FIELDS OF MARS

by S. J. A. Turney

  He felt something cut his thigh but by the time he looked down, whoever was responsible had gone and the only evidence was a red line below his tunic that poured blood down his leg. Something smashed into his left arm and he felt the whole limb go numb. He struggled to keep hold of his vine stick even as he lanced and stabbed, slashed and cut.

  And suddenly the enemy were not there anymore. As his sword sliced out, the man he’d been aiming at was yanked away to safety by a friend. He could hear urgent whistle blowing and see standards being waved frantically.

  A legionary rose from the piles of wounded and dead in front of them, staggering on a damaged leg, and turned a terrified expression on Atenos. The centurion narrowed his eyes. The man was an enemy, but he looked so familiar he could easily have been a man of Caesar’s legions.

  ‘Go,’ he told the man, pointing toward the retreating enemy with his vine stick. Then, he turned to the rest of his men. ‘Let them go.’

  He’d had enough of killing Romans for one afternoon, and it was clear that the Tenth Virtutis and the Fourth were pulling back and running for Ilerda. The other two enemy legions were falling back too, reforming out of pilum reach and preparing to retreat in good order.

  Atenos didn’t have to wait long to hear the sound he’d been expecting from the moment the legionaries had started pulling back: the calls of the Ninth and Fourteenth legions, coming up from behind. Petreius had been willing to commit when he had hope of an easy victory, but once the numbers were more even there would be an indecisive bloodbath, and nobody wanted that.

  Atenos heaved in deep breaths and dropped his vine stick and sword, rubbing his numb arm and trying to massage some life back into it as the enemy fled. They would be back in Ilerda shortly and the legions of Caesar would return to their own camp. It felt like a victory to have held them off, but in truth all they had done was avert disaster and return to the hopeless stalemate they’d endured for days already.

  Something had to change soon.

  Chapter Eight

  22nd of Junius - Ilerda

  Fronto reined in alongside Caesar, Antonius and Galronus, peering across the gently undulating open ground toward the river as the other officers rode forward to join them.

  ‘A bridge,’ Salvius Cursor noted, a hint of disbelief and exasperation in his tone. ‘They’ve been here for weeks in the heartland of the enemy and they’re camped in the middle of nowhere building a bridge.’

  ‘There might be more to it than that,’ Fronto countered, watching the men of his own former legion, the Tenth, busily constructing a heavy timber crossing.

  ‘There was a disaster here,’ Galronus said in an odd, quiet voice, drawing frowns from the others. He shrugged and pointed at the river. ‘Half a boat. A few broken timbers. And over on the grass beyond the camp there is a new burial mound. Either a fight happened here, or a disaster.’

  Caesar nodded, turning back to the bridge. A small party of officers had emerged from the camp beyond the river and was riding toward them. The riders reached the river and there was a short discussion between them and the engineers before they rode gingerly out onto the not-quite-complete structure. As the last of them crossed, wide eyes on the timbers beneath them, they walked their horses toward the new arrivals.

  Fronto was relieved to see not only Fabius, but also Plancus and a few other legates, including Carbo. Fabius reined in opposite Caesar with the other officers behind him, and bowed in the saddle.

  ‘You seem to have had a problem?’ prompted Caesar with one dangerously raised eyebrow.

  ‘Greetings, General. We are constructing a new crossing. The pontoon bridge that had been here previously collapsed under the weight of carts and animals and was swept away. The bridge is required to secure forage, you see. Our men were caught, trapped on this side and the enemy came. It was hard fought, but we drove the enemy off and managed to secure our position once more.’

  Caesar’s face had been growing slightly more disapproving with every word.

  ‘The next time I distribute orders to my lieutenants, will it be necessary for me to have them illustrated with maps and clear images, Fabius?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I gave you instructions to secure the crossings from Narbo into Hispania. I gave you six legions to hold those crossings for our approach. Instead, I discover that you have taken it upon yourself to launch a campaign, forging one hundred and fifty miles southwest into the province in search of an army that might well be strong enough to flense you and send you running back east once more. Might I enquire as to what prompted you to disobey your orders to such a grand extent?’

  Fabius was slightly taken aback, partially at the edge to the general’s words and partially at being upbraided so publically, with the common soldiery of the Tenth within earshot at the near side of the bridge. To his credit, he rallied well. Straightening in the saddle, he replied in a clear, commanding tone.

  ‘Our intelligence – while unconfirmed – was important enough to warrant a change in the plan in my professional opinion, Caesar.’

  Caesar’s raised eyebrow notched up a little higher, but he remained silent.

  ‘We know that Varro has two legions,’ Fabius went on, ‘in Hispania Ulterior, who remain staunchly Pompeian but have not yet been committed to this region. Our reports suggest four things. That the local commanders have petitioned Varro to send his forces to join them and oppose us, and if we allow him the time and opportunity to do so, then every day our opposition becomes stronger. Also that Varro has been raising local levies since the day we crossed the Rubicon, so we would not be facing a further ten thousand legionaries, but more likely an additional thirty thousand men, including slingers, spearmen and cavalry drawn from the Iberian tribes.’

  He paused for breath.

  ‘Thirdly, that Varro has already sent men to take control of the Gallic fleet that has wintered off the west coast of Gaul. If that fleet is brought south and through the Pillars of Hercules, then Varro and the local commanders have the freedom to rove across the Mare Nostrum, giving them access to Italia, Sicilia and perhaps even to Pompey’s army in the east, which I felt would solidly undermine our position. And finally that the local commanders are at loggerheads. Petreius is a forthright military man who favours outright war and field campaigns and seeks to bring us to battle. Afranius is countermanding half Petreius’ decisions, as he is more concerned with the stability of their provincial control. And, I believe, he is afraid of the consequences of civil strife. So I felt it important to press these two arguing commanders and keep them busy before they reach a solution and become a decisive and singular command. If I have misread the situation or offended, Caesar, then I will unknot my general’s ribbon and hand it to you alongside command of your legions.’

  There was a long, tense, silence. The general’s accusatory eyebrow had lowered once more and he wore a thoughtful look. He looked around the assembled officers. Most remained carefully expressionless. Fronto cleared his throat.

  ‘It was a judgement call, Caesar. We’ve all done it, yourself included. And I can’t say he was wrong, just as I can’t say he was right. Only time will tell.’

  The general nodded, turning to Salvius Cursor who was breathing heavily as though preparing to charge. ‘Given the circumstances, I laud Fabius for his forethought,’ the tribune muttered. ‘Too many officers would sit back, relying on the knowledge that they were safely obeying given orders, while the enemy strengthened their hold. It takes a good man to bite the bit and move on the enemy regardless.’

  Caesar sighed. ‘Very well. I accept your assessment and judgement call, Fabius. Next time I would take it as a professional courtesy if your would do everything in your power to keep us informed of your movements before you commit. We were somewhat in the dark, bumbling around Hispania looking for you.’

  Fabius threw a sour look at the new arrivals. ‘In truth, Caesar, I have sent couriers to you five times since we left the mountains and Gerunda. You should have been
well aware of each move we have made. However, we are finding a great deal of resistance from the populace of this region. The decades seem to have robbed them of the memory of the violence Pompey inflicted upon them. They appear to have an unshakably loyalty, and Afranius is surprisingly popular as a governor. Couriers and supplies keep disappearing, as well as those units we send out to locate them. I am not at all surprised that no word has reached you. Similarly, precious few supplies have reached us and we have been forced to rely largely on forage.’

  ‘You moved too fast without securing your support lines adequately,’ Caesar admonished quietly.

  ‘The issue, Caesar, is one of supply and logistics. On the west side of the river where the legions are encamped, Petreius and Afranius very much raped every last resource before we arrived, so we have been forced to forage on the other bank – this one – hence the bridge. Petreius commands the real stone bridge at Ilerda.’

  Caesar nodded and Salvius Cursor’s eyes narrowed. ‘So where is this Ilerda and the enemy?’ the younger man asked.

  Carbo pointed off to the southwest ‘Ilerda is around four miles that way, on a ridge to the west of the river. Most of the enemy’s supplies are held by a loyal garrison within its walls. The main enemy force is encamped a few hundred paces southwest of that on a similar ridge. Between is a small hill they use as an observation post, which overlooks the bridge.’

  ‘And might I ask why you are camped four miles away in the countryside rather than treading on the enemy’s toes?’ Salvius grunted, earning a warning glance from Caesar. The tribune, Fronto noted, was only happy when overstepping his bounds and promoting violence.

  Fabius cast a withering look at Salvius. ‘The situation there is untenable. They have the strong heights and control of the bridge. If we camp there we are too far from a viable crossing and the forage and supply issue will become a critical concern. And,’ he turned back to Caesar, ‘there is the issue of pay. Our funds are exhausted and the men are beginning to become… concerned. Throwing them against a strong enemy while they are already disgruntled could be an unwise move.’

  Caesar nodded. ‘Fortunately, the money I had put aside for the legions remains at Narbo. I had intended to bring it with me to the crossings and distribute appropriately, but you moved too far inland and I have only cavalry with me, so I brought it no further than Emporiae. Now we shall have it brought up and made available. But in the meantime, we must keep the men happy. The centurionate owe their commissions to us as their commanders and owe their support to the legionaries who provide it, and it is uncommon to find a centurion who has not put aside a sizeable sum of their own. Have the centurions stump up any coinage they can and divide it among the men. Note down each grant and give each centurion a chit promising a return of their money on the arrival of the chests, with an extra ten percent interest.’

  Fronto frowned. Would they go for that? Of course they would. They needed the men’s loyalty and they were themselves loyal to their general.

  ‘Very good, Caesar,’ Fabius replied.

  ‘I believe I have the supply situation dealt with also, which will free us to press this campaign, but first I need to familiarise myself with the field of battle.’

  ‘Caesar?’ Plancus stepped his horse a few paces into the fore. ‘You said you brought only the cavalry? We were anticipating the arrival of further legions?’

  The general took a deep breath, rising in his saddle. ‘Unfortunately, Massilia has been claimed by the hand of Pompey and holds against us, so I have been forced to leave three legions there under Trebonius to bring the siege to a satisfactory conclusion. Still, with six legions, my additional cavalry, and various auxiliary units we should have adequate numbers to bring down Petreius if we use them wisely. I still hold out hope of a solution that will not rely on committing steel to flesh, regardless. And I have sent word to our allies in Gaul, so I hope to see tribal units coming to join us any day. Now let us put an end to this troubled meeting and instead ride out across the terrain and see what we face.’

  * * *

  The small group of officers, accompanied by Ingenuus’ Praetorian guards and a few scouts, stood atop a dusty, brown-green hummock scattered with stones and parched, sharp plants. Before them stood a green plain all the way to the river two miles away. And across that river rose the twin ridges that marked the strongholds of Petreius and Afranius, with the small mound between giving the location of the solid stone bridge.

  ‘Clearly there is no value to assault from this angle,’ Caesar mused, earning a knowing nod from Fabius. Camping west of the river would give them ample access to the forage that covered the lands in this area, but the presence of the sizeable torrent would make any real assault against the enemy extremely difficult and costly, if it were possible at all. Funnelling men over that bridge into battle was the only feasible option from this direction, and that would just be throwing men away on a grand scale. Fabius had been right to encamp east of the river. And with their visit around that side of Ilerda in the early afternoon, it had been clear that Fabius had also been correct in his assessment that it would have put possible forage at risk. Of course, now that Caesar had secured the supplies and supply lines, that should no longer be an issue, but the value of good forage could not be ignored even then.

  The officers turned en masse to look the other way. Beyond this small hillock, the verdant fields and orchards stretched out toward the great Iberus river.

  ‘It is a shame we cannot cut them off from this source of forage,’ Antonius mused. ‘Maybe if we destroyed the bridge we could seal them in?’

  Fabius and Caesar shook their heads in unison.

  ‘It would cost far too many men to attempt to destroy that bridge right under the enemy’s walls,’ the general countered.

  ‘And from what I understand,’ Fabius added, ‘the stores in Ilerda could keep Petreius and Afranius and their men comfortably for many months. If the campaign lasts that long then Varro will be here, will have the fleet in southern waters and we will have lost.’

  ‘Denial of resources,’ Salvius Cursor murmured.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Deny the enemy their supplies. We cannot break the bridge for fear of losing troops, the general says.’ Was that a hint of a sneer Fronto saw on his face there? ‘But we can equally deny them forage very easily by taking all that we can and burning and razing the rest.’

  The officers turned to him with a disbelieving look, and Salvius shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Fill our wagons and take them to the camp and then burn all the crops for twenty miles or more. Right the way to the Iberus if we have to. Butcher the livestock, fell the trees. Lay waste to the land and make it unyielding.’

  ‘I think you missed my point,’ Fabius spat. ‘They have good supplies in Ilerda.’

  ‘I missed nothing,’ Salvius snapped in reply. ‘But we could then concentrate on Ilerda. From what I’ve both heard and seen, the massive bulk of the enemy are encamped on the other hill. The walls of Ilerda are held by a lesser garrison. We do not immediately need to engage the enemy legions. If we breach Ilerda, take the supplies and burn the town we deny the enemy all possibility of supplies. They will starve their way into surrender.’

  ‘What is it with you and burning?’ Fronto grunted angrily.

  ‘You have a problem with the prosecution of a war by the most expedient means, Fronto?’

  ‘If those means include razing the land and salting the earth, then yes. Salvius, these are Romans. Well, provincials, but they pay their taxes, honour the gods and speak our tongue. They are as Roman as you or I. And they are innocent. No matter our quarrel with Pompey or his legions, that does not give us the right to destroy and loot farms and townsfolk.’

  ‘War is like the fires of Tarterus, Fronto, fiery and destructive. You’re soft. We can’t all afford to be as soft as you or the war is already lost.’

  ‘Children,’ shouted Antonius, glaring at the two arguing officers, ‘pipe down. Cultivate a stoic calmness and
listen to your father.’ With a fierce smile, he gestured to Caesar, who was looking at both Salvius and Fronto disapprovingly.

  ‘This will not be resolved through supplies and starvation,’ the general said, finally. ‘We must find another way. There will be an option that lies somewhere between slowly starving them out and a costly and uncertain main attack. An assault across the river is not feasible, so Fabius was correct in his positioning. However, since our supplies are now on the way, guarded by Gauls and a few regular cavalry, including a good supply of wine donated by Fronto here, and with the pay issue temporarily resolved too, there is nothing holding us back from moving against the enemy at Ilerda. Be reminded, all of you, that this is a state of civil war, and that everyone we face is Roman. To that end, full-scale warfare is the very last option I will take. I do not believe we can negotiate with the enemy, and we do not have the luxury of time to force them to capitulate. But we may yet bring forth in them such fear of facing us that they surrender and back down. If this can be done, it is what I seek. I would rather see the officers hand me their swords and the men go free than a field of thousands of dead Romans. Are we all clear?’

  There was an affirmative chorus that left only Fronto and Salvius glaring at one another. Without taking their eyes from each other, they both agreed.

  ‘Wonderful,’ Antonius said with only a touch of sarcasm. ‘Then perhaps it’s time we got back to camp and started making arrangements. With luck, Fronto’s wine will have arrived.’

  * * *

  Fronto shifted his backside in the saddle, trying to massage some life back into it. War, he reflected – for an officer, at least – consisted largely of sitting on a variety of different hills and waiting for things to happen. This particular hill didn’t really deserve the appellation. It was more of a crease in the otherwise relative flat. But it was the best observation point as the legions assembled. Caesar was back with his other officers organising their legions, but Galronus, Antonius and Fronto, having no direct commands, were sitting ahorse on the rise and observing the opening stage of what would likely be a brutal battle.