Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘Gods, Fronto, no! My former wife, Pompeia. Don’t you pay any attention to what goes on in Rome? Didn’t you even wonder why I divorced her?’

  In the privacy of his own head, Fronto trotted through several exceptionally unkind responses while deliberately keeping his expression blank.

  ‘I try not to pry, Caesar.’

  He frowned. ‘So the question is: did he do that to get to you, in which case he was already conspiring against you years ago, or is what he’s doing now is some sort of weird revenge?’

  ‘It was the reason for our divorce four years ago, as I said. I divested myself of her, but actually helped Clodius avoid prosecution to keep the scandal as detached from me as possible.’ Caesar frowned. ‘He can’t want revenge... I saved him from trial. At the time I blamed Pompeia but, in retrospect, with what has been happening this past year in Rome, I’m starting to wonder whether perhaps it was all down to Clodius.’

  Fronto tapped his finger on the table.

  ‘Perhaps Pompeia is the key? She’s not remarried, has she? Perhaps she’s still in league with the man? Or at least perhaps he is interested in her? We need to know more before you decide what to do. Could you ask her about him?’

  Caesar laughed a laugh with no humour. ‘Pompeia will not exchange a single word with me. I’m afraid I was quite unkind when we parted. Besides, Calpurnia and I have only been married two years. She may take exception if I communicate with Pompeia.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Fronto drew a deep breath, once again thanking Nemesis, his unusual patron Goddess, that he had managed to remain blissfully single for so long. ‘You need to find out more about Clodius. Pompeia might have the information you seek, but won’t speak to you. I do believe the answer’s staring you in the face, Caesar.’

  A frown.

  ‘Paetus…’ Fronto said, tapping his finger on the table.

  ‘Paetus can send a message to Pompeia, imploring her to speak to Clodius and intervene with the matter of his debt.’

  Caesar shrugged.

  ‘It’s highly likely Pompeia has no connection at all with Clodius now. If she does, she’ll certainly have no leverage.’

  Fronto slapped his hand flat on the table.

  ‘But you’ll know. You’ll know whether any of this involves Pompeia.’

  Another unpleasant feral smile crossed the general’s face.

  ‘I think we can go one step better than that.’

  Fronto raised a suspicious eyebrow.

  ‘We can have Paetus send that message, but imploring her to speak to Clodius’ patron and intervene instead! We can discover in one move what connections the man has.’

  Fronto nodded, but his frown deepened.

  ‘That’s true, but I have to point out, given what I’ve heard about Clodius, the amount of danger that will put Pompeia in.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Caesar said dismissively, waving an arm, ‘but think of what we could learn. Go and find Paetus. Speak to him about…’

  His voice tailed off as there was a knock at the doorframe.

  ‘Yes?’

  The duty guard centurion stepped inside and saluted.

  ‘Apologies for interrupting, Caesar, but some of our scouts have just returned at high speed.’

  Fronto turned, interested.

  ‘They report a large force of Belgae moving south through the lands of the Nervii toward us.’

  Caesar smiled. ‘Sounds like it’s time to move, Fronto. Time to put away all this intrigue and deal with plain old war. We’ll speak to Paetus later.’

  He turned back to the centurion. ‘Sound the general muster. I want officers to me, and all the legions to begin decamping. And send me three riders.’

  He stood and squared his shoulders.

  ‘Time to get the Aedui advancing too.’

  Fronto smiled with relief. Thank the Gods for that. His head was getting tied up in all this political crap. The more he delved, the more he remembered why he stayed away from Rome. Life was so much more simple when it came down to just putting the boot into a few barbarians.

  Chapter 5

  (By the Aisne River, around fifteen miles from Durocorteron)

  ‘Groma: the chief surveying instrument of a Roman military engineer, used for marking out straight lines and calculating angles.’

  Fronto strode forward to the command party. Caesar and half a dozen of his staff officers were standing at the head of the halted column, gazing down the slope and across the river to the far bank. Here, the grassy hill dipped down to a small copse by the water. The river was perhaps thirty or forty feet across and deep by the look of it. On the other side, a little off to the side a small hillock rose with an impressive command of the valley.

  Caesar smiled.

  ‘We cannot be more than ten miles at most from the Belgae here and, given their numbers, I want a well protected position to work from.’

  There were nods of assent around him.

  ‘Clearly that’s the place for the camp’ said Labienus, pointing at the hill opposite.’

  Fronto cleared his throat.

  ‘Absolutely. But you’re going to have to leave a force on this side too.’

  The officers all turned to look at him.

  ‘Why?’ enquired the general, his brow knitted.

  ‘Well if we’re going to spend more than a day or so here, then you can’t rely on rafts for crossing. You’re going to have to build a bridge. The supply line to feed an army this size is just too big and busy to rely on boats. The engineers can have a solid bridge here by nightfall. I’d suggest directly below the camp for protection. And then, because you can’t leave such a vital crossing unguarded, you’re going to have to put some sort of garrison at this end.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Unless you’re intending to move on in the morning, of course.’

  Caesar smiled.

  ‘There are times I’m extremely grateful for your pragmatism, Fronto. Good thinking.’

  He turned back to the other officers, who were all nodding their approval.

  ‘Sabinus? Take one cohort from each legion and start constructing a camp on this side of the river.’

  Turning once more to Fronto, he frowned.

  ‘Who’s that tribune in the Tenth? You remember? The one who fortified Geneva for us?’

  Fronto smiled.

  ‘Tetricus, Caesar.’

  ‘He’s a good engineer, yes?’

  Fronto nodded.

  ‘Probably the best in the army, general, yes.’

  ‘Good. I shall take the rest of the legions across and start the construction of the fortress. Get Tetricus to gather whoever he needs and set him to building the bridge. There should be plenty of timber for him here in this copse.’

  Fronto shook his head.

  ‘With respect, Caesar, you want Tetricus with you constructing the camp. If we end up fighting off a few million barbarians, I’d like Tetricus’ talents behind the defences. He’s a tactical engineering genius.’

  He gestured at the river.

  ‘Pomponius is my chief engineer. He’s the man who built that impressive bridge overnight last year when we were chasing the Helvetii. He’s the one you want for this.’

  Caesar waved an arm dismissively.

  ‘Whatever you think, Fronto. Just get me my bridge.’

  Fronto nodded and turned to head back to the Tenth.

  Tetricus was with the other tribunes at the head of the legion, chatting to Priscus, who wore his usual disgruntled look. The officers all turned as their legate approached.

  ‘Tetricus? I need you to go see Caesar. He’s building a camp for the entire army on that bluff across the river. I want you to make sure he does it well enough to withstand an attack by the Belgae.’

  Tetricus nodded and squinted across the river.

  ‘The location’s a decent start. But we’ll want at least a triple ditch.’

  Fronto patted him on the shoulder as he stood marking out lines in the air with his fingers and mu
ttering under his breath.

  ‘That’s the sort of thing, yes. Go on.’

  Tetricus looked up as though he had forgotten momentarily where he was.

  ‘Mmph? Oh yes.’

  He turned to the nearest group of soldiers, the legionaries of the First Cohort, standing at attention behind Priscus.

  ‘You!’ he pointed at a random legionary. ‘Find a groma and follow me.’

  Fronto smiled. Engineers were all the same; they drifted along in a daze until you prodded them and gave them a project, and then nothing short of an earthquake would distract them. His smile widened as he turned and wandered down the line of men.

  ‘Pomponius?’ He called out as he reached the Third Cohort.

  One of the centurions, a young, fresh faced man, stepped out of the column and saluted.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘How’d you like a task?’

  ‘A fun one, sir?’

  Fronto let out a light laugh.

  ‘Only an engineer would get to the end of a long march and look forward to building something!’

  ‘With respect, sir, marching doesn’t exactly tax the brain. I like to keep mentally limber too.’

  Another laugh.

  ‘Good. Get your kit together and get down to the waterline. Caesar wants a bridge built below that hill, wide enough and strong enough to carry the entire supply column. You can draw what men you need from any of the legions.’

  Pomponius shrugged.

  ‘Got everyone we need in the Tenth, sir. Happier if we keep this party in our own house, eh?’

  Fronto shook his head in amusement.

  ‘You engineers are weird, you know that?’

  Leaving the centurion, he strode back to the head of the column to find Priscus tapping his foot impatiently.

  ‘Gnaeus, we’ll be moving out any moment now. Pomponius is taking whatever he needs to build a bridge and Sabinus will be back in a moment to second a cohort. I’ll leave which one up to you. Oh, and Tetricus will require quite a few men to help with constructing a fort. Once they’ve separated off, take the rest of the legion with the others across the river and get into a defensive position. It’s going to be dark before all this is done and I don’t want any nasty Belgic surprises in the meantime.’

  The primus pilus grunted.

  ‘I’m sure with the dozen men I’ll have left in quarter of an hour we’ll be able to do a great deal!’

  Fronto laughed.

  ‘You wanted a fight, and there’s one coming, so stop grumbling.’

  Priscus gave him a sour glare and then started passing word down the line.

  Fronto smiled and strode off back toward the command party, meeting Sabinus striding fast in his direction en route. The staff officer looked concerned.

  ‘What’s up?’

  Sabinus stopped and pointed back down the slope to the staff officers gathered around the general.

  ‘Think we’ve got trouble, Marcus. Three scouts coming hell for leather on the other side of the river, but one of them’s wounded.’

  The gentle comedy of dealing with determined engineers quickly forgotten, the seasoned campaigner in Fronto took over instantly.

  ‘Get those cohorts sorted and fortify here. We need to get moving. Priscus knows you’re coming. When you see him, tell him to get across that river now.’

  Sabinus nodded and jogged on toward the Tenth.

  Heading in the other direction, Fronto picked up speed and sprinted down the slope toward Caesar and his men. Twice, on the uneven ground, he almost lost his footing as his leg threatened to buckle beneath him. Ever since that German bitch had bitten into his heel last summer, his running had been impaired.

  As he slewed to a halt before the general, breathing heavily, he looked up and across the water.

  The scouts had now reached the far bank. The three auxiliary riders ploughed into the water, the middle one supported in his saddle by the arms of his comrades as he wavered around and slumped periodically.

  Fronto turned to Caesar.

  ‘With respect general, whatever the news is, you need to get the army moving across and fortifying. We can’t afford to waste time.’

  Caesar shook his head as if to shift a daze.

  ‘You’re absolutely right, Fronto.’

  He turned to Labienus.

  ‘Get the army moving.’

  As the staff officer marched off toward the group of tribunes gathered nearby to distribute the orders, Fronto looked down at the river. Pomponius and a few of his men were already at the waterline just downstream, taking measurements. The riders finally waded ashore on the near bank and two of them dismounted and led their horses up the slope to the officers, while the third remained in his saddle, clutching his neck, drenched in blood.

  ‘Report!’ commanded Caesar.

  The two scouts saluted.

  ‘Ave, Caesar.’

  The general waved aside the niceties dismissively and with a little irritation.

  ‘What happened?’

  The smaller of the two men looked up at the general.

  ‘The Belgae are close, sir. They seem to have split into two groups. The larger part is camped about twenty miles away, but a sizeable part of their army is besieging the Remi oppidum at Bibrax just downstream. The town won’t hold for long.’

  ‘Damn it!’ the general barked. ‘Bibrax is too far north, right on the Remi’s border. They haven’t been sent a garrison unit yet, have they?’

  One of the officers in the crowd shook his head.

  ‘No sir. The garrison’s still with us. They were supposed to be heading to Bibrax when we’re finished here.’

  Fronto growled.

  ‘Got to do something, Caesar. Break a promise of protection to the Remi and you risk losing the alliance.’

  The general shook his head.

  ‘The Remi can’t expect us to have supplied troops to somewhere we haven’t even reached yet. And in the grand scheme of things, it’s just one barbarian town.’

  Fronto started to open his mouth and wave his hand angrily, but Caesar raised his voice and rode over the top of him.

  ‘I can’t send anyone. We need the legions here to get these camps constructed, else we’ll be in the same state as Bibrax when the enemy get here. They’re only eight miles away, Fronto. We’ve barely got time to get sorted even with our full complement!’

  Fronto growled dangerously.

  ‘We have to help them. Spare me one cohort and I’ll go help them.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘One cohort’ shouted Fronto jabbing a finger toward Caesar, spittle landing on the general’s cuirass. The rest of the senior officers melted away from the two of them, hardly appearing to move. Caesar’s face had gone purple. Behind him, Fronto could see Labienus making subtle, yet frantic motions to Fronto to stop.

  ‘Alright, just two centuries’ he bellowed. ‘For Juno’s sake, that’s less than a hundredth of your men. For just that, we might be able to save Bibrax, our alliance, and even your reputation!’

  Caesar had begun to tremble slightly.

  ‘Fronto, your mouth runs like a thoroughbred horse. One more word from you and you can take your vine staff, your reputation and any hope of Julii patronage, and run off home with it.’

  The legate began to open his mouth again. He was clearly as angry as the general.

  ‘Fronto, I put up with your breathtaking disobedience and insolence because you may very well be the best commander that Rome has to offer, but this is my army and I will not risk it. If you wish to go help the Remi and risk your own life, by all means do so, but you will not take my legions with you.’

  Caesar had gone very pale now, and the legate recognised the signs. The general had been pushed as far as he would go before he snapped, and Fronto had seen the results of that before in Hispania. He shivered involuntarily and forced himself to calm down.

  ‘Very well, Caesar. You cannot spare your legionaries. What about the auxiliaries? Will you allow me to t
ake auxiliary units and try?’

  The general glared at him for a long moment.

  ‘The Gallic cavalry will be no use in a siege, Fronto.’

  ‘We have other units, Caesar…’

  There was a long, tense silence.

  ‘Very well. Inform your primus pilus that he is in command of the Tenth in your absence and draw whatever non-legionary staff you require. I sincerely hope you succeed, though I still consider you foolish for trying.’

  Fronto locked the general with his gaze for a moment and then nodded and turned to run off toward the legions. As he passed the silent and shocked gathering of staff officers, Labienus stepped out and grasped him by the arm.

  ‘For the sake of Nemesis, Fronto, be very careful. We would miss you!’

  The commander of the Tenth gave him a lopsided grin.

  ‘Nemesis herself can’t shift me, Labienus. You know that!’

  With a laugh he turned and ran on. The Eighth Legion was now in the lead, marching down to the water’s edge ready to cross. He grinned at Balbus.

  ‘I’m going off on a little errand. Look after things here. Don’t let Caesar cock it up for the rest of us.’

  Balbus raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I know that look. Whatever you’re up to, do it carefully.’

  Fronto gave a mad laugh and ran on.

  * * * * *

  The oppidum of Bibrax was considerably smaller than the one they had seen recently at Durocorteron. The population of this place could not be higher than a thousand or fifteen hundred folk at most. Situated on a wooded plateau rising above the Aisne River, it was in a reasonably defensive position, but could not surely muster more than seven or eight hundred warriors at most. For a moment, Fronto wondered whether Caesar had been right and considered turning with his force and heading back to camp.

  Shaking his head, he once more cast his eyes over the panorama. There must be thirty thousand Belgae here at the very least. That was a very small portion of the Belgic army, but still enough to make the odds more than ten to one. He shook his head again and turned to look at his relief force, which threatened to make him laugh.

  He had been denied the regulars, and the Gaulish cavalry would be of little or no use. Following half an hour’s consultation with his fellow legates, he had selected the units he could and formed what must be the most bizarre military force ever commanded by a Roman patrician.