Marius' Mules XI: Tides of War

by S. J. A. Turney

  This was precisely the sort of thing Fronto had anticipated after Massilia and which had led him to the initial decision to retire once more. He’d agreed, under duress, to serve for another year, and had almost fallen into the trap of the comfortable military life once he’d been back with the Tenth. Now, watching Roman sailors burned, crushed and drowned by other Roman sailors, the sickness of it all came back in wrenching waves.

  Thirty or so ships were now little more than burning kindling in the water, the enemy vessels circling them and adding to the carnage whenever they spotted a survivor. There was no sign of the escaping ships that had made it out to sea. At least one of the senior officers would have been aboard them. And another fourteen vessels were even now pulling up onto the beach, grounding themselves as their crews leapt ashore and raced for the perceived safety of the hills and the military camps therein.

  ‘Once Bibulus has been made to pay, though,’ Fronto said quietly, ‘we need to make a last attempt to end this all with words. What’s just happened down there is like a bar fight compared with what’s coming on land. If we can avoid the slaughter of thousands and thousands of Roman lives, it’s our duty to do just that.’

  Caesar nodded seriously. ‘Quite so, Fronto. But not at the expense of laying bare our belly to Pompey and handing him the knife.’

  Men were rushing across the beach now and Fronto could just, in the dim light, make out two senior officers with a troop of legionaries having left the liburnian, hurrying towards the high place where the officers stood watching.

  ‘Who, do you suppose?’

  ‘Calenus and Brutus,’ Caesar said quietly.

  ‘Why not Marcus Antonius?’ Fronto replied.

  ‘Because Calenus would have accompanied one of the others, so one must be him, and Brutus is always concerned about his charges. Only Brutus would have chosen to stay when he could have run, and help the rest reach safety. And you know Antonius. The moment a decision had to be made, he would focus on pushing forwards, his eyes set on Brundisium and the rest of the army. No, that was the work of Brutus and Calenus, bringing back what they could to safety, and the vision of Antonius forging out into the darkness.’

  Fronto nodded. There was no denying that summary of the two men. The burning wreckage of the ships was now beginning to thin out as what remained sank beneath the icy surface, joining the bodies of the frozen crewmen. Bibulus and his commanders seemed to have decided that there was no further use in hanging about with the wrecks and already the fleet was moving off. Fronto half expected them to close on the beach and attempt to fire the ships that had escaped, but they did not, presumably nervous about the forces already on land and what might happen to the ships if they came too close to a shore controlled by Caesar. Similarly, they made no attempt to race off into the growing dark in search of the ships Antonius was taking back to Italia. The captains, once safely out of sight, would have drawn the fleet together and performed several course changes, making it almost impossible to track them across the water. They were safe unless they happened to bump into trouble by accident.

  ‘Looks like we’re in for a long stay,’ Acilius said quietly as the enemy fleet split up and began to disperse both north and south, a few vessels seeking good position in the locale.

  ‘What?’ Fronto muttered.

  ‘They’re not leaving. They’re moving into blockade position.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘With a fleet like that he can control the water all the way from Pietas in the north to Buthrotum in the south, especially when he retrieves the other vessels under his command. Antonius suggested this was just the ones he could get his hands on immediately. With perhaps double this fleet or maybe more, he could stop anything coming in or going out for well over a hundred miles, plenty more if he stretched himself.’

  Fronto shivered. ‘Could he stop the reserves getting through?’

  ‘Without a doubt. There will be few warships among them, even if extras have been found. With the pride of Pompey’s navy here, we might just be on our own from now on.’

  ‘You paint a bleak picture, Acilius,’ Caesar said quietly.

  ‘Apologies, Caesar. Staius Murcus and myself both served in Pompey’s navy against the pirates of the east some twenty years ago. We were only young men then, but I doubt there are two men in your army who know Pompey’s navy as well as we do.’

  ‘Congratulations, Acilius,’ Caesar said with an iron-hard expression. ‘You just bought yourself and Murcus the command of the Illyrian shore. If Bibulus thinks he can pen us in and keep the reserves out, then let’s besiege him at sea. See how long his fleet can last if they cannot put to shore for food and fresh water. See to it that the land is denied him all along the coast.’

  Acilius grinned. ‘A pleasure, General.’

  ‘Won’t he just resupply from one of his cities? Dyrrachium, for instance?’

  Caesar nodded. ‘Dyrrachium in particular is a thorn in the side. Taking it would be advantageous. But for now, if Bibulus truly has that sizeable a fleet, supplying it from a city via merchant ships will be a slow and laborious business. I think his ships will go hungry and thirsty much faster than he will be able to supply them.’

  ‘Can we take Dyrrachium with the men we have?’ Publius Cornelius Sulla asked quietly.

  ‘Perhaps. But we are not ready for it, and we have no siege equipment, and Antonius seemed to think not. Besides, Pompey is on the way there with his army. And if there is any hope of securing a peace with the man, taking his winter quarters out from under his nose will shatter that hope. I think… I think we need to meet Pompey in open ground and neither of us atop the walls of Dyrrachium. It’s time to send him a message.’

  He turned from the scenes below, full of purpose.

  ‘Find me Lucius Vibullius Rufus.’

  Chapter 3

  Illyricum, Martius 48 BC

  ‘Still nothing?’

  Fronto turned to see Galronus strolling up the path to the now well-worn lookout point. He shook his head. Of course there was nothing, he thought irritably. He came here every morning in the hope of discovering something that might change the situation, yet met with only empty sea and disappointment each time. Not empty sea, he corrected himself. Empty sea would bear hope. This was a sea dotted with powerful ships, just not the ones Caesar’s army longed to see.

  After the initial rush to command a position on the shore and the disaster with the returning fleet, everything had come to a stop.

  With just fifteen thousand men, a fraction of the number they had commanded in Gaul, it would be foolhardy and extremely dangerous to begin prosecuting any kind of major action. The hotter heads among the staff – and Salvius Cursor too, of course – advocated moving in an attempt to take Dyrrachium or Apollonia, the two city-fortresses that still dominated the coast in favour of Pompey. Fifteen thousand men, though, was not enough to besiege such a great city with any real effectiveness, especially when the defenders could be resupplied easily by sea. At least in the siege of Massilia they’d had Brutus’ fleet to blockade. Here it was Pompey’s ships that created a cordon all along the Illyrian coast, effectively sealing the Caesarian army in and preventing any hope of reinforcement.

  Bastards.

  Two months.

  Two months with no sign of Antonius and the rest of the army. No news had come from the west. Had Antonius made it back across the Adriaticum? Had he met with disaster from pirates or storms or even more of Pompey’s seemingly endless navy? If he had reached Brundisium, had he been unable to gather enough ships to bring the men across? Given Pompey’s blockade it would be an ill-judged move to attempt a breakthrough for the sake of just a few men. It would have to be the rest of the army to make it worthwhile.

  And that army had not come.

  There had been a report early on, while the officers were still making initial plans, that a Caesarian ship had limped into the harbour at Oricum and there been burned by the Pompeian garrison, but it seemed unlikely. Why would
one ship come alone and, if it did, why would it attempt to put to port in an enemy stronghold?

  The army had not arrived, and with the relatively meagre numbers at Caesar’s command there was no point in trying for one of the coastal strongholds. The forces here and there left from the army Antonius and his brother had brought across the sea last year were few enough that they’d barely hold a bridge, let alone fight a full campaign. No, without the rest of the army from Brundisium, Pompey’s fortresses were safe and Caesar was incapable of securing the solid bridgehead he needed to face Pompey.

  Which was not to say they had done nothing in those two months of misery, or that nothing else had changed. Indeed, Acilius and Murcus, with six thousand men drawn from the Tenth and Ninth, had denied the enemy fleet any stretch of coast for countless miles, and the ships guarding the shore were beginning to starve. Fronto had watched from this high point over the days as merchant vessels from Dyrrachium and Apollonia had come and gone carrying supplies, but even Apollonia was a day’s sail from here, and the main source of supplies – Dyrrachium – was several days further. Acilius had estimated the volume of supplies being delivered by each ship and their frequency and had announced with satisfaction that at best the Pompeian ships were on quarter rations, and even then probably some vessels were getting nothing at all. Pompey’s fleet may have them guarded and penned in, but it was the ships that were under siege, starving and weak. On land, though, rations were running low too, and soon Caesar’s legions would join those poor sailors in starvation unless they could secure a supply route or adequate local sources of food. But while that was a looming worry for the invaders in the coming days, the fleet were hungry now, and already getting desperate. A few small engagements had broken out where desperate Pompeian ships had tried to land and resupply despite the legionaries dug in and waiting for them. Each attempt had ended in disaster for the sailors.

  The fleet was beginning to weaken. When Antonius came, if Antonius came, he would at least have a chance of breaking through to the coast.

  And despite their inability to take on either of the great coastal bastions, once the forces were distributed and plans laid, Caesar had moved decisively. Leaving Acilius and Murcus with their men to hold the coastline, the general had marched on the lesser, more local port of Oricum and taken it without a wound inflicted or received. The capture of Oricum gave the army a secure local region from which to work, and so Caesar had begun a campaign of conquest through fear and respect rather than blood and steel, much as he’d done in Italia the previous year. By the time the first month had passed, cities began to change allegiance through fear of Caesar, or possibly hope of being freed from Pompey’s control. Not the important cities, which remained Pompey’s coastal fortresses and granaries, but smaller cities here and there. First came Salonae, north along the coast, way past the danger zone. Salonae declared for Caesar, earning a chastisement from the local Pompeian forces, who besieged that ancient city but were routed and forced to flee. Byllis, Amantia, Antipatria, and numerous other cities of which Fronto could not remember the name all declared for Caesar.

  Still not the critical coastal fortresses, though. And it would make only a small difference in the grand scheme of things controlling Illyrian regions if the fleet still secured the coast and the twin bastions of Pompey’s power here remained untouched. No matter how many towns declared for Caesar, if Pompey arrived with his full force and Antonius had not brought across the reserves, they would be crushed. Much relied on those two great cities.

  Apollonia was something of a problem, for there would be no controlling the Apsus River without holding that fortress, but Dyrrachium was worse. Well-manned and well-stocked, supplying the ships even as Caesar’s legionaries began to starve on the beach, Dyrrachium was an ancient fastness on the coast that would be harder to crack than a marble egg.

  In an attempt to tip the scales and persuade Pompey’s great bulwarks to see sense, Caesar had now taken seven thousand men south along the coast to the cities of Buthrotum and Phoinike. With Salonae and the north now for Caesar, if the south could be nudged that way, then things would look worrying in Dyrrachium. Even that great bulwark of Pompeian power might start to dance to a different tune if the whole Illyrian coast except them were Caesar’s. Especially since Pompey had yet to put in an appearance. Perhaps it could still be ended without a fight.

  Briefly, Fronto wondered what had happened to Vibullius Rufus. Caesar’s chosen ambassador had been a Pompeian officer in the early days. He had stood against them at Corfinium and been one of those magnanimously pardoned by Caesar. He had the perfect credentials for carrying an overture to the enemy commander, and had set off the day after they landed with a small cavalry unit, making for the reported location of Pompey’s force in the mountains some sixty miles east. His message was a last hope, a last attempt, at peace. An offer that both commanders stand down their forces and return to Rome to allow the senate to settle the affair in court rather than on the battlefield. There was little chance of Pompey submitting to a senate that owed everything to Caesar, of course, but slim chance had to be better than none. And there would be important influential men in Pompey’s retinue that would see any refusal as Pompey’s desire to waste Roman blood rather than confer with Caesar. A typically shrewd political move from the general. Still, nothing had been heard of the messenger now in two months. Had the deputation even made it to Pompey? If they did, had they met with death at his hands? Had Vibullius returned to his old allegiance, perhaps, and gone over to the enemy? All Fronto and his friends knew was that it was said Pompey was still coming west across the Candavii Mountains, heading slowly but surely for the coast and his winter quarters.

  ‘They will come,’ Galronus said quietly, interrupting Fronto’s gloomy train of thought. For a moment he thought the Remi prince meant Pompey, but then realised they were still staring out to sea and he’d meant Antonius and the other half of Caesar’s army.

  ‘I hope so,’ he replied with a sigh. ‘We can’t live forever on the supplies we’ve gathered from local towns. Even Oricum gave us little. We need the supply base of Dyrrachium. Or Caesar to return with a wagon train from Buthrotum. At this rate, ambrosia falling from the sky is more likely.’

  The two men fell into silence once more, watching the empty sea. The waves were noticeably calmer than they’d been when they first arrived. Spring was around the corner. Silence reigned until Galronus finally cleared his throat.

  ‘I almost forgot why I came up here. News has arrived from Calenus.’

  ‘Oh?’ Fronto turned with interest. Calenus, with a force of two thousand, all that could be spared from the thinly-spread army on the coast, had gone north several days ago in an attempt to secure positions along the Apsus River, despite the fact that at its mouth remained one of Pompey’s fangs: Apollonia. Perhaps the crossings could be secured in preparation for when the enemy finally arrived.

  ‘Apollonia is ours,’ Galronus said as though reporting the latest results at the race track.

  Fronto blinked. ‘You almost forgot to tell me the most important news in over a month?’

  Galronus shrugged nonchalantly. ‘The Pompeian commander, I think his name was Stabbus…’

  ‘Staberius. Lucius Staberius. I know him of old. He owes me money, the shit.’

  ‘This commander bolstered the garrison with locals when Calenus was reported nearby and when they argued against it, he took hostages from them. They cornered him with his men and told him into which dark passage to shove his siege, then opened the gates to Calenus. Stabbus…’

  ‘Staberius.’

  ‘Stabbus just ran with his men. Fled down to the port and disappeared on a ship into the midst of the blockade fleet. Ridiculous really. He had three thousand Pompeians there and strong walls and plenty of food. But he was so worried about the arrival of two thousand of us that he cocked it all up, relied on the locals, and they bent him over and did him from behind.’

  Fronto rolled his eyes. Someti
mes you forgot that Galronus was one of the barbarians. And then sometimes you were reminded…

  ‘You just can never trust natives,’ Fronto smiled slyly. Galronus nodded and began to agree, then stopped with a frown.

  ‘Your mouth’s going to get you into trouble, Marcus.’

  ‘Not for the first time. Well, assuming Caesar is successful in the south, and I think we can leap to the assumption that he will be, then almost the entire Illyrian coast is ours. The only real hiccup will be Dyrrachium holding out for Pompey. Of course, all that changes when the knob-nosed shit actually arrives with his army.’

  ‘Why?’

  Fronto shook his head. ‘If we gather together every man we have in this land, including the fragments left from Antonius’ campaign, we’ll still have less than twenty thousand men. Pompey will have far more than that. If he turns up and draws us into open battle, then I reckon Caesar’s run of luck might just end. And we might control most of the coast now, but he still controls the sea, until they all starve and we’re blockaded by ships full of skeletons. Unless Antonius arrives with the rest of the army, we’re still in the shit deeper than a midget in a latrine trench.’

  ‘So it’s a race of sorts.’

  ‘Eh?’

  Galronus gestured at the ships out to sea. ‘If they starve first, and Antonius arrives, we walk off with the wreath. If Pompey and his men get here first, then he does.’

  ‘Succinctly put. I’m not sure why Pompey isn’t already here, to be honest. He’s only been sixty or so miles away. If he’d been determined, he’d be in Dyrrachium by now laughing at us. My only assumption is that his army has been scattered and he’s gathering it before he comes, preparing to face us.’

  ‘Something’s happening with the ships,’ Galronus said suddenly, gesturing out to sea. Fronto followed his extended digit and spotted two smaller boats departing one of the larger warships, heading for the beach.