FIELDS OF MARS

by S. J. A. Turney

  The senator in the general’s kit on the next horse gave Caesar a disbelieving look, and Caesar smiled. ‘Lucretius, the very sight of you offends me, given how many unpleasant lies you spread in Rome about me, but if I killed every man who lied about me I’d be able to climb to the gods themselves on the pile. Go away. To Rome or to one of your estates or even to Pompey’s side if you wish. But go.’

  Fronto caught sight of a hint of irritation on Antonius’ face – the man who had spent days negotiating to take Sulmona and this man, only to watch Caesar immediately free him, but the expression quickly turned to an understanding nod. It was a politically astute move. Salvius Cursor’s face could have withered the rind from a melon.

  Lucretius did not wait to be told twice. Turning his horse without a word of gratitude, he rode off along the low ground, then up the slope, angling for the wide gap between legionary camps.

  ‘See that the pickets don’t stop him,’ Antonius nodded to two of his cavalrymen, who rode off after the senator, calling to him.

  ‘This offer is open to Corfinium just as it was to Sulmona,’ Caesar announced. ‘Think upon it while we begin our siege works. My quarrel is with a senate who refuse to grant me simple deserved concessions, not with the army, the people, or even with Ahenobarbus here.’

  Without another word, Caesar turned and rode away. Leaving the seething Ahenobarbus surrounded by officers who looked half-convinced. The rest of the staff officers fell in behind the general, his cavalry bodyguard bringing up the rear.

  ‘What now, General?’ Curio asked quietly.

  ‘Now? Now we circumvallate. Throw up as solid a circuit of defences as we can. Every sod we pile up and every stake we drive in will shake their resolve and edge them toward accepting my generous offer.’

  * * *

  It took four days. Fronto was standing atop the newly-raised rampart that crossed the low ground to the east of Corfinium when the commotion began. By the time he had mounted and ridden toward the city gate, the staff and several centuries of steel-clad veterans were there too.

  Corfinium opened like a punctured and upturned pomegranate. From the gate issued officers in red tunics and burnished steel and bronze, members of the town ordo in togas and even a priest with his head covered as though this were some kind of religious ceremony.

  Caesar appeared on the observation point opposite in all his glory once the pomegranate had scattered its red seeds into the low ground. He looked magnificent on his white horse with red cloak and gleaming cuirass. Everything the man did was calculated, even his attire, and Fronto wondered if Caesar had dressed like this in the privacy of his tent every morning against the possibility that this might happen.

  A notable absence among the scattered seeds, to Fronto’s eye, was Ahenobarbus.

  There was a brief confab among the emerging figures, and two set off forward together, one in a toga and the other in the uniform of a senior tribune. Behind them the priest started to follow, but was hauled back by one of the other officers. The two leaders approached the half-built defences and stopped fifty paces from the line of burnished steel atop it.

  ‘Proconsul,’ opened the tribune, ‘I, Tiberius Ulpius Fullo, represent the combined officer corps of the garrison of Corfinium, and this man represents the town’s ordo. We wish to enquire as to whether your terms stand, or whether our continued defiance has cost us the friendship of Rome’s most famous son?’

  Caesar walked his horse down toward the deputation and waved the shield wall of soldiers to the side. ‘I do not think we need so fear two unarmed men, eh?’ The centurion chuckled as he moved the men aside. Fronto and the other senior officers followed Caesar into the open.

  ‘My quarrel,’ Caesar announced, ‘as I keep stating, is with the vicious, barbed tongues of certain corrupt senators, not with any of the Roman people. I do not desire war in any way. In fact, it is my chief goal to conclude matters without any conflict at all if possible. So in answer to your question, my terms most definitely stand. Corfinium may continue to live free and govern itself. Its garrison will be allowed to take a new oath to me and join my forces, who are heroes of the republic and the vanquishers of the Gauls, and the officers may do as they please. Stay, flee, or join me.’

  The two men looked at one another and nodded and finally the tribune bowed his head to Caesar.

  ‘Then we hereby deliver Corfinium into your hands, Proconsul. May her cohorts serve you well. And I, for one, will take your oath and continue to lead my men if that meets with your approval.’

  Caesar nodded and straightened, raising his voice. ‘The surrender of Corfinium is agreed. All officers are free to leave or to retake their oath as they so desire.’

  ‘What of Ahenobarbus?’ Curio murmured.

  ‘He comes now, seething and slinking,’ sneered Salvius Cursor, pointing down at the gate. Domitius Ahenobarbus had emerged from Corfinium in full armour on his horse and with an entourage of eleven lictors bearing their bundles of sticks and axes. Fronto held his breath. Eleven lictors denoted a proconsul. Ahenobarbus was goading Caesar? Bedecked as Caesar’s successor to the proconsulship? He caught sight of the general’s hand on his saddle horn and noted how the fingers dug into the leather, the knuckles whitening. Trailing his lictors – Caesar’s lictors were only evident at appropriate times, and battles and sieges were not among them – Ahenobarbus rode through the sea of officers and councillors as though parting the waves, reining in not far from the general.

  ‘Gaius.’

  ‘Lucius. You are well? Command suits you.’

  ‘It would appear the eel-like silver tongue of the Julii has worked its dark magic once again and torn my forces out from under me like some low, underhand trickster.’

  Caesar shrugged. ‘I offer clemency. Only a fool seeks death unceasingly, Lucius.’

  ‘Your offer extends to me?’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Caesar rolled his shoulders. ‘It does, with a single condition.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You claim the authority and pomp of a position that I have not yet agreed to lay down.’

  ‘The senate made me your successor.’

  ‘A senate whose power over me I do not acknowledge. And who have fled Rome in panic, for justice is coming to the city of Romulus. Until the senate meets once more and a solution to this crisis can be found, then I remain proconsul, and therefore I cannot allow you to claim my rights. You are free to go, but your lictors will stay.’

  Ahenobarbus’ nose wrinkled. ‘How petty. You would deprive me of honours for your own personal amusement.’

  ‘That is the offer, Lucius.’

  ‘Very well,’ snapped Ahenobarbus, dismissing his lictors with a waved hand. ‘But when the senate meets once more, I will see you stripped of every iota of power, honour and respect. Remember that, Gaius.’

  Caesar smiled. ‘Charmed, as always, Lucius.’

  ‘General,’ snapped Salvius Cursor, stepping his horse forward. Fronto’s eyes swung to the tribune, whose face was white with suppressed age. ‘You cannot let this man go.’

  ‘Mind your tone, Tribune,’ Caesar said with a definite edge of steel.

  ‘General, this man is a snake. He is your worst enemy, or at least one of them. He is strong and cunning, and he carries a deal of weight in certain areas of the republic. To release him is to sell your future for a day’s peace now.’

  Ahenobarbus turned to Salvius Cursor. ‘Who is this runt, Gaius?’

  Fronto started to reach out, fearing genuinely that Salvius might just go for the man despite any truce.

  ‘General, listen to me,’ Salvius hissed. ‘If you let this man go you will live to regret the decision. I warn you and counsel you to deal with him now.’

  ‘Can you stop you puppy yapping, Gaius, he’s giving me a headache.’ Ahenobarbus turned the most oily, smug look on Salvius Cursor and this time Fronto did grasp Salvius’ reins just in case. The tribune turned and flashed a look of furious disbelief
at Fronto. He tensed, as if prepared to fight, as Galronus’ hand gripped his reins on the far side.

  ‘See how popular you are, Lucius,’ smiled Caesar. ‘I strongly advise you to run while you can. I have given you my word, but if Salvius Cursor here catches you, I doubt even I could stop him tearing you to shreds.’

  Ahenobarbus’ smug smile faltered for only a moment, and then he nodded. ‘Farewell, Gaius. Until the next time.’ As he wheeled his horse, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Salvius Cursor. ‘And we will meet again also, runt.’

  As the opposition disbanded, some back to Corfinium, others gathering in preparation to lead out the Corfinium legions for their new general, Caesar turned to the small knot of men to his side. ‘I appreciate your concerns, Salvius, and I hold your martial abilities and loyalty in high regard, but there are political niceties to observe at times, and you are no politician. Kindly restrain your temper during future negotiations. Fronto? Galronus? Release him.’

  As the general rode forward to meet his gathering of new officers, Curio, Trebonius and the others riding close at heel, Salvius Cursor turned a look filled with the fires of Tarterus on Fronto. ‘The next time you or your pet barbarian here lay a hand on me or my horse, I will put a blade through it.’

  With a snarl, he rode off in the lee of Caesar’s command party.

  ‘Makes friends easily, doesn’t he?’ smiled Galronus.

  ‘He’d better be as good a soldier as Caesar seems to think, else he’s not worth the trouble,’ Fronto sighed. ‘Still, I dare say we’ll find out soon enough. With Corfinium and Sulmona secured, there’s nothing now that stands between us and Pompey. The runt will get his chance to bare his teeth soon enough.’

  Chapter Three

  9th of Martius - Brundisium

  In all his time serving Rome, Fronto had never travelled further south than Surrentum, across the bay from his home of Puteoli. The ancient lands of Magna Graecia to the south were mysterious. For all his homeland felt very different to the haughty land of Latium or the rougher, more direct charms of the north, the south of Italia was a different world. Still very Greek in its culture, clinging to memories of the war against Carthage that had so ravaged the region for lifetimes.

  He’d not been prepared for how pleasant and rural the entire region had been. If it continued to change like this as you headed south, no wonder Africa was considered Rome’s bread basket.

  The army, bolstered by the forces gathered at Corfinium and now numbering the equivalent of perhaps eight legions, had moved on toward Pompey’s recruitment centre at Teanum in southern Campania but news awaiting them at Aufidena some forty miles south which immediately changed Caesar’s plans.

  Perhaps panicked, spurred on by Caesar’s increasingly powerful army that was closing on his position, Pompey had uprooted his green, untrained legions, along with the First, his single veteran force, and had fled south and east into the heel of the peninsula deep into Magna Graecia.

  Accordingly, Caesar had changed course at the town of Aesernia, following the mountainous Via Bovialis along the spine of the peninsula and making for the south. Two hundred and fifty more miles among the high, forested ridges, gradually descending through the rolling hills to the flat lands of the southeast. And as they passed, so the tide of Italian opinion rolled with them, town after town throwing open their gates and welcoming the proconsul and his army. The great towns of the highlands fell to Caesar without a blade drawn: Benaventum, Aeclanum, Aquilonia, Venusia – where they tarried for some days as Caesar gave thanks to the city’s patron goddess who was his own family’s progenitor – Silvium, and finally, Tarentum on the south coast, home of the feared cavalry who had fought across the Greek world for so many brutal victors.

  At Tarentum, which lay within the arch of Italia’s foot, they felt sure they had cut off Pompey somewhere down the toe toward Sicilia, but news awaiting them there confirmed that Pompey’s army had passed by recently, bound for Brundisium on the east coast. So in order to secure the south, Caesar sent hither the cohorts from Corfinium, rapidly training up now into solid legions, and led the remaining six legions east, penning Pompey and his untrained horde in the heel of the peninsula with nowhere to run.

  Or so they had thought.

  Brundisium sat glowering at them over thick white walls from its near impervious position in the twin arms of a wide ‘U’ shaped harbour that protected three sides of it, the harbour itself connected to the sea by a single channel beyond. The city was large, but nowhere near large enough to hold the sizeable force that Pompey was said to have raised. Moreover, Brundisium was reputed to be one of the busiest ports on the peninsula and yet there were relatively few ships in view,

  A little probing and interrogation produced exasperating answers. Pompey’s entire force had, indeed, arrived here some days earlier, in the company of the consuls of Rome – which came as no surprise. But the consuls had commandeered every available ship, both military and civilian, and had begun to ship the cohorts away one by one at surprising speed. The number of men who had put to sea varied from account to account, but the one thing they held in common was the eyes watering size of the number. The consuls, moreover, had gone with them.

  A little more probing turned up a likely answer. Though several rumoured destinations for the enemy army cropped up, by far the most common was Dyrrachium, on the coast of Illyria, across the Adriaticum. What appeared to be perhaps two legions remained in garrison of Brundisium, though it was said that Pompey remained in personal command of them.

  Fronto stood on the tiny hummock that was what passed for a hill in the region and peered at the well-protected city.

  ‘Do you think he’s controlling it because he thinks he can control southern Italia and the seas from it, or did we just catch up with him before he got out and he ran out of ships temporarily? If he does have two legions they’ll never fit on the few ships left in port.’

  Caesar clicked his tongue irritably. He’d been increasingly fidgety and acerbic since he had discovered that the consuls had escaped the peninsula with the lion’s share of a powerful new army.

  ‘Right now, Fronto, I do not much care why he remains. What I want to do is take him. How do we control the harbour?’

  Pollio tapped his fingers on his arm. ‘The mouth of the channel is narrow. Can we dam it?’

  Brutus shook his head. ‘Too deep. It would take months of work and the sea would constantly erode our work. We could narrow the mouth considerably, mind, building out on the shallower areas with a mole from each side. That would constrict shipping considerably.’

  The others nodded sagely, taking the words as truth from the only one of them who had successfully commanded a fleet in recent years.

  Galronus frowned. ‘Do you have to fill the channel from the bottom to dam it?’

  ‘Last time I heard,’ chuckled Pollio, ‘even if you drop earth from a great height, it still builds up at the bottom.’

  Galronus rolled his eyes. ‘What I mean is… well when we were children, my cousin couldn’t swim. He hated water, but he was a thief. A real little shit. So we made ourselves a secure place to store whatever we didn’t want him to have. We built a wicker raft and packed it with earth and turf, then put a little log hut on it – only a couple of feet square, but enough to keep our stuff dry and safe. Then we floated it out into the pond so he couldn’t get to it.’

  Caesar turned a thoughtful frown on the Remi prince. ‘A novel idea. If these rafts were bigger, then the little wooden house could be more. Perhaps a small fence? Maybe even a tower?’

  ‘The tide would move them,’ Brutus pointed out.

  ‘Not if you tethered them to the new moles. We could effectively seal even the deep water of the channel. Thank you, my Remi friend. We shall do just that and trap the shipping. Have two legions encamp here, blockading the city’s landward wall, and send two around each side of the harbour to begin work on these plans.’

  * * *

  The days passed
in a constant proliferation of forces.

  Caesar’s legions encamped and fortified outside the city, building out the moles that narrowed the harbour mouth. Pompey set masons to blocking the city’s gates and rigged the few ships he had with siege weapons. Caesar’s engineers constructed numerous fighting platforms and floated them out across the water, tethering them to the shore, but Pompey’s ships made continual forays toward them, loosing artillery barrages and sinking platforms with ballista balls, smashing down towers and peppering the men with a barrage of arrows and bolts.

  The first true casualties of the conflict began to make themselves manifest. A medical station was set up on either side of the harbour and bodies began to be incinerated on the pyres. The buoyant mood of the army, undampened even by the discovery that the bulk of the enemy had managed to slip away, was finally brought crashing down into deep unhappiness at the realisation that Roman legionaries and Roman sailors had unleashed the horrors that had killed their companions. The harsh truth of civil war suddenly found a home in each man’s heart, tarnishing his soul.

  But where righteous and confidence driven enthusiasm declined, an iron hard will to win began to take its place. Fronto could see it in every eye. All the way down Italia, the men had not truly thought on what it would mean to face Pompey’s army. Such a thing hadn’t happened for decades, since Marius and Sulla. But now blood had been shed, and that meant that war had truly begun. There were no more illusions.