FIELDS OF MARS

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘I must apologise to my gracious hostesses for this,’ Caesar said, suddenly, ‘but I’m afraid I must ask you a few questions. I came to Hispania expecting to link up with Fabius and the army at Gerunda, receive intelligence there and begin to prosecute a war on my own terms. Instead, I find myself racing around Hispania Citerior in search of a battle that might already be over, and almost every source I can probe for information owes allegiance staunchly to Pompey, so I am somewhat flailing in the dark. Having found such warm and gracious friends here, I wonder if you might be able to clarify a few things for me? Just update me on what you know of the local situation, if you can?’

  Aurelius looked at the ladies of the house who gave him an indulgent nod.

  ‘The legions of Citerior were based up near the frontier region during the winter. Once news arrived that Fabius and his legions had taken the passes and moved into Hispania, we heard that Petreius had started marching his legions west. For a while we worried that they meant to consolidate around Tarraco, as it would seem natural.’

  Caesar nodded. ‘But they did not do so.’

  ‘No, General. Petreius sent messengers to Varro down in Gades, urging him to bring his legions northeast, and then came this way, but before he reached Tarraco, Afranius took all his garrison men, apart from his evocati reserve, and marched off to join his peer. Good job, really, as only a couple of days later, Fabius and his men passed by looking for them. Last we heard, Afranius and Petreius were in joint command, digging in at Ilerda, and Fabius had taken his legions up there to cut them out.’

  ‘I am still vexed that the man moved ahead of schedule,’ Caesar grumbled. ‘Still, at least we now have at least a vague idea of what is happening. Do you know anything of the makeup of their forces?’

  Balbus cut in now. ‘Fabius, I presume you know, Caesar, has six legions and perhaps ten thousand auxilia of varying types. From what I know of the Citerior forces, Afranius and Petreius will be fielding only five legions until Varro joins them, but with something in the region of eighty thousand auxiliaries and native levies, they will still outnumber Fabius. And they have the advantage of knowing the territory and its people. Fabius, I would say, is in for a tough fight. And if Varro does come north with his two legions, then that will likely swing the result in Pompey’s favour.’

  Caesar sighed. ‘He moved without waiting for me and my legions. That being said, I have not brought the three extra legions I had intended, since I was forced to leave them with Trebonius at Massilia.’

  ‘Fabius has other problems, too, Caesar,’ Masgava added. The various officers turned their interested gazes on the big Numidian. ‘The lands of Hispania Citerior are almost entirely loyal to Pompey and his lieutenants. There are pockets of resistance, but even the bandits in the hills and mountains seem to have taken sides, focusing their unpleasant attentions on Fabius rather than Afranius and Petreius. Your man set up a very thorough network of supplies from what I hear, but they are not reaching him. There are roving units both regular and irregular, official and unofficial, who are picking off his supply columns. His army will be short of everything already, and their ability to proceed as an military force must be diminishing by the day.’

  ‘What a mess,’ Antonius sighed. ‘He should have waited. How do you know all of this?’ he asked the former gladiator.

  Masgava shrugged. ‘I spend quite a bit of time in the city for one reason or another. People talk. Besides, most of Fabius’ supplies end up in Tarraco, where they’re either stockpiled in the governor’s storehouses, or sold on to merchants in the port.’

  Caesar’s eyes narrowed. ‘That will have to stop. I think we need to deal with this in the morning before we move off. There are only a few evocati left in the city, and Antonius has already terrified the manure out of two of them, so word will spread quickly. I think we will find surprisingly little resistance from the garrison if we put things right tomorrow.’

  The general gestured to the wine with his empty cup and a servant hurried over to fill it.

  ‘Good,’ Caesar said. ‘At least now I am rather more enlightened as to the situation. Tomorrow we shall resolve the supply problem and put assurances in place to secure the ongoing arrival of food and goods. Then we shall make for Ilerda, which if I remember correctly is two days’ hard ride from here. If Fabius has retained an iota of sense, and the gods are with us, we will find the battle as yet unfought and not a field of corpses and crows.’

  He turned an apologetic look on the three ladies. ‘I must apologise for my turn of phrase. Fruit of time spent among soldiers, I am afraid.’

  The ladies brushed the matter off, and the evening returned to the discussion of niceties and meaningless nothings. Less than an hour later, Galronus and Faleria managed to slip out of the room unnoticed by most for some time, and when Fronto finally realised they had gone, he and Antonius shared a sly grin. Salvius Cursor, predictably, wore a look of disgust at the idea of the Gallic noble and a Roman lady together. Fronto had been trying to decide whether a pleasant little time alone with Lucilia might be in order, or perhaps to show the wine sheds to Antonius, when he caught Balbus’ eye and the old man nodded slightly at the door.

  Fronto rose and slipped from the room, making a comment about relieving the bladder pressure and ignoring Salvius’ eyes boring into him as he moved. Outside he strode along the balustrade of the peristyle garden and waited until his father-in-law emerged.

  ‘Not here,’ the old man said in oddly tense tones, and led the way through the sultry evening to the steps that led down to the private beach. His sandals flapping on the stones, the old man hurried down halfway to a small terrace that Longina had constructed to sit in seclusion and watch the sea. Slipping onto the cold marble seat, Balbus gestured for Fronto to join him. The younger man stood silent for a moment, looking back up the steps. There was no sign of movement, and he could hear nothing but the whispering of the breeze through the trees and the gentle roll and crash of waves down on the beach.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said as he sat. ‘I don’t trust that tribune – Salvius Cursor – as far as I could spit a piglet. The way he’s been watching me all night, I was almost certain he would follow me when I came out.’

  ‘That one? Something unfriendly about him, Marcus. I felt it from the very start. Which is why I waited until Caesar involved him in conversation to slip out, sure that he wouldn’t try to fob off the general.’

  Fronto chuckled. ‘Well played. I should have known you’d have thought of something.’ He stretched. ‘So why are we out here alone?’

  ‘I may have made an error, Marcus.’

  It was an innocuous enough statement, but something about the old man’s leaden tone sent a shiver through Fronto. ‘Go on.’

  ‘While I was still in Massilia, I was party to the city boule’s discussions.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I spent some time interfering, in an attempt to quieten the whole issue and defuse the situation. I had hoped to reconcile the sides and keep Massilia neutral in the conflict between Caesar and Pompey’

  ‘That’s very laudable,’ Fronto said quietly. ‘Just what I would expect from you, and nothing for which any man in that villa will condemn you.’ He paused. ‘Any man except Salvius Cursor, anyway, and I can deal with him.’

  ‘No, Marcus,’ Balbus went on, almost in a whisper. ‘The problem is that I wrote a number of letters to influential men, both Massiliot and Roman, beseeching their aid in keeping the peace. At the time it seemed so wise. It was only when you rushed us out of Massilia and sent us here, and I was unpacking my personal effects that I realised I did not have my copies of the replies.’

  A suspicion began to dawn on Fronto and his brow lowered. ‘Who were these letters to?’

  ‘Various people, as I say. Men in the Massiliot boule and in positions of power in the city. And a number of senators back in Rome.’

  ‘Oh, shit, Quintus.’

  ‘And Cicero.’

  ‘Cicero too?’
>
  ‘And the consuls.’

  ‘Quintus, did you not think what you were doing?’

  ‘They were innocent letters, Marcus. They truly were. But with only one side of the conversation, it would be extremely easy to see them in a rather poor light. I am more than a little concerned that I have condemned myself to appear Pompeian at heart if they are found.’

  Fronto shook his head. ‘I was in the villas a few weeks ago. They were empty. I think you’re safe.’

  ‘I hope so, Marcus, but I’m not sure. I sent Catháin back to Massilia with a wine shipment, with instructions to find all correspondence and get it out of the city and back to me. But that was months ago, and there has been no sign of him. I very much fear he has been caught up with the troubles there, and trapped in the city.’

  Fronto took a deep breath.

  ‘That, Quintus, is truly shitty. What were you thinking? With luck Catháin will have destroyed the documents by now. But if not.... if he’s fallen foul of someone, or been arrested… I don’t know. But if Trebonius takes Massilia and those documents are somehow found, Caesar’s men will damn well crucify you. He doesn’t take kindly to betrayal at close quarters, even if it was done with the best of intentions.’

  ‘I have been considering going to Massilia myself, Marcus. Seeing if I can get in somehow.

  ‘Balbus, you’re over seventy summers old. Don’t take this the wrong way, since you’re fitter than any other grandfather I know, but you’re not going to get into Massilia. Believe me. I was there when the siege began.’

  He fumed for a moment. ‘And I cannot go. I’m committed to Hispania now, with Caesar. Our best hope is to get this fight at Ilerda out of the way as fast as possible, and then get Caesar to somehow post me back to Massilia. If I can get back there before Trebonius, then I can be among the first men into the city and I can find Catháin and get rid of your letters.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Marcus. I only meant to try and make things better.’

  ‘I know you did, Quintus. But the way this has to work now is deniability. We are going back to the villa. You are going to carry on here as though nothing was wrong and say nothing to anyone. I am going to go with Caesar, beat Pompey’s men to a pulp and then get myself assigned back to Massilia, where I shall resolve the problem. Then, with luck, I’ll get back here for the winter. Or, if Caesar has other ideas, I’ll send word to you.’

  Balbus nodded.

  ‘Now get back up those steps with me, drink good wine and try not to look like you’ve done something monumentally stupid.’

  Chapter Seven

  16th of Junius - Ilerda

  Atenos and Carbo stood at the edge of the enormous camp, eying the lands around them with no small amount of distaste. Ilerda promised little more than hardship, hunger and privation, and that fact was rapidly settling into the bones of every man in the army.

  The six legions and varied auxiliaries of Fabius’ army had arrived in high spirits. They had moved through eastern Hispania unopposed, commandeering what they needed from places that had until recently held Pompeian garrisons, and then moving ever on in the direction in which the enemy were said to be gathering. By the time they had passed through Barcino – a port town that reeked of fish and of rotten seafood sauce components – they had learned that Afranius had fled Tarraco and drawn every available garrison to his banner, scurrying northwest to join with Petreius, who had brought his five legions and innumerable native levies west. They had settled at Ilerda and there awaited developments. Fabius had been determined to give them one heck of a development before more legions could come in support from Gades.

  They had force marched to Ilerda and there all the enthusiasm had quickly drained from both the army and its commanders.

  The city of Ilerda itself – an ancient native site re-fortified by its Roman conquerors decades ago – stood atop a hill with a garrison of legionaries defending it, rumoured to be the site of a massive store of provisions. The main Pompeian army was encamped on another rise perhaps a quarter of a mile from the walls of Ilerda, well-entrenched and twice the size of the city it lay beside. The River Sicoris ran along behind both fortifications, and between the two lay a saddle with a small hill overlooking a solid stone bridge across the torrent. It was a well-protected crossing, overlooked by both Petreius’ camp and Ilerda’s walls, and approachable only by the saddle between them.

  Fabius’ army had arrived from the east and, finding the only crossing of the river guarded by Pompey’s army, they had moved four miles upstream, constructed two hasty bridges, and then crossed to the same side of the river as the enemy. Scouts had been sent out, but reported only disappointing news. There was no strongpoint for the legions to camp close to the enemy. If they encamped opposite Petreius and Afranius, they would be forced to build on low ground, away from the water and at a disadvantage of terrain. And so they had camped four miles away, close to their new makeshift bridges.

  It had turned out to be a wise decision, too. The scouts also reported that this huge triangle of land formed by the River Sicoris, the River Cinga – a downstream tributary, and the mountains to the north, was entirely free of forage. It seemed that the forward thinking Petreius, when he had arrived at Ilerda and settled in, had ravaged the local countryside and taken anything of value, storing it within Ilerda’s walls for his own army.

  That would not have been such a worry had it not quickly become apparent that the supply chain Fabius had set up was troubled. Only one in four expected caravans of supplies actually arrived, and rumour had it that half of Hispania were rising up with spears, attacking the convoys and stealing the supplies. And so, Fabius’ army remained safely by their new bridges where they could cross them and move east to the better forage in that area.

  Still, it was not the most favourable situation, and the frustration at their situation grew daily. They could not safely bring any attack against the enemy forces. On this, the western side of the river, they would be fighting from low plains up against a superior force behind strong walls with a good source of food and ready access to more over their bridge. Fabius’ army, on the other hand, would be under-supplied and would become more so by the day. Here, four miles away at the new bridges, they could cross to the east and forage enough to keep the army alive, if hungry. But if they moved to Ilerda and besieged it they would be too far from the bridges to safely send out foragers and they would starve.

  It was a stalemate, and every day slightly weakened Fabius’s army while Petreius and Afranius’ forces remained strong and well-supplied. Moreover, since they had moved on without waiting for Caesar and his own supplies, Fabius’ financial situation had become troublesome. The men were late being paid, for Fabius’ supplies of coin had long since diminished. And while there was nothing here for them to spend wages on, anyway, men waiting for late pay were never in the best of moods.

  ‘Something has to change,’ Atenos muttered. ‘Half rations make men grumble at the best of times. And when they’re unpaid and having to spend every day marching out into fields in unknown territory looking for food, they slide toward discontent every day. You and I know that sedition is only ever one payday and three meals away for any army.’

  Carbo sighed. ‘But what to do is the question. We move to besiege Ilerda, and our ability to scavenge supplies decreases. We leave, and the enemy might receive reinforcements from Varro. So we’re stuck here praying for something to happen.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ Atenos agreed irritably. ‘Yet something has to be done.’

  ‘And something will.’

  They turned to see Lucius Munatius Plancus, legate of the Seventh Legion and one of Caesar’s longest-serving staff officers, striding up the turf bank toward them. Both men nodded their heads in respect, Atenos also saluting his superior. Plancus had begun his service as an over-eager, green officer, but the years of service seemed to have settled him into a role no one would originally have anticipated. He had become a careful, intuitive legionary le
gate, earning a great deal of respect from the several legions he had commanded over the years.

  ‘You have news?’ Carbo enquired.

  ‘A hasty meeting. Three of us went to see Fabius to urge him into some sort of action. I don’t know what the Tenth is like, but if they’re anything like the Seventh, then they’re about three days from turning on their officers and eating them. Man cannot live on barley gruel alone. We bashed around a few ideas and Fabius has made a decision.’

  ‘Not one you agree with, from the look on your face,’ Carbo noted.

  ‘Not particularly. I favoured detaching two legions and stringing them back along the route to Tarraco to secure a supply line from the port. Fabius is not willing to consider such a proposition as it removes a third of his manpower and puts him in greater danger from the enemy. I tried to point out that we were in danger from our own men if we didn’t provide supplies, but still...’

  ‘So what does he plan?’

  ‘A single, massive forage.’

  ‘What?’

  Plancus shrugged. ‘It’s all well and good sending out half a cohort or a cohort at a time to find untouched grain or the odd pig sty. They’re providing enough food to just about keep the legions alive. If we want to face the enemy we need a good solid supply for at least a week at our fingertips.’

  ‘We all know that, Munatius, but how?’

  ‘Instead of committing a cohort to do a swift raid on the far bank, Fabius plans to send a single force out for a day or more across the river, reaping enough supplies to keep the whole army for a week. He plans on sending out two legions with cavalry support. I bet you can guess which legions?’

  ‘The Tenth and the Seventh by any chance?’ Atenos grunted.

  ‘Precisely. With horses, oxen, carts and wagons. The whole mess. So that we can gather an army’s worth of supplies.’