Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (27 page)

“These are all senior officers. If they were going to take the noble route, tradition is to use your sword, and each would do it themselves. At least one of them still has his sword sheathed. This was done with a pugio or some other short dagger. And they are in a pile. Why would they, even as they died, throw themselves on each other in a heap?”

Fronto blinked.

“They didn’t kill themselves?”

“I very much doubt it. This was done by someone else, and it was done recently, quickly, professionally and must have taken them by surprise.”

“They said it had been quiet. They would have heard any sort of struggle and, that being the case, I think we just walked straight past the culprits and passed the time of day with them. They must have only just been leaving the tent when we arrived.”

Balbus gestured at Fronto.

“You go and see Caesar about this. I’ll help try and sort this out.”

The legate of the Tenth gave them a quick nod and then, turning, left the tent and hurried through the rows of ordered tents and out of the section of the camp allotted to the Eleventh.

The general’s command tent was a hive of activity as Fronto arrived and nodded suspiciously at the legionaries on guard by the entrance. As he reached for the door, the flap opened and Brutus emerged, looking gaunt and tired, as was so often the case these days.

Patting the other man on the shoulder in a comradely fashion, Fronto stepped through the door into the tent. Cicero and Cita, the chief quartermaster, sat opposite the general in deep discussion.

“Apologies for the rude interruption,” Fronto announced from the entrance “but I need to speak to the general in private on an urgent matter.”

The two officers threw a questioning look at Caesar, who nodded. Fronto waited patiently as they stood, saluted, and turned to leave, before he approached the table and placed his hands on it.

“Beyond any reasonable doubt. We are close allies, along with Crassus. Fronto, he’s been my son-in-law for the past three years. I ask again why you should ask?”

The legate rubbed his eyes.

“Evidence is beginning to point toward something involving Pompey. It’s all circumstantial, I grant you, but it’s pretty compelling, nonetheless.”

“Explain.”

“I just received a letter from Priscus. He’s been following Clodius and… well see for yourself.”

Reaching into his tunic, Fronto withdrew the crumpled parchment and tossed it onto the table before the general. Caesar raised an eyebrow and then unrolled the scroll and began to read. Fronto stood for a moment, watching a series of interesting expressions crossing the general’s face until he sat back and raised his face again, proffering the scroll. Fronto took it.

“Well?” he prompted.

“There’s another explanation. Either Priscus is mistaken, or Pompey is doing something for our mutual benefit. Most likely Priscus is mistaken, though. It is common knowledge in Rome just how much Pompey dislikes Clodius. I am much more concerned about the fact that Clodius has managed to slip more men into my legions. The infection continues to spread despite our efforts. Have you had the three apprehended yet?”

Fronto cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“After a fashion. They went for a stroll in the Elysian Fields this afternoon. Looks like someone didn’t want them to speak to us.”

“What would you say, Caesar, if I were to point out that the three men in question had all served with Pompey in Syria and Armenia in the last decade and had received their honesta missio about six years ago?”

The general frowned.

“There are
thousands
of veterans of Pompey’s army still floating around, Fronto. You know veteran soldiers; many of them sicken quickly of the quiet life and sign up at the next opportunity. I think that reading conspiracy into it is reaching a little. Again, it is circumstantial at best.”

“With respect, Caesar, while you may be right, ignoring this could be a huge mistake. If there
is
more to this than you believe, something is festering just below the surface of the army and involves both Clodius and Pompey.”

The general sat silent for a moment and finally nodded.

“Agreed. But there is little we can do about it for now. I assume you will be replying to Priscus? Please ask him to send on any further information as and when he tracks it down and continue to do the excellent job he appears to be doing. I will make my gratitude felt when I next see him.”

Fronto nodded.

“And” the general gestured with a raised finger, ”I have been thinking on our situation here with the Veneti. I believe there may be a solution. We need to settle this region swiftly and get back to Rome. Pass the word among the officers to attend a staff meeting here at dawn.”

Fronto smiled and nodded again as he turned and strode toward the doorway.

“Your help is, as always, immeasurable and gratefully received” the general called after him.

Smiling to himself grimly, Fronto stepped out into the late afternoon on this, the last day of Iunius, and looked up in surprise to see a patch of blue sky opening up between the clouds.

“Let that be an end to it…”

Chapter 9

(Quintilis: temporary camp on the Armorican coast)

“Everyone is here, Caesar.”

The general nodded and rose to stand behind the table, leaning forward, his hands on the surface.

“Very well, gentlemen. The purpose of this meeting is to find a way to break the Veneti. Our strategy so far has been somewhat inadequate. However, the summer is wearing on and my presence is required elsewhere as soon as things are settled in Gaul, and we need to end this decisively, and soon. So, the first order of the meeting, I would say, is to go through what we have achieved, what resources we have available, and the disposition and likely strategy of the enemy. Then we can decide how to go about dealing with them.”

Sighing glumly, Brutus gestured and stood.

“As I’m sure you’re all aware, the fleet has been less than effective during the campaign so far. We have been hampered by our inability to deal with the rocky shores, our inability to make it far out into the sea while racked with bad weather, and our general inferiority to the Gallic fleet in terms of both strength and speed.”

Galba gestured to him.

“Is the upshot of this that the fleet are to be effectively reduced to the task of scouting?”

“Not quite,” Brutus shook his head. “We have various possible solutions, but the problem is that we need to be able to get our hands on their ships to try them. And since they can outrun us in most conditions, unless it’s completely becalmed, we need to trap them for that.” He smiled wanly.

“Mind you, it looks like the weather might be breaking, though I’d hate to tempt the fates about that. If the winds and storms would die down, our range of operation would increase tremendously and, conversely, the enemy, who rely solely on the wind in their sails, might be put at a disadvantage.”

He folded his arms.

“So, in fact, the upshot is that it all depends on the weather. I’m making a libation every morning with the best wine and fruit I can find to every God I can think of and I suggest everyone else does the same. If things improve, the fleet will finally be able to play its part.”

“I have thought long and hard on the subject and I am convinced now that we have been far from ineffective. We have continually driven the Veneti to the northwest, reducing the fortresses and settlements as we progress. It has felt as though we are chasing an elusive foe and that they are always a step ahead of us. However, an objective look at the situation allows one to draw an entirely different conclusion.”

He waved a hand across the map he was leaning upon.

“We have pushed them into a corner and they are running out of places to flee to. We have removed their control over nine tenths of their entire territory. If the fleet is able to act as a cordon, they can prevent the Veneti from fleeing past us again to the south but, even if they did, they have no defensible fortresses there now. They are almost at the limit of their territory to the northwest, where the Osismii live and, while the Osismii are currently their allies, I suspect the alliance will become rather shaky if that tribe suddenly has to play host to the whole displaced mass of the Veneti.”

He tapped the map decisively.

“That means that the Veneti are running out of both room and time. Sooner or later we will trap them and destroy them, but until that happens we should continue to squeeze them against their allies until the alliance becomes strained and breaks. To that end, I feel we need to find plausible victories of the variety that will break their spirit. Symbolic victories.”

The officer stepped forward, his crimson cloak swaying around his calves as he leaned over the map. He studied it for a moment and then smiled.

“Darioritum, general?”

Caesar frowned as he looked down.

“Darioritum is inland. We have it on good authority that the Veneti have abandoned their land-locked towns in favour of their coastal escape routes.”

Cicero nodded.

“Yes, sir. In almost all cases that has proved to be true. However, with respect, there are several things that need taking into account with Darioritum.”

Caesar narrowed his eyes as he gazed down. Now, Fronto, Balbus and Brutus were on their feet approaching the table with interest.

“Firstly, Caesar, this map is not accurate” Cicero continued. “I have spent time speaking to some of the less reticent captives of Crassus’ campaign last year and, in return for a little lenience, they can be very talkative. The map shows Darioritum some six or seven miles from the sea. In actual fact, the oppidum is by a large gulf or salt-water lake that has an opening to the sea. Two spits of land reach out like the horns of a bull. Darioritum is, essentially, by the sea. Moreover, it is also, according to two different sources I have questioned, considered the capital of the tribe, or the nearest approximation they
have
to a capital.”

“Given its importance and location, it is almost certainly occupied, even if only by a small retainer force.
That
, I would suggest, is the victory you’re seeking, Caesar.”

Fronto became aware that most of the other officers had stood and approached the table, the entire officer corps now trying to see the map. Brutus cleared his throat.

“Can we get a more accurate map of the situation around Darioritum?”

Fronto shrugged.