Marius' Mules

by S. J. A. Turney

  A number of cavalry officers reined their horses in, raising a cloud of dust, with Publius Considius between them. Beyond them, in the distance, Fronto could see the rest of the cavalry heading for the column, Longinus among them.

  Considius bowed to Caesar as deeply as his saddle would allow. Caesar brushed the formalities aside with a wave of his hand. Out of breath and sweating, Considius made his report.

  “Caesar, I’ve recalled the cavalry and made my way back here. I beg to report that the high ground is in the hands of the Gauls. I can see no sign of Labienus and his legions.”

  Fronto’s eyes opened wide.

  “How in the name of all the gods did he fail to take the peak?”

  Caesar nodded.

  “How indeed.”

  Considius, breathing deeply, gestured in the direction of the mountain.

  “I don’t know sir. All I know is that there are Gaulish standards flying above the peak, and no sign of a Roman force.”

  Caesar pondered a moment.

  “Longinus. Get your cavalry back here. Have them patrol at a distance of half a mile from the column. Considius, unless you’ve anything else to report, go and change your horse; you’ve ridden that one into the ground and it needs to rest. Gentlemen?”

  The staff who had to a man been watching the distant hill, turned to look expectantly at Caesar as Considius and the scouts rode away, meeting up with Longinus on the slope.

  “I need ideas and plans now. I hate to think that Labienus might have lost me ten thousand men, but we need to plan accounting for only the four remaining legions. Suggestions?”

  Fronto, still astounded by the turn of events, worked through their goals and their resources in his head, and then turned to Caesar to put forward his proposal.

  “The highest hill around here is the one to the right and ahead. That’ll put us around a mile from the objective peak. It’s a nice defensive position, in case Labienus really has lost us a third of the army. While we maintain that ground, we can send out scouts to find out what has really happened. We can’t move on while we’re blind, sir.”

  Caesar nodded.

  “Very well. Pass the orders down to the column. I want a score of the best individual scouts we have sent to me. I have no intention of sending out a full scouting unit. They’re far too obvious. Each man will ride independently, giving them better range and making them less visible. I don’t want anyone blundering into anything.”

  Gradually, the column moved into position on the side of the hill, creating a defensive line. The scouts requested by Caesar were sent out with specific orders to find Labienus and his two legions, or at least a trace of their remains to tell what had happened; also to locate and examine the Helvetii with a view to removing them from their position of control, and to look at all surrounding countryside for any escape routes that the army could take if things went badly.

  While the scouts were out, Caesar gave orders that the four remaining legions should fortify the position on the hill with ditch and mound, the auxiliaries maintaining a defensive cordon while they worked.

  Fronto found himself a quiet patch of turf high above the fortification work and relaxed, lying back. He hadn’t realised just how weary and weak he was; the day’s ride had taken a great deal out of him. He’d been travelling for more than twelve hours, and yet it was still only lunchtime. Reaching out to his pack, he retrieved some salted pork, bread, apples and a small flask of watered wine.

  Some of the tension slipped away from his limbs, but an oppressive weight remained in his chest. Balbus was part of Labienus’ missing contingent. In this whole army there were maybe half a dozen people Fronto could really talk to, and only two with whom he felt he could really share anything: Priscus and Balbus. It was odd how much his friendship with the ageing legate of the Eighth had blossomed over the short time they had known each other. He had never had the time or inclination to make that kind of friend when he had been in Spain. Then again, he’d been a lot younger then and intent climbing the ladder of the Cursus Honorum. He hadn’t had time for friends. He’d treated the Ninth Legion well and led them to victory a number of times, but had never had the kind of relationship with its officers that he did with the centurions of the Tenth. It would be a shame if Balbus had vanished ignominiously in the middle of Gaul.

  The crack of a twig sounded behind him and he started. Longinus took another step and then slumped to the turf beside him. Wordlessly Fronto proffered the wine flask and, gratefully, Longinus took it.

  “It’s a bright, hot day. Makes you glad you outrank the poor buggers who have to do all that digging.”

  Nod.

  Longinus regarded Fronto with a slightly worried expression.

  “Marcus, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look well. You’re still recovering from some fairly nasty wounds and will be for weeks yet; maybe months. Caesar only invited you to rejoin them at the moment because your primus pilus badgered him repeatedly until he agreed. You should by all rights still be with the medics. I know it and you know it.”

  Fronto waved a hand dismissively.

  “Nah. I can ride, drink and think. Nothing else required of me at the moment.”

  Longinus reached around and grabbed a handful of tunic at Fronto’s shoulder.

  “Don’t be so bloody stupid. None of your friends will say a word to you at the moment. They’re all too proud of you and too frightened of hurting your feelings to tell you what’s what. They just pussyfoot around you like you’re a teething babe.”

  Fronto stared blankly at the cavalry commander.

  “You’ve taken your nasty medicine today, haven’t you?”

  Longinus released the handful of tunic.

  “I’m just talking straight, same as you would to me. We have no pretence at being caring friends, and sometimes that’s useful. You need to rest; to stay completely out of things for now. If you ‘ride, drink and think’ as you put it, you’ll slow you recovery down interminably. If you don’t have yourself relieved and go back to the doctors, I may be temped to break your other arm just to save you from yourself.”

  Fronto continued to stare. “You can be really nasty,” he told Longinus, “when you’re right.”

  He sighed and lay back on the grass.

  “Gaius, I’m weary and I’m worried. What the hell happens if Labienus has got Balbus and Crispus killed? We can’t hope to maintain a campaign if we lose a third of the army at one stroke.” Longinus stood and brushed the grass from his breeches.

  “You know as well as I do that Labienus is a good man; a good officer and a good tactician. Unless the whole of Gaul has united to attack him, he’s out there somewhere with the Eighth and the Eleventh, pulling some kind of clever manoeuvre. And Balbus is too bright to get himself pulled into that kind of trouble without sending a messenger to the commanders.”

  Fronto nodded. Longinus reached down, offering to help the injured legate to his feet.

  “Anyway,” he said, looking out over the fortifications and down the hill, “I think we’re about to be given the whole story. Some of those scouts are coming in already. I think you’d better go see Caesar before you go off duty.”

  Fronto nodded once more.

  “You wouldn’t care to help a poor wounded soldier back down the hill, would you?”

  Longinus looked at the outstretched hand and the smile on Fronto’s face. He grinned back.

  “Piss off. You can walk, you lazy animal.”

  The two of them sauntered down to the command unit, laughing as they went.

  By the time they had reached the rest of the staff officers, the riders were dismounting, handing the reins of their steaming horses to servants.

  The three scouts who had returned initially had escorted a fourth rider, who stepped forward from the group and bowed to Caesar.

  “Labienus?”

  Caesar stared. Fronto and Longinus started. What had happened to his men? Evidently the same thought had immediately occurr
ed to Caesar. The general walked forward to the weary-looking man.

  “Labienus, what happened to your legions?”

  Fronto noticed that the three scouts had shrunk back into the edge of the circle. Labienus raised his face. What Fronto had assumed was tiredness was, in fact, anger. Labienus’ face was red.

  “My army is fine sir, if a little bored. We’ve been in position at the top of the peak now for around ten hours. We watched the Helvetii break camp and march away hours ago, but we had to let them go. My orders were to launch no attack until you were there. Where were you sir?

  Caesar’s eyes opened wide.

  “You had the hill?”

  “Of course we did. We walked up it and stopped. Not even a hint of a problem. The Helvetii never saw us; didn’t even know we were there. We’ve been waiting for the rest of the army to launch the attack. I’d still be waiting now if your scouts hadn’t come to us.”

  Caesar threw the cup he was holding to the turf and ground it in with his boot. Fronto stepped back. The general was shaking violently.

  “Considius was wrong. Those weren’t Gaulish standards the lunatic saw, they were legion Vexilli. How can the imbecile not know his own flags?”

  The circle around the irate general was widening as the moments passed. No one dared speak for fear of directing the blast of the anger toward them.

  “That’s it. No more dancing around. We’re going to go and get the corn from the Aedui ourselves and then move on fast and finish these Helvetii. The time has come to break them.”

  Turning, red-faced, to Sabinus and Fronto, he shook a finger at them.

  “Get me Considius. Get him now.”

  Chapter 10

  (The Aedui town of Bibracte)

  “Amphora (pl. Amphorae): A large pottery storage container, generally used for wine or olive oil.”

  “Oppidum: The standard Gaulish hill town of the pre-Roman period. A walled settlement, sometimes quite large.”

  Fronto was surprised at the size and complexity of the Aedui Oppidum. He wasn’t the sort of man to label every non-Roman he came across ‘barbarian’ without cause, but he’d met these Aedui leaders, and had expected perhaps a collection of huts and a well. In fact, Bibracte covered the top of an entire hill, the best part of a mile across, surrounded by a wide and high wall formed of shaped stones and heavy timber. The city inside, for Fronto could think of it as nothing less than a city, was complex and large, with a patchwork of crossing streets and houses jammed together in close proximity. The city rang with the sounds of blacksmiths, market traders and the chattering public.

  Fronto had stopped at a wine store and had been astonished to find high quality Roman wine from Campania on sale. He had bought an amphora of the best product and had been surprised at the price, which was at most what he would have expected to pay in Rome, and perhaps even cheaper. The storekeeper had accepted Roman coinage and had given Fronto his change in coins of the same intrinsic value as Roman ones, minted in Bibracte and showing Aedui designs. He was beginning to understand why Caesar supported these people and why the Roman government nurtured this alliance. These were no more barbarians than the people of Pompeii or Puteoli.

  Sitting in a small and shady garden outside a local tavern, with green trees and creeping plants growing overhead, Fronto, Balbus and Longinus drank heartily from the choice of wines they had picked up around the main street of the town.

  It had only been two and a half days since the debacle on the hill, but it seemed like a lifetime while they sat in the sun, officially off-duty and relaxed. The army had followed the Helvetii for a day, less than three miles behind them, but had veered off early yesterday morning and made for this place, the largest and wealthiest of the Aedui towns and, by chance, the home of Liscus, the Aeduan who had made the promises of corn to Caesar.

  All six legions were now officially off-duty. The Aedui had welcomed the Romans to their city, and Caesar had magnanimously given the order for the soldiers to take time off, though to keep their wits about them and to remain armed. The tents of the legions had been erected below the city walls. Today the corn would be gathered and distributed, and the legions would rest. Fronto had asked Caesar whether the army would be moving on the next morning, concerned as to why no defensive systems had been erected, but the General had merely smiled and tapped his finger to the side of his large nose.

  In fact, the only people who had not been excused duties were the non-legion based staff officers, who had been given the task of liaising with the Aedui leaders and merchants in the gathering of the corn. Fronto would probably have been with them had not his wounds given him reason to stay off-duty. As Longinus related a long a lurid tale of a lady of debatable virtue, punctuated regularly by Balbus’ laughter, Fronto watched the sacks of corn being moved continually down the main street toward the supply section of the Roman camp outside. A group of labourers went past with two merchants arguing, accompanied by Sabinus, who turned and frowned irritably at the legates drinking and sunning themselves. Fronto gave him a happy wave and smiled.

  Only tomorrow were the troops due to be given their rations of corn, so Caesar had timed the visit perfectly. Liscus had lived up to his promise, though with a little delay. When the Romans had arrived, they had found the merchants of the city already piling the corn in carts. The army would have received its rations only a day or two late, but now, and with the organisational aid of the staff officers, the corn would be distributed a day early. By nightfall tonight, all personnel would have their allotted quantities.

  Fronto suddenly became aware that a cavalry soldier was standing by the entrance to the tavern garden, looking nervous and clearing his throat. Longinus and Balbus, exchanging wild tales, had not noticed the arrival of the man.

  “Longinus, I think you’re wanted.”

  Longinus turned to look at Fronto and noticed the cavalry trooper. He swung around on the bench to face the young man.

  “Soldier, you can stand at ease. The entire army is off duty, and that includes you.”

  The soldier gave a nervous nod but made no move to relax. He cleared his throat again anxiously.

  “Sir, I beg your indulgence, but I have bad news to report. The duty stable hand in our ala didn’t show up for his stretch this afternoon, sir. Prefect Aemilius ran a head count to see if he was missing, and the count came up eight men short. It looks like we’ve had deserters, sir. When we checked, their horses and all their pack and equipment had disappeared.”

  Fronto looked at Balbus and Longinus.

  “Sounds serious.”

  Longinus shot a warning glance at Fronto before turning back to the cavalry trooper.

  “Very well, soldier. Send Aemilius to me. I want a word with him.”

  “Sir!” The trooper pulled himself even further to attention and, turning smartly, jogged off down the main street toward the city gate.

  Fronto narrowed his eyes at Longinus.

  “Alright. What’s going on?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Longinus met his gaze with eyes full of innocence.

  Fronto slapped his palm on the table, then winced as the shockwave coursed through his still tender arm.

  “You showed absolutely no surprise when that soldier warned you of deserters. You may be a fair officer, but you’re a terrible liar. Now, what’s going on?”

  Longinus glared at Fronto a moment longer, and then gestured with his thumb to a table in a rear corner of the garden beneath a huge oak tree.

  “If we’re going to have this discussion, let’s go over there.”

  As Fronto, grumbling, moved to the other seat carrying his cup and a jug of wine, Balbus followed suit. Longinus instead made his way inside. Fronto heard a short, hushed conversation with the innkeeper and a moment later the staff of the tavern were standing by the gate, out of earshot and blocking the entrance.

  Longinus collected his drink and joined them at the rear table.

  “Thanks a lot Marcus, you jus
t cost me a packet to buy us a little privacy.”

  Fronto shrugged, wincing with the pain of the movement.

  “Learn to be a better liar. It’ll cost you less.”

  The cavalry commander frowned at him and lowered his voice to a hushed whisper.

  “I’m well aware of the deserters, yes. In fact I sent them off myself, early this morning on the orders of Caesar.”

  Balbus perked up a little at this.

  “Why is Caesar having you fake desertions?”

  Fronto grinned.

  “I think I can answer that, Quintus. And I think if you work it through yourself, you can too.”

  Balbus closed his eyes for a moment.

  “Misinformation you think?”

  Fronto smiled again.

  “That’s why we’re off duty and we haven’t made a fortified camp. That’s why Caesar won’t tell me when we’re moving again. He has no intention of moving from Bibracte at all.”

  Longinus nodded.

  “We’d have had to move at a hell of a pace to catch up with the Helvetii after our detour here to collect the corn. We can’t catch them, so the general’s arranging for them to come to us. We’ll only have to move to one of the surrounding hills for favourable ground.”

  Balbus slowly began to grin now.

  “These ‘deserters’ then must be telling the Helvetii that we’ve left off the pursuit and turned round; that we’re running. Why would we do that? What possible cause?”

  Longinus clicked his tongue.

  “Think, lads. We’re cut off from our supply line now, the corn from the Aedui hasn’t been forthcoming, and the Helvetii don’t know we’ve found the traitors among our allies. They have every reason to believe we’re heading back to the Saone.”

  Fronto banged his fist on the table again, wincing once more. He seemed totally unable to consider the consequences of any course of action on his wounds. His voice was getting louder as the excitement grew in him.

  “I’ll bet Caesar has scouts out over at least a five mile radius, waiting for the Helvetii to turn up. That’s why we’re not fortified. Caesar wants the entire army to be easy to manoeuvre when the enemy appear. It all makes sense.”