The Belgae

  Marius’ Mules by S.J.A.Turney

  Marius’ Mules II

  The Belgae

  “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.”

  Dedicated to my parents, who have supported

  my family and I through good times and bad with

  grace and kindness.

  Also to Rupert and Charlene, best of

  friends and Godparents extraordinaire to Marcus.

  Published in 2010 by YouWriteOn.com

  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.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Published by YouWriteOn.com

  By the same author:

  Marius’ Mules (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.

  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.

  Available from all good online stores.

  For more information visit www.sjaturney.co.uk

  Part One: The Gathering Storm

  Part Two: Pride of the Belgae

  Dramatis Personae (List of Principal Characters)

  The Staff:

  Gaius Julius Caesar: Politician, general, governor of two provinces and conqueror of Gaul.

  Aulus Ingenuus: Commander of Caesar’s Praetorian Cohort.

  Cita: Chief quartermaster of the army.

  Decimus Brutus: Staff officer and favourite of Caesar’s family.

  Gaius Valerius Procillus: Staff officer and ambassador for Caesar.

  Marcus Mettius: Staff officer and ambassador for Caesar.

  Paetus: Camp Prefect, in command of all temporary camp functions.

  Pedius: Staff Officer.

  Plancus: Staff Officer.

  Quintus Atius Varus: Commander of the Cavalry.

  Quintus Titurius Sabinus: Senior staff officer and lieutenant of Caesar.

  Quintus Tullius Cicero: Staff officer and brother of the great orator.

  Titus Labienus: Senior staff officer and lieutenant of Caesar.

  Seventh Legion:

  Crassus: Commander of the Seventh and high ranking statesman.

  Eighth Legion:

  Quintus Balbus: Ageing commander of the Eighth Legion.

  Titus Balventius: Chief centurion of the Eighth Legion, veteran having served several terms of service.

  Titus Decius Quadratus: Prefect of one of the Eighth’s auxiliary detachments.

  Septimius: Romanised Aedui nobleman serving as a prefect in command of the Eighth’s cavalry wing.

  Ninth Legion:

  Publius Sulpicius Rufus: Young commander of the Ninth.

  Grattius: Chief centurion of the Ninth, previously in sole command for some time.

  Salonius: Tribune of the Ninth accused of sewing rebellion among the army at Vesontio the previous year; now fled to Rome.

  Casco: Cavalry prefect.

  Tenth Legion:

  Marcus Falerius Fronto: Commander of the Tenth Legion, Veteran of the Spanish Wars, confidante of Caesar and native of Puteoli in Italy.

  Gaius Tetricus: Military Tribune attached to the Tenth Legion and expert in military defences and earthworks.

  Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus: Chief centurion, or ‘Primus Pilus’, of the Tenth Legion.

  Petrosidius: Chief Signifer of the first cohort.

  Lucius Velius: Senior centurion training officer of the Tenth Legion.

  Lucretius: Chief centurion of the Sixth Cohort.

  Gaius Pomponius: Chief engineer of the Tenth and lesser centurion.

  Lucilius: Prefect of the Tenth’s cavalry wing.

  Florus: Capsarius in the Tenth Legion.

  Eleventh Legion:

  Aulus Crispus: Commander of the Eleventh Legion, ex. Civil servant in Rome.

  Felix: Primus Pilus, or chief centurion of the Eleventh.

  Galeo: Auxiliary prefect attached to the Eleventh.

  Twelfth Legion:

  Servius Galba: Commander of the Twelfth Legion

  Publius Sextius Baculus: Primus pilus of the Twelfth. Long-serving and distinguished veteran.

  Vibius Pansa: Auxiliary prefect attached to the Twelfth.

  PART ONE: THE GATHERING STORM

  Chapter 1

  (Roman military installation outside Vesontio)

  “Quadriga: a chariot drawn by four horses, such as seen at the great races in the circus of Rome.”

  “Foederati: non-Roman states who held treaties with Rome and gained some rights under Roman law.”

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus gestured angrily with his vine staff from his position on top of a supply wagon as he ground his teeth irritably.

  Fronto looked up at his ‘subordinate’, though the word hardly seemed appropriate. A quick glance around confirmed no one was listening within earshot.

  The legate of the Tenth Legion looked tired and haggard. Dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of late nights and long days. Behind him, Aulus Crispus, legate of the Eleventh shook his head, a faint smile lurking somewhere beneath the dust of travel. Fronto growled gently.

  “And hello to you too, Priscus. We’ve come as fast as we could.”

  To illustrate, he gestured up and down himself, bringing attention to the dust and wear. There was a low muttering behind him.

  “What was that?” he barked, rounding on his younger companion.

  Crispus laughed lightly.

  “I said: ‘via every bar between the Pyrenees and Vesontio…’”

  He took one look at Fronto’s face and wisely turned away to tighten a strap
on his horse. Fronto continued to glare at him for a moment and then turned back to the primus pilus of the Tenth.

  “I’d say we’ve done well, myself. We didn’t even get the message ‘til a fortnight ago in Tarraco. All that way in less than two weeks? And with the horses laden with all our gear? Just be bloody grateful we left the cart behind!”

  Crispus smiled benignly.

  “Good afternoon, centurion. Forgive my companion. We made the most of our last night of freedom yesterday at a Gaulish tavern in a village around twenty miles from here. My head is troubling me a little and I suspect Fronto’s is a great deal worse.”

  Fronto grumbled again.

  “The wine they serve in some of these local places tastes like feet and feels like being hit over the head with a brick!”

  “You should try their beer, Marcus. They may make poor wine, my friend, but they excel at the brewing process” Crispus smiled.

  Fronto shot his companion another grim glance and then turned back to his subordinate.

  “What’s all this about, Priscus? We weren’t due to return for almost a month and here we are, back in camp on the calends of April?”

  “Let’s talk as we walk.”

  The primus pilus dropped lightly from the wagon to land on the springy turf, his hob-nailed boots leaving a deep impression. He gestured toward the fortifications and the three men walked onward, Fronto and Crispus wearily leading their horses.

  The camp had changed since Fronto was last here. During the previous season, the legions had spent a while encamped at Vesontio and had fortified their position with a palisade and ditch, their tents raised in orderly rows. Some time early in the autumn, Labienus, who had been assigned to command the six legions and their auxiliary support in the off-season, had decided that a more permanent installation was required.

  Three large forts had been constructed of timber in an arc around the city, on the far bank of the river. The leather campaigning tents had been packed away for next season and the army had settled to ride out the winter in relative comfort. With a large Roman army on the doorstep, Fronto could imagine how well the entertainment industry in Vesontio had done.

  “How are the legions disposed?” young Crispus enquired. “There is insufficient room here for the full army.”

  Priscus nodded.

  “Yessir. Yours and ours are here, along with the Eighth. The Seventh, Ninth and Twelfth are spread out, one entrenched towards the Rhine, one about twenty miles north and the other off to the west. Commander Labienus thought we ought to maintain a presence in the surroundings just in case. The legions have been rotating through the picket camps on a two-weekly basis. It’s all worked quite well, I’d say; Labienus has kept his headquarters in Vesontio, and Crassus has been moving between the three camps keeping the men on their toes and irritable.”

  Fronto nodded.

  “I can quite believe that. So, why the early muster?”

  “Wish I could answer that, but I’m in the dark myself. Caesar sent a courier to Vesontio about a month ago and told Labienus that the legates would be returning during March and the general himself would be here at the start of April. Looks like you’ve beaten him here, but only just.”

  Crispus scratched his unshaven chin.

  “So the other legates are all here then?”

  Priscus nodded.

  “Balbus arrived early last week and has been in and out of the headquarters ever since. Rufus got here three days ago and went straight out to his men to the north. Not seen him since. And Galba came back in the middle of winter. Apparently he felt the Twelfth needed some winter training. Crassus has been lauding him up to Labienus, and I have to admit he’s really worked his men this winter.”

  Fronto grumbled.

  “I expect that means the rest of us look lazy! Crassus’ll think we wasted winter, but Labienus is bright. I expect he’ll know otherwise.”

  Priscus sighed.

  “I am capable of running things here. I did your job quite a lot last year, remember? Balventius, Felix and I kept up regular training and sorties throughout the winter. With all due respect, you’re legates… no one expects you to keep your men fit. That’s our job. You just make occasional decisions and look pretty.”

  Crispus laughed.

  “He has us there, Marcus.”

  As they approached the gate of the first camp, a small knot of guards by the strong palisade came sharply to attention. The three officers returned their salute and drew to a halt. Fronto turned to Crispus and raised an eyebrow.

  “You got ten minutes before you head to the Eleventh?”

  The young legate nodded.

  “They’ve managed months without me. I doubt that another few minutes will cause consternation.”

  Grasping the reins of his companion’s horse, Fronto handed them and his own to a legionary.

  “Have them both fed and watered and brush them down. When you’ve finished with Bucephalus, have him stabled. The legate here will need his horse shortly to head back to the Eleventh, so make sure it’s ready.”

  The soldier nodded, bowed hurriedly, and led the two beasts off in the direction of the Tenth’s cavalry section. As the rest of the legionaries stood aside, Fronto and his companions strode into camp and made for the praetorium at the centre. The men of the Tenth saluted as the three officers passed, and then immediately returned to their tasks. As they reached the command building at the centre, Fronto glanced sidelong at his chief centurion.

  “Alright, Priscus. You always know more about what’s going on than anyone else. Give us the lowdown. I want to be prepared when Caesar arrives.”

  The primus pilus nodded at the guards by the door and gestured inside to his companions. Fronto and Crispus strolled into the main room and behind them Priscus addressed the various clerks in the headquarters.

  “Go about your work elsewhere and take the guards with you. Make sure we’re not disturbed.”

  The actuarii gathered together their wax tablets and scrolls and hurried out, their arms full, bowing awkwardly as they left. Once they were alone, Priscus dropped his helmet and vine staff onto the low table near the door.

  “I can certainly make a healthy guess as to why the general sent for you all.”

  Fronto dropped heavily onto a bench and reached out for a jug of water and a goblet, directing a questioning look to Crispus. The young man joined him on the bench, nodding, and, as Fronto poured two goblets of iced water, Priscus sighed.

  “We’re not popular out here.”

  “Nothing new there,” muttered Fronto. “We spent last year fighting one bunch of Celts on behalf of another bunch of Celts and from their point of view I can see how they might think it’s none of our business.”

  “It’s not just that, Marcus” the primus pilus continued. “If we’d stopped at that, I think there’d be peace now. But the Gauls all thought the legions would be going home. I think we’ve pissed a lot of people off by not just staying in Gaul, but so far outside our own territory. They think we’re here to stay.”

  He reached out for the jar and a goblet.

  “And I think they’re right.”

  Fronto nodded.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind that Caesar already sees an eagle planted in the middle of Gaul with all the tribes in its shadow.”

  Crispus nodded sadly.

  “I do believe that the general intends to climb the cursus honorum until he can reach the very Gods themselves. And the first step to that is to attain a great conquest.”

  A chorus of nods greeted that comment.

  “So what you’re saying,” Fronto glanced at Priscus, “is that trouble’s brewing among the tribes?”

  The centurion nodded.

  “You remember that assembly of the Gaulish chiefs we had at Bibracte last year?”

  A nod.

  “Well that’s some great big annual event. And it’s happened twice this year already. And the worrying thing is, from what I hear, that none of the tribes
allied to Rome were invited to either of them. But the word is that it wasn’t just Gauls either; some German chiefs and the leaders of the Belgae were included.”

  Crispus frowned.

  “Sounds awfully like the northern tribes are gearing up to protest the Roman presence, doesn’t it?”

  Priscus nodded.

  “We’ve had a rash of desertions among the Gaulish levies too. Then there’s the native scouts. They’ve been riding in and out of the city for months, and they all have Labienus’ permission to go anywhere they like. They disappear into the headquarters in Vesontio for a few hours, then resupply and ride out again. Then the next day another one arrives. It’s even got me a bit jumpy, truth be told…”

  “Spies and scouts everywhere… that’s Caesar’s doing. He’ll have had Labienus keeping a very close eye on things while he was away.”