Marius’ Mules IV
Conspiracy of Eagles
“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 my beautiful Callie Sophia, born December 2011, whose haranguing melts my brain, but whose smile melts my heart.
I would also like to thank Alex Morley and Jenny T whose proofing and editing skills prevented this book from reaching you in an unreadable state, a community of amazing people who have kept me at it and encouraged me (Nick, Robin, Alun, Kate, Michael, Tony, Gordon, Rob, Mike and Gareth to name but a few) and last but certainly not least, the fabulous authors of the Historical Writers’ Association, who are genuine, friendly, helpful and supportive and whose works spur me to ever greater heights of imagination.
Published in 2012 by Simon Turney
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.
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THE MARIUS’ MULES SERIES:
Marius’ Mules: The Invasion of Gaul (2009)
It is 58 BC and the mighty Tenth Legion, camped in Northern Italy, prepare for the arrival of the most notorious general in Roman history: Julius Caesar. Marcus Falerius Fronto, commander of the Tenth is a career soldier and long-time companion of Caesar's. Despite his desire for the simplicity of the military life, he cannot help but be drawn into intrigue and politics as Caesar engineers a motive to invade the lands of Gaul. Fronto is about to discover that politics can be as dangerous as battle, that old enemies can be trusted more than new friends, and that standing close to such a shining figure as Caesar, even the most ethical of men risk being burned.
Marius’ Mules II: The Belgae (2010)
57BC. The fearsome Belgae have gathered a great army to oppose Rome and Fronto and the legions assemble once more to take Caesar’s war against the most dangerous tribes in the northern world. While the legions battle the Celts in the fiercest war of Caesar’s career, the plots and conspiracies against him, both at Rome and among his own army, become ever deeper and more dangerous.
Marius’ Mules III: Gallia Invicta (2011)
It is 56BC. As Fronto and his friends winter in Rome and Caesar in Illyricum, trouble is brewing in the north. The tribes of Armorica, driven to desperate action by the harsh rule of Crassus, raise their standards in defiance of the Roman eagle, causing a chain reaction that threatens everything the legions of Caesar have achieved. Can the general's commanders stamp out the fires of rebellion before the whole of Gaul is ablaze? Meanwhile, in Rome, the conspiracies against Caesar take an unexpected turn, plunging Fronto and his friends into a world of crime, violence and intrigue that threaten everything the legate cares about. The city is in turmoil and the republic is teetering on the brink of disaster. In a year that takes the legions and their commanders to the heaving Atlantic Ocean, the treacherous valleys of the Pyrenees, and the seething underbelly of the greatest city in the world, everything is about to change for Marcus Falerius Fronto.
TALES OF THE EMPIRE (HISTORICAL FANTASY)
Interregnum (2009)
For twenty years civil war has torn the Empire apart; the Imperial line extinguished as the mad Emperor Quintus burned in his palace, betrayed by his greatest general. Against a background of war, decay, poverty and violence, men who once served in the proud Imperial army now fight as mercenaries, hiring themselves to the greediest lords. On a hopeless battlefield that same general, now a mercenary captain tortured by the events of his past, stumbles across hope in the form of a young man begging for help. Kiva is forced to face more than his dark past as he struggles to put his life and the very Empire back together. The last scion of the Imperial line will change Kiva forever.
Ironroot (2010)
Captain Varro of the Fourth army is about to have the worst day of his life. Wounded in battle and fearing for his life and his future, he stumbles upon a plot that reaches deep into the past and into the roots of everything in which he believes. Accompanied by a young engineer from his unit and the daughter of his commander in chief, he begins to unpeel layers of treachery and murder that threaten not only himself, but the people that he loves. Ironroot is a tale of treason and revenge set in the world of the Interregnum, some twenty years after the events of that book.
Dark Empress (2011)
The desert nomads have a saying: "When something is broken it should never be discarded. So long as the pieces remains, the whole can be remade." A time of trials, war and terror is coming to the desert city of M'Dahz, the Empire's southern bastion. As the Empire's government falters and crumbles, the people suffer. But Samir, Ghassan and Asima, childhood friends and citizens of M'Dahz, are about to discover that while people change the world, the world also changes people and that the best and worst of folk are forged in hardship.
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Dramatis Personae (List of Principal Characters)
The Command Staff:
Gaius Julius Caesar: Politician, general and governor.
Aulus Ingenuus: Commander of Caesar’s Praetorian Cohort.
Cita: Chief quartermaster of the army.
Quintus Atius Varus: Commander of the Cavalry.
Quintus Titurius Sabinus: Senior lieutenant of Caesar.
Lucius Aurunculeius Cotta: Lieutenant of Caesar
Quintus Tullius Cicero: Staff officer and brother of the great orator.
Titus Labienus: Senior lieutenant of Caesar.
Mamurra: Famous engineer favoured by Caesar
Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus: Former primus pilus of the Tenth, now camp prefect of the army.
Seventh Legion:
Quintus Tullius Cicero: Legate and brother of the great orator.
Titus Terrasidius: Senior Tribune.
Publius Tertullus: Junior Tribune.
Gaius Pinarius Rusca: Junior Tribune.
Lutorius: Primus pilus of the Seventh
Lucius Fabius: Centurion of the third century, first cohort
Tullus Furius: Centurion of the second century, first cohort
Eighth Legion:
Decimus Brutus: Legate and favourite of Caesar’s family.
Titus Balventius: Primus pilus & veteran of several terms of service.
Aquilius: Training officer, senior centurion and perfectionist.
Ninth Legion:
Publius Sulpicius Rufus: Young Legate of the Ninth.
Marcus Trebius Gallus: Senior Tribune and veteran soldier.
Grattius: primus pilus, once in sole command of the Ninth.
Tenth Legion:
Marcus Falerius Fronto: Legate and confidante of Caesar.
Gaius Tetricus: Military Tribune, expert in military defences.
Crito: Veteran tribune of two years.
Servius Fabricius Carbo: Primus Pilus.
Atenos: Centurion and chief training officer, former Gaulish mercenary
Petrosidius: Chief Signifer of the first cohort.
Eleventh Legion:
Aulus Crispus: Legate, former civil servant in Rome.
Quintus Velanius: Senior Tribune.
Titus Silius: Junior Tribune.
Twelfth Legion:
Servius Galba: Legate.
Gaius Volusenus: Junior Tribune.
Publius Sextius Baculus: Primus pilus. A distinguished veteran.
Thirteenth Legion:
Lucius Roscius: Legate and native of Illyricum.
Fourteenth Legion:
Lucius Munatius Plancus: Legate and former staff officer.
Menenius: Junior tribune
Hortius: Junior tribune
Cantorix: Centurion in the Third cohort.
Other characters:
Quintus Balbus: Former Legate of the Eighth, now retired. Close friend of Fronto.
Faleria the elder: Mother of Fronto and matriarch of the Falerii.
Faleria the younger: sister of Fronto.
Corvinia: Wife of Balbus, legate of the Eighth.
Lucilia: Elder daughter of Balbus.
Balbina: Younger daughter of Balbus.
Galronus: Gaulish officer, commanding auxiliary cavalry under Varus.
Publius Clodius Pulcher: Powerful man in Rome, enemy of Caesar and conspirator, responsible for multiple crimes.
Prologue
Publius Curiatius pulled the cloak tightly about him, trying to wrap himself in nonchalance as he sidled from the door, his business with Caesar’s major domo complete. The general himself remained in Illyricum until nearer the campaigning season’s start, but his household thrummed with activity and intrigue at all times, whether the master was present or not.
The street in the Subura was remarkably empty for the time of evening, though the sounds of carousing flowed from nearby streets and alleys. Two men stood huddled at a corner, exchanging some shady goods; a prostitute with a bored expression displayed her wares outside one of the lower class establishments and an ex-soldier with a disfigurement sat in the shit of the gutter swigging from a cheap jar of wine.
The district was usually a lively one, and not for the highest class citizens. Yet Caesar still maintained his house there, where his family had always dwelled, despite his sisters having turned their nose up at the Subura and plumped for better class locales.
Pulling the hood of the cloak down to help disguise his features, Curiatius shuffled along the street quickly, his fine sandals already ruined by the muck and filth of the street. Not far and he would be able to throw open his own door and hurry inside to the safety and warmth of the triclinium and the meal that would be waiting for him.
Turning, he moved into an alley just in time to see the tavern shutters slam closed. He shrugged as he hurried on. This was no time to go frequenting cheap bars. Not for the first time tonight, he wondered whether he should have brought guards with him, but the head of the household servants had been explicit that he should come alone.
“A bad time to explore the Subura” a voice called out from behind. Curiatius turned, his heart lurching, to see a cloaked figure silhouetted at the alley end whence he had entered. The only detail he could make out other than the shape of a cloaked man was the sword that extended from his right hand, gleaming in the reflected light from the street. “The time all the taverns start to get bawdy and dangerous. Gentlemen should be safely in their own homes now.”
Curiatius felt his bladder weaken and turned back, hurrying on into the gloom of the alley.
Another cloaked figure stepped out of the next crossing in the alley, again in silhouette, again with a blade extended from his right hand.
“Tut tut tut. You are a busy boy, aren’t you?” the shadow offered.
Curiatius skidded to a halt, his bladder close to giving up the ghost. “I’m not worth the trouble. I have no money on me but I will be missed.”
“I think you overestimate your importance, Publius Curiatius.”
They knew him by name? This was no random mugging. Curiatius backed against the wall at the alley’s side. “Whatever you want, I can pay you well to leave me alone!”
“I thought you said you had no money?”
He was suddenly aware that the two men were now moving forward, converging on him. Panic began to set in as the first warm trickle issued down his thigh, staining his toga. Turning, he moved a few feet along the wall to the recently-closed tavern. It may be shut to new custom, but the night’s visitors were still inside, carousing at full volume.
“Help me!” he yelled, hammering on the shutter with his fists. “Help!” But the noise inside was immense and no one was paying any attention to him.
“Hel…” Curiatius’ voice tailed off as he looked down in surprise at the foot of tapering Noric steel projecting from his chest. He gasped, a gobbet of blood bursting from his mouth to spatter the shutter. With a meaty sound the blade withdrew. Surprise somehow overcoming the shocking pain that was already beginning to build to unbearable levels, Curiatius collapsed to the dung-stained pavement and fell, rolling onto his back, blood pumping from the exposed and exploded heart both up and down through the hole, spreading out in rivulets between the cobbles.
His killer bent low, engaged in light conversation with his partner, and wiped the blade – an exquisite gladius with an ivory grip and orichalcum hilt embossed with divine images – clean on his finest toga.
The young, ambitious equestrian felt the life ebb from him and wished with his last few ounces of strength that he’d never even heard the name Caius Julius Caesar.
PART ONE: GERMANIA
Chapter 1
(Puteoli, near Neapolis, on the Campanian coast)
Marcus Falerius Fronto, confidante of Caesar, legate of the Tenth Equestrian Legion, Roman citizen, Patrician and hero of the Gaulish wars, sulked and dragged his feet.
“Come on or we’ll be late for the meal.” Lucilia Balba rolled her eyes as she cast a despairing look at her man. There were times when Fronto appeared not to have passed his seventh year of childhood.
Amid the hum of nature, Fronto gave her a cantankerous frown and glanced over his shoulder as he adjusted the new silken tunic that clung all too tight to his scarred, lean frame and, to his mind, made him look a little too feminine.
The Forum Vulcani loomed almost a mile distant, the ring of jagged rock standing high around a white-yellow crater that jetted and fumed continually with spurts of steam and sprays of hot mud. Despite his almost legendary pragmatism, the Forum Vulcani continued to hold a certain unspoken trepidation for Fronto. He knew the gurgling mud and jets of steam were simply the work of Vulcan’s forge beneath the world but in the stories of his youth, told by the elders and menfolk of coastal Campania, the great bubbling, steaming horseshoe was the entrance to Hades. His childhood best friend Laelius had once sworn he saw a great three-headed dog prowling amid the jets. It was impossible to shake off the dread, despite his adult practicality.
And this infuriating woman had brought him here to lounge in the steam and slap stinging hot mud on his more scarred and ugly patches of skin in the crazed belief that being thoroughly coated with grey-brown sludge was somehow ‘healing’. It certainly hadn’t made his bones ache less or removed the burgeoning hangover, though the faint scalding sensation that had reddened much of his flesh had at least taken his mind off the left knee that had started to give these days if he walked up and down hills too often.
“The meal can wait for us. I’m the patriarch of the house, remember?”
“Yes, dear. You’re a fine patriarch, but you’ll be a fine patriarch with a charred meal and a furious sister if we don’t hurry.”
Fronto gave the great steaming mountain a suspicious frown – he thought he’d seen it move for a moment – and turned back to face the mass of Puteoli ahead and below, not quite in time to avoid treading in a large pile of dung deposited by one of the numerous trade caravans that had come here from the other great port nearby, at Neapolis.
“Shit!”
“Indeed, my love. Horse-shit, I fear.”
Fronto grumbled and hoisted the leather bag with their wet clothes higher onto his shoulder so t
hat he could concentrate on wiping his rough military-issue sandals on the kerb to remove the worst of the ordure.
Lucilia gave him an odd smile and then turned away, humming a happy little tune as she picked up the pace a little, strolling down the hill toward the expansion work on the small amphitheatre – pride of the council of Puteoli.
Briefly, Fronto cast a longing gaze down the slope. Spring had come to Puteoli, bringing a bounteous spray of flora, whose scent almost managed to mask the salt tang of the sea. Bees buzzed and cicadas chirruped, birds sang and unidentified wildlife rustled all along both sides of the road that led from Neapolis to Puteoli via the Forum Vulcani. But it was not the bounty of nature or the sheer joy of spring that drew his hungry gaze.
Somewhere, down beyond the oval amphitheatre and past the various baths and temples, right down toward the port, looking out over the water to the distant hump of Baia and the mound of Misenum on the far side of the bay, stood the small building that drew his thoughts. The ‘Leaping Dolphin’ was a tavern that served wine of questionable quality, allowed some of the more unsavoury types to abuse its hospitality, hosted theoretically-fair dice games, and showcased some of the cheaper exotic women in the region.
That tavern had drained his purse every winter since he’d been of age to join the military. And yet this year, he’d not put a foot across its threshold.
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