Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  Florus nodded soberly.

  ‘But they are the worst of all, though, sir?’

  ‘That’s what they say, soldier. Whether they can withstand the advance of Roman iron remains to be seen, I suppose.’

  The young capsarius nodded again.

  ‘Then I’d better make sure my kit is well prepared. Is there anything else I can do, sirs?’

  Crispus looked up questioningly at Balbus, who shook his head.

  ‘I think that’s all, Florus, thank you. Please inform your medicus that the legates of the Eighth and Eleventh will be dropping by shortly to requisition a little of his expensive oriental paste, if you would?’

  Florus nodded with a smile and, bowing, turned and left the building.

  Crispus looked down at the unconscious patient and then up at Balbus with a smile.

  ‘He’s not going to be able to do much about that but admit to it.’

  Balbus nodded.

  ‘But the soldiers wouldn’t dare mention it, and those of us that are close enough to do so know him well enough we know exactly what to expect. He’ll just have to come up with some convincing and exciting lie.’

  He sighed and stood.

  ‘Come on. We need to go get some of that stuff from the medicus before my hand starts to blossom.’

  ‘What about him?’

  Balbus smiled like an indulgent father.

  ‘He’ll sleep for hours yet.’

  * * * * *

  ‘Enter!’

  The three men at the door to Caesar’s office looked at one another. Fronto entered first, followed by Balbus, with Balventius bringing up the rear and closing the door. The general sat behind his desk scribbling on a tablet. Without looking up, he swept his arm, indicating the three seats across the table from him.

  Wordlessly, the men took their seats and waited patiently for Caesar to finish his administrative tasks. After a moment, the tablet snapped shut, and the general placed his stylus neatly alongside it, pushed them off to his left and then, in a moment of obsession, lined them up neatly with the edge of the table. After that, he sat back, raised his head, took a deep breath, laid his hands on the table before him and tapped rhythmically.

  ‘Your face is a mess, Fronto.’

  ‘Yeth, thir.’

  ‘Any point in me asking?’

  Fronto swallowed noisily.

  ‘Twipped on a wabbit hole, thir.’

  Caesar stared at him.

  ‘Stop that. You sound like an idiot.’

  ‘Thir?’

  ‘People always resort to slurring and impedimented speech when they have a nasal injury or a heavy cold. It’s all psychosomatic, just like limping. Force yourself to talk properly, man.’

  ‘Yes, general.’

  The look of startled realisation on Fronto’s face threatened to make Balbus laugh. Caesar pulled himself straighter.

  ‘Alright, gentlemen. Time for action.’

  The three men blinked, and Caesar nodded, as if in answer to an internal question.

  ‘Firstly, tell me about my two new legions.’

  ‘Well…’ Balventius leaned forward. ‘I think we’re narrowly avoiding serious trouble, particularly with the Fourteenth. It’s ridiculous, general. They’re encamped between all the other legions, but none of them will even exchange a greeting with the new men. Everyone looks down on them. And it’s not helped by the fact that the new legions are staying firmly in their own camp and not even trying to interact. Hell, sir… they don’t even speak Latin when they’re among their own.’

  Caesar frowned.

  ‘That’s not good at all. I’ll have to do something about this. Or rather, perhaps I should say ‘I’ll have to have something done about it.’’

  The other officers’ turn to frown.

  ‘Caesar?’

  ‘First let me explain the two legions to you. I know you’re aware of their origin. However, you won’t have the details. Neither of them currently has a legate assigned. I was, unfortunately, a little tied with potential recruits. I would have preferred all Latin-speaking recruits and to have filled every centurion and optio role with a veteran from Aquileia or Cremona.’

  He sighed.

  ‘Unfortunately, I couldn't find enough suitable men. So, what I have done is given preference to one of them: the Thirteenth has all Latin-speaking legionaries, and each officer is a Roman veteran. I don't want to assign any of my current staff to them, as most would take the assignment as a demotion, given the Gaulish nature of the Thirteenth.’

  He smiled and shifted his gaze between the two legates.

  ‘So, for the time being, I want you two, Balbus and Fronto, to maintain command of the Thirteenth between you, as well as your own. You have the patience to work with them. I want them fully Romanised, integrated into my army and proud of their eagle. You two can give them that. Once they're settled and proved, I'll look at assigning them a legate of their own.’

  Fronto and Balbus looked at one another. The older legate raised an eyebrow and Fronto shrugged, immediately wincing at a number of bruises and pulled muscles from his ‘fall’.

  ‘We can do that, Caesar,’ Balbus nodded. ‘And what of the Fourteenth, then?’

  The general’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

  ‘Sadly, the Fourteenth will take considerably more effort. Only around a half of them speak Latin with more than a few words. Less than a quarter of the centurionate are Roman veterans; the rest are minor chieftains among the Aedui. In all, while they’re trained as legionaries, they still think and act like Gauls. The chief trainer at Cremona says he’d trust them to keep formation in battle, but that’s about as far as it goes.’

  ‘So…’ Fronto grunted, ‘basically they’re useless?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Caesar smiled. ‘They shall be kept in reserve. I’m going to give standing orders that they remain as camp guards or take rearguard in battles to protect the artillery and baggage trains… that sort of thing.’

  Fronto nodded.

  ‘I suppose it’s possible that that way they’ll learn gradually.’

  Balventius laughed; a harsh bark.

  ‘And they can’t get themselves or the rest of us into too much trouble that way.’

  Fronto nodded again.

  ‘So what poor sod are you going to put in charge of them? If none of your staff will lower themselves to lead your top-notch Gaulish legion, who’s going to agree to command the dregs?’

  Caesar’s smile widened.

  ‘Lucius Munatius Plancus.’

  ‘Plancus?’ Fronto almost spat out the name. ‘But he’s a prat! He…’ Light dawned on him slowly.

  Caesar nodded.

  ‘Yes. A legion of unintelligible Gauls in the hands of an unimaginative and inexperienced commander. Sounds perfect for guarding the engineers and baggage. And another problem I’d had was that I owe Plancus’ father a favour, and I’ve been wondering what to do with him. Now I can make him a legate. His father will be pleased and, after a while I can send him back to Rome where he can climb the ladder and be a burden to the senate instead.’

  Fronto smiled.

  ‘Very nice, though I’d warn you, Caesar, that we may have to call on the Fourteenth along with everyone else if we land in deep shit up north, especially without Crassus’ Seventh here.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’

  The general sighed and stood, wandering over to a large map of Gaul and its surroundings.

  ‘I don’t know whether you’re aware… I expect you are, since Fronto always seems to know about things before even I do… that the scouts have now all returned?’

  The three men before him nodded.

  ‘We’re going to be moving very soon. I intend to call a general staff meeting shortly and pass out the orders to my officers, but, to assuage your curiosity, this is the situation in a nutshell…’

  He jabbed his finger into the centre of Belgic lands on the map, where the legend ‘NERVII’ was just visible i
n the low interior light.

  ‘Deep in their territory, most of the Belgae have combined to create one large army. And when I say large, I do mean large. I have been unable to ascertain numbers no matter how many spies and scouts I send out, but I have heard words like ‘sea’ and ‘carpet’ used to describe the assembled mass, so I’m going to assume we’re talking about a very large group. And some of them are Germans who’ve crossed the Rhine to join in. Most of my other legates are young and lack the experience that you two have. I’m going to rely more and more in the coming weeks on the pair of you, along with Labienus and Sabinus.’

  Fronto rubbed his nose reflectively without thinking and gave a slight yelp.

  ‘I assume then, Caesar, that you fully intend to take us against the Belgae, whatever their strength?’

  The general nodded.

  ‘Frankly, Fronto, I cannot back down now. I’m sure you understand. The Belgae have the greatest reputation of the northern barbarians. If we can defeat them, our allies will be safe; no other tribe will dare move against us. If we run back to Narbonensis with our tail tucked between our legs, however, we will lose the respect of the tribes, our allies will likely desert us and side with the Belgae; we will lose our foothold in Gaul and with it any hope of loot for the men and a triumphal return to Rome. The officers will be ridiculed by the senate and the men will be pensioned with little booty to show for the two years of activity.’

  He smiled a horrible smile.

  ‘And then one day the Belgae, who will no longer have any reason to fear us, will take their cue from the Gauls long ago, and will cross the border and sack Italia.’

  He waited for any objection from the three in front of him, but no one spoke.

  ‘No. We must prove ourselves now. We must claim our stake in Gaul. However, I would prefer to even the odds.’

  His finger moved down the map toward the more southerly Belgae lands.

  ‘Here, in their nearest territory, is a Belgic tribe called the Remi. My scouts tell me that, while the Remi are far from the strongest of the Belgae, they are actually open to Roman negotiations; and if the Remi are, then it is possible that other tribes may follow suit. Basically I cannot formulate a full plan until after we have met with the Remi.’

  The general, his face showing some signs of stress, slapped the area of the Belgae on the map with the flat of his palm.

  ‘And herein lies my problem. I need to plan. I don’t like being unprepared for eventualities, but until I have seen for myself, I have to rely on my gut feelings and the usual couple of tricks I have up my sleeve.’

  Balbus shrugged.

  ‘Then why not delay, Caesar? Send ambassadors to the Remi and stay here until you’re fully apprised of the situation? The Belgae won’t get any bigger in the meantime.’

  The general shook his head.

  ‘True: the Belgae will not increase, but there are two other potential problems. Given extra time it’s quite possible that more and more Germans will cross the Rhine and sign up to the Belgic cause. Even if not, it is possible they will decide they are strong enough, march over or through the Remi and come after us. That way we lose a potential ally, the incentive, and any hope of choosing the ground when we do meet.’

  He sighed.

  ‘No, we have to go now. Strike, as the smith says, while the iron is hot.’

  Balventius nodded professionally, and Fronto cleared his throat.

  ‘I was given to believe, Caesar, that you were waiting on other things yet too? Crassus for one thing.’

  A dark look crossed the general’s face.

  ‘With Crassus, what will be, will be. I had expected to have heard from him by now. It is entirely possible that the Belgae already have allies in the west; that they have successfully stirred up trouble against us there and that Crassus is already hanging from a tree with his eyes pecked out by the crows.’

  He gave Fronto a particularly searching look.

  ‘A possibility, I might add, about which I have somewhat mixed feelings…’

  The legate had the grace to look down and avoid his gaze.

  ‘But I have put a safeguard in place in case of Crassus’ failure and demise.’

  He straightened and squared his shoulders.

  ‘I cannot tarry for news of Crassus.’

  Fronto narrowed his eyes.

  ‘What safeguard?’

  The general sighed again.

  ‘Fronto, you’re one of my senior staff, but you really don’t need to know everything!’

  Balventius cleared his throat.

  ‘Caesar?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Why am I present, sir? I’m not involved at a command level.’

  The general returned to his seat and sank gratefully into it.

  ‘You, however, are the man my senior staff saw fit to land with the task of arresting and questioning Paetus. And in that role, I have further use of you.’

  Balventius merely sat straight and raised his eyebrow.

  ‘My courier returned from Rome this morning.’

  Fronto leaned forward.

  ‘Slip of the tongue, Caesar? Courier‘s’, surely? You sent a half dozen riders.’

  The general flashed an irritated look at the legate.

  ‘I know what I mean, Fronto. Shut up.’

  Turning back to Balventius, he pointed at him.

  ‘Paetus’ family are now under my protection, though I cannot be seen to coddle them or Paetus becomes useless as a source of misinformation. Do you remember my niece Atia and her husband, Octavius?’

  Fronto nodded.

  ‘I met them in Rome at a party a few years ago. Nice, I remember.’

  ‘Octavius passed on to the Elysian Fields a couple of years ago but, with the way things are in Rome, Atia maintained his bodyguards to protect her and the children. They number quite a few, and Octavius chose able men. They have Paetus’ family under observation. The moment anything turns against them, they will be whisked away to the safety of Atia’s villa.’

  He smiled.

  ‘So. Balventius, I need you to start paving the way with Paetus. I want him thoroughly with us. I want him to be ready to sell his father to protect his wife if needed.’

  He ignored the disapproving looks Fronto was throwing at him.

  ‘And you, Fronto? I want you to start thinking of how we can use this. Bear in mind that the stronger I become and the weaker my enemies, the better position I am in to protect and advance your sister and yourself. Think hard.’

  He stood again, scraping the feet of the chair across the floor.

  ‘I think that’s it, gentlemen. Get yourself an hour’s rest or food. Fronto? Balbus? We reconvene with the rest of the officers in an hour. Time to start preparing. We march on the Belgae tomorrow.’

  Chapter 4

  (Durocorteron, in the lands of the Remi)

  ‘Curia: the meeting place of the senate in the forum of Rome.’

  ‘Pilum: the army’s standard javelin, with a wooden stock and a long, heavy, lead point (plural ‘pila’).’

  Caesar’s sudden decision to move had caused a stir among the legions. They had been encamped around Vesontio for months and had become settled in their ways. Though everyone knew they would be moving off on campaign soon, the legions’ officers had been assuming they would wait for word of Crassus, and then suddenly Caesar had given the entire army one night’s notice. Every man had been short on sleep when they were called to attention by the cornicens and subsequently packed their gear, stowed their baggage in the wagons, secured the artillery for transport and systematically took down the defences, demolishing the palisades and infilling the ditch as was the tradition with a departing army.

  Then had begun the interminable journey. In actual fact, the army had only been on the road for two weeks, but it felt like so much longer. A legion could travel fast, but out here with only native dirt tracks instead of good Roman paving, in unknown territory that had to be scouted in advance of the column,
and with the ancillary wagons, staff, artillery and other clutter of seven legions and the command section, travel was painfully slow; sometimes as little as ten miles in a day.

  But then, that was the price you paid for having your entire support system with you. This was no small punitive expedition, but a show of Roman power with a fully supported army. The merchants and tavern keepers in Vesontio had been sad to see such a rich source of revenue leaving their land, though they would live fat and wealthy for the next year at least; Caesar had ordered the quartermasters to stock up for the campaign and, with a great deal of foresight, Cita had purchased every last spare grain of corn available in a twenty mile radius around Vesontio. Back in that city, men would be rubbing their hands with glee while stacking their denarii.

  And finally, three days ago, they had reached the lands of the Remi. The scouts had returned to inform the staff that the ‘capital’ of that tribe was just over twenty miles distant.

  Since arriving in the territory of the Belgae, the pace of the army had almost halved again as they moved forward with considerable caution, the outriders constantly circling the huge mass of troops. Caesar had called the officers to him that night and stated his intention to camp at the centre of Remi lands. It served a threefold purpose: firstly, it was the safest place within the Belgae’s territory; secondly it was a hub for trade, politics and information; and thirdly, a show of such strength amid the Remi would serve to remind them of the power of Rome and the wisdom of alliance.

  And so, last night, they had made camp four miles from the town and prepared.

  This morning, a fresh and gleaming Roman army numbering some thirty thousand regular troops, along with thousands of cavalry, mostly of Gallic auxiliary status, slowly tramped and stomped their way over the hill and toward the river and the wooden bridge that gave access to the Remi’s oppidum of Durocorteron. The sight must have been overwhelming for the ordinary folk of the tribe.

  Without sending a single man across the river to the Remi, the legions, as prearranged, began to set up huge temporary camps; three in all, each large enough to accommodate fifteen thousand and the necessary gear. The men had worked hard and, within two hours, camp had been established, even before the last of the immense military column had arrived on the scene. A wide ditch and rampart surrounded each camp, and once the baggage arrived, a defensive palisade was formed of the sharpened stakes that were carried in the wagons and could later be undone and stowed for reuse.