Marius' Mules Page 6

  “I am Numeius of the Helvetii. My companion is Verudoctius. We are chieftains and men of note.” The one called Verudoctius bowed and, straightening, saluted Caesar with a Roman gesture. “We do not wish to make war on Rome or its esteemed generals. All we ask is leave to pass though the territory of your mighty empire to the lands of our brothers that you call the Gauls.”

  Numeius in turn bowed and gave a Roman salute.

  Caesar glanced at Balbus for a moment, then at Fronto. Very quietly; far too quietly for the Helvetii to hear, he said “If I said Gauls to you, what would your reply be?”

  Balbus and Fronto looked at each other. Balbus spoke first. “The Gauls destroyed Rome. They cannot be trusted.” Fronto nodded, adding “defilers and vandals.”

  Caesar smiled at them both. Fronto had seen that smile once in a Northern Spanish winter, on the face of a wolf starved half to death, and coming upon an injured legionary. He shuddered. Caesar was gauging his officers before his reaction.

  The general stood for the first time since the emissaries had arrived.

  “You call the Gauls your brothers, and well you might. The Gauls once destroyed our city; defecated in our holy places. Kinship with these people is unlikely to advance your case, barbarian.”

  The two ambassadors glanced at each other for only a moment before Numeius came back with a formulaic excuse.

  “That was centuries ago, Roman, and different tribes. We are not Gauls, and even those Gauls that now live are different, after centuries of peace, to the ones you speak of.”

  Caesar laughed. Laughed so hard he sat back down in a carefully positioned command chair.

  “Peace? You dare speak to me of peace? Rome had a Consul named Lucius Cassius. Are you familiar with the name?”

  For a moment, the two conferred, a look of worry passing between them.

  “This name is not familiar to us, Roman.”

  Caesar stood once more, the colour rising in his cheeks.

  “Damn you barbarian for a liar. Of course you know him. It wasn’t that long ago your people killed him and tortured and enslaved many a Roman in his army! Cassius was beloved of the Roman people, and you murdered him. You claim you are a peaceful people. Pah! I have no time for this.” Standing, Caesar made to walk away, winking at Fronto as he turned away from the speakers.

  The two conferred again, but only for a second.

  “Roman, there have been many confrontations between our peoples in the past. We are here now only in peace. We request only the time to pass through to our allies.”

  Caesar wheeled on the spot.

  “Go through the Jura pass, through your other allies. Begone!”

  The increasing desperation of the ambassadors was evident not only in Numeius’ voice, but also in the speed with which the reply came back.

  “We cannot pass that way because of many tribal differences and the difficulty of the route. We vouchsafe Roman lands and would cause no trouble or mischief upon our crossing.” With an urgent tone, Verudoctius spoke up for the first time, earning him an evil glare from his counterpart.

  “Great general, we have brought with us on this journey everything we have; everything we are. For your assurances of safe passage, we can give gifts to the Roman people that would earn you a place in their heart.”

  For a moment, and just for a moment, Caesar was actually speechless. Fronto could understand. He was under no illusion. This plan of the general’s was not greatly for the good of Rome, or even the legions, but for the good of Caesar. What he wished to achieve with a war was being handed to him on a plate by the barbarians, but he would lose face if he came this far and relented. The other officers held their breath.

  Caesar turned to the officers, gave them a meaningful look, and then addressed the Helvetii once again, this time loud enough for the whole tribe to hear.

  “Chieftains, I will deliberate on this matter. Go away from this place, where trouble will brew between our two armies, to a place of refuge and return, if you still require passage, on the day before the ides of April, which is the twelfth day to you.”

  With that the general turned away from the ambassadors and marched down the embankment. The officers turned and followed him, leaving only sentries on the raised earth.

  “That should give them something to think about, and give us time to train the new legions and complete the defences gentlemen, yes?”

  Longinus’ jaw dropped.

  “Caesar, you cannot be suggesting we refuse their offer? Think of the booty we can take back to Rome for a simple two weeks’ escort duty!”

  The general gave Longinus a distasteful look. “You would bargain with the murderers of a Roman Consul, Longinus? I thought you had more about you than that. Pull yourself together and stop thinking of money. Revenge is the order of the day.”

  The general turned to look up at the sentry who was still standing atop the mound. “Soldier! What is happening among the Helvetii?”

  The sentry turned and saluted. “There’s some heated conversation going on sir. I think they’re confused.”

  “Good. Keep an eye on them. If they move away, send someone to inform me and have the scouts placed back in position. If they move in this direction, sound the alarm. Fronto? Balbus? Come with me.”

  Chapter 3

  (Along the bank of the Rhone)

  “Primus Pilus: The chief centurion of a legion. Essentially the second in command of a legion.”

  “Capsarius: Legionary soldiers trained as combat medics, whose job was to patch men up in the field until they could reach a hospital.”

  “Vienna: Latin name for the modern town of Vienne, in the Rhone Valley.”

  Fronto and Tetricus surveyed their handiwork. The green embankment continued nineteen miles to the west from here. The height inevitably varied, but was generally around fifteen feet. Only a yard lay between the wall and a ditch six feet deep which, itself, was only five or ten yards from the river bank. Such was the defensive system that Caesar had ordered. Fronto and Tetricus had gone a step beyond with their handiwork. The ditch was lined with a deadly carpet of sharpened points, and the lilia, small concealed pits each housing a pointed stake, were strategically placed between the bank and the ditch. On the top of the bank, an eight foot palisade covered the entire length of the system, with only three gates, set five or six miles apart. Fort-like structures lay at regular intervals along the wall, small redoubts in which a large number of soldiers could be based. All in all it was a system any Roman commander would be happy with. Any commander except Fronto, at least. He turned to Tetricus.

  “What happens if they come across the lake in boats?”

  Tetricus sighed. He was getting a little sick of Fronto’s pessimism.

  “Sir, there aren’t enough boats in the whole province to get a tribe that big across a lake this size.”

  “And if they go round the lake?”

  “Through territory hostile to them? Then the Third Cohort can earn their pay, can’t they sir.”

  Fronto cleared his throat with an irritated twitch and stamped his feet. The morning was cold, and weeks of chill had penetrated so deep into his bones that he felt he might never be warm again. He was already wearing his thick woollen tunic, scarf and cloak. His breeches were the special heavy and slightly longer ones than he usually wore, and he had taken to wearing the heavier of his pairs of boots.

  A soldier came running up the embankment, the frosty grass crunching under his feet. At the top he came to attention, breathing heavily.

  “Sir, centurion Velius requests permission to bring a detachment onto the defences.”

  Fronto eyed the soldier, one of Velius’ raw recruits, surely. He was correctly equipped and well turned out, had come to attention very formally, and only his accent betrayed him. He could easily have been a soldier from the Tenth. There was no doubt; Velius knew his job and had performed it excellently.

  “Very well soldier, tell Velius his unit has permission to approach.”
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br />   “Sir!” The soldier turned sharply and began pounding back down the hill, leaving an arcing trail of footprints on the whitened grass.

  Tetricus watched him go and turned to the commander.

  “I think we should send Velius on a tour round the Empire. Within a month we’d have several million well-trained men.”

  Fronto smiled. “Yes, but who’d make the wine and ferry it to us if everyone was a soldier?”

  Moments later, Velius came round the corner of the nearest redoubt. Following him were two detachments of troops, each with a centurion. One unit bore the standard of the Eleventh, and one the Twelfth. The units marched at double speed and in good formation to the embankment, where they drew up sharply. Velius addressed the two officers on the wall.

  “Sir, request permission to demonstrate the techniques of Roman defensive engineering to these men, who have been selected as the first engineer units of the Eleventh and Twelfth.”

  Fronto smiled at Tetricus and then turned, straight faced, to address the training officer.

  “Go ahead centurion, we’re just leaving anyway.”

  As the two began a gentle walk down the slope, Velius barked out a few orders to the new units, who fell into a more relaxed stance.

  “You will notice the height of the bank, and the gradient that has been achieved…”

  Velius’ voice faded into the distance as the two made their way back toward the Fort.

  Fronto shaded his eyes and looked ahead to the camp.

  “Are the Eighth nearly ready to move, I can’t see well in this light, but it looks like everything is still in position.”

  Tetricus squinted in the same direction.

  “They’re almost ready to move sir. Give them an hour and they’ll have all those tents down. Problem is: half the men who organise these things are still babysitting the Eleventh and Twelfth. I presume those men will be back with their unit as soon as all the legions are in position.”

  Fronto made a low grumbling noise deep in his throat.

  “I hope so, Gaius. Caesar hasn’t committed himself to anything yet, or at least isn’t admitting to it. Any time I ask him about the next move he just taps the side of that enormous nose and winks. He doesn’t like to be anticipated in anything.”

  Passing through the gate into the camp, Fronto was pleased to see that he’d been mistaken at a distance. The tents were, indeed, all still up, but the weapons and equipment were all stowed ready for transport, and everything was maybe an hour away from departure. He saw the Eighth’s primus pilus gesturing with his vine staff near the Latrines.

  “Good work, Balventius.”

  The senior centurion nodded. “We’re basically ready. I’ve tried to get permission to strike the tents and get underway sir, but I can’t get to see our legate. He’s busy with the general.”

  Fronto returned the nod. “Get it all prepared, tents struck and everything, but don’t actually get them underway until you get word from Balbus or myself. I have to go and see Caesar first.”

  Fronto half-walked, half-ran off in the direction of the Headquarters. Tetricus watched him go, a smile plastered across his face. The commander was getting edgy, like most of the officers and men. It was the tenth of April today, and the Helvetii were due to return in the next two days. That meant the legions had to be in place by tomorrow morning at the latest, and Fronto hated having to wait in a defensive position. Tetricus smiled again. He hadn’t known the commander long, but he liked him a lot. By tonight, the Eighth would be in place, with two green legions in support, in a very defensible position on the wall. Tetricus had been assigned to Fronto as an aide, and the legate had immediately put him and Velius in command of the Eleventh and Twelfth. He was looking forward to it. He’d never commanded a full legion and, although he technically outranked Velius, he was happy to defer to the older man in terms of command. Velius had received his first battle scar before Tetricus was born. The men of the new legions were starting to get tense and argumentative, but a good fight always took that out of them.

  “Ah well. A couple of hours and we’ll be ready to move.” Tetricus strode off in the direction of the camp of the Eleventh, who would be awaiting his orders.

  Ten minutes later, Fronto strode into the Headquarters of the Eighth’s garrison fort. The building was bustling and busy. Despite the absence of the newly commissioned officers of the Eleventh and Twelfth, who were now at their own camps and preparing their legions for later in the day, a large number of officers, administrators and other personnel charged around the building, carrying piles of paper and lists. Caesar’s door stood open, people rushing in and out almost constantly. Fronto waited impatiently by the opposite wall for the line of incoming and outgoing scribes to thin out, tapping his fingers on his crossed arms and making a throaty harrumphing sound.

  A hand on his shoulder made him start. He turned to see the worn but smiling countenance of Balbus.

  “You look like a man who’s ready to charge the barbarians all by yourself. What’s got at you?”

  Fronto sighed. “Just one of those days I suppose. I see the Eighth are ready to move. Balventius has been trying to get hold of you, but I gave him permission to strike tents and make ready. I assume that’s alright?”

  “Yes indeed. Things have been a little hectic here and I’ve not had the chance to get away. I saw Longinus earlier. He’s already sent all my cavalry and the auxiliary riders off to the far end of the wall. I can’t decide whether he’s being tactical or just trying to stay out of the way of the action.”

  Fronto nodded.

  “Probably the latter.”

  He gestured at the door, the traffic having fallen to a sensible level, and the two legates entered.

  Caesar stood, his campaign chair folded against the back wall. He was, for a change, in full armour with a servant tying the ribbon around the cuirass. Fronto, who spent most of his life in full armour, could never see the attraction of the glamorous looking efforts that generals habitually wore. The whitened chest piece with the embossed decoration was very impressive, but impractical in a combat situation. Fronto had been given a very ornate cuirass after the Spanish campaign, though he had left that back in Puteoli in a chest. The armour he currently wore was a bronze-finished steel cuirass with the traditional soldier’s decoration of a Medusa head on the chest. Comfortable and practical.

  Caesar glanced up at them as they entered.

  “Ah, gentlemen. I assume manoeuvres are underway?”

  Fronto and Balbus nodded. “The Eighth are striking tents and will be in position by sunset, fully encamped. The Eleventh and Twelfth have maybe an hour on us and will be in position in time for the men to eat lunch sir.”

  “Good. Good. I want all available senior officers with me when the Helvetii arrive so, Balbus, you’ll have to leave your primus pilus in charge of the Eighth for now. On the bright side gentlemen, that means that the two of you and Longinus will get the next two days in luxurious quarters in Geneva with myself and the other staff officers.”

  Balbus merely nodded, but Fronto’s fear that the day would turn nasty was gradually being borne out.

  “Sir? The Eighth is still lacking its major training officers due to the inexperience of the two new legions. Balventius is good, but he could have trouble holding a widely-spread legion together without a solid command structure around him. To keep us here will not help. Balbus should be with the Eighth and I should be with the new legions, helping Tetricus and Velius when they need it. I’m not an ambassador, sir, I’m a soldier.”

  A slightly peeved look passed across Caesar’s face. The servant tying the ribbon finished and stepped back abruptly.

  “Legate, tell the Eighth’s primus pilus to call his training officers back in. They can aid the Eleventh from where they’ll be on the wall. I’m sure he can manage.” With a sigh, Caesar sat down on the corner of a large table.

  “Fronto, I know you hate this, but you need to be aware that an officer has a number of t
asks above and beyond fighting and commanding a unit. We need to present these barbarians with a united and terrifying front, and all the legions, in the day or two to come, will need officers who are fully informed of the situation. You will come with me to the meeting, and you will allow the more junior officers the chance to do their jobs. Tetricus will be moved to the staff in a year or two and he will need command experience in case he has to command a legion then. Velius and Balventius have over a hundred years of command experience between them. I’m sure they can handle anything that’s thrown at them.” He saw Fronto open his mouth and draw breath to speak, so he gestured pointedly.

  “Don’t make me argue, Marcus, just do as you’re told!”

  * * * * *

  Fronto sat by the warming fire of Balbus’ quarters. He was once again profoundly grateful to the legate of the Eighth for the hospitality he had shown during the last two days. Longinus and many of the staff had, in the way of insecure officers everywhere, spent their entire time hanging around Caesar’s feet like lapdogs and attempting to get themselves into his good books. Fronto had known Caesar long enough, and Balbus was secure enough, to know that the best way to get on the general’s good side was to be there just before he realised he needed you, and be conspicuously absent the rest of the time. Thus the legates of the Eighth and Tenth had been prompt at all four of Caesar’s dinners and strategy meetings, and had spent the rest of the time at Balbus’ house, talking over old campaigns and discussing the generalities and the specifics of life in the military.

  Fronto had been embarrassed on his first evening here to be eating one of the very tasty cakes Balbus’ wife had made for the general when she had walked in on them. He had mumbled some excuses about deprivations around a mouthful of crumbs, and Corvinia had, surprisingly, immediately taken to the gruff legate. Apparently he reminded her of Balbus twenty years ago; a comment that had made the older legate wince. Since then, Corvinia had apparently given up any hope that Caesar might grace her household and had instead taken to looking after Fronto. He had not been allowed to return to the quarters in town, spending his nights instead in a spare room. She had fed him to within an inch of his life, and Fronto was convinced he would have to run the length of the wall twice just to wear off two days’ worth of eating. Finally, she had confided in Fronto that she didn’t like to see such a brave, handsome and intelligent man without a good wife, and had made sure that every time he needed anything, one of her two daughters was on hand. He had asked, foolishly, after the third daughter and been told that she had been married two years ago to a soldier of some importance.