Marius' Mules IX: Pax Gallica

by Turney, S. J. A.

  ‘And then?’ prompted the warrior.

  The cold, extended smile turned to look out across the rolling folds of land to the northeast.

  ‘And then the general will march to his doom on an unknown battlefield as he deserves.’

  The man on the cross sagged a little and his screaming reached a new pitch, and the warrior was sure that his master was now smiling deliberately.

  Chapter Two

  NEMETOCENNA had changed. It had, of course, been some years now since Fronto had been here . What had been a Belgic op pidum – quite a strong one too, with a Roman siege camp outside half a decade ago – had become something much different . The oppidum‘s walls were still there, and the gates, though even from a distance the travellers could see that the endless thatch within had in many places been replaced with legion-manufactured red tile roofs. And instead of a Roman camp sitting defiant some distance away, regarding the walls jealously, the Roman military presence was now contained within a massive walled extension to the town , enjoying a prime location between the oppidum and the river. Moreover, the natives had begun to build outside the walls, taking advantage of the Roman presence, living off their money and supplies in return for goods and services rendered. There were clearly even taverns and brothels springing up close to the walls.

  ‘Gaul at peace, eh?’ Fronto marvelled as they geed their horses once more and b egan the descent toward the town. ‘Never thought I’d see it like this.’

  ‘Almost makes seven years of bloodshed worthwhile,’ said Aurelius, and the others looked at him with a frown, trying to decide whether this was off-colour humour or serious contemplation.

  ‘I reckon there’s three legions based here at the moment, from the size of the force,’ Fronto mused. ‘Can’t see the flags, but that’s my reckoning. ’

  ‘Let’s get down there before it rains,’ Masgava said, eyeing the leaden grey sky nervously. ‘I don’t fancy getting soaked again .’

  Th ey all murmured their agreement and put extra speed to their mounts as they closed on the principle camp of the Roman legions in Gaul – Caesar’s court in the north. The journey north had taken them two weeks, through the worst season for Gallic weather. Few days had passed without at least some sign of rain once they had moved from Vienna and the Roman province into Gaul, and on rare occasions they had experience d sleet and hail. Now, on the ides of Februarius, they were finally at their destination.

  As they approached the fortified annexe that played home to some fifteen thousand Romans, Fronto found himself both interested and nervous. It had been some time since he had served active ly in the army, yet it felt oddly like a homecoming. His feet longed to drop from the horse and fall into the routine of camp life. T his was no mean campaign fortification , though . Timber buildings had been raised for the soldiers and their officers. A bathhouse was visible toward the river, where a new extended channel had been run from the natural bend toward the Roman annexe. This was a semi-permanent installation. He would be willing to wager there were retired soldiers living in the oppidum now, married to buxom Belgic girls. Yet despite the inevitable excitement rushing through his blood, there was also a nervous tension. He was here to see the proconsul of Gaul, Gaius Julius Caesar, a man with who m he shared a close history of service stretching back to Fronto’s first time in Hispania , yet someone with whom he had on occasion walked a rocky path. There was no guarantee of an easy reception, and he came as something of a supplicant, asking Caesar for a favour. Oh the general owed him for much in his time, but it was in the nature of arrogant men to forget favours owed but cling to debts unpaid.

  What reception awaited them?

  With his five companions close by, the former commander of the Tenth peered intently at the flags as they approached. There was the vexillum of the Ninth. And he could see the Eleventh repres ented. There were at least two others, but they were unreadable yet. As the half dozen weary travellers rode along the track to Nemetocenna, their three pack animals trailing along behind, innkeepers and whores called out from the new buildings to either side, offering their services. Fronto would love nothing more than to take up the offers of the former, and Aurelius’ face said he was pretty keen for the latter, but nothing could be done until they had presented themselves at the headquarters.

  The huge, heavy timber gate stood open, clear sign that peace had come to Gaul at last. Two rather bored looking legionaries stood at attention by the gate, and a couple more leaned atop the walkway parapet . As the party approached, one of the legionaries called inside and an optio emerged, tapping his long staff on the ground as he walked out to meet this odd group. Each of them were wearing tunics of a military cut and colour, Fronto’s being white with a stripe denoting his rank, and it would be quite clear even ignoring those garments and their military cloaks that they were military, if only from the blades worn at their hips.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Fronto said to the optio as he reined in close by and inclined his head. The officer took in his tunic, age and bearing and swiftly surmised he was speaking to a retired officer. When he replied , his tone was direct but inflected with respect.

  ‘Good day, sir. Might I enquire as to your business at Nemetocenna.’

  ‘I’m here to see the governor,’ Fronto smiled. ‘I am Marcus Falerius Fronto, former Legatus of the Tenth Legion. The governor knows me well.’

  ‘As do all, by reputation, sir,’ smiled the optio. ‘Welcome to Hades, sir. Just the lads’ name for the place, be cause the weather can only have been planned by the underworld and the whores and innkeepers charge far too much.’

  Fronto barked out a laugh. ‘I’ve not been here since we first made camp. That was somewhere over there,’ he added, waving across to a field of deep grass nearby. ‘Could you show me to the headquarters?’

  The optio nodded and gestured for them to enter. As the six rode through the gate behind him, two more legionaries appeared as if from nowhere and waited patiently.

  ‘I will have your animals taken to the stables and fed and watered, sirs. If you would care to follow me on foot.’

  Fronto nodded, sliding down from the back of Bucephalus, the shining black horse he had acquired after Longinus’ death in their first year in Gaul, a lifetime ago. He was getting old now, though still strong and swift. Soon it would be time to put the old boy out to pasture – w hen this had all blown over, of course, and Fronto could call some grazing land his own once more. The others similarly dismounted, and together they strode off after the optio, leaving their mounts in the hands of the legionaries.

  ‘Are you planning to stay, sir?’ the optio asked.

  ‘Sorry? Oh, I don’t really know until I’ve been to the headquarters.’

  ‘Then I’ll have your kit taken to a spare barrack for now, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Fronto smiled as they passed through the camp toward the nerve centre of the place. The whole camp displayed all the hall marks of an army on peaceful garrison duty. No racks of weapons ready for quick mobilisation, but strings of washing hanging between blocks, soldiers sitting on the verandas of their barracks playing dice , a stray mutt eating the remnants of some legionary’s lunch . It was so familiar he almost wanted to join them. He was delighted as they closed on the centre to see flags of the Fifteenth Legion, but also of the Tenth, wavering in the distance. His legion. They were here. He wondered if there was anyone left in the Tenth he knew of old. Presumably Atenos …

  Soon they approached the doorway of the headquarters, two more legionaries standing guard at the entrance . Fronto was intrigued to note the rather austere appearance of the building. It was the norm when Caesar made his gubernatorial court somewhere rather than just a simple military headquarters, to adorn it with the trappings of Rome and of command, especially when within sight of the natives, and this place was overlooked by the walls of the oppidum, though those native walls were, Fronto noted , also policed by legionaries.

  Nothing changed inside . As they ente
red, the same Spartan appearance was evident throughout, and there was less busyness than Fronto usually encountered around the general, who slept little and often worked through much of the night, creating more work for those around him.

  Finally, as they entered the cross hall, the optio saluted a tribune who was running down a list in a clerk’s hands while he scratched his head in perplexity. The tribune, a young man from Rome, clearly only arrived this past season, looked up at the activity and frowned at Fronto as though trying to decide what he was.

  ‘Yes?’ he said sharply. He was overworked, Fronto thought. Pale and with black circles under his eyes, he needed sleep badly.

  ‘This is former L egate Fronto of the Tenth to see the governor, sir.’

  The tribune pondered for a moment, then turned to the clerk. ‘We’ll clear this up later.’ As the man ran off, the optio bowed and retreated. The tribune gave them a tired smile.

  ‘To be honest, anything that gets me out of that headache for a few moments is a welcome distraction. Well met, L egate Fronto. Your reputation precedes you. I am Gaius Rutilius Sura. If you’d care to follow me.’

  Fronto inclined his head at the man and turned briefly to the others. ‘ The rest of you split up and source us food and drink and check with that optio where he’s quartered us. Galronus, you stay with me. We’ll meet the rest of you at the bath house as soon as we’re finished. ’

  Leaving them to their tasks, Fronto and Galronus hurried after the tribune, who was now knocking on an office door at the end of the hall. A muffled voice called ‘come,’ and the tribune entered and announced the visitors. He stepped out once more and gestured for Fronto to enter.

  The office was cluttered with scrolls, tablets and sheets of writing bark and vellum and it took a moment for Fronto to locate the occupant among the mess. Even as he blinked in surprise, the door was closed behind him , Galronus stepping beside him with an equally surprised expression .

  ‘Titus?’

  Titus Labienus, Caesar’s long-time adjutant, looked up from the desk, pushing aside the list he was making. He looked no less tired than the clerk or the tribune.

  ‘Marcus, what a damned surprise. Never thought I’d see your ugly mug this far north again .’

  ‘Me neither. Titus, what’s going on? I was expecting to see Caesar.’

  Labienus let out something that was part laugh, part exasperated sigh. ‘You asked to see the governor, didn’t you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The proconsul has installed me as governor of this disorganised shit hole. After all, his term is coming to an end, and he’s hoping that, if he can get back to Rome as a consul, he can formall y recognise Gaul as a new province. I’ve got the sort of interim unofficial job of tying it all together while Caesar gallivants around the countryside drinking wine with allies and winning over the remaining populace of Gaul with his charm. The mess this land has been left in after eight years of war has to be seen to be believed, Fronto. And I don’t mean physical mess, though there’s that too. But politically, economically, logistically, and in terms of population and resettlement, this place will take years to sort out. Maybe even decades.’

  ‘He’s pushing his remit a little setting you up like this,’ Fronto said quietly.

  ‘I told him the very same. I told him that the senate would spit feathers when they heard about it and that it would just give Pompey and his consuls fuel, but the general doesn’t care anymore. He believes Rome can’t be much more opposed to him. He might be right. We have ears in all the right places Fronto, and everything they hear is bad. Frankly, I’m worried about what the general is going to do. Soon he’s going to be out of time and out of options , though he seems calm and collected and unconcerned as always .’

  Fronto nodded. It was a thorny problem with no favourable outcome visible.

  ‘Why are you here, Fronto?’ but a dawning of realisation passed across Labienus’ face even as he said it. ‘Your exile. Of course. You’re almost in the same situation as the proconsul, aren’t you. He’d help you, Fronto, of course. We all know he’d move a mountain to help you. But I’m not sure he can . Still…’ he mused, tapping his stilus on his lip, ‘your arrival may have solved us a problem.’

  ‘Oh? How?’

  ‘The general is out of camp. He’s at Samarobriva , in fact, some thirty odd miles from here . Been there for two days with the Twelfth and… . h e’s been… well, I’ll let him explain that to you. He’ll be back before dark and he’ll want to see you. But let’s say he has a job he wants doing and most of his good o fficers are tied up with things. He had Quadratus lined up for it but the poor fellow’s come down with some dreadful illness in this horrible damp winter and he can’t stop coughing his guts up and vomiting, so he wouldn’t be much use. ’

  ‘Job?’ asked Fronto, guardedly.

  ‘How well do you know Aquitania, Fronto?’

  * * *

  ‘The general is waiting for you, sir.’

  Fronto turned from Galronus, who paused in the midst of an explanation of Belgic decoration, to see a clerk standing behind him, so rigidly at attention he looked as though a stiff breeze might topple him. The two visitors had been standing under a canvas shelter close to the command building for half an hour, since word had reached them that Caesar had returned to camp. In fairness, given the noise made by the general’s cavalry escort, it would have been obvious to most people that Caesar had returned without the need for confirmation. Fronto had hoped to catch up with Aulus Ingenuus, the general’s bodyguard commander, but the horseman had not been one of the smaller unit that escorted him to the headquarters.

  ‘Thank you, soldier.’

  The clerk bowed and returned to his duties, and Fronto gestured to Galronus, who followed him across the road and into the headquarters. A quick question put to one of the legionary guards on duty directed them to an office at the opposite end of the hall to that of Labienus. The door stood open and no guards were in evidence there, but Fronto could hear the distinctive sound of Caesar’s slightly nasal yet commanding tone from within. In trigued, he paused.

  ‘…that while he might owe Pompey, Marcellus is married to my great niece. Family should be above politics. Remind him of how unhappy I shall be if he continues to speak against me. And how… disappointed… Octavia will be.’

  ‘And Lepidus, general? ’

  ‘I shall deal with Lepidus in due course. I have no immediate hold over him, but everyone has their weakness and I have friends looking into his. Now formulate that letter, Hirtius, and then bring it for me to peruse before you send it.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Moments later, the gangly, greying form of Aulus Hirtius, Caesar’s secretary, appeared from the doorway, bearing a stack of wax tablets and a pained expression. He paused, startled to f ind someone standing outside, nodded with a sour grimace to Fronto , and then stalked off like a crane with bad knees.

  Fronto threw him a smile and almost jumped as the general’s voice from inside called ‘come in, Fronto. Don’t dither.’

  How did he know?

  Fronto and Galronus strode into the office and stood before the desk. They did n ot come to military attention, though – after all, one was native royalty and the other a retired Roman noble. But neither of them could help slipping slightly into the at-ease stance.

  ‘Be a good fellow and close the door will you , Galronus?’ the general said, from where he was standing on the far side of the desk with his back to them, apparently studying a huge map of Gaul. Galronus pushed the door to with a click and returned to his stance beside Fronto.

  ‘I shall not bother regaling you with my many woes,’ Caesar said affably without turning. ‘I am sure that the detail of my troubles is the talk of every tavern from here to Cremona, and I imagine you are already familiar with the matter.’

  ‘I am acquainted with your issues, Caesar, yes.’

  The general nodded as though the huge, impenetrable problems blockading his future were not
hing but a small speck on a glass beaker . ‘And you, I understand, have removed your exiled self to Massilia in order to evade the senate’s reach. Sensible solution, to my mind.’

  ‘Except that it seems Massilia are turning their back on you, general, and making overtures to the senate.’

  The general nodded, displaying not even a modicum of surprise at the news. ‘ I can understand their decision. Much of the trade that maintains the city comes from Rome. However, I am rather disappointed in them. I may have to make my disappointment tangible at some point. And so, having been removed from Italian territory and finding Massilia rather unfriendly, you decided to call upon me and seek my patronage once more.’

  Fronto felt faintly irked by the notion that a man whom he had financially supported in his initial rise and who owed a number of successes to him would think in such supercilious terms, but he was here as a supplicant in the end, and had to play this carefully.

  ‘ I believe that we share a common enemy, Caesar, in Pompey and his cronies. And I believe that we also share a time limit. As soon as your command is up – the senate’s timing, t hat is, not yours – you have nowhere to go without falling into their hands. And the same is true for me, since your army is my last haven.’

  ‘And you believe that we can be of service to one another? You may well be right, Fronto. And I like to help out old friends, anyway.‘ The general finally turned, and Fronto realised that the old man’s sleep pattern – always too little and too late anyway – must have become almost non-existent from the dark circles under his eyes and his drawn features. His exhaustion was clear and his look made those clerks and tribunes Fronto had seen earlier appear healthy and full of vigour.

  ‘And Galronus,’ Prince of the Remi,’ the general said with a tired smile. ‘Are you simply passing through on your way home, or are you Fronto’s man now?’

  The Remi nobleman gave the general a strange, guarded smile, and folded his arms. ‘I am accompanying Marcus here. I have… ties to the Falerii.’