he brought forth his resplendent red and gold cloak and covered the torso with it.

  Now they all burned together. Caesar had made a speech and then Varus had added his own words.

  In the silence, broken only by the crackle of burning wood and the spit and hiss of flaming fats, Fronto suddenly put his hand to his brow, shading his eyes from the glare of the fire. Trying not to cause too much alarm, he sidestepped toward Crispus and whispered to him.

  “Can you see movement out to the left, beyond the ridge?”

  Crispus sheltered his eyes and gazed out.

  “Yes. What’s happening?”

  Fronto, still squinting, shook his head.

  “Don’t know. They’re not Ariovistus’ men, though. They’re moving in legion formation. It must be the rest of the army.”

  He glanced up at Caesar to see the General smiling at him.

  “Absolutely, Marcus. What a distraction, eh? While the Germans marvel at the bright lights, four legions and thousands of cavalry walk right past them in the darkness.”

  Fronto gawped.

  “The whole army here? Now?”

  “They will walk right around the edge of the field and into your camp. If all goes well, Ariovistus will not know that they’ve even moved. It should throw any tactics he has planned completely out of the window when the entire army forms up here at first light.”

  Crispus shook his head.

  “The other camp must be occupied or at the very least maintain the illusion of occupation. Otherwise Ariovistus can retreat and occupy our camp.”