Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘There’s another explanation. Either Priscus is mistaken, or Pompey is doing something for our mutual benefit. Most likely Priscus is mistaken, though. It is common knowledge in Rome just how much Pompey dislikes Clodius. I am much more concerned about the fact that Clodius has managed to slip more men into my legions. The infection continues to spread despite our efforts. Have you had the three apprehended yet?’

  Fronto cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  ‘After a fashion. They went for a stroll in the Elysian fields this afternoon. Looks like someone didn’t want them to speak to us.’

  Caesar shook his head irritably.

  ‘Not a great help. Now we are back to square one unless Priscus can unearth the rest of these names for us.’

  Fronto shifted uneasily.

  ‘What would you say, Caesar, if I were to point out that the three men in question had all served with Pompey in Syria and Armenia in the last decade and had received their honesta missio about six years ago?’

  The general frowned.

  ‘There are thousands of veterans of Pompey’s army still floating around, Fronto. You know veteran soldiers; many of them sicken quickly of the quiet life and sign up at the next opportunity. I think that reading conspiracy into it is reaching a little. Again, it is circumstantial at best.’

  ‘With respect, Caesar, while you may be right, ignoring this could be a huge mistake. If there is more to this than you believe, something is festering just below the surface of the army and involves both Clodius and Pompey.’

  The general sat silent for a moment and finally nodded.

  ‘Agreed. But there is little we can do about it for now. I assume you will be replying to Priscus? Please ask him to send on any further information as and when he tracks it down and continue to do the excellent job he appears to be doing. I will make my gratitude felt when I next see him.’

  Fronto nodded.

  ‘And’ the general gestured with a raised finger, ‘I have been thinking on our situation here with the Veneti. I believe there may be a solution. We need to settle this region swiftly and get back to Rome. Pass the word among the officers to attend a staff meeting here at dawn.’

  Fronto smiled and nodded again as he turned and strode toward the doorway.

  ‘Your help is, as always, immeasurable and gratefully received’ the general called after him.

  Smiling to himself grimly, Fronto stepped out into the late afternoon on this, the last day of Iunius, and looked up in surprise to see a patch of blue sky opening up between the clouds.

  ‘Let that be an end to it…’

  Chapter 9

  (Quintilis: temporary camp on the Armorican coast)

  ‘Everyone is here, Caesar.’

  The general nodded and rose to stand behind the table, leaning forward, his hands on the surface.

  ‘Very well, gentlemen. The purpose of this meeting is to find a way to break the Veneti. Our strategy so far has been somewhat inadequate. However, the summer is wearing on, and my presence is required elsewhere as soon as things are settled in Gaul, and we need to end this decisively, and soon. So, the first order of the meeting, I would say, is to go through what we have achieved, what resources we have available, and the disposition and likely strategy of the enemy. Then we can decide how to go about dealing with them.’

  Sighing glumly, Brutus gestured and stood.

  ‘As I’m sure you’re all aware, the fleet has been less than effective during the campaign so far. We have been hampered by our inability to deal with the rocky shores, our inability to make it far out into the sea while racked with bad weather, and our general inferiority to the Gallic fleet in terms of both strength and speed.’

  Galba gestured to him.

  ‘Is the upshot of this that the fleet are to be effectively reduced to the task of scouting?’

  ‘Not quite,’ Brutus shook his head. ‘We have various possible solutions, but the problem is that we need to be able to get our hands on their ships to try them. And since they can outrun us in most conditions, unless it’s completely becalmed, we need to trap them for that.’ He smiled wanly.

  ‘Mind you, it looks like the weather might be breaking, though I’d hate to tempt the fates about that. If the winds and storms would die down, our range of operation would increase tremendously and, conversely, the enemy, who rely solely on the wind in their sails, might be put at a disadvantage.’

  He folded his arms.

  ‘So, in fact, the upshot is that it all depends on the weather. I’m making a libation every morning with the best wine and fruit I can find to every god I can think of, and I suggest everyone else does the same. If things improve, the fleet will finally be able to play its part.’

  Caesar nodded professionally.

  ‘Very well. Here is my assessment of our achievements:’

  Fronto readied himself for a stormy moment, but the general maintained his composure and his voice was clear and steady.

  ‘I have thought long and hard on the subject, and I am convinced now that we have been far from ineffective. We have continually driven the Veneti to the northwest, reducing the fortresses and settlements as we progress. It has felt as though we are chasing an elusive foe and that they are always a step ahead of us. However, an objective look at the situation allows one to draw an entirely different conclusion.’

  He waved a hand across the map he was leaning upon.

  ‘We have pushed them into a corner, and they are running out of places to flee to. We have removed their control over nine tenths of their entire territory. If the fleet is able to act as a cordon, they can prevent the Veneti from fleeing past us again to the south but, even if they did, they have no defensible fortresses there now. They are almost at the limit of their territory to the northwest, where the Osismii live and, while the Osismii are currently their allies, I suspect the alliance will become rather shaky if that tribe suddenly has to play host to the whole displaced mass of the Veneti.’

  He tapped the map decisively.

  ‘That means that the Veneti are running out of both room and time. Sooner or later we will trap them and destroy them, but until that happens we should continue to squeeze them against their allies until the alliance becomes strained and breaks. To that end, I feel we need to find plausible victories of the variety that will break their spirit. Symbolic victories.’

  The room fell silent.

  ‘Ideas, gentlemen?’

  Cicero stood and gestured at the map on the table.

  ‘May I, general?’

  ‘By all means.’

  The officer stepped forward, his crimson cloak swaying around his calves as he leaned over the map. He studied it for a moment and then smiled.

  ‘Darioritum, general?’

  Caesar frowned as he looked down.

  ‘Darioritum is inland. We have it on good authority that the Veneti have abandoned their landlocked towns in favour of their coastal escape routes.’

  Cicero nodded.

  ‘Yes, sir. In almost all cases that has proved to be true. However, with respect, there are several things that need taking into account with Darioritum.’

  Caesar narrowed his eyes as he gazed down. Now, Fronto, Balbus and Brutus were on their feet approaching the table with interest.

  ‘Firstly, Caesar, this map is not accurate’ Cicero continued. ‘I have spent time speaking to some of the less reticent captives of Crassus’ campaign last year and, in return for a little lenience, they can be very talkative. The map shows Darioritum some six or seven miles from the sea. In actual fact, the oppidum is by a large gulf or saltwater lake that has an opening to the sea. Two spits of land reach out like the horns of a bull. Darioritum is, essentially, by the sea. Moreover, it is also, according to two different sources I have questioned, considered the capital of the tribe, or the nearest approximation they have to a capital.’

  Caesar nodded slowly, scratching his chin.

  ‘A symbolic victory indeed.’

  C
icero smiled at the general.

  ‘Given its importance and location, it is almost certainly occupied, even if only by a small retainer force. That, I would suggest, is the victory you’re seeking, Caesar.’

  The general smiled.

  ‘An exceptional suggestion, master Cicero. Moreover, it gives us an even greater opportunity. Brutus?’

  The fleet commander frowned.

  ‘We can cordon off the south, Caesar and, given the right weather, possibly even engage.’

  The general smiled wolfishly.

  ‘You are thinking too small, Brutus. Think on what Cicero just told us.’

  There was a moment’s silence and suddenly a grin split Brutus’ face.

  ‘An enclosed bay. The horns of a bull, you said?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Brutus laughed.

  ‘If the army can lure the fleet into the bay, we can seal them in and deal with them at our leisure.’

  ‘And what would draw the fleet in more than having to evacuate their capital?’

  Fronto became aware that most of the other officers had stood and approached the table, the entire officer corps now trying to see the map. Brutus cleared his throat.

  ‘Can we get a more accurate map of the situation around Darioritum?’

  Fronto shrugged.

  ‘Easily. Send some cavalry scouts from the Gallic wings to go and check out the lie of the land. They can bring us more accurate details. And, of course, if the weather stays kind, you can send a couple of ships up there to get a look at the coast.’

  Caesar sighed with satisfaction and stood straight.

  ‘I think, gentlemen, that we have a workable strategy here. We must not, however, rush into early action. If this is to be the point at which we break the Veneti, things need to happen in perfect order with no ghastly mistakes.’

  Fronto frowned down at the map, trying to picture the large bay with its surrounding horns.

  ‘You realise, Caesar, that those two promontories that seal in the bay will have Veneti fortresses on them. We’ve not yet encountered a defensible headland without one and they must have a way to control the entrance.’

  The general frowned and looked back down at the map.

  ‘I do believe you are right, Fronto. The scouts can confirm their presence, but they are almost certainly there and occupied.’

  Balbus ran his finger along the coastline on the map thoughtfully.

  ‘They will need to be secured before any attempt by the fleet to get into the bay and deal with the enemy ships. In fact that will have to be the first move in the whole plan.’

  Caesar smiled.

  ‘Indeed. Shall I take that as you volunteering for the task, legate?’

  Balbus nodded without looking up, still intent on the map.

  ‘The Eighth would deem it an honour, Caesar.’

  ‘So would the Tenth’ Fronto cut in. Both the other men looked up at him.

  ‘Well, these strongholds could be only a few hundred paces apart, but getting to them will require miles and miles of marching. Both will have to fall at the same time to attacks from opposite directions. That’s a job for two separate forces.’

  Caesar shook his head vehemently.

  ‘No. I cannot spare fully half my army to take two peripheral forts.’

  ‘With respect, general, these would hardly be peripheral. I realise that until we have seen the bay, this is all speculation, but if what we surmise is really the case, those forts will be key to controlling the bay and therefore destroying the fleet.’

  He smiled.

  ‘But we’re not talking about two legions anyway, are we?’ He glanced across at Balbus, who shook his head.

  ‘This would have to be subtle, general. We’d have to control the entrance to the bay before your main attack begins, or we risk giving their fleet time to organise and escape. For subtlety we’d only want a small force.’

  ‘And engineers’ Fronto added. ‘Once we have control of the forts, we’d have to try and get artillery set up to help seal off the bay.’

  Caesar nodded.

  ‘Very well. It’s an eminently workable plan at this point. We will have to see what happens when we have a better idea of the landscape and disposition. The timing will have to be very tight to achieve what we’re talking about.’ He glanced across at Brutus. ‘And some of this is still reliant on the mercy of the Gods. Brutus is right. Everyone should pay their proper respects and try to keep Jupiter happy for the near future.’

  He straightened again.

  ‘Very well. We will reconvene each morning and hammer out the dents in the scheme until we are convinced the time and situation are right. In the meantime, each of you needs to think on what your own forces can do to improve our chances and have scouts sent out to bring us accurate intelligence of the bay and the town. Dismissed.’

  Fronto nodded to Caesar and joined the general exodus of officers.

  Outside, the air was chilly, and there was a faint tang of salt, though the sky had cleared overnight, leaving wispy clouds on the horizon to both south and west; clouds which threatened less than the heavy-bellied ones that had hung over them for the past weeks. The day felt fresh and new.

  He turned to Balbus as the man left the tent.

  ‘You realise we’ve just volunteered for about the most dangerous part of the whole show?’

  The older legate laughed.

  ‘Nothing new there, Marcus. Care to join me for a bit of breakfast? We’ve a few things to think on.’

  Fronto smiled.

  ‘I’d like to, but I have a prior engagement. I’ll call on you before lunchtime.’

  Balbus nodded, slapped him on the shoulder and, turning, wandered back toward the camp of the Eighth. Fronto strode on toward the Tenth, smiling as he appreciated the dry crispness of the air. Was Fortuna favouring them at last?

  His tent stood off to one side of the legion’s headquarters and his prior engagement stood at ease beside the tent flap, idly examining the sky, while drumming his fingers on his thigh.

  ‘Atenos? Thank you for coming.’

  The huge Gaulish centurion turned his pale grey eyes on Fronto, and he saluted.

  ‘Legate.’

  Fronto wandered past him into the tent, gesturing for him to follow. As the big man stooped and entered the tent where the legate had not even ducked his head, Fronto wandered over to his cot and unclipped his cloak, sitting down to undo his boots.

  ‘Please centurion, sit down.’

  ‘That’s disrespectful in the presence of a senior officer, legate.’

  ‘My arse. Not when we’re alone it isn’t.’

  The Gaul shrugged and dropped into the nearby chair, unfastening his chinstrap and removing his helmet.

  ‘I expect you can guess why I’ve asked you over?’

  Atenos nodded.

  ‘I did, with respect, inform the legate that I was happy where I was.’

  Fronto laughed and sat back.

  ‘I’m sure it’s all very comfortable working with a legion largely composed of Gauls. Very homely. But the thing is, not only do I agree with my primus pilus that you would be a serious asset to the Tenth, but I have been in consultation with the general and both he and I are of the opinion that the division between the two largely Gallic legions and the rest has gone on too long.’

  Atenos focused a shrewd look on the legate.

  ‘You’re planning a large shake-up, sir?’

  ‘To an extent. There is a stigma attached to the Thirteenth and Fourteenth legions just because they were raised from Gauls. The thing is: we are trying to build something in this land, not to just wipe it out; a new Gallia Narbonensis in the north, if you will. If we have any hope of incorporating Gaul into Rome, we need to start getting both peoples used to one another. The Thirteenth and Fourteenth have become almost perfect model Roman legions in the last year. I rarely even hear your own language among them these days, since nearly everyone among them now has at least passable Lati
n. It’s time to start mixing the blood in the legions.’

  Atenos shrugged.

  ‘It may not work. It may, in fact, cause resentment among the other legions.’

  ‘Possibly, but it’s not a given. Remember that most of the Ninth were raised in Spain. There are surprisingly few native Romans among the Ninth, and Balbus’ legion are largely formed from the Gauls in Narbonensis. The future depends on the present, after all.’

  The large Gaul nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘If you are insistent, you will need to speak to Caesar, sir, since he is still nominally in charge of the Thirteenth.’

  Fronto shook his head.

  ‘No longer. Caesar has assigned the Thirteenth to Lucius Roscius. I’m not sure how brilliant an idea that is, given that the bulk of the Thirteenth has only been speaking Latin for a year and Roscius is from Illyricum with Greek as his first tongue. But… well we said it was time to start mixing the blood. Roscius won’t deny me the transfer. He and a few of his friends are a little… frightened of me.’

  Atenos leaned back in the seat.

  ‘You do realise, legate, that if you assign me to train your men, I expect full and total control of the training regime. No interference from senior officers?’

  The legate nodded with a smile. ‘I’d expect nothing less. Velius used to say the same.’

  He sighed and lay back on his bunk.

  ‘Do the Gauls have any weather Gods that like slightly stale wine?’

  Atenos frowned in incomprehension.

  ‘Never mind’ Fronto smiled. ‘Jupiter will do.’

  * * * * *

  Fronto lay on the slope and brushed a few blades of grass with his fingertips, immensely grateful that the weather had held. Two weeks now of largely blue skies and soft breezes had dried out the land and lightened the mood of the entire army. Two weeks, moreover, that had seen intense activity throughout the camp in the planning of the upcoming strike, despite the enforced wait.

  Scouts had been sent out immediately by both horse and ship following the meeting, and had roved for nine full days, before returning to produce a detailed and thorough plan of the area concerned. Fronto’s concern that the two long promontories that almost sealed off the bay would be crowned with strongholds had been borne out.