Marius' Mules

by S. J. A. Turney

  Fronto shook his head.

  “Now he’s here he’ll be fine. It’s a long and gruelling journey from Geneva, particularly for someone who isn’t fully healed.” He looked down at his arm. “Believe me. Tetricus will be fine now. You’re probably right about Geneva being secure, but I’d prefer to play it safe.”

  Caesar frowned and put his hand to his temple, a sign Fronto recognised that heralded one of the general’s numbing headaches.

  “Then my big problem is probably Crassus. Do I even need to ask what you make of him?”

  Fronto grimaced.

  “Disregarding my personal dislike for him, I think he’s a jumped up, arrogant, nasty little politician riding on the back of his father’s fame.”

  The general rubbed his temples again and continued.

  “Disregarding your personal dislike?”

  Fronto smiled his least pleasant of smiles.

  “Crassus is not well liked by his peers and that cannot have escaped your notice. I am not alone in my opinions. The Seventh don’t like him a great deal. He’s unnecessarily hard and officious with them and unless he calms down he could cause trouble. Whole armies have mutinied before now due to that kind of command. I realise that he’s young, and trying to prove himself among his elders. He may even be a good tactical man, but his attitude is going to have to change if he wants to keep a command. You saw how he treated Tetricus. If I hadn’t requested the transfer, he’d have made the tribune’s life hell when he rejoined his unit. Is that plain enough?”

  The General nodded sadly.

  “It pains me to say it, but I do agree with you. I need to speak to him privately and try and adjust his aggressive command technique, but there is a problem. I know you’re aware of a lot more than you probably should be, but I also know you’re discrete. I need you to bear in mind when we talk of Crassus that not only is his father one of the most powerful men in Rome, he’s also largely responsible for me being where I am. I owe the man a lot of money and a great deal more besides. I cannot afford to disgrace his son. I need him where he is, but I’ll have to calm him down. You see, even I’m not above having to pander to people.”

  Fronto nodded. It was an all too familiar story.

  “We’ll do what we can to help, as always Caesar, but please don’t expect me to prostrate myself in front of him. I owe him nothing, and if he needs putting in his place, I damn well intend to do it.”

  Caesar smiled.

  “Good. If I’m restricted by personal ties, it might be good for him to have someone else doing that. My other thought is connected to this, though. I’m worried about the legions becoming too tied to their commanders. In the case of some officers, notably you and Balbus, I feel safe in the knowledge that you’re the right men for the job. Other commanders I don’t know as well, though. It occurs to me that they may show more allegiance to their commanders than to me or to Rome. I have given much thought to abandoning my policy of long-term legates and returning power to the tribunes and temporary commanders. What are your thoughts?”

  The legate raised his eyes and focused on Caesar.

  “Sir, the legions are tied closely with their commanders, but that is a good thing, and the legions will always become closely linked with a charismatic leader. I would respectfully submit that the benefits of your unusual command policy seriously outweigh the setbacks. I can foresee a day when all the legions have a permanent commander. I think it’s the only feasible way forward. To my mind you needn’t worry about the troops so long as you have good and loyal legates. They’re the ones you need to watch. After all… when it comes down to it, who pays them all? You, Caesar; not us.”

  Caesar smiled.

  “You always make me feel better Marcus. I feel confident in my decisions once they’ve had your approval.

  Fronto smiled wearily.

  “Caesar, the six legions have marched readily and almost continually for a long time now, and the new auxiliaries haven’t rested since their departure from Geneva. I saw the effect that the free off-duty day in Bibracte had on the men and I think that, should the battle go our way, we should stay encamped here for perhaps a week. The legions could all do with the rest and it’d give us time to mend, heal and recover. Besides which, we still have the trial of Dumnorix to attend to. We can spend the time strengthening our ties to the Aedui.”

  Caesar smiled.

  “Agreed. A time of recuperation and political manoeuvring after warfare is done. Thank you, Marcus. As always I find your advice a comfort. Now all we need to do is to win the battle.”

  * * * * *

  “Bloody Typical.”

  Priscus looked over at Velius and raised his eyebrows.

  “What?”

  “Being at the front. As usual.”

  Priscus grinned.

  “Gives you a chance to prove yourself, man.”

  “Huh.”

  The legions were camped on a hill about half a mile from Bibracte. According to the latest intelligence, the Helvetii would arrive a little after dawn. The army had been given its positions and there was no time or need to erect tents and fortifications; no one would be caught unawares tonight. The evening was dry and quite warm, the rain having given way to sunshine well before lunchtime. The ground had dried out thoroughly, and there was a strange atmosphere on the hill. Rather than a pre-battle tension, there was something of a summer camping expedition feel. In the twilight, soldiers from six legions lay wrapped in their cloaks and blankets under the open sky. Those who were still awake munched on the remains of game and salted meat cooked over the small fires dotted around the hill. A few drank to bolster their courage for the next day; others played dice to take their mind off it.

  Priscus, Velius and Fronto sat with a flask of well-watered wine halfway up the hill, where the Tenth had been assigned. The legion had been organised (as had the others) in three rows, with four cohorts in the front line, and three in each subsequent one. Thus the crescent formation on the hill stood fifty men deep and, with the four legions side by side, four hundred men long. The Tenth were stationed as one of the two centre legions, alongside the Eighth. The Ninth took the left flank and the Seventh the right, side by side with Fronto’s men. The Eleventh and Twelfth Legions, still relatively untried, stayed on the crest of the hill with the auxiliaries, surrounding the baggage and the staff officers. The entire hill was covered with men, such that virtually no ground was visible beneath the resting bodies.

  It had been a very long time since an army this size had drawn up lines for engagement anywhere. The cavalry were visible on the plain at the bottom of the hill. They would leave before dawn and engage the Helvetii, drawing them closer and egging them on. The plan was well thought out and would be carefully executed.

  The cavalry now controlled the only beasts on the field of battle. Caesar had had his own horse, along with that of every officer and all of the pack animals, removed to a corral at the very crown of the hill, surrounded by baggage carts. No one would be given an easy way to flee this field.

  Velius looked up at Fronto, reflected firelight dancing in his eyes and across the metalwork of his uniform and armour. Fronto sat in his tunic and breeches, but without the cuirass. He was still suffering with the damage to his right arm and would be doing, so the doctors said, probably until the winter and the campaigning season was over. As such, he would take no active part in the battle, but had refused to stay entirely out of the way.

  “Sir?”

  “Hmm?”

  Fronto reeled in his thoughts from afar. Velius shifted his bulk on his blanket, crossing his legs.

  “How many men do you reckon they have? The Helvetii I mean.”

  Fronto frowned.

  “I remember their numbers being estimated in one of the old man’s briefings. I think they had about three hundred thousand when they left Geneva, but maybe a third of those were men of fighting age.”

  “Whew…”

  Priscus whistled.

  “I hadn’t re
alised there were that many. They always look like such a disorganised rabble when they’re on the move you kind of forget how many there are.”

  Velius sniffed.

  “Bunch o’ rectums the whole lot of ‘em.”

  Fronto and Priscus turned to look at Velius, who shrugged.

  “What?”

  He continued to sit, chewing on a piece of salted pork while the other two rolled around in laughter on the floor.

  “You do have a way with words, man, have I ever mentioned that?”

  Velius grinned.

  “Anyway, dunno why we’re counting on that many. We know a quarter of ‘em disappeared by the river.”

  Fronto nodded darkly. He had no wish to revisit the site of that slaughter, though it occasionally haunted his dreams. Trying to lighten the conversation, he turned to Priscus and gestured at Velius with a hooked thumb.

  “Have you ever noticed that he talks differently when he’s in front of a senior officer?”

  Priscus smirked.

  “He’s in front of a senior officer now, and he sounds like one of the gutter-tramps that sleep under the Pons Aemilius to me.”

  Fronto laughed as Velius delivered a nerve-deadening blow to Priscus’ upper arm.

  “Laugh that one off.”

  Priscus’ face took on a more serious cast.

  “Is this it, now, sir? Are we going to beat them here and go home to Aquileia?”

  Fronto frowned.

  “You know I can’t give you information concerning future campaign planning, Gnaeus, so stop probing for information.”

  “I’m not, sir. Honestly, I can’t see what else we’re up to here after we trash them. Maybe take slaves, collect up booty, and back to Aquileia.”

  Fronto gave a non-committal shrug.

  “All things are possible, but don’t start banking on anything until we’ve done for the enemy tomorrow. Even with the Auxilia we only number thirty-five or forty thousand. They’ve probably still got seventy thousand able men, so we’d best make use of this hill tomorrow. They’ll outnumber us two to one. I hope Caesar’s worked this through properly.”

  Someone behind Fronto cleared his throat. Turning round, he saw a legionary sitting up in his blanket. No veteran, this boy; little more than twenty years old.

  “Yes lad?”

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir? I don’t want you to think I’m eavesdroppin’ or anything, but I can’t sleep, and I couldn’t help overhearing.”

  “What’s up?”

  The young man shuffled forward, into the orange glow of the fire around which the three sat.

  “Well, sir, some of the veterans say that you’re the best general this army’s got, better even than Caesar.”

  Priscus grinned at Fronto.

  “See, your fame’s spreading like wildfire.”

  He turned to face the young legionary.

  “Better not inflate his ego too much, soldier. He’s already got a big head, and he won’t be able to fit it into his helmet tomorrow.”

  Fronto thought for a moment, looking at his bandages and scars, then delivered a quick rabbit punch with his left fist to the same spot on Priscus’ upper arm. The primus pilus fell back on the grass laughing and holding his arm. Fronto turned to the young man once more.

  “I’ve studied my tacticians, and I’ve had the chance to put a few plans into practice in my time.”

  The legionary looked up at him, wide-eyed.

  “What would you do, sir?

  “What do you mean?”

  “How would you have planned this battle?”

  Fronto looked thoughtfully into the fire.

  “I think I’d have left all the baggage in Bibracte for a start. I’d have split the cavalry into three separate units. One to do what Caesar plans with them, one stationed in Bibracte as a reserve, and one hidden behind the hill.”

  The young man grinned excitedly.

  “And the army itself?”

  “Three legions on this hill in the crescent formation; probably the Eleventh in the centre, with the Tenth and the Ninth on either side. The Twelfth on the slopes below the walls of Bibracte, and the Eighth I’d have sent on a forced march with most of the scouts to get in a position behind the Helvetii. The Seventh in reserve around the baggage.”

  “And then sir?”

  Fronto smiled.

  “And then the Helvetii would get here and engage the three legions on the hill. Not long after that started, the Eighth would arrive behind them and we’d have them trapped. As soon as they first engaged, I’d have sent a signal up and the Twelfth and a third of the cavalry would charge down from Bibracte and slam into their flank. They’d be ground to minced meat between the three fronts. Their only hope would be to break out the other side, and we’d have two remaining cavalry wings to harry them as they broke.”

  “Wow.”

  The young soldier grinned like a madman.

  “Do you think this way will work?”

  Fronto nodded.

  “Oh, it’ll work, and we’ll beat them. I just hope the enemy don’t have any nasty surprises planned. We’ll have stationed our entire army in one place, with no reserve force, so casualties could be high if we screw it up.”

  He suddenly realised this is not what he should be saying to young, impressionable soldiers on the eve of an important battle. He reached round and gave the boy a comforting pat on the shoulder.

  “We’ll beat them. We’ve beaten everyone so far on this campaign, and we’re Roman, so it’s our destiny to win. What’s your name, lad?”

  “Florus, sir.”

  Fronto smiled benignly.

  “Well, Florus, you look me up after the battle tomorrow, and I’ll buy you a drink. We’ll drink to the glorious destiny of Rome, eh?”

  The legionary grinned again.

  “Yes, sir!”

  Fronto turned back to the other two officers. They were smirking at each other.

  “What?”

  Priscus put his hands together in a pleading manner, let his lower lip hang pathetically and fluttered his eyelashes.

  “Please mister Fronto, you’re our hero!”

  Velius spilled his drink as he fell about laughing.

  Fronto sighed.

  “Get it out of your system lads. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

  The four men sat silently, staring into the dancing flames of the dying fire.

  Chapter 11

  (A Hill near Bibracte)

  “Phalanx: Greek/Macedonian infantry tactic in which rows of men form a veritable hedge of long spears, backed with a shield wall.”

  “Cornu: A G-shaped horn-like musical instrument used primarily by the military for relaying signals. A trumpeter was called a cornicen.”

  The first the army knew about the arrival of the Helvetii was when the cavalry under Longinus came cantering down the valley in an ordered withdrawal. Minutes later, the vanguard of the tribe appeared behind them on horseback. The Roman cavalry remained quiet except for the occasional bellowed order. The Helvetii, on the other hand, shouted, cheered and screamed as they rode, a tactic that Fronto knew was meant to frighten the enemy. He turned to the centurions of the Tenth.

  “Let ‘em know we’ve heard ‘em lads.”

  Under the orders of the centurions, five thousand men began to bang rhythmically on the bronze edging of their shields with their short swords. The act was soon picked up by the surrounding legions, right the way up the hill, where auxiliary troopers banged a variety of weapons on the edge of equally varied shields. The sound was deafening and well and truly drowned out the cries of the Helvetii.

  Longinus’ cavalry continued to hold the advance units of the Helvetii at bay while the legions formed into closer order. In the distance the main Helvetii force could be seen by the soldiers on the higher elevations, pouring into the valley. The enemy baggage train was brought part way down the valley and left in a dell bordered with trees, by the side of the main track.

  Fronto s
huffled his feet, wishing he were standing on flat ground. He could see the advantage of a slight incline, but it was making his shins and calves ache unbearably, and with the dull pain still in his arms, he really didn’t need any more discomfort. He silently cursed the Helvetii and wished them on, looking down over the massed heads of the Tenth and trying to see what was happening with the cavalry. Longinus would have to break the enemy horsemen. If he didn’t, the legions would have to face skirmishing cavalry, and they could be in trouble. Fronto strained to see.

  The cavalry were making headway against the mounted tribesmen and, as soon as the beleaguered Helvetii realised this, their horsemen pulled back and around the flanks of the main bulk of the tribe. As they melted away and Longinus’ riders reformed into a coherent unit, Fronto saw something happen among the enemy that he’d never have expected to see in this barbarous land. The front ranks of the Helvetii formed up into what could only be called a phalanx! He couldn’t believe there had been much contact between these people and the Greek world of the east. Perhaps amongst them were learned men who’d read the military histories? Whatever the reason, there was no other way to describe the manoeuvre.

  Longinus and his men were obviously equally struck with disbelief. The unit milled about in confusion as the cavalry troopers stared at the unusually strategic Helvetian advance. Unfortunately, as they dithered too long, the front ranks of enemy spearmen met the cavalry with enough force to remove some of the men from their horses. With a quick shout, Longinus drew the cavalry away from the front of the phalanx. The riders split into two groups that peeled off in opposite directions and cantered around the lowest slope of the hill to take up a reserve position for when they may later be needed to flank the enemy.