Marius' Mules XI: Tides of War Read online

  ‘When do we move to Brundisium? Will you wait until the new year for your consulate first?’

  ‘No. We move in days. I have a few small tasks to complete here under the remit of my dictatorship before I can leave Rome in the hands of Servilius Vatia. There are vast numbers of outstanding loans and creditors across Italia since the outbreak of this war, and I need to have them arbitrated and settled, else we will leave behind a land in a disgruntled mood. Plus I need to restore a few key figures to their former strength since Pompey and his friends whittled away their power. Various small tasks that will set the state upon an even keel once more. Once those things are done I can resign the dictatorship and set my focus on more important business. As soon as possible I intend to ride for Brundisium and join the legions. Pompey has had long enough. He will not expect us to move on him until the spring, so we must make good use of the winter.’

  ‘Which brings me to the question that’s been burning for some time,’ Fronto said, trying to keep a note of impatience out of his voice.

  ‘Your role in all this?’

  He nodded. The general had intimated back in Massilia that he needed Fronto on the battlefield and yet every legion had been assigned an officer and sent to Brundisium while Fronto remained in Rome with a few staff officers and a lot of the general’s secretaries and clerks.

  The general smiled. ‘I could not leave the Ninth in the hands of Caelius Rufus. I have concerns about the man’s loyalty, and have decided to leave him in Rome as a magistrate.’

  Fronto’s spirits sank. The Ninth. Recently rebellious and punished. Wonderful.

  Caesar’s smile became sly. ‘No. Not you. I need someone a little more rigid and humourless in charge of them than you. I cannot afford to allow any leeway for the Ninth until they have redeemed themselves and proved their loyalty once more. I have moved Publius Cornelius Sulla to that role for now. Which means…’

  ‘The Tenth.’

  ‘Yes. In our days in Gaul, the Tenth under you were my strongest legion. They were lucky. I need that strength and fortune again. Take your old legion. And I’m assigning Salvius Cursor as your senior tribune, too.’

  Gods, why?

  Caesar’s eyebrow rose quizzically at the look on Fronto’s face. ‘I know you and he are not the best of friends, but he is effective, and the two of you proved to complement one another well at Massilia. I am sure you will do the same in the coming days. I am not in the business of creating families, but of placing excellent officers in the correct position to maximise their value.’

  Fronto nodded, his face twisting with conflicting emotions. Although he had grumbled and complained to his friends about remaining on Caesar’s staff and his desire to return to his family, there was a certain satisfaction to be found in the notion that he would be there now until the end, seeing the conclusion of this stupid war and the restoration of the ordered republic. If there were to be heroes made in his generation, this would be the time they were made. And while self-aggrandizement was not a large part of Fronto’s soul, he was becoming increasingly conscious of the age and awareness of his boys. His own father had bequeathed him little of which to be proud, and he was determined to leave something of import for the twins. One day they would be the voice of the Falerii in the republic, and it would stand them in good stead if their father had been one of those heroes who had brought peace and order back to the republic. And to be given the Tenth, too. His own veteran legion.

  But it was bittersweet. Most of his old comrades in the Tenth were gone. Priscus, Velius, Florus, Fabius, Furius, so many names carved in cold stone. At least there would be Atenos. Carbo had been transferred to the Thirteenth, according to a report Fronto had caught, but the huge, blond, Gallic centurion would still be primus pilus of the Tenth. He would perhaps help keep the unrestrained violence of Salvius Cursor in check until it was time to unleash him.

  ‘You had better put things in order in Rome, Fronto. It would be worth you leaving for Brundisium early. I would like the legion familiar with you by the time I arrive, and without Sulla in charge any more, they are currently under the command of the camp prefect.’

  Fronto nodded and excused himself, assuming that to be a dismissal.

  Moments later he was back through the corridor, across the atrium and out of Caesar’s townhouse. Galronus leaned against the wall opposite, excavating something from his teeth and looking suitably bored.

  ‘Well?’ the Remi nudged as Fronto crossed to him and gestured for them to walk. He fell in alongside the Roman, still rummaging in his mouth.

  ‘I’m assigned to the Tenth and sent to Brundisium straight away. We’re to embark even in the heart of winter.’

  ‘You had best write to Lucilia.’

  ‘Can you not let her know? You’ll have time on your hands.’

  Galronus’ brow creased. ‘She will want to hear from her husband, not his friend. Besides, if you think you’re off to face Pompey without me, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.’

  Fronto huffed. ‘We all have our roles to play. I’m Caesar’s terrier. You’re his iron gauntlet in the senate.’

  ‘I have no intention of sitting in that room full of musty old men telling them what Caesar wants them to do while you march across Greece.’

  ‘Galronus, Caesar will be irked if you leave Rome. He put you in the senate for a reason.’

  ‘Lug’s bollocks,’ said the Remi with a snort. ‘Come on. I need to dig out my sword and lose this stupid wool wrap. How Rome conquered half the world wearing this ridiculous garment, I have no idea.’

  Fronto laughed. ‘He’ll he extremely peeved with you when he gets to Brundisium.’

  ‘Let him be peeved. He knows how useful I can be.’

  * * *

  Brundisium

  ‘Reminds me of the old days,’ Galronus said with a smile, peering at the huge mass of men and tents ahead, corrals of horses, of pack beasts, of cattle and goats, splayed out like a vast temporary city before the walls of the city.

  ‘Reminds me of the last time we were here,’ Fronto said sourly. ‘So close to stopping Pompey’s flight I could almost see his bare arse as he ran. If we’d caught him at Brundisium it would all have been over last year.’

  Galronus rolled his eyes at his friend’s gloomy appraisal and continued along the road. The pickets at the periphery of the massive camp were polite but firm in preventing access without the day’s watchword, and a summoned centurion took note of the baton of command and accepted Fronto’s sealed scroll case containing Caesar’s orders.

  ‘Apologies, Legate,’ the man said with deferential determination, ‘you will understand I’m sure that Pompey may well still have men in Italia, and we have to be extremely careful with security.’

  Fronto nodded and they rode on into the camp. A few yards out of earshot, he snorted. ‘Security. I know they have to look like they’re trying, but I can guarantee that Pompey has at least a dozen pairs of eyes and ears in this camp. We don’t have that luxury, of course, as most of his legions are new-raised in Illyricum, and the rest departed before we arrived here. But Pompey’s wily enough to have left plenty of men behind to infiltrate this force, and even though we’re commandeering every vessel that can transport troops, odd little boats will be crossing with intelligence all the time.’

  Two legionaries and an optio discussing some matter on the main road hurried out of the way as the new arrivals rode towards them, and Fronto slowed.

  ‘Where can I find the Tenth, soldier, and where is the current headquarters of the staff?’

  The optio gestured off to the left. ‘The Tenth are on the shore of the northern harbour, sir, and the headquarters is in the city, by the port. Can’t miss it, as it has Caesar’s flag all over it.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  They rode on between the massed lines of legionary tents, each one made to hold eight people. Fronto lost count of the number of grass streets between them, let alone tents. The vexilla of four different legions were v
isible from the road alone. He kept an eye out for anyone he recognised, but there was little chance of spotting a friend in this sea of humanity.

  ‘Where first?’ Galronus muttered, pointing to a wider avenue leading towards the northern branch of the harbour where the Tenth would be quartered.

  ‘Command, first. Confirm our positions, catch up with the latest news and see who’s about. And I want to have a look at the fleet they’ve gathered. You know how much I love the sea. I want a big, steady boat.’

  ‘Ship.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  Their orders were checked once more at the gate to the city, the centurion displaying just as careful and officious a manner as the picket officer. Once inside, Galronus noted with a smile how both men had accepted Fronto’s orders but neither had questioned his companion, who was not mentioned in them.

  Brundisium was an ancient town full of tightly packed housing, but over the years of Roman rule it had gradually changed to display a more grid-like street plan, so finding the forum and then the port was not difficult. He had been to Brundisium once, a year earlier, and on that occasion had only passed inside the walls on one occasion. The place seemed remarkably well-ordered, given that twelve legions had been billeted here.

  The headquarters building was every bit as easy to identify as they’d been led to believe. Facing the port, it was a large building, probably something to do with the city’s council. Three gigantic red banners hung from the eaves of the building, each displaying Caesar’s bull emblem in gold, and two legionaries stood on guard at the main door. Fronto began to make for it, though his eyes strayed across the vessels moored at the port and he frowned.

  ‘I thought a fleet was gathering. This looks more like a fishing expedition.’

  Galronus nodded. ‘Not a lot of room aboard that lot.’

  Fronto could not easily count the ships, as they were moored several deep, with more anchored in the centre of the harbour. Numerically there might be as many ships as he’d expected to see in a fleet for an army this size, but the majority of them were small traders and working boats, and only half a dozen large warships sat among them. They were clearly inadequate for the task, even at first glance.

  Moments later they had left their horses hitched at a rail outside with a soldier tending to them, and were striding into the main room of the headquarters. Half a dozen senior officers were present, discussing matters, poring over maps and lists, but one figure at the desk in the centre rose and smiled at the sight of them.

  ‘Brutus,’ Fronto said warmly, striding over to clasp the man’s hand. ‘Thank the gods. Can you explain the fleet?’

  ‘And hello to you too,’ Brutus replied with a half-smile. ‘Explain?’

  ‘Caesar told me he was gathering a fleet here to take us to Illyricum. He didn’t say you were here, but I should have assumed. How are you planning to fit this army on those paltry ships?’

  Brutus sagged. ‘It’s a problem. And I anticipate only half a dozen more arriving before Caesar is here and wanting to leave.’

  ‘Where are all the big ships?’

  Brutus glanced momentarily towards the window. ‘Greece and Illyricum. Pompey took every ship he could find when he left last year. There aren’t many in this entire region. Half the ones you see out there have come a hundred miles. We set a minimum size limit, and most ships above it are with Pompey. His navy is reportedly enormous.’

  ‘What of Caesar’s fleets in the west?’

  ‘Fronto, they’re busy. Squadrons assigned to Hispania to keep things settled there, some at Sicilia. Others guarding the grain shipments. Very few are coming through the straits below Sicilia for fear that the governor of Africa will sink them as they try. He has a small fleet of his own. All we have is what we can gather from the eastern Italian coast.’

  Galronus leaned in. ‘Could you not have built ships? You had twelve built in thirty days at Massilia.’

  Brutus nodded. ‘With adequate supplies and skills, we did. There we had shipyards, veteran sailors and shipbuilders and everything we needed, including good wood. Here we have nothing. Before Pompey’s force departed they ravaged the area. The shipyards are bare. All equipment was taken with them, and it appears he took every able bodied shipbuilder with him too. The man might have run, but he was thorough in doing so. He took everything he needed to build and maintain and left us nothing. It would take months to bring in the manpower and equipment and put the shipyards to rights. We don’t have that time. Caesar wants to sail while there’s still frost on the world.’

  Fronto nodded gloomily.

  ‘So,’ Brutus sighed, ‘all we can do is load on as many troops as we can and take them blindly into a sea patrolled by a vast enemy navy, then have them return and repeat the journey as many times as necessary to transport the army.’

  ‘Joy abounds,’ Fronto said with a sour face. ‘I’m beginning to dislike Brundisium.’

  ‘On a brighter note, you’re here to command the Tenth?’

  Fronto nodded.

  ‘And Galronus? The cavalry?’

  ‘We’re not quite sure yet. He’s supposed to be in the senate battering senators into line, but doesn’t want to miss the fun.’

  Brutus laughed. ‘Caesar will be pleased. Anyway, I suggest you head to your command and then join me and the others for the evening meal and we can tell you all, while you can update us on what’s happening in Rome.’

  A quarter of an hour later, Fronto and Galronus emerged from the city gate once more and angled to the north. The camp of the Tenth was well-ordered and Fronto nodded with satisfaction. Offering the password that he’d been given at the port, they were admitted to the camp and made for the headquarters.

  The large, rigid tent was dimly-lit with two oil lamps, and as Fronto stepped inside he had to take a moment to allow his eyes to adjust.

  Lucius Salvius Cursor rose from behind the desk with a stiff, formal salute.

  ‘Legate. Welcome to Brundisium.’

  Fronto returned the gesture with a vague wave of the hand. ‘Shitty to be here. Have you been in camp long? What’s the state of the legion, and who’re the senior officers?’

  Salvius Cursor drummed his fingers on the desk below him. ‘I arrived two days ago to find the legion in good condition. Current manpower is considerably below the mark, as expected, with a total headcount of three thousand eight hundred and twenty seven men and officers, and a little over thirty of those on the sick list. I have put in for extra men from command, and Domitius Calvinus has consented to a reserve of four hundred men for the Tenth. Senior centurion is Atenos, other than that, the cavalry commander and the junior tribunes are all new arrivals from Rome who I do not know. Their names are written down in the ledger there. I hereby relinquish command of the Tenth to you. What are your orders.’

  ‘Gods, man, but you’re bloody stiff.’ Fronto rolled his eyes. ‘Let’s get something straight, Salvius. If we’re going to command the Tenth, we need to be seen to be in concert at all times. If you ever feel the need for one of your violent little outbursts, you need to hold it in until we’re alone. If you’ll extend me that courtesy, then I’ll treat you like a trusted second at all times. Do we have a deal?’

  Salvius Cursor saluted with a nod.

  ‘Good. As for orders, I have no intention of running anything until I have had a meal, a bath, and a night’s sleep. But if you really need something to do, find whoever is in charge of assigning ships and secure the biggest, most stable one for the Tenth and her officers. If we’re going to sail blindly out into a sea filled with enemy warships, I’d rather not be in a small fishing boat.’

  As Salvius Cursor returned to his work, Fronto and Galronus exited the tent once more and paused in the afternoon light, looking around them.

  ‘I might have wanted to return to the family,’ he said, ‘and the gods know I’m not looking forwards to seeing so many Romans butchering one another, but nothing feels like home quite so much as standing in the middle of the T
enth.’

  Home.

  Chapter 2

  Mare Adriaticum, 5th Januarius 48 BC

  The sea-sickness was like an old friend – albeit an unwanted and fairly unpleasant one – compared with Fronto’s main worry. The fleet, a grand moniker that hardly did the ragtag flotilla justice, had embarked the previous day at Brundisium, after Caesar had left as long as he dared for further vessels to arrive. In the end some fifteen thousand legionaries and five hundred cavalry were crammed aboard, featuring vexillations from seven different legions.

  The overnight journey had been one of the tensest times in Fronto’s life, though at least the constant anxiety had left him little time to bother about the contents of his stomach and their repeated casting over the side of the ship. In the fleet of mostly wide and shallow mercantile vessels, only twelve warships had been summoned and most of those were smaller examples, only four having an upper deck. A paltry escort for a cargo of this size and importance.

  There had been a freezing fog when they departed. The officers had bandied about a number of opinions over the wisdom of the timing. There was, for a start, the distinct possibility of collisions in the thick mist; then they would have very little warning if they bumped into an enemy ship, and keeping on course would be extremely difficult, too. On the other hand, the sea would be at least as troublesome for Pompey’s vast fleet, and the fog would hide Caesar’s crossing well. It was a toss of the coin whether the decision was good or bad, but it was made anyway by the general, and Fronto had stood at the rail with ever-watchful eyes in a green face as they set sail.

  That day had been terrifying. Every man on every ship had been silent and subdued, the dense fog suppressing what little sound there was. All Fronto had heard for hours was the creak of wood, the splash of water around the hull and the occasional low commands and calls from the crew. Sometime after noon, the fog began to dissipate, leaving thousands of men soaked through and freezing. The rest of the day was not much of an improvement. With the fog lifted, they could see many miles across the open water, which meant that any passing trireme of Pompey’s could do the same. The journey was a two-day sail and until they were within sight of the Illyrian coast, should they be spotted, there was a good chance that they would find themselves surrounded by a vastly superior fleet long before they disembarked.