FIELDS OF MARS

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘I don’t like you, Salvius.’

  ‘I know. It’s mutual.’

  ‘But there are people in this world I like even less. When we get into Massilia, whenever that is, and however it comes about, I am finding that bastard tribune we saw earlier and ending him. You want to make Pompeians bleed? You want to drown in their blood? There you go. I’m giving you him and Ahenobarbus. We find them both, and we end them both. Are you with me?’

  He saw the light begin to shine in the tribune’s eyes.

  ‘I’m with you, Fronto.’

  Nodding, Fronto returned to his own room, where he located the box and carefully unwrapped the figurine of Nemesis, kissed it and hung it around his neck once more.

  Chapter Twenty

  5th of October – Massilia

  Nine days. An impressive achievement. Fronto had travelled the coast from Massilia to Tarraco and back more than once, and by his estimate it would usually take a legion, even at a forced march pace, ten or eleven days to cover the distance. Of course, Caesar had not brought his artillery and siege train, for that was already here. And he had little need for wagons, as he was following his own supply lines back from Hispania. Still, though, they had come faster than Fronto expected.

  If anything was likely to finally tip the scales in Massilia it would be this sight. Fronto stood at the gate of what had once been his homely villa, now functional and drab, and watched the spectacle as the wind whipped and lashed at him, pulling at his cloak and tunic. Autumn had come to Massilia and it had brought storm winds to announce its arrival.

  Under the grey slab of sky, Fronto peered at the column. Caesar was accompanied by three legions. The general and his staff rode to the fore in the grey, threatening air. Behind them came the Praetorian cavalry under Aulus Ingenuus, then the legions, one at a time, in perfect formation, impressive and gleaming despite the dullness of the day, with their own cavalry keeping pace, their standards aloft and powerful, their musicians cascading notes and the legions chanting one of their traditional marching cadences.

  The moment the column had appeared over the hill some mile and a half away, the walls of Massilia had thronged with spectators. Fronto could see even now the subtle himations and chitons of the Massiliots of higher station, and the dull red and burnished bronze of the Roman garrison and, interspersed among them, the colourful tunics and trousers of the Albici tribesmen. Anyone of import or power was on the walls to watch the arrival of their enemy.

  How many of those watching now regretted closing their gates to Caesar? He had seemed the poor choice to them. Denied by the senate of Rome. Challenged by the great Pompey. Trapped between an Italia and a Hispania both garrisoned against him. And yet now here he was: master of Rome and Italia, of Gaul, and of Hispania. The victor, undisputed.

  The Massiliot predicament had just increased drastically. Their enemy had doubled in size, but had quadrupled in stature for, as Fronto was well aware, there was a weight carried just by the general’s name that was worth a number of legions.

  ‘They have to capitulate now,’ Galronus said next to him.

  Fronto nodded. ‘The time has come. But nothing is ever quite that simple. Look.’

  He gestured to the ramparts where the city gate stood facing the camp of Trebonius – the gate through which the enemy had sallied on several occasions, and through which their deputations had come. Rising to either side of that great portal were two heavy, square towers, and atop one of them some sort of disagreement had broken out between Massiliots and Romans, involving a great deal of clear gesticulation, even if the words were inaudible at this distance.

  ‘Remind you of anyone?’

  ‘Petreius and Afranius,’ nodded Galronus. ‘Two men sharing command is never a good idea, is it?’

  ‘Three,’ corrected Fronto, as the argument between the city’s civilian council and the Roman commander was interrupted by a noble of the Albici waving his hands like a windmill in a storm. The argument raged on, with more men becoming involved as they watched.

  ‘Ahenobarbus is trying to get them to fight, isn’t he?’ Aurelius mused, standing a few feet from them.

  ‘And failing, I’d say, by the look of it.’

  Now, only a quarter of a mile away across the open ground, Caesar and his companions drummed their heels on their mounts and rode out ahead of the column, bearing down on Trebonius’ headquarters and the gate of Massilia. The senior officer gestured to his officers and strode out to meet the new arrivals. Fronto and Galronus joined them, leaving the three singulares at the villa’s boundary wall.

  The general reined in, Antonius and Varus alongside him, Plancus, Fabius and numerous others Fronto recognised behind. They looked bright and impressive, but Fronto had been through enough forced marches in his time to see the hidden signs of fatigue about their features. Caesar inclined his head to Trebonius.

  ‘Massilia holds out still?’

  Trebonius nodded in return. ‘After a fashion, General. We have them by the throat. A truce of non-aggression is currently in effect. There was an unpleasant incident a week or so ago when they broke the truce and burned some of our siege works…’

  Fronto caught the sudden sourness cross Mamurra’s face off to the side of the gathering.

  ‘…but it would seem that was the decision of the Roman commanders and not the boule of the city. The locals immediately pleaded to reinstate the truce. Ahenobarbus, as I understand it, was not happy.’

  ‘Good. I do not wish the man the greatest of happiness. The terms of your truce?’ Caesar asked.

  ‘The Massiliots claim they are willing to capitulate and surrender their city, but only to yourself, General. It seems your reputation for magnanimity knows no bounds, at least compared to mine.’

  Caesar smiled. ‘It must have been difficult maintaining such a tense situation without mass violence erupting on both sides.’

  Both Trebonius and Fronto turned to look at Salvius Cursor, who stood with the more junior officers to the rear. He failed even to flinch at their glances, his expression steady and alert. The tribune had not once apologised for his actions, and had maintained that it had been the right thing to do.

  ‘There were a few incidents,’ Trebonius rumbled, ‘on both sides of the walls. But despite them the peace has been maintained and with the exception of one tower the city, as far as we are aware, remains intact.’

  ‘Good work, Trebonius. And Mamurra and Fronto were of use to you?’

  ‘Yes, General.’

  ‘Good. Hispania is settled. I have left trusted men there in control, and two loyal legions now maintain the peace in the peninsula, the Pompeians disbanded and settled appropriately. Once Massilia is dealt with, we can return to Rome for the winter and prepare to move on Pompey in the spring. All is coming together. First, though, we must deal with Massilia and its troublesome commander. Shall we?’

  Trebonius nodded and called for his horse. The equisio and his staff hurried forward with the horses of the senior officers, who grasped their reins and pulled themselves up into the saddle, some requiring a little help in the process. Somewhere, a few miles off, a peal of thunder portended dire things ahead. Fronto noted that, alone of all the tribunes, Salvius Cursor seemed to assume he was invited and mounted his beast. Gesturing to Galronus, Fronto suggested that his companions mount up and keep pace with them, ready. Massilia was about to fall, and Fronto was determined to solve Balbus’ little problem before others interfered.

  A short while later the cream of the Caesarian officer corps descended into the dip before the great Arelate gate in the walls of Massilia. Hurrying alongside, Caesar’s attendants moved to place a curule chair on a small dais for the general, but Caesar waved them aside and remained in his saddle. Fronto smiled as lictors rode forth on either side of the group, holding their fasces proudly, declaring the legitimacy and power of their master. Beyond them, forming an outer cordon, were Ingenuus’ cavalry as always, and on the periphery: Galronus with Fronto’s singulares.
It had to be an impressive sight. As they sat waiting, Fronto noted the artillery on the towers above the gate disarming. They had to be just out of range here anyway, which had clearly been the general’s design, but someone up there was taking no chances. The walls and towers here were now lined with just Massiliots and Albici. Fronto could see neither legionaries nor Roman officers up there. As he was contemplating the potential reasons for that, the gates of Massilia opened.

  The boule of the city emerged on foot as if in procession, cool and stately, civilian and unarmed. They traipsed along the road from the gate to a position some thirty paces from the general, at which point Ingenuus’ cavalrymen lifted their spears, preparing to defend their commander should anything untoward occur.

  One man with saggy jowls and unruly hair despite the money he had clearly spent on attempting to style it, stepped forward, shivering in the winds that became more chilling and troublesome with every passing moment.

  ‘Mighty Caesar, son of Venus and Proconsul of Gaul, I bring greetings from the city and boule of Massilia, for whom I am elected spokesman on this day.’

  Caesar nodded – a slight incline, nothing more. There was an odd, uncomfortable silence.

  ‘The honour of conveying our offer of surrender has been given to me,’ the man went on.

  Honour. Fronto rolled his eyes at politicians’ need to embellish even their failures.

  Still silence reigned.

  ‘We…’ he tried again, croaking into silence. ‘I mean, the Roman governor…’

  ‘Where is he?’ Caesar interrupted.

  ‘Proconsul?’

  ‘Where is Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus?’

  ‘I cannot say, General. He would have no part in the capitulation of the city and departed our council in anger. The walls of Massilia are free of Roman personnel.’

  ‘I can see that.’ The general’s voice was cold, business-like. ‘This city closed its gates on me and took up Pompey’s banner. I am, however, a man inclined toward peace and leniency. I may yet offer you generous terms. Those terms are, however, based in part upon the delivery of my enemies in the city. Bring me Domitius Ahenobarbus.’

  The man looked distinctly uncomfortable now, sweating despite the cold.

  ‘General, the commander… he has good veteran troops. I cannot say for certain where he has gone. It would take time to search the city for him, and then the city’s garrison would have to extricate him. This will all take time.’ He was blustering, floundering.

  The general nodded. ‘Trebonius? Can you bring me Ahenobarbus?’

  His lieutenant straightened in his saddle. ‘I have men champing at the bit, awaiting that very task, General.’

  Caesar gestured to the boule’s spokesman. ‘In the absence of my enemy who has held your walls against me, I will accept the unconditional surrender of Massilia. There will be no terms requested by its council, military or population. Such conditions as are laid down in due course will be done so entirely at my discretion. Do you understand?’

  The man nodded hurriedly, caught half way between panic and relief.

  ‘On behalf of the boule, the garrison and the people of Massilia, I hereby surrender the city to Gaius Julius Caesar, Proconsul of Gaul.’ His companions wore a number of different expressions, though not one made to counter his statement.

  The general nodded again. ‘All your men under arms will stand down and report to the largest open space in the city – the agora, I imagine. The boule will convene in their chamber one hour before sunset to hear my terms in full. All ships will be debarked and left empty. The population of civilian Massilia will return to their homes and remain there for the duration. This last is not a punishment, but a precaution. My legions have suffered their own privations during the siege and we are all, I’m sure, aware of the nature of victorious armies. Orders for peace and clemency will be given, and failures to adhere to those orders will be punished, but troubles are inevitable. Let us attempt to keep them to the minimum.’

  The entire boule of the city bowed to the general.

  ‘I shall now return to our camp and make preparations. You will go back to your city and see that my instructions are carried out. My legions will not move into the city until three hours before sundown, when I shall carry out my inspection of Massilia. Until then the city remains in your hands to prepare. Just one century of my men will be permitted to enter, however, with instructions to bring Ahenobarbus and his officers to me. You will accord them any aid they require in this task or you will forfeit any hope of clemency from me.’

  Again, a bow from the boule.

  ‘Good. See to your tasks, gentlemen.’

  And with that, the general turned his back on the embassy, wheeling his horse and walking her toward the camp as the officers followed suit. The boule scurried back to the gates, rushing to prepare for the hand over of the city to the proconsul. There was another crack of thunder, distant, somewhere inland, perhaps near Aquae Sextiae over the hills.

  Trebonius edged his horse toward Fronto and, once they were side by side and moving back toward the camp, the lieutenant cleared his throat.

  ‘You wanted to be the first into Massilia? You heard the general: take one century of men and bring back Ahenobarbus.’

  Fronto nodded and steered aside from the column, toward where Galronus and the others waited as Salvius Cursor emerged from the crowd and converged on them. Six men. Fronto looked at his companions. A prince of the Remi, a Greek archer, a Numidian gladiator, a superstitious former soldier and a tribune he despised. A stranger bunch of bedfellows he could hardly imagine.

  ‘Where would Ahenobarbus go?’ Salvius questioned as they moved off toward the camp of the Eleventh.

  Fronto scratched his chin. ‘He’s trapped, as far as I can see. The city is besieged, and Brutus has managed to keep ships from going in or out for months with the help of someone in the city, so where can he go? And he has something of a bloody minded disposition, too, so I cannot imagine him walking up to us and laying down his sword willingly. He is the sort of man who would find a way out if there was one, but who would fight to the bloody end, if not. Right to the last man, like the Trojans at Priam’s palace, tearing out bricks and throwing them at the Greeks.’

  He sighed. ‘The question is: where would he make his stand? He cannot maintain the city walls with the small Roman garrison he brought with him, for the Massiliots and the Albici won’t aid him now. He has just under four cohorts as far as we know, so he will have to find somewhere very defensible. If he intends to hold anywhere against us, there are three sites separated from the houses and shops of the town, each on a prominence, he might consider. The temple of Athena is near the theatre and the agora. It’s the smallest of the three and has no perimeter wall, but being compact – just a temple on a hill – that would be my choice to defend with just a small force. The sanctuary of Artemis is larger, surrounded by a perimeter wall and atop rocks on one side. But it has a large number of attendants and a few buildings to secure. And the sanctuary of Apollo is the biggest, with six or seven buildings and its own perimeter wall.’

  ‘You think they’ll be at this temple of Athena?’

  ‘It’s a good bet,’ Fronto replied. ‘The civilian population will be very compliant right now, hoping for the best terms from Caesar. Take Pullo and his century to the agora and make a few reasoned and calm enquiries of the men you find there. If Ahenobarbus and his legionaries have settled into the temple of Athena, they’ll have been seen in the agora.’

  ‘Caesar gave orders that the citizens return to their homes.’

  ‘Yes,’ Fronto sighed, ‘but it will take hours for it all to happen fully. The agora will still be busy for a while, and Caesar also gave orders that the Massiliot defenders assemble there unarmed. And while you try and find out whether he is at the temple without storming a sacred site unnecessarily, I’ll take my guards and Galronus and quickly check the other two sanctuaries then catch up with you. I used to live here, and I know
the quick ways through the city.’

  Salvius Cursor nodded and geed up his horse, heading for the camp of the Eleventh. As soon as he was out of earshot, Fronto turned to the others.

  ‘Ahenobarbus will be at the port, the agora, or the temple of Athena, depending whether he’s trying to run, negotiate or fight. But before we go there, I want to find Catháin. He’s probably at the warehouse if he’s still in Massilia. Come on.’

  * * *

  It was strange, entering Massilia that day. Fronto had used the same gate for years now, sauntering from his villa’s grounds into the city and down through the streets to the warehouse or the agora or more often, he would have to admit, to the taverns. On occasion, he would use the main street that ran from this gate down to the port, but more often he would stray through the back streets, beneath the lofty heights of the two sanctuaries that stuck up like the vertebrae of Massilia.

  He had never been the enemy. Well… strictly speaking he had never truly been a Massiliot either, and the city’s government, traders and nobles had been uniformly difficult with him, but he had never felt more out of place than now.

  The grey cloud had lowered noticeably, streaks of steel in the sky, topped by rolling white thunderheads. That they moved so ponderously from the hills over the city was impressive, given the ever-increasing speed of the chilly winds.

  The people of Massilia disappeared from view at the sight of the five Romans striding purposefully down the street. Women swept babies from their path as though Fronto might hold the slightest interest in someone else’s snotty offspring. The air was becoming close and unpleasant, though it remained cold, and the feeling of impending explosive doom was all around.

  It did not take long to reach the warehouse, though, each of the four men with him familiar with the place. The main doors were shut tight, as was proper. Fronto approached them and drew a small ring of keys from his belt pouch, selected one and then reached out. He stopped.