FIELDS OF MARS

by S. J. A. Turney

  Salvius huffed and slapped his hands on the table. ‘Unacceptable, Tribune. Now those civilians, frightened mice that they are, will be running straight to the forces of Pompey and the senate and telling them where we are and what we have done.’

  ‘And that is as it should be,’ Caesar interrupted, raising a silencing hand to Salvius. ‘You have shown leniency, which is exactly what I would have done.’ He caught the look of disbelief on the face of the senior tribune and nodded at the man’s hands, still resting on his table. Salvius straightened and Caesar continued. ‘We are pitted against Pompey, who is popular and strong, but whose ire forever rides in his veins. He marches and fights on the whim of his anger and it drives him. Many do not see that, but I have no doubt it will become abundantly clear in the coming days. And as Pompey is anger and violence, so we must be seen to be sense, forgiveness and honour.’

  He sighed at the scepticism still on Salvius’ face. ‘News needed to be suppressed in Ravenna, so that Ariminium could fall the way it has without a fight. Now, however, let the news spread. Let the cities across Italia hear that towns open their gates to Caesar and that he respects and honours their leaders and their people. A reputation like that can save us a hundred sieges.’

  Grudgingly, Salvius nodded. ‘Fair enough, Caesar. What of the garrison?’

  ‘The garrison hold Ariminium in the name of the senate and the people of Rome. When I have healed this rift, I will once more be a part of that senate and a part of that people, so these men are not my enemies. Only those who take up a sword and follow Pompey will be my chosen enemy and even then only if they will not throw off their yoke and join us. The garrison will stay, though they will be supplemented by three centuries of the Thirteenth, for the sake of security, and Tribune Portius here, who I saw something in early enough to make me assign him this critical duty, will take over command of the city’s military. Well done, Portius. You have earned yourself this role, and I am sure you will do well.’

  A centurion appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat, saluting. ‘Apologies for the interruption, General, but the legion is assembled awaiting your pleasure.’

  ‘Good.’ Caesar waved the man away. ‘Now, gentlemen, I must clarify our position for the men, in just such a way that the people of Ariminium cannot help but overhear. In the meantime, Salvius, I want you to locate the mansio, find couriers and send to Vienna for the legions I have in the Rhodanus valley. The die is now cast and bringing in soldiers can no longer do any harm. We will be moving south along the Via Flaminia and then the Adriatic coast road for some time. We will leave messages at every official post we pass so that they can follow on. With luck at a forced march they can be with us swiftly.’

  ‘The coast road?’ Fronto asked in confusion. ‘I thought we were bound for Rome?’

  ‘I have no wish to enter Rome at the head of an army like Sulla the dictator. No. When we enter Rome it will be as peaceful citizens to settle matters. But to do that we need to remove Pompey from the board. Latest intelligence has it that Pompey has been raising levies across Latium. If he hopes to stand against me without calling his legions back from Hispania, there will not be enough men available in Latium to raise a large enough army. He will not call the legions back across the sea, because of my presence on the Hispanic border near Narbo. And he cannot move north of Rome to recruit his levies for that brings him closer to me and he needs time to raise, equip and train an army. So he will have moved south. He will be in Campania perhaps. But more likely in Samnium or Apulia, where there is more than adequate population to create his legions, and they are hardy hill folk rather than soft, wine-soaked farmers.’

  Fronto tried hard not to be offended at the description of his native Campania, but when he looked up, he saw that Caesar was looking at him with a twinkle in his eye. Damn the man.

  ‘So,’ Caesar went on, ‘Pompey will be in the south, raising legions, and it is there we must face him, preferably while his army is still small and poorly-formed. And so we move with speed and trust to the veteran legions, hardened by a decade of war against the Gauls, to catch up with us before their help is needed too desperately. In the meantime, we must look to the spirit of the Thirteenth upon whom we rely and see that our reputation is fine and spreads well and fast. Come.’

  And the general was up, striding from the room, all business and waiting for nobody. The officers scurried off after him and emerged into the glow of a cold dawn, with an ice blue sky and frost hanging on everyone’s breath. The Thirteenth were gathered before them, excluding two centuries who maintained control of the gates and walls.

  As they stood atop the basilica steps, looking over the heads of the men, Fronto was interested to see a group of older men and a century or so of neat-looking men in blue tunics. The garrison and the evocati, clearly, despite the lack of armour and weapons. They stood neatly to attention just like the Thirteenth.

  ‘Greetings, men of the Thirteenth Legion, veterans of Ariminium and men of the garrison. It is a sad day when a loyal son of Rome is forced to defy the rulings of the senate and bring himself under arms into the heart of the republic, and I realise that there will be many among you who disapprove of my actions. Let me explain myself, and attempt to put your hearts at ease.’

  There was an expectant ripple across the crowd.

  ‘Despite my loyalty to Rome, the money I have spent, the blood I have shed and the years of my life I have given to forever remove the threat of Gaul from our doorstep, that bane of all good men, Pompey Magnus, has turned the senate and the consuls against me. Me! Rome’s most faithful servant! They deny me the right to serve her further and would prosecute me for strengthening the republic and conquering Gaul!’

  There was a collective rumble of disapproval and Fronto could see the balance already tipping toward Caesar. He really was a master of the oratorical art.

  ‘And so I am driven to the only course left open to me. To call out Pompey for his vile actions and to remove his tainted influence from the government of Rome. This I vow to do. I shall take arms against my enemy, Pompey Magnus, and cow him. Not, you note, against Rome. I do what I do to save the republic, not to destroy it. Not to control it. I would have the senate in control, but not doing Pompey’s will as they now do. I will free them from him, and they will make things right with me.’

  He had them. Fronto could feel it in the air, even without their solemn nods.

  ‘And any man who serves me faithfully will not find me ungenerous.’

  Ah… loyalty, Rome, and a fat purse. Throw in looting, and they would march into the maw of Cerberus himself for the general.

  ‘But I have no wish to come between a man and his conscience,’ Caesar went on. ‘The city’s ordo has been allowed to depart to their country estates. It is my fervent hope that they will return in time, but that is their choice. I make the same offer to you all. If any man here owes his loyalty to Pompey and does not feel they can follow me, they may leave the city now. I will grant safe passage to any man wishing to do so.’

  There was a strange, low murmur. A few of the garrison and the evocati were exchanging quiet words and looks, but no one moved as yet. Galronus frowned. ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ he whispered to Fronto. ‘What happens if half the legion deserts? And certainly the locals have every reason to.’

  Fronto smiled. ‘You don’t think that any man who might favour Pompey was weeded out of the Thirteenth long ago? And the garrison and evocati? They’ll mostly have wives and family here. Maybe business interests, too. Property, very likely. Few if any are going to want to leave their home just because Caesar is now the one making the rules and not the senate.’

  Sure enough, as the silence stretched out, not one figure left the throng in the forum. Caesar threw out his arms exultantly.

  ‘Your loyalty and honour humbles me. I shall see an extra month’s pay delivered to every man in Ariminium for their display of Romanitas. And now, centurions assign your camps and watches. Centuries are to be grant
ed furlough in the city on rotation, on the condition that they comport themselves respectably.’

  As the officer began shouting out orders and the columns and files of legionaries began to move out of the forum square in good order, Fronto watched and, more importantly, listened, to the crowd. Locals were drifting away alone or in pairs or small groups, their conversation hushed, excitable, urgent. He was not watching the dispersal of citizens. He was watching news of Caesar’s munificence spreading.

  Chapter Two

  20th of Januarius - Ancona

  ‘Did I not tell you?’

  Caesar leaned on the balcony of the rather grand edifice formerly occupied by the local port master. Despite three days of rain and a temperature that would make a snowdrop shiver, the morning had dawned clear and blue and the world looked glorious and bright. Fronto pulled his cloak around him as he looked down at the seven ships they had impounded in the port when Ancona had rather ostentatiously thrown open its gates to them and strewn the general’s route with rose petals. The port of Ancona was the most important naval station on the east coast, some sixty miles south of Ariminium and the closest they had yet come to Rome, even if they were still on the other side of the peninsula.

  ‘You did,’ Fronto mumbled, shivering.

  Down below, Roscius, currently one of Rome’s Praetors and formerly a legate of Caesar’s army, hurried out to his carriage to return to the city. He was proof that Caesar still had friends in the capital. In fact, if his tidings were correct, then the number of Caesar’s enemies in the city was diminishing all the time.

  The meeting had been short, mere transfer of news, really, but it had improved Caesar’s mood after a poor start to the day, recovering from ‘one of his spells’ during the night.

  Roscius bore interesting tidings as well as confirmation that Caesar had been correct. Pompey was in the south – in Teanum, in fact, almost two hundred miles away in southern Campania. Whether he was planning to move east to collect the mountain folk for his military as Caesar had suspected, or south even further to the hunting grounds of the infamous Tarantine horsemen of old remained to be seen. But either way, they had been right to move south and not march on Rome. Had Caesar turned up at the city gates with a legion and Pompey not been there, he would have been seen as a new Sulla – something he seemed to wish to avoid with all his heart.

  Moreover, Roscius had informed them that the consuls had quit Rome for their country estates, an action copied by many of the leading senators, for fear that Caesar might come against the city in his march. Rome was steadily emptying of Caesar’s more vocal enemies, despite his unwillingness to march upon it.

  Roscius climbed into his carriage and the driver urged the horses on along the well-paved and washed-clean street toward the south gate, where he would take the Nuceria road, joining the Via Flaminia in the mountains and making for Rome once more. And like blackbirds, startled in a field by some predator, the rest of the messengers emerged from the building, some on foot, making for the port or for carriages, some already on horses and heading for the various town gates. Missives sent everywhere.

  To Marcus Antonius, who had now moved north to Arretium, telling him to wait there as five cohorts were on the way for him to command, forming a second prong to the advance south and making sure that Pompey did not somehow slip past them. To Ariminium, calling for those centuries who had been left there to bolster the garrison. Ariminium was now of reduced importance since Ancona’s fall to Caesar, and those men were now required elsewhere. To Aquileia with orders to begin raising and arming new legions using all available manpower in Cisalpine Gaul, draining the provincial treasury if necessary. To Labienus to move his three legions as fast as possible if they were to be of any use against Pompey in the coming days. More. Messages to friends who might still owe Caesar both favours and loyalty. To those who might consider him an enemy, urging them to stay neutral in the affair. To governors and administrators and commanders and more.

  And one critical one.

  Clearly, despite his resolve and the success they had enjoyed since crossing the Rubicon, Caesar was still haunted by the shock of what he had done. He often carried that same look in his eyes as he had when they had stopped at the river. A desire to avoid the fate for which he seemed destined.

  For one letter in particular was now leaving the building, heading southeast with an escort of a score of cavalry, such was the importance Caesar clearly attached to it.

  Riding at pace for Teanum.

  For Pompey.

  There had been mixed feelings among the officers about Caesar’s letter, but the general had overridden the nay-sayers and sent it anyway. A last attempt. Another last attempt. A request for Pompey to come to Rome and meet with Caesar in peace with a view to avoiding a clash that would cost a vast number of Roman lives on both sides. From his expression, Caesar did not believe his request would be taken up, but from the almost imploring tone of the letter, he desperately wished it would.

  ‘A week, Caesar.’

  ‘Hmm?’ The general looked around at Fronto, pulled from some inner musing.

  ‘Even at good courier speeds it will be a week before you receive a reply from him or from Cisalpine Gaul. Do we remain in Ancona or begin to move?’

  Caesar shook his head. ‘Let Antonius confirm he is moving with his cohorts first. Then, if Pompey refuses, we are ready to fall upon the south. And with luck Labienus will be here by then with three more legions. They will make a great deal of difference.’

  * * *

  The days rolled on, remaining cold and intermittently showering them with icy rain and drying out to a crystal blue. Daily, Caesar returned to his balcony, watching for the arrival of messengers. Typically, when the tidings finally came, they came unexpectedly, by night, and the troubles came home to roost all at once.

  Fronto answered the summons blearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and hastily throwing on his tunic and cloak, belting the former and tightly wrapping the latter before hurrying from the hostel in which he had made his quarters. He met Brutus and Galronus in the street, similarly exhausted and hastily dressed. ‘Must be urgent, then,’ Fronto said through chattering teeth.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Caesar might never sleep, but he knows his officers need to. If it wasn’t urgent, he’d have waited for dawn.’

  They hurried across the street and to the general’s headquarters in the port authority offices. Aulus Ingenuus was standing with his men in the doorway, dark circles under his eyes suggesting that he had been the first man up in Caesar’s wake.

  ‘Fronto. Galronus. Brutus,’ the prefect nodded as they arrived. He gestured for them to enter, and they did so, trotting up the stairs and into the large office where Caesar now held his briefings. A number of officers were already there, but there were yet empty seats. Fronto slid into a chair to one side, his friends joining him. Caesar was nowhere to be seen. Gradually other officers arrived and once Pollio and Curio had arrived, the seats arranged were full. They could hear Ingenuus’ men closing up the entrance to the building, and a few moments later Caesar emerged through another door.

  Fronto felt his heart rise into his throat in worry as soon as he saw the general’s face. Caesar rarely looked nervous. Even when he was in direct danger, his brain was constantly working to produce a solution, leaving him little time for worry. Perhaps this enforced stay at Ancona had given him more opportunity than usual to consider any difficulties, but Fronto didn’t think it was that. Caesar was actually shocked and shaken, and that was a rare sight.

  ‘What is it, Caesar?’ asked Brutus, clearly spotting the same worrying aura as Fronto.

  The general sagged into the seat behind his table, which was strewn as always with maps, lists and documents.

  ‘We have had three missives. One is of a faintly hopeful nature. The others are much more troubling. I wanted to share the tidings and discuss their implications with you before rumour begins to circulate.’

  More worry
.

  ‘News has arrived from Rome, and it concerns the forces arrayed against us. While we were aware of Pompey raising troops in the vicinity of Teanum in southern Campania, it seems he has a lieutenant in my would-be replacement as proconsul. Domitius Ahenobarbus is also gathering legions against us in the name of the senate. He is south of us, in the east of the peninsula which is, I presume, why Pompey is not there as I expected. And while Pompey is too powerful to fawn to the will of others and might still be swayed, Ahenobarbus is an attack dog of the senate. He sees his future wealth and position as reliant upon them, on Pompey and on the consuls. And so unless Pompey agrees to peace, we can expect nothing from Ahenobarbus. Moreover, given the man’s history of unrestrained recklessness, he might well continue to oppose us even if Pompey can be drawn in. Latest reports have Ahenobarbus with three new legions, partially-trained but well equipped, moving toward Corfinium, only a hundred miles from here.’

  Fronto cleared his throat.

  ‘You speak as though there is some hope of reconciliation with Pompey, General? I’m somewhat surprised to hear that?’

  Caesar nodded. ‘As I said, one piece of news is hopeful, and I am grateful for it considering the others. In addition to Ahenobarbus, the senate’s terrier, joining Pompey, I have had word from the legions that were quartered in Vienna.’

  Fronto felt his blood chill. They were reliant upon those men. With Pompey gathering forces and Ahenobarbus marshalling three legions, they would need the Fifth, Eighth and Twelfth from Vienna.

  ‘They are delayed?’ hazarded Pollio.

  ‘No,’ Caesar said quietly. ‘The legions come still and are closing on our position. Their commander, however, is not.’

  Something had happened to Labienus? Fronto’s mind formed a picture of the calm, pleasant, self-assured and competent commander who had worked so hard to make the war in Gaul one of assimilation and control rather than extermination. He liked Labienus. What had happened to the man.