Marius’ Mules XI
Tides of War
by S. J. A. Turney
1st Edition
“Marius’ Mules: nickname acquired by the legions after the general Marius made it standard practice for the soldier to carry all of his kit about his person.”
For Paul and Charlene
I would like to thank Jenny for her sterling work in making Marius' Mules eleven what it is with her editing. Thanks also to my beautiful wife Tracey and my children Marcus and Callie for their support.
Cover photos courtesy of Paul and Garry of the Deva Victrix Legio XX. Visit http://www.romantoursuk.com/ to see their excellent work.
Cover design by Dave Slaney.
Many thanks to the above for their skill and generosity.
All internal maps are copyright the author of this work.
Published in this format 2018 by Victrix Books
Copyright - S.J.A. Turney
First Edition
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Also by S. J. A. Turney:
Continuing the Marius' Mules Series
Marius’ Mules I: The Invasion of Gaul (2009)
Marius’ Mules II: The Belgae (2010)
Marius’ Mules III: Gallia Invicta (2011)
Marius’ Mules IV: Conspiracy of Eagles (2012)
Marius’ Mules V: Hades’ Gate (2013)
Marius’ Mules VI: Caesar’s Vow (2014)
Marius’ Mules: Prelude to War (2014)
Marius’ Mules VII: The Great Revolt (2014)
Marius’ Mules VIII: Sons of Taranis (2015)
Marius’ Mules IX: Pax Gallica (2016)
Marius’ Mules X: Fields of Mars (2017)
The Praetorian Series
The Great Game (2015)
The Price of Treason (2015)
Eagles of Dacia (2017)
The Damned Emperors Series
Caligula (2018)
The Knights Templar Series
Daughter of War (2018)
The Ottoman Cycle
The Thief's Tale (2013)
The Priest's Tale (2013)
The Assassin’s Tale (2014)
The Pasha’s Tale (2015)
Tales of the Empire
Interregnum (2009)
Ironroot (2010)
Dark Empress (2011)
Insurgency (2016)
Invasion (2017)
Jade Empire (2017)
Roman Adventures (Children’s Roman fiction with Dave Slaney)
Crocodile Legion (2016)
Pirate Legion (Summer 2017)
Short story compilations & contributions:
Tales of Ancient Rome vol. 1 - S.J.A. Turney (2011)
Tortured Hearts vol 1 - Various (2012)
Tortured Hearts vol 2 - Various (2012)
Temporal Tales - Various (2013)
A Year of Ravens - Various (2015)
A Song of War – Various (Oct 2016)
For more information visit http://www.sjaturney.co.uk/
or http://www.facebook.com/SJATurney
or follow Simon on Twitter @SJATurney
Maps
Thebes, Aegyptus, Winter 49 BC
The room was warm and filled with the heady aroma of a dozen expensive spices burning in braziers. In an alcove surrounded by white curtains and gold cords, a leopard rolled over languidly, letting out a stifled rumble of satisfaction, the collar around its neck tinkling as it moved.
A figure approached slowly.
‘Your husband has issued orders for the devaluation of coins once more, Majesty, though it is a common belief that this is simply a move to issue new coinage with only his likeness on, removing your noble self.’
The queen turned inscrutable, kohl-rimmed eyes upon the functionary, one of the increasingly few willing to support and serve her in the volatile court. She sighed and shifted in her throne, rearranging the exquisite green chiton that she had ordered from her favourite seamstress in Athens the previous month. She noted the servant’s disapproving gaze and made a mental note to have him flogged for such insolence once she was fully in control. So many of the low-born clung to the ways of the people of the black land from ancient times. They should have accepted long ago that they were a conquered people and that they had been under the rule of Macedonian blood for centuries. Ptolemy played to their native style, but then he had always been a vacuous turd.
‘My brother,’ she said acidly, redefining their relationship in a word, ‘thinks only in the short term. A solution for now that cripples the future. Do not speak to me of him again. Have you a message from Achillas?’
The functionary shook his head, his eyes meeting hers, displaying doubt in abundance. Yes, a flogging for sure. ‘The general has refused your overtures, Majesty. He clings to your husband-brother.’
It was irksome how so many fawned around an ineffectual boy simply because they were more comfortable serving a male fool than a female intellect. This cold war they enjoyed was most certainly warming up.
‘What is the latest news of Rome?’
The servant shrugged. How insolent. ‘It is said that Caesar is still ascendant, but that his days are numbered. He remains in the capital resolving troubles while his men fail and his armies revolt and fall apart, and while Pompey builds a vast force in the east. The scribes are outside, ready to pen your letters, my queen.’
She nodded, tapping a finger to her chin thoughtfully. ‘Tell them to depart for now. This is not yet the time.’
‘Your husband is preparing to open negotiations with Pompey. He is of the opinion that showing support for the stronger candidate will pay dividends when their war is over, and, given your father’s links with the Roman general...’
‘My brother is an idiot. It is too early to back a horse in this race, though if I were to do so, I believe I would place my coins on Caesar.’
‘Majesty?’
‘My brother has no opinion of his own. It is Achillas that favours Pompey and he does so with only a soldier’s eye. He sees only Caesar fighting fires in Rome and a large force awaiting him in Greece. But I have watched these men for years. Pompey is clever enough and certainly a strong commander, but Caesar has been trapped, beaten, captured, threatened with legal trouble, and betrayed, and yet who stands in Rome with a senate of his own choosing? The man is watched over by gods. As I am Isis, so he is the grandson of Venus. Yes, Caesar is the one to watch, not Pompey. But I will not ink my pen until we see how this coming spring falls out. Now leave me.’
The functionary bowed low and retreated from the room.
Yes. It was going to be interesting to see how Caesar wriggled out of his latest predicaments, but the queen was certain of one thing. Wriggle out of them, he would.
Part One
Titans
Dyrrachium 48 BC
Chapter 1
Rome, 5th December 49 BC
Fronto hurried through the atrium, nodding absently at Hirtius, who stood in tight, hushed conversation with a senator. The dismounted cavalrymen of Aulus Ingenuus’ unit standing to either side of the door, looking oddly out of place without their swords and armour, straightened at the sight of the senior officer approaching. Both men’s fingers touched the tip of the club at their side, but remained still.
‘The general is
free?’
One of the men nodded. ‘He is, sir. Not in the best of moods, though.’
‘I can imagine.’ Fronto strode in between them, clacking along the connecting corridor in his nailed boots. With the family still safely out of the way in Tarraco, he had fallen back easily into old military habits, foregoing the soft leather shoes he had taken to wearing in the city. Painted marble faces of the Julii going back a hundred years watched him with frowns of disapproval.
He hurried past them, trying not to feel judged by their implacable features. Yes, the general would be in a bad mood. The news was all over Rome, if only as a dozen vague and often conflicting rumours, yet it seemed certain to be true in basis, if not in the detail. While he visited Caesar, Galronus waited outside, absorbing every new rumour that passed.
The general was seated in his office, wrapped neatly in a purple-bordered toga, worn over the top of a military-cut tunic of plain white. His fingers were drumming on the arm of the curule chair, which was a clear sign of his irritation, even if Fronto hadn’t been able to recognise the look on the man’s face. His eyes were shadowed with dark circles, too. Caesar slept little anyway, so to acquire this colour, he must barely touch the bed at all before he was back up and working. He was beginning to look slightly unhealthy to Fronto’s mind. The sooner he was back out in the open air on a horse, the better. Some men were not born to be inside.
Fronto cleared his throat.
The greatest figure in the republic turned to the new arrival, and Fronto instinctively bowed his head in respectful greeting. His history with the general had had its highs and lows, but no one now could deny the man’s greatness. Conqueror of Gaul, restorer of Hispania, master of Rome, but so much more. His consulate, so long sought in Gaul and the reason for crossing the Rubicon last year, had been confirmed. In the new year he would share the consulate with Servilius Vatia Isauricus, a pliable nonentity who owed Caesar much. And more impressive than the consulate even, the senate had voted to make Caesar dictator, a move confirmed by the present consuls, with a remit to restore the republic and repair Rome and Italia following the depredations of the previous year.
Much of that work would be at the root of the general’s stress and sleeplessness, and it seemed likely to Fronto that as soon as Caesar could, he would see that remit fulfilled and the position resigned in favour of more pressing matters.
It was all very impressive and, to the average man on the streets of Rome, would seem a full vindication of Caesar and all he had done. Those with more political savvy would remember that any senator who might consider standing against the general had fled with Pompey to the east, and the men who sat in the curia now, white togas like a sea of wool, were each and every one Caesar’s creatures, many from his province of Cisalpine Gaul. The senate did what Caesar wanted, for Caesar told the senate what to do. Somewhere deep in his soul, Fronto recognised the danger his old friend posed to the very republic he was serving. Rome would never countenance a king again, but how close could Caesar come before he went too far?
He shook away such thoughts.
‘Is it true?’ he asked.
The general nodded, lips pressed tight, and Fronto sagged. ‘At least we hold Sicilia still,’ he said, ‘so the east is not closed to the fleets. What were the losses?’
‘Total.’
Fronto blew out an explosive breath. ‘The African governor must be clever, then, because Curio was no fool.’
‘It was blind bad luck by all appearances. From what I understand, Curio located a small Numidian cavalry unit and went for them, only to discover they were merely part of an enormous force. By the time he managed to bring up all his troops they were already in trouble. The governor had him trapped. They were utterly annihilated. A junior tribune escaped with just a handful of men and managed to make it to the coast. He is back on Sicilia where he is requesting reinforcements in case Attius decides to cross the water from Africa and come for him.’
‘You turned him down, I presume?’
The general – The consul? The dictator? – nodded. ‘Attius will be content with his success. Pompey will be pleased with him, and his position is now secure. Crossing and attempting to invade my territory is a whole different proposition. Attius will not leave Africa now unless ordered to do so by his master. Besides, I cannot spare the men.’
‘You could send him the Ninth,’ Fronto snorted, earning a black look from Caesar.
The Ninth were something of a taboo subject among the staff, and mention of them clearly angered Caesar, though that mattered little given how angry he already was at the odds mounting against him and this latest slew of ill tidings. The Ninth, based at Placentia in the north, had mutinied the previous month over an unpaid bonus the general had promised them. The threat of decimation when Caesar arrived in person had been enough to shock the legion out of their rebellious mood swiftly, though, and in the end the general had confined his punishments to the execution of the twelve men at the root of the mutiny. Now restaffed with loyal officers, the Ninth were once more part of the preparations for the coming year, though their name had been blackened, possibly for good.
And as if the trouble with the Ninth and Curio’s defeat in Africa were not source enough for the general’s anger, Marcus Antonius had suffered a defeat at the hands of Pompeian troops in Illyricum where he and his brother had been tasked with securing the territory and creating a safe bridgehead for the coming campaign. It was nothing compared to Curio’s heavy losses, but it still made the impending crossing that little bit less certain. With Antonius and his brother on the back foot in Illyricum, Pompey’s huge navy was at liberty on the Adriatic Sea.
‘The Ninth are at Brundisium with the rest,’ Caesar said, leaning back in the chair. ‘I am confident that the force gathering there will be adequate to begin pressing Pompey in the coming months. I will not see this struggle with my former colleague extend past another winter. We will find him, trap him, and defeat him in Illyricum. With luck, he will see sense and offer peace when he knows I am coming for him.’
‘How many are at Brundisium now?’ Fronto had listened with interest at every new report of a unit being sent to the mustering point, wondering when he would be assigned to one of them. With the bulk of the senior officers being in the south and Rome largely the province of politicians, Caesar had ceased his regular briefings for the time being, and all Fronto’s information came second-hand from a variety of sources.
‘Twelve legions,’ the general replied, still tapping his chair arm, ‘along with a strong cavalry wing and sundry auxiliaries. My principle fear now is whether we can gather enough ships for the voyage.’
‘That and the possibility of running into the enemy fleet mid-crossing,’ Fronto added, regretting it instantly. Everyone knew of that potential disaster, and reminding the general of it would only sour his mood further. He glanced back at the doorway. They were more or less alone. The two guards on the door could hear, but the murmur of distant conversation confirmed that other ears were too far away to listen in. He moved close to the general.
‘Can we do it?’
Caesar rubbed his temples and sagged back. ‘It will not be easy. In fact, everything we have achieved in Gaul and Hispania will feel like a walk in the forum compared with facing Pompey. The man is a lion on the battlefield, and reports suggest that his army already outnumbers us considerably. We are not facing disorganised tribes now, or even the timid and argumentative generals from Spain. In fact these men will be harder to deal with even than the rat Ahenobarbus. The only real advantage we have is that few of their legions are veterans. Most will be raw recruits with little training and discipline, while every man waiting at Brundisium is a trained killer.’
‘That and good officers,’ Fronto added. ‘Curio notwithstanding, I’ve been looking at the lists of commanders and there is some of the finest military talent in the republic there.’
‘And some with Pompey, too. I still lament the defection of Labienus. He had been
my right arm for so many years in Gaul, and he knows me well. I do not relish the thought of facing him in battle. Between him and Pompey, we will pay for every foot of ground we take.’
Fronto rolled his shoulders. ‘We’ll deal with Labienus in due course.’ In truth he had even less desire to meet his old friend across the field of battle than did Caesar. ‘When we win, what will you do with the officers and men?’
‘Disband his legions, settle veterans and incorporate any willing to take the oath into my own forces for now until we have dealt with all other Pompeian armies. Once the old fellow falls into our hands, we shall still have to deal with Attius in Africa and undoubtedly other smaller groups. As for the officers…’
‘Yes?’
‘They are largely good noble Romans, many of whom I once called friend and who have only been driven to this course by loyalty or patronage to the enemy. Pompey was my son-in-law, after all. Safe, quiet retirement, I think, for most. An example will have to be made of a few – the rabid dog Ahenobarbus, for example. But for most, I think they will have lost their claws in defeat. They can be relied upon to sink into obscurity and cause no further trouble for the sake of their family’s future.’
Fronto felt a wave of relief wash through him. He’d heard good men among Caesar’s advisors advocating a stance of execution without trial or mercy for any rebel officer that fell into Caesar’s hands. Fronto had hoped that the general’s policy of clemency that had earned him good grace throughout Italia would continue. The bulk of the enemy officers were Romans of principle, who truly believed they were doing the right thing for the republic. Executing them out of hand would have been wrong.
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