FIELDS OF MARS Page 6

  ‘I’m happy they’re where they are,’ he replied.

  The riders were closing now, and Fronto straightened in his saddle, trying not to look so aged and stooped. He examined them as they arrived. Two men were clearly well-to-do, and a third, older, man had even tried to ride here in a toga, though the result made him look more like a trainee medic’s bandage practice than a noble Roman as he struggled to keep the weighty wool garment even remotely covering him. The rest were young men with the bearing of soldiers or at least men who had the leisure to spend plenty of time training at the bath house.

  ‘Proconsul Caesar?’ asked the lead of the three older nobles.

  ‘I am he,’ the general replied, bowing his head.

  ‘We represent the ordo of Sulmo, Proconsul. Are you aware of our city?’

  Caesar scratched his head, apparently dredging his memory. ‘Sulmo. I do believe it is the next town south on this very road, is it not? Perhaps eight or nine miles from here?’

  The old man, still struggling with his toga, one end of which was now trailing in the mud beside his horse, looked gratified that they had heard of his town. ‘Excellent, Proconsul,’ Toga answered in a hoarse voice that sounded like the crackling of parchment. ‘Sulmo seeks your aid, sir. Our ordo voted to open our gates to you and add our garrison to your forces as well as any provisions we can provide, but our town currently languishes in the iron grip of two of Pompey’s dogs: Quintus Lucretius and Lentius Attius.’

  Fronto nodded. Attius he did not necessarily know, though there were plenty of people around of that name, but Quintus Lucretius had been a senator and one of Caesar’s most vocal opponents during that endless to-ing and fro-ing of communications while at Ravenna. Many senators had fled Rome, but to find one of them here, holding a town against Caesar, was a surprise.

  ‘They have troops?’

  ‘Six cohorts, sir,’ one of the younger men said. ‘Green men, though, and recently raised locally. With the right pressure they could be perhaps persuaded to change their allegiance, along with the town’s ordo. If only their two commanders’ influence can be removed.’

  Caesar tapped his lip in thought.

  Marcus Antonius shook his head and drew Caesar aside, away from the riders. ‘We need every man we have to take down Corfinium, Gaius. Corfinium is the prize. Corfinium and the fall of Ahenobarbus.’

  ‘But this is a war of hearts and minds, Marcus, as much as of swords and shields. Think of the goodwill we can create among other cities when they hear about this. And it will not require the loss of men, with luck. If we have to fight that garrison then we have failed anyway. We need to win them over.’

  ‘I think this is a waste of time and resources,’ Antonius grumbled.

  ‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ Caesar replied quietly. ‘Since I’m sending you. This is a job for a silver tongue and you could charm the birds from the trees. Take your five cohorts again just in case. They won’t make much difference when we invest Corfinium. But try not to use them. Win me Sulmo with words, Marcus.’

  Fronto caught the expression Antonius threw back at his friend and almost laughed out loud, stifling it as Antonius turned. ‘Terrentius?’ he gestured to one of the junior tribunes. ‘Have my five cohorts move out onto this bank away from the army. We’re off to play word games with a senator and I want veterans at my back when it all goes wrong.’

  Caesar grinned and trotted forward to the deputation once more. ‘My good friend and lieutenant, Marcus Antonius, Tribune of the Plebs, will bring five cohorts and free you from your oppressors. Would that I could spare the time to ride there myself, but the notorious Domitius Ahenobarbus rules in Corfinium, and I must devote my energy to rooting him out. Antonius has all my confidence and wields my authority as all know.’

  The old man blinked as he realised he’d been summarily dismissed from the conversation and that Caesar had all-but forgotten him already as he turned to Fronto, Brutus, Pollio and Curio.

  ‘Let us make camp on the plateau and hope there is still adequate provision. The supplies will follow on, but it would ease matters to have plenty of free, locally-sourced grain. And have the engineers start looking around Corfinium. I am hoping we can get away without actually circumvallating the city, but should we need to do so in the coming days I want to know every aspect of the place. Ahenobarbus is impulsive, and possibly even mad, but he is not stupid, and he will be prepared for us.’

  Fronto looked up ahead at the town on the hill. He had, over the past decade, besieged so many hill towns that they had begun to blur into one giant nightmare, but never before had those walls contained Romans. He shuddered at the idea of cutting off their water supply and starving his own people just because of a feud between two great men.

  Angry at himself, he shook it off. Partially because it was thinking like that which led a man to follow Labienus’ path. And partly because if there was one thing he was determined not to do it was to prove Lucius Salvius Cursor right.

  He would arm. He would bite down on his conscience. And he would besiege Corfinium with the rest of them.

  * * *

  Corfinium was surrounded. For seven days now the legions had penned in Domitius Ahenobarbus and his defiant force – three of those with a solidly superior army – and though it had rained non-stop for all seven days and the ground was becoming boggy and mire-ridden, still an air of optimism reigned in the camps. After the departure of Antonius with his five cohorts, Caesar had settled the other half of the Thirteenth Legion close to the bridge that Ahenobarbus had tried to destroy, securing the route to the north and protecting said crossing. The rest of his men – the Twelfth Legion and various other units – he had encamped a short distance from the walls on the farmland plateau.

  Three days later, the Eighth and Fifth legions had arrived to the great relief of all, bearing a cornucopia of supplies, right down to Spanish garum, Ligurian oysters and Campanian wine. They had been immediately positioned to the eastern and western ends of the city at the edge of the plateau, effectively sealing in Corfinium. There was still talk, though, of whether a full circumvallation would be required – even Caesar seemed to be putting off the decision, perhaps in the hope that Corfinium would fall without such a requirement.

  Certainly the pro-Pompeian garrison of the place seemed unwilling to open hostilities. A number of times now, Caesar’s scouts and a few smaller units had come close to the walls, probing the defences. The enemy artillery atop the towers, which could so easily have drawn first blood, remained silent, and the few arrows that rained down from the walls had clearly been meant more as a warning not to come too close rather than a serious attempt at defence. The missiles had thudded into the ground just ahead of approaching units, and in seven days not one man had died, and injuries were minor and almost always the result of accident or misjudgement.

  ‘What do we do Caesar?’ Pollio asked quietly, standing at the officers’ usual vantage point and peering at the thick, heavy walls. The general remained as taciturn as ever and the other officers looked at one another for an effort to advance the discussion.

  ‘We cannot afford to tarry here forever, General,’ Curio said voicing the thoughts of every man present. Pompey remained at large, recruiting and training to the southwest, and he was the true prize, not the headstrong, troublesome Ahenobarbus.

  ‘We need to storm the place,’ Salvius said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  ‘What?’ Curio turned to him.

  ‘A full push against Corfinium. The place will be ours by sunset.

  ‘I don’t know whether you noticed,’ Pollio snapped, ‘but it has huge walls, artillery, natural defences, and a garrison almost the size of our own army. It’s no push-over.’

  ‘On the contrary, that is exactly what it is,’ Salvius replied in an acidic tone. ‘The garrison are nervous about facing their own people and they are green and untried. Even their commander holds back, unwilling to commit to an act of civil war. That will be their undoing. You can call i
t as civil as you like, but it’s still a war. And war is not honourable or just or glorious. It’s purely about who’s standing at the end of it. You take hold of, and use, every advantage you can get. If they are nervous about committing, then they are unprepared. We strike now, while they expect nothing, and we can flatten the whole place in hours. This is an opportunity we need to take advantage of.’

  ‘That is deplorable,’ Curio replied.

  ‘Yet sensible.’

  ‘Those men are Romans,’ added Pollio.

  ‘This is war against Pompey and his senate dogs,’ snapped Salvius Cursor. ‘Romans are going to die on both sides. Only the man who can look past that and identify his goal can win. No man who baulks at killing fellow Romans has a place in this campaign. How long do we have to faff about until you all realise that?’

  Fronto glanced across at Caesar, then at Galronus, whose face was a picture of irritation. Caesar was still showing no sign he was even listening. His beak-like nose rose as though he were a hound, sniffing the air for a scent, his gaze twitching to the horizon back beyond the camps as much as to the town ahead. He did have the scent. What of? Victory?

  ‘This, as the general said,’ reminded Fronto, ‘is a battle of hearts and minds as much as blades. Yes, Romans are going to die, and we cannot afford to meander about and get bogged down with lackeys when Pompey remains our focus. But there must be a way to take Corfinium without such civil bloodshed.’

  ‘Weak, Fronto,’ sneered Salvius Cursor.

  ‘Sensible,’ retorted Fronto.

  ‘Come with me,’ Caesar said, suddenly. The other officers exchanged a look as the general heeled his horse and started down the hill toward the walls of Corfinium.

  ‘What in Hades is he doing?’ Fronto sighed as they raced to keep up. The general rode within arrow shot of the walls as though impervious to all harm, and the officers trotted along behind, glancing up nervously at the parapet. Aulus Ingenuus and the general’s bodyguard crowded around their master and did their best to protect him, yet nothing came from above.

  Caesar reined in his horse just thirty paces from the gate, where if the enemy so wished it, they could very easily drop things on him. Still, nothing came.

  There was an odd silence as the other officers reined in behind their commander, and Salvius Cursor cleared his throat to ask a question only to have Caesar put a silencing finger to his lips. They sat there, tense, for some time as Ingenuus and his men raised their shields ready to form a roof over the general should they be required to do so at a moment’s notice.

  Finally, the gate to the city opened. Fronto vaguely remembered Domitius Ahenobarbus from odd mutual occasions in Rome. The man put him in mind of a praying mantis, his hands usually clasped together beneath a face that looked thoughtfully predatory with hooded, unreadable eyes, stalking, long legs and an overall manner that suggested he liked to creep around rather than walk. He was, however, unarmed and dressed in an ordinary prefect’s gear rather than some ostentatious general’s cuirass, which endeared him to Fronto in some small way.

  Behind Ahenobarbus came tribunes and centurions. They looked serious. Seriously unhappy, even.

  ‘Gaius.’

  ‘Lucius,’ Caesar replied with a courteous nod.

  ‘You wish to speak?’

  Caesar nodded and straightened.

  ‘We have known each other many years, Lucius. We might not see eye to eye very often, and neither of us would say we are friends.’

  A nod from the mantis.

  ‘But,’ Caesar went on, ‘neither do we want to waste Roman lives in a costly and stupid conflict.’

  ‘I hear only your own fear, Gaius,’ the man in the prefect’s kit said in a hiss. ‘Any siege here will cost you half a legion at the least for every century of my defenders who fall. I know they’re boys and untried, but we have the advantage nonetheless.’

  ‘Lucius,’ Caesar said with apparent exaggerated patience, ‘it’s no good holding out for Pompey. He won’t be coming.’

  Ahenobarbus did not reply, simply tipping his head to one side quizzically.

  ‘Pompey’s legions are even less well trained than yours Lucius. He is not going to commit them against my Gallic veterans until he has plenty of chance to train and harden them. The only veterans he has – the First and the Fifteenth – spent three years among my forces in Gaul, and he will worry that in committing them against me, they will simply turn on him. I suspect that he would be right, too. My legions were ever faithful. You, Lucius, are alone in Corfinium and alone you will stay. Pompey is using you as a delay. A road-block, while he strengthens the real force he is raising to face me.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I will hold senate territory against any would-be despot such as yourself, Gaius.’

  Fronto narrowed his eyes. The man was resisting staunchly even though he must recognise that Caesar’s assessment was very likely true.

  ‘I will make you an offer, Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus,’ Caesar said suddenly, loudly, his head rising in that hunting hound manner once more. ‘You and every officer who surrenders to us will be given total amnesty and guaranteed safe passage away from Corfinium.’

  ‘General, that is…’ began Salvius Cursor, but fell silent at a look from the general.

  ‘All officers,’ Caesar repeated. ‘The town will be unharmed and all its citizens and leaders will remain in their current positions. Effectively there will be no change for most, and you may run back to Rome or even to Pompey’s side if you wish. Your newly-raised forces will, of course, take a new oath to me and join my legions.’ This last was said with a steady look at the various enemy officers gathered behind Ahenobarbus.

  ‘No one would be foolish enough to trust your word, Gaius,’ the man in the prefect’s uniform shrugged. ‘Your offer is as ash on the wind to us.’

  Fronto was less sure, from what he could read in the faces of the gathered officers. He wondered how long the town’s populace would support the garrison when they knew they could be free with just a word.

  ‘You wish a gesture of my goodwill?’ Caesar asked quietly.

  ‘It would be pointless,’ Ahenobarbus snorted, though some of his officers were nodding behind him.

  Caesar smiled and straightened in his saddle.

  ‘Fronto, would you do me a favour? Just trot out toward the north and meet Antonius’ column, would you. Ask him and his party to join us.’

  Fronto blinked and opened his mouth to argue, but realised the general was playing a very tight game with the emotions of the men he faced. It would not be Fronto who spoiled that game. He nodded and turned his horse, riding back up the gentle slope.

  Once he reached the high point from which they had earlier been observing the walls, he peered down the long, gentle incline to the plateau. The huge, sprawling legionary camp lay directly opposite the gate but, damn the man, Caesar must have had sharp eyes. While they had all been discussing the best way to proceed, the general had already made his decision as soon as he’d caught sight of Marcus Antonius’ cohorts in the distance, returning from the south. And he knew Antonius had achieved his goal, for the man’s army had swelled to twice its former size.

  Now, Antonius’ force, the equivalent of a full legion, was moving off into one of the gaps between the encamped legions, preparing to fortify its own position, though a small party of riders continued on toward the main camp and Caesar’s headquarters. Fronto hooked two fingers into his mouth and issued a shrill whistle. Antonius turned as he rode, spotted the waving figure on the hill, and diverted his party toward Corfinium.

  Fronto watched the approaching horsemen. A dozen cavalrymen from Antonius’ cohorts – the man always did favour his cavalry – half a dozen senior officers, and the man himself

  ‘Fronto, nice to see you. The general?’

  ‘Sitting rather smugly outside the gate of Corfinium, talking to Ahenobarbus and waiting for you.’

  Antonius snorted. ‘He is an infuriating bugger. Come on, then.’


  With the others in tow, Fronto led Caesar’s cousin over the hill and down toward the small group at the gate. Caesar’s head turned at the sound of approaching hooves.

  ‘Just the one, Antonius?’

  The curly haired commander shrugged with a carefree smile. ‘The one they call Lentius Attius, who appears to be a jumped up local with delusions of grandeur, ran for the hills the moment his cohorts turned on him. It wasn’t worth the time and effort of hunting him down. But the best news, Caesar? The six cohorts this man led in Sulmona are, in fact, the understrength remains of the Fifteenth. As soon as they realised what was happening, they all-but begged to join you again.’

  Caesar nodded. ‘Agreed. Send the good senator forward.’

  As Antonius gestured to one of the officers with him, Fronto realised that the man was wearing a general’s knot around his midriff. He had been a prisoner riding among the cavalry and not one of Antonius’ officers after all. A grin broke out across Fronto’s face as the rebel senator from Sulmona walked his horse forward to join Caesar.

  ‘Lucius,’ Caesar began once more, nodding to Ahenobarbus, ‘you will understand that your route to Pompey at Teanum is the road that passes Sulmona. The garrison that held that town for Pompey has already seen sense and joined us, so now even if Pompey did intend to come to your aid, he no longer holds the strongpoints on the route. Pompey is not coming. You are alone and the only hope to avoid the horror of protracted siege is to accept my clearly very favourable terms.’

  Ahenobarbus’ lip curled in distaste, so the general once more directly addressed those behind him – the officers of the town and the army within. It did not escape Fronto’s notice that the walls were lined with watching faces too.

  ‘Your general here, who is rabid and would see the world burn in an all-consuming conflagration rather than admit that he is wrong, believes I do not keep my word and that I cannot be trusted to grant mercy.’

  He paused, gesturing to the man on the horse next to him.

  ‘You may know this man, or you may not. He is Quintus Lucretius, senator of Rome, my opponent and a supporter of Pompey. He has been the commander of Sulmona garrison until today and now he is our prisoner. But, you see, this is not what I desire. I do not wish to imprison Romans any more than I wish to kill them. We are one republic, strong and gods-driven, and it makes the Fates weep to see us turn on each other so. The Sulmona garrison – the Fifteenth Legion, in fact – are not harmed. They are now with me in my army. Sulmona itself lives on quiet and free, and, Lucretius, you are free to go.’