Marius' Mules II: The Belgae

Marius’ Mules II: The Belgae

S.J.A.Turney

Smashwords
Edition

Copyright

S.J.A.Turney

The author
asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

“
Marius’ Mules: nickname acquired by the legions after the
General Marius made it standard practice for the soldier to carry
all of his kit about his person.”

Dedicated to my
parents, who have supported

my family and I
through good times and bad with

grace and
kindness.

Also to Rupert
and Charlene, best of

friends and
Godparents extraordinaire to Marcus.

This book is available in print at most online
retailers

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By the same author:

Marius’ Mules
(2009)

It is 58 BC
and the mighty Tenth Legion, camped in Northern Italy, prepare for
the arrival of the most notorious general in Roman history: Julius
Caesar.

Marcus
Falerius Fronto, commander of the Tenth is a career soldier and
long-time companion of Caesar's. Despite his desire for the
simplicity of the military life, he cannot help but be drawn into
intrigue and politics as Caesar engineers a motive to invade the
lands of Gaul.

Fronto is
about to discover that politics can be as dangerous as battle, that
old enemies can be trusted more than new friends, and that standing
close to such a shining figure as Caesar, even the most ethical of
men risk being burned.

Interregnum
(2009)

For twenty
years civil war has torn the Empire apart; the Imperial line
extinguished as the mad Emperor Quintus burned in his palace,
betrayed by his greatest general. Against a background of war,
decay, poverty and violence, men who once served in the proud
Imperial army now fight as mercenaries, hiring themselves to the
greediest lords. On a hopeless battlefield that same general, now a
mercenary captain tortured by the events of his past, stumbles
across hope in the form of a young man begging for help. Kiva is
forced to face more than his dark past as he struggles to put his
life and the very Empire back together. The last scion of the
Imperial line will change Kiva forever.

Ironroot
(2010)

Captain Varro
of the Fourth army is about to have the worst day of his life.
Wounded in battle and fearing for his life and his future, he
stumbles upon a plot that reaches deep into the past and into the
roots of everything in which he believes. Accompanied by a young
engineer from his unit and the daughter of his commander in chief,
he begins to unpeel layers of treachery and murder that threaten
not only himself, but the people that he loves. Ironroot is a tale
of treason and revenge set in the world of the Interregnum, some
twenty years after the events of that book.

Available from
all good online stores.

For more
information visit www.sjaturney.co.uk

PART ONE:
THE GATHERING STORM

Chapter 1

(Roman
military installation outside Vesontio)

“
Quadriga: a chariot drawn by four horses, such as seen at the
great races in the circus of Rome.”

“
Foederati: non-Roman states who held treaties with Rome and
gained some rights under Roman law.”

“
Where the hell have you been?”

Gnaeus
Vinicius Priscus gestured angrily with his vine staff from his
position on top of a supply wagon as he ground his teeth
irritably.

Fronto looked
up at his ‘subordinate’, though the word hardly seemed appropriate.
A quick glance around confirmed no one was listening within
earshot.

The legate of
the Tenth Legion looked tired and haggard. Dark circles beneath his
eyes spoke of late nights and long days. Behind him, Aulus Crispus,
legate of the Eleventh shook his head, a faint smile lurking
somewhere beneath the dust of travel. Fronto growled gently.

“
And hello to you too, Priscus. We’ve come as fast as we
could.”

To illustrate,
he gestured up and down himself, bringing attention to the dust and
wear. There was a low muttering behind him.

“
What was that?” he barked, rounding on his younger
companion.

Crispus
laughed lightly.

“
I said: ‘via every bar between the Pyrenees and
Vesontio…’”

He took one
look at Fronto’s face and wisely turned away to tighten a strap on
his horse. Fronto continued to glare at him for a moment and then
turned back to the primus pilus of the Tenth.

“
I’d say we’ve done well, myself. We didn’t even get the
message ‘til a fortnight ago in Tarraco. All that way in less than
two weeks? And with the horses laden with all our gear? Just be
bloody grateful we left the cart behind!”

Crispus smiled
benignly.

“
Good afternoon, centurion. Forgive my companion. We made the
most of our last night of freedom yesterday at a Gaulish tavern in
a village around twenty miles from here. My head is troubling me a
little and I suspect Fronto’s is a great deal worse.”

Fronto
grumbled again.

“
The wine they serve in some of these local places tastes like
feet and feels like being hit over the head with a
brick!”

“
You should try their beer, Marcus. They may make poor wine, my
friend, but they excel at the brewing process” Crispus
smiled.

Fronto shot
his companion another grim glance and then turned back to his
subordinate.

“
What’s all this about, Priscus? We weren’t due to return for
almost a month and here we are, back in camp on the calends of
April?”

“
Let’s talk as we walk.”

The primus
pilus dropped lightly from the wagon to land on the springy turf,
his hob-nailed boots leaving a deep impression. He gestured toward
the fortifications and the three men walked onward, Fronto and
Crispus wearily leading their horses.

The camp had
changed since Fronto was last here. During the previous season, the
legions had spent a while encamped at Vesontio and had fortified
their position with a palisade and ditch, their tents raised in
orderly rows. Some time early in the autumn, Labienus, who had been
assigned to command the six legions and their auxiliary support in
the off-season, had decided that a more permanent installation was
required.

Three large
forts had been constructed of timber in an arc around the city, on
the far bank of the river. The leather campaigning tents had been
packed away for next season and the army had settled to ride out
the winter in relative comfort. With a large Roman army on the
doorstep, Fronto could imagine how well the entertainment industry
in Vesontio had done.

“
How are the legions disposed?” young Crispus enquired. “There
is insufficient room here for the full army.”

Priscus
nodded.

“
Yessir. Yours and ours are here, along with the Eighth. The
Seventh, Ninth and Twelfth are spread out, one entrenched towards
the Rhine, one about twenty miles north and the other off to the
west. Commander Labienus thought we ought to maintain a presence in
the surroundings just in case. The legions have been rotating
through the picket camps on a two-weekly basis. It’s all worked
quite well, I’d say; Labienus has kept his headquarters in
Vesontio, and Crassus has been moving between the three camps
keeping the men on their toes and irritable.”

Fronto
nodded.

“
I can quite believe that. So, why the early
muster?”

“
Wish I could answer that, but I’m in the dark myself. Caesar
sent a courier to Vesontio about a month ago and told Labienus that
the legates would be returning during March and the general himself
would be here at the start of April. Looks like you’ve beaten him
here, but only just.”

Crispus
scratched his unshaven chin.

“
So the other legates are all here then?”

Priscus
nodded.

“
Balbus arrived early last week and has been in and out of the
headquarters ever since. Rufus got here three days ago and went
straight out to his men to the north. Not seen him since. And Galba
came back in the middle of winter. Apparently he felt the Twelfth
needed some winter training. Crassus has been lauding him up to
Labienus, and I have to admit he’s really worked his men this
winter.”

Fronto
grumbled.

“
I expect that means the rest of us look lazy! Crassus’ll think
we wasted winter, but Labienus is bright. I expect he’ll know
otherwise.”

Priscus
sighed.

“
I am capable of running things here. I did your job quite a
lot last year, remember? Balventius, Felix and I kept up regular
training and sorties throughout the winter. With all due respect,
you’re legates… no one expects you to keep your men fit. That’s our
job. You just make occasional decisions and look
pretty.”