Marius' Mules

by S. J. A. Turney

  Fronto, Balbus and Velius hauled themselves up on to their mounts and joined the already seated Procillus and Mettius.

  “Let’s go.”

  The column left at a gentle walk through the north gate of the camp, Velius shouting commands at the men, Fronto muttering and the two ambassadors whistling a catchy and happy tune.

  It was early afternoon in a defile between two ridges when Fronto felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck. He pulled his horse forward to fall in line beside Balbus.

  “Quintus?”

  “Hmm?” Balbus turned his head lazily, a happy smile gracing his lined face.

  “How far do you think we are from the German camp yet?”

  Balbus shrugged.

  “According to the last reports, it should be about seven miles away I should think.”

  Fronto lowered his voice.

  “If that’s the case, their pickets are a long way out aren’t they?”

  As Balbus raised an eyebrow, Fronto leaned slightly closer.

  “I’ve seen men moving in a dozen places while we’ve been speaking. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Balbus glanced ahead to where Procillus and Mettius rode side by side chatting, and whispered back.

  “We need to pull the ambassadors back then, into the protection of the cavalry.”

  Fronto nodded.

  “Damn that Caesar. We’re not allowed to fight them. I’ll move slowly and casually ahead and get the others back with us.”

  Balbus nodded and slowed his pace slightly, allowing Velius and the guard to catch up with him.

  “Velius? There’s men around us.”

  Velius nodded with the slightest movement.

  “I’ve been watching them for a while. There’s got to be at least a hundred of them. Germans. What do we do, sir?”

  “Fronto’s gone ahead to get the ambassadors. I think you need to pull the column into a four-by-five formation. Two lines is too flimsy if we’re attacked. Once they’re back, we’ll get them in the middle of the column and move on. If we meet too much resistance, we’ll turn round.”

  A shout from ahead caught their attention, and they glanced up to see Fronto and the two ambassadors unhorsed. Balbus turned and cried to the troops.

  “To arms, four columns and…”

  His sentence uncompleted, the legate was hurled from his horse as it reared. Men on either side of the defile had hauled on ropes and the lines had tightened and rose, sometimes under the horses’ bellies, sometimes across their chests. As Balbus rolled painfully and came up to his feet, he realised that the whole column was in turmoil, horses rearing and wheeling, some riders unhorsed, others clinging on for dear life. He looked around quickly until he saw Velius, also climbing to his feet.

  “Centurion! Help me cut these ropes.”

  Velius staggered round for a moment, dazed, before drawing his blade and laying into the ropes that had halted the column. Near him, Balbus sawed at ropes. Gradually the cavalry untangled themselves and remounted. Fortunately, the Germans seemed to be interested only in stopping the unit, and not a single warrior entered the defile.

  Balbus reared up suddenly and turned to look ahead. There was no sign of Mettius or of Procillus, and the figure of Fronto lay in a heap in the middle of the path. Balbus started to run. Moments later Velius overtook him and the thundering of hooves announced the cavalry.

  Balbus was still second to reach Fronto, though Velius was already crouched over him.

  “He’s alive, but there’s a lot of blood.”

  One of the cavalry dismounted and rushed over.

  “He’s quite stable, but we need to get him back as soon as possible. He’s had a nasty gash to his leg, probably tipped him out of his saddle and there’s a fairly nasty wound on his skull from where he landed.”

  Balbus squinted at the man in the bright sunlight.

  “You’re a capsarius?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Take my horse. Get him back to the camp immediately.”

  He turned to face the centurion.

  “Velius, you go with him. Get him back and tended. The rest of us are going to check around and see if we can find out what happened.”

  Velius nodded and, helping the capsarius manhandle Fronto onto the legate’s horse, he turned to face Balbus as he began to mount.

  “Be very careful sir. This was organised well in advance, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they hadn’t moved their camp closer to us. You could wander into it without even realising in these hills.”

  Balbus smiled.

  “I know what I’m doing, Velius. I’m no green recruit. Just take care of Fronto.”

  He turned and walked off down the defile, followed by the cavalry leading their horses, as Velius and the capsarius led Fronto back toward the legions.

  Chapter 18

  (In camp between Vesontio and the Rhine)

  “Fossa: Defensive ditches, such as those constructed round a Roman camp or fort.”

  Fronto reached gingerly to the back of his head and prodded the wound. Shining shards of glass exploded in his brain and he almost blacked out. Leaning forward with his hands on his knees he vomited copiously on the tent floor before Florus could get to him with the bowl. The young capsarius had insisted on dealing with the legate personally.

  “With all due respect, sir, if you keep prodding it, you’re going to pull your brain out soon!”

  Velius frowned at the young man.

  “What is it with you medical types? You were a nice quiet lad when you were a legionary. Now you’re a capsarius, you’d talk down to a bloody God!”

  Florus turned to the centurion.

  “Why are you here again, sir?”

  Velius harrumphed but fell quiet. One of the senior doctors had already ejected him from the tent twice. The sound of voices outside came to his attention and moments later the tent flap was hauled back and Balbus, Caesar and Longinus entered.

  “Fronto, you look terrible.”

  Velius grinned.

  “He just tried to stir his brain with his finger, sir.”

  Longinus smiled.

  “I brought you some wine, but I think I should keep it for a day or two until you’re a bit better.”

  Caesar looked down at the capsarius as he finished cleaning up and rose.

  “How is he? Is he going to be fit for active duty soon or is he out of action now until next season?”

  Florus looked up at Caesar. Gone was his wide eyed deferential shyness. This Florus was far removed from the young man on the hill before the battle with the Helvetii. Months of dealing with horrifying wounds, up to his elbows in blood and guts had hardened him. He regarded Caesar with a very professional look.

  “It appears worse than it is sir. In a couple of days he’ll think he’s invincible again. The actual physical damage is remarkably light. He’ll have a slight limp with the wound on his leg, but it should barely slow him down. The blow to the head created a hairline fracture, but doesn’t appear to have done too much. The bone’s thicker there for some reason, and it seems to have helped protect him.”

  Velius grimaced. He remembered the day Fronto had found the body of Cominius and the blow he’d received when he slipped on the blood. He looked up as Florus was still talking.

  “Now he’s mostly suffering from a concussion. It’ll be at least a day before he starts making real sense.”

  Longinus laughed.

  “My dear doctor, you don’t know Fronto. It’ll be a miracle if he does make sense; he’s never done it before!”

  Caesar smiled down at the wounded legate, who was gazing in a confused way at his own knees. He had started to drool a little.

  “Well I was thinking I’d best update Fronto with what we know, but I’d obviously better leave that until later.”

  Velius stood and approached Caesar.

  “Sir, with Fronto out of it, the primus pilus will be in control of the Tenth again, and I’d best report anything to hi
m.”

  Balbus nodded his agreement.

  “Best keep Priscus informed, General.”

  Caesar sighed wearily.

  “Balbus found the camp not ten minutes from the ambush site. They were nine miles from here then. Subsequent scouts have recorded it as little more than five miles away now. If you look hard, you can see the smoke from their fires. They’re at the foot of a hill and I cannot fathom the man’s intentions. If he were going to attack, he could have been on us long before now. They must be playing for time, waiting for reinforcements or some such. Anyhow, it seems that Mettius and Procillus were alive yesterday at least. They were spotted chained up near the camp’s centre.”

  Velius interrupted the general in full flow.

  “Permission to put together a rescue party?”

  Caesar frowned at him.

  “Interrupting me is a good way to find yourself in trouble, centurion. No, you may not have permission. I’m not wasting valuable men on a foolhardy mission into the middle of the German army. I realise that it was your escort duty and you probably dislike having lost them to the enemy, but the field of battle is the place for retribution. The two of them know that and they won’t expect a rescue attempt.”

  Fronto looked up at the General, his eyes swimming.

  “M’alright. Rescue.”

  Longinus crouched down by the legate and whispered to him.

  “Can I have all your money?”

  Fronto nodded and smiled.

  “Money for Longinus.”

  Balbus grinned and gripped Longinus’ shoulder.

  “Gaius, it’s not nice to mock the afflicted. Come on, lets go and make the most of your wine. You don’t mind if we drink the wine for you, do you Fronto?”

  Fronto smiled happily at Balbus, his head wobbling a little.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  He turned to Caesar, Velius and Florus.

  “Who’d like to join us?”

  Caesar shook his head.

  “I’m afraid I have far too much to do, but thank you for the offer, gentlemen. I need you to stay relatively compos mentis, however. Depending on what Ariovistus does in the next few hours, we need to be ready. I assume both your commands are standing to, along with the other legions?”

  Balbus nodded.

  “The entire army’s on a war footing sir. We can be ready to move into battle at a quarter of an hour’s notice.”

  “Good. I want a meeting in my headquarters at dusk, regardless. You had best find Priscus and tell him. I’ll send word to the other legates.”

  Balbus turned to Florus and Velius.

  “You two coming?”

  Florus looked up and shook his head.

  “Love to sir, but I’m not leaving the legate at the moment. Perhaps later when he falls asleep.”

  Velius’ face split with a wide grin.

  “Why not? I think I have some wine myself somewhere. Where are we going?”

  Balbus and Longinus looked at each other and Balbus turned back to him.

  “Longinus and you are supplying the wine, so I’ll supply the tent. My quarters in around ten minutes. Just give me time to put away the maps and the kit and requisition some more chairs from the quartermaster.”

  As Balbus jogged off at a speed that impressed the others, considering the legate’s advanced years, Longinus turned and grinned at Velius.

  “Well I’ve got nothing to do for ten minutes. Shall we go back in and torment Marcus for a while?”

  “Tempting, but I’ve got to go via our billets and warn the primus pilus about Caesar’s meeting later. He never said whether he wanted me at the meeting. D’you think he does?”

  Longinus smiled.

  “No idea. I suggest you go anyway and then if he doesn’t want you, you can always leave again. Better to be present when unexpected that absent when expected, yes?”

  “Aye.”

  The two of them crossed into the area of the camp set aside for the Tenth and a number of the men saluted and greeted the two as they made their way to the praetorium. Priscus stood on a patch of bare earth with three of the Tenth’s centurions and optios. As the men watched, the primus pilus drew a tactical plan of battle lines in the dirt and motioned where the individual cohorts and centuries would move with his vine staff. The two officers couldn’t hear what he was saying as they approached, but he lashed out with the staff and caught one of the men a ringing blow below the ear before pointing back to the earth. Longinus raised an eyebrow and looked at Velius.

  “That’s Arius, our most junior optio. I don’t think Priscus likes him much; thinks he’s thick. He might just be right.”

  Longinus frowned.

  “He’s going to be thick if he keeps getting clouted round the ears. I might have to have a quiet word with your primus pilus sometime soon. Or maybe with Fronto.”

  Velius shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t worry over much about it, sir. Priscus knows what he’s doing. Young optios get hit on occasions. It’s part of the training and promotion process. When I started out in the Tenth the primus pilus was an evil old bastard who treated me like something he trod in. In fact, he did tread in me occasionally. Tremendous old sod, though. It breeds tough men.”

  Longinus smiled at the grizzled centurion. It occurred to him that everyone who met Velius seemed to complain about him vehemently for a while and then began to appreciate the man. If he’d had that kind of officer in the Ninth, he might have been tempted to make a go of his legionary command. Still, he was happy with command of the horse. He reined himself in from his wandering thoughts as the two of them reached the primus pilus.

  Priscus turned and saluted at Longinus.

  “Morning sir. Touring the camp?”

  “Just dropping by with a message, Priscus. Caesar’s called a meeting at dusk and you’re going to have to attend.”

  Priscus frowned and shifted to Velius.

  “Why, how’s the legate?”

  Velius grinned.

  “Confused. And very prone to suggestion. If you want anything at the moment, I’d go and get him to sign it over. He’d probably sign away his year’s pay if you asked him.”

  Priscus laughed.

  “I could do with a few things. Might go and see him in a bit. Still, I guess that means that I’m in sole command for now. Seems to be happening quite a lot at the moment. Where are you two off to then?”

  Longinus waved the jug of wine.

  “Going to Balbus’ tent to test the quality of this. Coming?”

  Priscus wavered for a moment, then shook his head.

  “Can’t really, sir. Too much to do without Fronto here.”

  Velius winced.

  “Need me here?”

  “No, I’ll manage. Just don’t get plastered. I’ll certainly need you later.”

  Velius nodded as they turned and made their way toward the area allocated to the Eighth. Balbus’ tent would be in the praetorium. As they approached the periphery, the guards assigned to patrol the edge moved forward to challenge them. The javelins were levelled and then one of them said something to the other and they were lifted again.

  “Pass, friends.”

  Longinus cocked an eyebrow at Velius.

  “What do you suppose that was about?”

  The centurion grinned.

  “I’ve noticed that a lot of the Eighth’s officers avoid eye contact with me. I think I might have frightened them a little when we defended the wall at Geneva.”

  A voice behind them pulled them up short.

  “Longinus!”

  They turned to see Crassus marching at high speed toward the Eighth’s camp. As he approached the perimeter, the guards stepped forward and levelled their weapons.

  “Halt! Who goes there?”

  “Get out of my way you idiots unless you want to be beaten to death.”

  The two men dithered for a moment and, Longinus noticed, both looked at Velius who gave a barely perceptible nod.

&nb
sp; “Pass, friend.”

  The javelins were put back up.

  Crassus walked straight up to Longinus, apparently ignoring Velius altogether.

  “Longinus, I want to talk about the cavalry.”

  Longinus glanced sidelong at Velius and then sighed.

  “What about the cavalry.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it and I think you need to reorganise.”

  “What?”

  Crassus grounded his staff and leaned forward on it, emphasising his words with a waving finger.

  “You’re going to be up against around six thousand cavalry when we meet the Germans. I know they’re only barbarians, but that’s far more than we’ve ever fought in one group.”

  Longinus growled.

  “I’m aware of the odds, Crassus.”

  “Are you also aware of the danger of having your auxiliary cavalry so separate from the regulars?”

  “Crassus, I’m tired and I’m bored and you’re annoying me. Get to the point.”

  Crassus’ face was slowly gaining in colour.

  “Nearly all of your auxiliary alae are controlled by Gauls. They’ve got more in common with the Germans than with us. What makes you think they won’t just turn round and join Ariovistus? You should split your regulars among the Auxilia to keep them in line. Use your prefects and decurions to lead them.”

  Longinus sighed again.

  “Crassus, the Auxilia fight much better under their own leaders than under ours. They feel more loyalty and the Gauls understand their troops’ fighting techniques better. And they hate the Germans probably more than we do. You may be a big man in Rome, and you may even be a competent legionary commander, but you’re not a horseman and you don’t understand the cavalry. Kindly stop sticking your nose in where it’s not wanted and go put it back up the General’s backside, where you habitually keep it.”

  As Crassus’ mouth opened and closed, trying to find words through his rage, Longinus turned his back on the man and walked off. Velius trotted to catch up and, once they were out of earshot, turned to Longinus, grinning.