FIELDS OF MARS

by S. J. A. Turney

  Fronto found he was holding his breath.

  ‘My recent dispatches,’ Trebonius said, his voice level and carefully controlled, ‘suggest that Caesar has already dealt with your compatriots in Hispania. My latest intelligence puts him in Gades four days ago, accepting the capitulation of Varro and the last Hispanic legions. Your allies in the west are gone and Caesar now puts trustworthy men in power there. Any day now he will begin to travel east once more. Perhaps he already has.’

  This was news to Fronto. He frowned at Trebonius, but the man was too intent on Ahenobarbus to notice.

  ‘Given that, and the likelihood that the general will be here within a matter of weeks, I am inclined to grant the terms to the boule of Massilia.’

  Ahenobarbus nodded.

  ‘On the condition,’ Trebonius continued darkly, ‘that you personally step down as commander of Massilia and place yourself in our custody.’

  ‘You think me a fool?’ snorted Ahenobarbus.

  ‘I think you a dangerous liar,’ replied Trebonius coldly.

  The Pompeian commander stiffened.

  ‘You have the terms I have already agreed with the boule of Massilia, despite my wariness at them. There will be no other terms offered and no deviation from the ones already stated. I leave you to consider your decision. If you consent to a truce until the arrival of your general, you need only send a messenger and I will have our bows and artillery silenced and seal the gates against sorties. If you do not accept the terms, you will bring a great deal of dismay to the boule and the townsfolk, but you would delight me, Trebonius, for I wish nothing more than to fight you to the last nub of a sword, and, if you refuse us, I will make you pay in lakes of blood for every building you take.’

  The two men glared at one another.

  ‘I take my leave,’ Ahenobarbus snarled, ‘and await your response.’

  And with that, he turned and rode back to the city, the Greeks hurrying along in his wake and the archers following him in slowly. The gates shut tight a few moments later and all was oddly peaceful.

  ‘What,’ Trebonius said finally, with a sigh, ‘do you make of that?’

  ‘That was a deal proposed by the boule,’ Fronto answered. ‘I know them of old. They are entirely concerned with their own safety and wealth. In that, I would suggest their offer is genuine. However, Ahenobarbus I would not trust as far as I could spit a cow. The fact that he clearly doesn’t like it is another point in its favour.’

  Mamurra shook his head. ‘Two days at most and I will crack Massilia for you like an egg. Why accept their terms now when you can force your own upon them at sword point in a matter of days?’

  The general scratched his neck.

  ‘Because I am stuck between two pit traps. Caesar gave me very specific instructions to take Massilia with as little damage and violence as possible. Here, that is exactly what is being offered by the town’s council. But if I refuse them, I’m certain Ahenobarbus was being quite serious when he warned me he would make us sweat blood for every house we take. It is within his power, and certainly within his will, to leave Massilia a smoking ruin of a charnel house and fill it with the dead of both armies. I cannot risk that.’

  ‘You would accept his terms?’

  The voice was incredulous. Fronto closed his eyes wearily. The voice was also all too familiar.

  ‘To risk the alternative is unthinkable,’ Trebonius sighed.

  ‘Respectfully, General, I disagree,’ Salvius Cursor said flatly.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It seems to me that Ahenobarbus and the boule of Massilia are at odds. There is a good chance that if you break the walls and enter the city under arms, the Massiliots will throw themselves upon your mercy, regardless of the Roman officers to whom they play host. They might even give you Ahenobarbus to save themselves.’

  ‘I’m not sure I saw that level of division among them,’ Trebonius replied.

  Fronto nodded. ‘And even if there is, they may still consider us more of a threat then him. Remember, Salvius, how we fought Petreius and Afranius at Ilerda. They were as divided as commanders can be, yet they managed to hold us off for months and even in the end surrendered together. The boule are selfish, but they are also obstinate. I have met them in person many times. Whatever Ahenobarbus threatens, I warn you that if you force the issue and enter Massilia under arms they will make you pay for it.’

  Salvius Cursor threw a sour look at Fronto. ‘General Trebonius, Caesar’s legions are the most loyal in all the republic, but we all know why. It is not a love of their general that drives them, though they do seem to have it, nor is it the need of Rome that leads them on. It is what has always driven soldiers, no matter who they are or who they fight for: money. Many became quiet wealthy through loot and slave sales after Gaul. The three legions on this hill know that those walls harbour one of the richest cities in the west. They hunger for plunder. You would do well to give it to them.’

  Trebonius straightened. ‘I most certainly will not disobey my commander’s orders for the sake of supplying extra loot to the men, at the expense of a city with whose support we could very much do.’

  Fronto frowned. Salvius was being his usual pushy, violent, irritating self. And yet he might well have just hit upon an unpleasant truth. Fronto could just imagine the talk around the campfires later when the legions, who knew they were days away from having the town laid open at their feet, were told they had to wait weeks for a peaceful, non-profitable solution. It would not go down well.

  ‘The decision is made,’ Trebonius announced. ‘We shall accept the boule’s terms. There will be a truce of non-violence until Caesar arrives to personally accept their surrender. Send a courier to the gate with our confirmation. And I want dispatches sent to Tarraco, Corduba and Gades to locate the proconsul and pass on word of what has happened.’

  A peaceful conclusion, Fronto sighed. It might yet be weeks away, but at least it had been offered and accepted. The security of his business and people, of Catháin, and of Balbus’ letters seemed at last to be assured.

  Chapter Nineteen

  26th of September – Massilia

  The passage of time had become kinder. Knowing now that every idle hour brought Caesar closer to Massilia and a peaceful resolution more likely made the waiting so much more satisfying. And they did know he was getting closer, too, for a courier had arrived only this morning with news that Caesar was pausing on route at Tarraco to finalise matters there. And Tarraco was close. If the general came on without his legions, he could be here in days. Even with the legions, perhaps a fortnight.

  Then Fronto would get into the city. He would secure his buildings – the warehouse and the office – would find Catháin, and would secure Balbus’ stupid papers. And he would have to do it fast. The legions would be given strict instructions to be courteous and merciful to Massilia and its populace but no matter how much control Caesar had, there would be incidents. And Fronto wanted to make damn sure those incidents didn’t involve his people or property. And even with the best will in the world there might well be legitimate ways those documents ended up in Caesar’s hands. Routine searches, for instance. No, he would have to be in swiftly and secure everything.

  But that was days away yet. His musings were interrupted by a snort. Galronus was fast asleep already, though the sun had been down less than an hour, five cups of watered wine combined with constant fresh sea air enough to send the Remi nobleman into slumber any day. As Fronto’s friend lay rasping away like legionary work party sawing timber, Fronto sat straight and stretched, rubbing his face wearily.

  It was almost over.

  He sat still for a moment, wondering whether to try and sleep or whether to abandon hope for now until Galronus stopped sawing wood and went back to his own room. He could wake the Remi now, of course, and tell him to leave, but Fronto doubted he would sleep easily anyway. He was far from tired enough yet.

  Settling on a stroll as the preferred course of action, Fronto rose, tig
htened his belt and tied his laces. He threw on his cloak and pinned it in place. It did not seem cold here, but the nights became chillier the closer you got to the sea. Moments later, he was strolling out of the headquarters building… his villa. Gods, but he’d even stopped thinking of it as his villa now, despite the fact that he’d managed to reacquire his own bedroom from some legate he’d never heard of, who was thoroughly apologetic when he found out. Crossing the atrium, he passed through the front door between two saluting legionaries.

  ‘What’s the camp watchword tonight?’ he asked them.

  ‘Calamitas, sir.’

  A nod. “Disaster”. Great.

  A quick wander through the ruined grounds of his villa took him past the camps of two legions and then down between the small fortifications that marked the line of siege investiture. A palisade ran between them across the land outside of Massilia, punctured by numerous gates, two of which led to the aggers.

  For a moment, he paused. He contemplated sauntering down to the seafront away from the city and walking along the shore. But he was alone, and the further he got from the camp the less he would be able to rely on support should anything stupid happen. There were people in these hills who would resent the Roman presence, and, of course, there was always the ever-present threat of bandits. He could wake Masgava, he supposed. Certainly the Numidian would not think twice before rapping him hard on the head for wandering out of camp without a bodyguard.

  No, staying close was the best answer. Maybe he could examine the latest damage to the enemy tower? Yes, that would be a good little walk to tire him for sleep. Though the besieging legions had left off their attack now for a week, the immense damage that had already been done to the tower had left it delicate and in danger. Every day a new piece fell off it and, every few days, the men said it leaned a little more, as though it were willing itself to fall and let them in.

  They couldn’t wait to get in. Salvius had been right about the mood among the men, as Fronto had confirmed while wandering among them. And that was why the legions were still happy to remain in the brick tower and guarding the Musculus, despite the lack of activity. Each man hoped for the tower’s accidental collapse, leaving them with the opportunity to loot with impunity until an officer managed to call them back. They would be reprimanded, of course, but a man can deal with a reprimand when his purse is full of silver.

  Fronto approached the gate to the north agger at a gentle stroll. The legionaries there, hardly averse to letting men out in normal circumstances, had become considerably more relaxed since the truce came into effect. Though they were well turned out and snapped to attention as Fronto approached, he could see them slouch back into a comfortable position as soon as he moved away. He smiled. Soldiers were soldiers, the world over.

  Strolling down the agger for a few paces, something made him pause. He listened carefully. There it was again. Not loud, but definitely there, ahead: the distinctive sound of a lot of men in armour trying not to make noise. He turned around and jogged back to the men on the gate.

  ‘There’s a lot of movement up ahead. I’m concerned the enemy might be about to try something.’

  One of the soldiers frowned. ‘I think that will be the Seventeenth, sir.’

  It was Fronto’s turn to frown now. ‘What do you mean? There’s only supposed be a half a century of men up there on guard, and I’m sure it’s the Eighteenth’s rotation today.’

  The soldier looked confused. ‘Your tribune, sir.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tribune Salvius Cursor, sir. He went out at sunset with a cohort of the Seventeenth.’

  Fronto suddenly felt very cold. ‘Did you not report this?’

  No, of course the man hadn’t. Why would he? Why would anyone report a tribune and a cohort of men leaving the line of investiture and moving into the siege works? Tribunes had ample authority to pass check points with ease. Shit, what was the man up to now?

  ‘I….’

  ‘Never mind,’ Fronto cut him off. ‘Be alert. Something is about to happen. I don’t know what, but whatever it is, it’ll be trouble. And send a runner to the headquarters. Find any officer and tell him that Legate Fronto says there’s trouble at the tower.’

  ‘And is there, sir?’

  ‘I have a horrible feeling there is, yes. Get on it.’

  The soldiers sprang into action, shouting over a compatriot and sending him to the headquarters while they positioned themselves ready for trouble. Fronto left them to it and began to walk along the agger. As he paced toward the walls, the feeling that something calamitous was afoot grew almost exponentially, and within ten heartbeats he was jogging.

  His fears were clearly well founded. Fronto reached the end of the agger and found a full cohort of men geared for battle moving beneath the Musculus and the vineae. He could see siege ladders carried among them, too. It took him only a moment to spot the plume of a tribune among them.

  ‘Salvius!’

  The tribune turned at the sound of his name, and had the temerity to display a look of indignant irritation at the interruption.

  ‘Salvius, get here. Now.’

  ‘What is it?’ snapped the tribune, moving men aside and traipsing toward him, impatiently.

  ‘What is it? What are you doing?’

  ‘What we should all have been doing a week ago. Taking Massilia.’

  Fronto stood silent, staring for a moment. Of course that was what he was doing. Fronto could see that. What he’d really meant was why in the name of all the gods was he doing it?

  ‘Look, Fronto, I know you have this thing about propriety, but the fact is that the legions want this. They’re desperate to finish this. And Trebonius wants it, too, but his hands are tied by Caesar’s orders. Someone has to take the lead and do the dirty work, and it sure as shit was never going to be you.’

  ‘You’ll get torn to pieces by the general for this. How stupid are you?’

  Salvius Cursor snorted. ‘We’ll only be in trouble if we lose. If we win, the general will heap praise on us.’

  ‘You cannot take these men into battle. They’re not even your legion!’

  Again, that arrogant snort. ‘They came to me, Fronto. This isn’t me dragging a legion into my personal crusade. This is me answering a call to arms. Their own commanders wouldn’t listen to sense, so they sought an officer who would.’

  ‘Salvius, I am your superior and I am giving you a direct order, backed by the authority of both Trebonius and Caesar himself to back down and return to camp with these men.’

  ‘Look, Fronto, just fuck off, will you? I’ve got work to do.’

  Fronto’s hands bunched into fists. He had no sword on him, though he was very, very tempted to punch the man. But Salvius was fully armoured, including helmet, and there was more chance of him breaking his knuckles than hurting the man. And disobedient psychopath he might be, but soft and cowardly he wasn’t. Salvius would fight back, and hard.

  ‘Last chance, Salvius. Bring these man back or I shall report this to both the general and their commanding officer.’

  ‘Run along, Fronto.’

  Fists still clenched, Fronto watched, furious and impotent as his tribune turned and marched off through the ranks of the Seventeenth. Madness. They had agreed a truce with Ahenobarbus. The siege was all-but over. They were just waiting for Caesar to come. And Salvius was going to jeopardise everything.

  What could he do? How could he stop it?

  A moment later, he was pushing his way through the ranks of legionaries, telling them to stand down and return to camp. Salvius paused, a space opening up around him as he turned. Fronto hurried forward and came to a halt in front of him.

  ‘Stand down, Tribune, or I shall make you do so.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Fronto. You’re unarmed. I’m not.’

  Fronto turned to an uncomfortable looking centurion . ‘Give me your sword.’

  ‘Sir.’ Polite and respectful, but his hands did not move.

  ‘F
ronto, if you make one wrong move, things could go very badly here. These men want Massilia. Everyone wants Massilia except you.’

  Fronto stepped forward, so that he was just two feet from the tribune now. Where could he punch? How could he stop the man? Helmet with good cheek pieces, cuirass, greaves, pteruges. His disbelief at this whole situation hit a high as Salvius drew his sword, stepped back and raised it threateningly. Behind and beside him, Fronto heard the rasp of at least a dozen swords leaving their scabbards.

  ‘Come on,’ Salvius Cursor barked to his men, and the Seventeenth moved off.

  Fronto, stunned and helpless, watched them go. Stepping out from the Musculus to either side, ladders were raised. The legionaries began to climb, and Salvius and his centurions were among the first. There was no fear or cowardice in them. How Fronto wished there was. Idiots.

  He watched with a catch in his breath as the first few men clambered up onto the roof of the Musculus and, from there, hauled themselves up onto the ruined front of the tower, passing shields to each other as they climbed into the first open level. Pieces of masonry fell as they climbed, dust and mortar slithering out of the ruined stones and pouring like a white waterfall through the darkness. There were a few alarming creaks and thuds. One unfortunate man fell backwards into the open night, the stone block he’d been gripping as he climbed still clutched to his chest, the fresh hole in the wall testament to how weak the whole structure now was. The man landed with a crunch. Fronto didn’t need to check to know he was dead.

  Now, perhaps half a century were in the tower, with more entering all the time. There would be doors from there granting access to the walls, and possibly even the city itself. If the Massiliots were bright, they would have bricked them up by now. Certainly Ahenobarbus was clever enough to seal all the potential exits. That meant the men under Tribune Salvius would have to climb the entire crumbling tower to the height of the walls, which would be madness, unless they could break through a sealed doorway.

  He doubted Salvius had thought that far ahead. The tribune had probably smelled blood and gone for it.