Marius' Mules XIV, page 30
As Fronto turned towards his tent now, tired and dirty, and promising himself a good bath in the morning, he had found the general standing with the other officers and wandered over.
‘It would seem we have taken the rebel capital,’ he sighed with relief.
Caesar nodded. ‘The job is not over yet, though. Munda will fall to Pedius, but for us, I think Hispalis awaits. And then Gades. We cannot leave Hispania and sail for Rome until all the enemy leaders are dealt with and all their strongholds returned to the republic.’
Fronto sighed and nodded as he staggered off towards his tent. Never this spring had Rome seemed further away, despite having fought their last battle. As he removed his sword and dropped it to the floor, he wondered whether the bear had brought the wine yet.
He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
Chapter 20
Kalends of April 45 BC
Fronto stood on the battlements of Hispalis and reflected upon the seemingly easy time they had enjoyed since the fall of Corduba, and upon the tasks still to be undertaken. Leaving the rebel capital under Caesarian control, the legions had then marched west along the Baetis valley, past Munda, which was still invested and holding out to the last. They had finally arrived in the closing days of March at Hispalis, where the great river had widened into a huge, navigable waterway, plied by copious shipping. The city was much of a size with Corduba, a massive trade centre sprawled along the river’s eastern bank across the wide, flat, fertile plains. Fronto had half expected a gathering of enemy garrisons. Had he been a Pompeian commander out here in western Baetica which had been the enemy heartland, having heard of events at Munda, he would have gathered every garrison remaining and put together a final force.
As it happened, they had arrived to find Hispalis in much the same position as Corduba had suffered, riven by struggles between factions supporting the defeated rebels and pro-Caesarian officers. In an attempt to let the city solve its own issues without military intervention, Caesar had encamped the two legions away from the walls to the east, in the least threatening manner he could, and waited for a deputation.
The presence of the general and his legions had had the desired effect. The Caesarians in the city had taken great heart from the arrival of the army, and had managed to overcome their opponents in the city, both politically and militarily. Fronto had watched as a ragtag band of rebels, not more than a score strong, had ridden from the city to the north as though Cerberus himself were snapping at their heels. Caesar had half-heartedly ordered a cavalry turma to give chase, but all knew they had precious little chance of catching the rebels.
An hour later, a deputation had arrived and offered the hospitality and full support of the city to their cause. Caesar had graciously accepted and had entered Hispalis to cheers, rose petals and adulation. Fronto and Caninius had accompanied the general, alongside Hirtius and a number of tribunes and officers, followed by two centuries of the Sixth who were to stay here and serve as the garrison of Hispalis until the region was fully clear and settled.
That night had been one of banquets and sycophancy, with politicians and councillors falling over themselves to appear loyal to the general. The city’s ordo had been split between the two factions, and a number of pro-Pompeians were produced for Caesar to pronounce judgement upon. Despite his earlier vow, Caesar had resorted once more to his characteristic mercy. These men, he had reasoned, were civilians and Roman citizens. Caesar too had had friends who had taken sides against him, including Pompey himself, and so he would not prosecute a man for his beliefs. That they had not taken arms against him was enough. They would all be free to return to their lives with no ill effects. The same would not be said about the one of their number, a certain Philo, who had led the flight of the riders from the town, refusing to accept Caesar. Philo would be found, and a sentence of death was pronounced upon him.
To Fronto’s mind, any local who knew the area was likely to be able to disappear without trace, and Philo was almost certainly safe. Still, his property had been taken, and his name besmirched. The ordo had been insistent that Caesar have the best accommodation in the city until he decided to move on, but the general had settled instead upon remaining in the camp beyond the walls, with the Tenth and most of the Sixth. They would be here only a few days and then move to Gades, and Caesar had no intention of getting comfortable in a position where he would be at the mercy of politicians with their requests and entreaties. Caninius, he said, was in line for a consulship, so he could deal with the political aspects.
Fronto had been happy to camp with the Tenth once more, but when Caesar had generously donated coin to buy increased wine rations for the two legions during their sojourn, the legate had accompanied Atenos on a visit into the city to select a good, reasonably priced wine there. They had spent much of the afternoon in the warehouses of the city’s excellent wine merchants and, though Fronto could have wished that Catháin was present with his encyclopaedic knowledge and business acumen, he was still content that by sundown he had made a number of good deals.
Even now, as the last light disappeared in the western skies and the torches and lamps began to illuminate the city with their golden glow, men of Caninius’ Sixth garrison centuries were busy escorting cart loads of amphorae out through the gate and across the gentle grassland to the camp of the legions.
He turned to Atenos. ‘Job done?’
‘Job done. Do we return to camp or make the most of the fact that we’re not expected?’
Fronto exchanged a sly grin and a raised eyebrow with the primus pilus of the Tenth. Caesar had taken to regular briefings first thing in the morning and before retiring at night, and the majority of the subjects covered were always tedious logistical issues. Fronto had already acquired a reputation for sleeping through them, and had little wish to add to it.
‘A jar or two would probably not go amiss. The general will excuse us. He knows what we’re up to. There were several likely looking places back near that last but one merchant, close to the north gate.’
The two men left the legionaries to their work, transporting the wine back to camp, and descended the steps from the wall, ambling happily through the evening-purple streets of Hispalis, heading northwest.
‘I’ve been giving thought to my retirement,’ Atenos said as they strode through the city.
‘Oh?’
‘You and I both know that Caesar cannot legitimately maintain these legions once the threat is gone. The senate won’t stand for it. He has to play the political game now. Even Syria will have to be settled with words. If he wants to avoid a whole fresh fall-out with Rome he has to finish this here and stand down the army. The Tenth will be settled. I already hear rumours that Caesar is considering Narbo for them.’
‘Narbo is nice. I’ve always liked the place. Not too far from my villa at Tarraco, either.’
‘And the place still retains some vestiges of my people.’
Fronto nodded. He often forgot how Gallic Atenos really was, for he appeared so Roman. Much like Galronus, who waited for them back at the camp.
‘Anyway,’ the centurion continued, ‘I don’t know what to do. I’ve never tried anything but war. Even before the legions, when I worked selling my sword in the east. That’s the question, Fronto. Do I go where the war is and begin again? Or do I try and worm my way through Rome’s military? The legions may be stood down, but there are private armies, as you know, and the next time Parthia or the Suebi decide to cause trouble, whoever’s consul at the time will raise new legions.’
Fronto just walked on in silence, and so Atenos continued. ‘Or do I try to settle down. To tell the truth, I think I’m more nervous about trying to live in peace than I ever have been about fighting. But I have a good amount of savings, and more coming to me when the legion is settled. I’ll be quite wealthy. What do you think?’
Fronto tried to imagine the hulking Gallic centurion operating a dress shop, or mopping up his tavern after closing to customers, or even just sitting on a veranda with a walking stick and a glass of wine. None of it looked right. A thought occurred to him and he smiled.
‘Have you thought about going into the gladiator business?’
Atenos frowned. ‘I’m no slave. And that’s…’
‘I meant owning, selling and training. Be a lanista? If you have the money, you could buy a big place somewhere, get it fitted out, and stock it with staff and burly slaves. I’ve seen you training the Tenth. With a few ex champions helping, you could make a go of something like that. And every city wants gladiators. If you get settled in Narbo, there’d be a call for them there, or even back in Tarraco. And as for Rome…’
His voice trailed away as the two men stepped from a shady alleyway into the open space inside the north gate. He and Atenos had spotted it at the same moment, and both men, placing their hands on each other’s arms, had stepped swiftly back into the shadows.
The city’s north gate was open, and, while there could be any number of legitimate explanations for that, the scene inside made it clear. Several dozen figures in chain armour and with blue shields suggesting some sort of auxiliary unit, were moving about the square, checking doors and looking into side streets. Another group stood in the gateway itself, where several people were dismounting. The bodies of men in red tunics with the shields of the Sixth lay in small piles around the square. Fronto heard bootsteps from an unexpected direction, and his gaze rose upwards. More blue-clad men were scurrying along the walls from the gate in both directions.
‘Shit. They’re back.’
‘Who?’ murmured Atenos as the two men slunk further into the dark street away from the scene of brutality.
‘The rebels. That Philo, probably. He’s found reinforcements and come back for Hispalis. We have to get out of here. If he’s already dealt with the garrison, they’ll start to hunt for officers next.’
‘Shit.’
With that, the two men turned and pounded away along the street. Passing the way they had come, Fronto remembered seeing a livery stable. Now, upon their return, a slave was busily sweeping the street in the archway, prior to closing for the evening. Tugging at Atenos, Fronto turned into the glowing archway, racing past a startled slave, and into the stable itself. Ignoring the shouting staff, he and Atenos made for two stalls, pulled the doors open and swiftly threw bridle and reins around the horses’ heads and fastened them.
The stable’s owner had been found as they worked, and came running, only to stagger to a halt as Fronto threw a small pouch at him, which slapped heavily into his chest. ‘That should cover it,’ he said as the two men pulled themselves up onto bare backs, and then flicked the reins and smacked the flanks, racing out past the owner and his slaves, all of whom now began to kick up a fresh clamour. Out into the city they rode, and then clattered along the dark streets until they turned out into the space inside the east gate.
Fronto felt his heart race. The men of the Sixth had already left now with their wagons of wine, trundling back over the turf to the camp, oblivious to what was happening in the city behind them. Even as they rounded the corner, Fronto could see blue figures descending from the wall, others busily knifing Caesar’s legionaries and dragging their gurgling corpses back into darkened doorways.
As he took all this in, he saw the gates slammed shut and the bar dropped across them.
‘Damn it,’ he hissed.
‘South gate,’ Atenos said, wheeling his horse. Fronto, nodding, followed suit. If Philo and his rebels had taken the north gate and infiltrated the city from there, the last place they would reach would be the south gate, and they were trying to be subtle, not raising the alarm, seizing the city without anyone becoming aware. That meant they would all be moving quietly, on foot, which would give the two riders the edge.
He and Atenos raced along the wide streets of the city now, keeping to the fast routes, regardless of subtlety. The last thing they wanted was to be trapped inside a city controlled by their enemy. As they rode, Fronto occasionally caught glimpses of the city walls in the distance along side streets, and each time he was sure he could see crouched figures scurrying along them. They didn’t know how long men had been in the city. The rebels could even already be at the far gate.
Rounding a final corner, they hauled on the reins. The struggle for the south gate had begun. Philo’s rebels were swiftly overcoming the men of the Sixth. It was no great surprise, really. They’d not truly been expecting trouble, and had assigned only two understrength centuries as garrison. One hundred and twenty men across an entire city, and at least thirty of them were out there in the countryside, escorting wagons of wine to the camp. After all, what madman would try and storm a city with a few fugitives, when two legions were encamped close by?
The answer, clearly, was: Philo.
The gate was still open, but men were dying in the shadow of the arch and even as the two riders watched, half the great double gate was slammed shut.
‘Come on.’
Kicking his horse into speed, Fronto raced across the flagstones of the square, drawing his sword. A blue-clad figure with a spear rushed across to stop him, thrusting the weapon. Fronto’s sword smashed through the haft, snapping it in two as he raced past, and Atenos’ sword felled the man. Some rebel leader was shouting a warning now, pointing at the two riders, and rebels who had finished dealing with their targets turned and ran at them. Fronto pounded on towards the gate, but felt hope evaporate as the great timber leaf swung closed.
They were trapped in Hispalis.
Atenos had clearly realised the hopelessness now, and turned with him, putting their backs to the soldiers in the square. As they retreated, Fronto caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and spotted four archers stepping out into the open and fishing at their sides for arrows. As they nocked them and stretched the bows, Fronto and Atenos raced away from the gate and back into the heart of the city.
As the arrows clattered into empty streets behind them, the two men hurtled into side alleys, rounding several corners until they were comfortable they could not easily be followed, then reined in.
‘What now?’ Fronto huffed.
‘The port? A ship?’
The legate shook his head. ‘The port would be as important to secure as any gate. They’ll already have it under control. The city is sealed, man.’
‘Then we have to either fight back or go to ground.’
‘Two against hundreds are rather poor odds.’
Atenos gave a wolfish smile. ‘There are still others in the city. The men of the ordo who claimed for Caesar. They’ll be targets for Philo now, which makes them allies for us.’
* * *
Dawn’s light stabbed through the shutters, startling Fronto into wakefulness. He blinked, blearily, sleep encrusting his eyes. The night had already been well advanced when they’d finally slept, and even then they’d slept poorly. It was all well and good trusting in Marcus Mattienus Firmus, wealthy plutocrat and member of the ordo, but in a city riven with factions and currently enjoying danger from both within and without, Fronto had still kept one eye on the man.
They’d found him where Fronto had last seen him, in the warehouse of a wine merchant. Firmus had been a vocal opponent of Philo in the city, and would now be marked for death, as the Lusitanians, for that was the nature of the blue-clad soldiers, busily went through the city like a steel-edged plague, killing anyone known to favour the Caesarians and hanging their bodies in squares.
Firmus had brought them to this place, his cousin’s house, in desperation. His cousin was currently in Africa on business, and his house empty. The man was rich, just like Firmus, and his house looked out upon the monumental heart of the city, enjoying two whole storeys of opulence.
As Fronto rose wearily, stretching and listening carefully, he noted both Atenos and Firmus at the shuttered window, their shadows moving back and forth across the beams of silver light.
‘What’s happening?’
Atenos turned. ‘I tried not to wake you. Our friends are arguing.’
‘Oh?’
Firmus took up the explanation. ‘Philo is out there amid the dangling corpses of our colleagues. He has with him Caecilius, the man who brought the Lusitanians to his banner. Philo is insistent that they hold Hispalis until the surviving rebel forces come. He maintains that since both Pompeys still live, the rebels will rally on Hispalis and restart the war. Caecilius seems to be of a different opinion. Caesar has already begun to besiege the city. He has ships blocking the river in both directions and the cohorts all around Hispalis. Caecilius is rather angry. It seems he came with Philo on the assumption there would be a large force of rebels waiting to help them. He says that the idea of his Lusitanians holding the city against two legions is ludicrous.’
‘He’s right, of course,’ Fronto said, rubbing his eyes. ‘He cannot possibly survive this. We have to throw the gates open.’
‘Just listen,’ Atenos insisted.
Fronto joined them at the window.
‘No,’ said the darker of the two figures. We go, and we go today.’
‘Caecilius, we only need to hold for a few days. Besides, we’re under siege. How do you expect to leave? Caesar’s hardly going to be merciful after you massacred his men.’
‘You massacred his men. You just used mine to do it. Your sister always warned me you were trouble, Philo. Now you’ve got us trapped.’
Fronto couldn’t help but smile. He’d panicked that they were trapped in an enemy city. It was heartening to know that that enemy in turn felt trapped too.
‘You can say what you like, Philo, but we are leaving. I will find a way. I have no intention of my men and I dying here for a cause that’s already dead.’
