Late November 46 BC
Gaius Didius scanned the battle, blinking in the sea spray. He was determined to finish the rebels here; today. The two fleets had met at the Balearic Islands, where a decisive engagement had taken place. Didius knew that there had been concerns over his ability to successfully conclude Caesar’s sea campaign, and he had heard half-mutterings that the command should have gone to Brutus, a man with considerable naval experience, and all that had done was make him determined to prove himself all the more. The two fleets had clashed around the islands several times until they met in open battle. His tactics there had been non-traditional, and the trierarchs had argued with him, but he’d been insistent, basing his attack upon Iberian cavalry tactics he had learned to his cost as a young tribune on the peninsula many years ago. The result had been a resounding success. The unexpected manoeuvres had confounded the enemy commander, and the rebel fleet had been broken soundly. Didius had secretly and silently heaved a sigh of relief as his trierarchs had cheered him on, while the Pompeian commander and what was left of his fleet fled west towards mainland Hispania.
Since then, the trierarchs had been his, obeying without question. They had chased the rebels to the coast, near Lucentum, but the enemy commander was fast, driven by fear, and managed to stay out of reach. Still, Didius had been close enough on their tail to prevent them being able to take safe harbour there. Indeed, he had chased and harried the surviving fleet all along the Hispanic coast, nipping at their heels, so close that never once had the enemy had the chance to put into one of their allied ports. Day and night they had sailed, until this afternoon they had rounded the Pillars of Hercules and entered the dangerous strait that led out into the great encircling ocean.
There they had found something of a surprise. The wily enemy commander had been making for the bay of Carteia just beyond the northern pillar, for there sat his reserves. As soon as the enemy fleet had entered the bay, signals had been given and the rest of the rebel naval power had mobilised and raced to join them. Didius’ trierarchs had moaned in dismay, for now they had faced an enemy not much smaller than the one they had already ousted in the Balearics, and this time, Caesar’s fleet was exhausted from the chase. Still, Didius had been determined.
He had reasoned that only the fresh crews on the reserve ships would be fully alert and strong, and they were coming in a small block. The shape of the bay had suggested to Didius that both encircling arms enclosed somewhat shallow water at the edges, with only the centre of the bay as it stretched towards Carteia formed of deep water. Out of time, and faced with a hard fight, he had settled on a somewhat drastic plan.
As the ships they had been chasing slowed and turned, ready for the reserve fleet to come alongside and bolster them, Didius had three of his triremes move close together. Most of the crew left two of them, swimming to the third, and those two, running with only a small complement, made one last great effort at speed. They raced ahead of Didius’ fleet, making for the block of fresh reserves coming up to the left. As they reached a good pace, the crews pulled in the oars and abandoned them, spilling pitch around the deck. At the last moment they lit the pitch on both ships and leapt into the water, swimming for their fellow ships coming along behind.
The enemy reserves had been doomed, then. Didius had seen it with an air of satisfaction. They could not move further towards the shore for fear of grounding themselves, and the fleet Didius had chased from the Balearics filled the rest of the open water. The reserves did all they could, slowing and backwatering as the fireships drifted at speed towards them, but their momentum made that troublesome, too. The two blazing vessels struck the reserves even as they began to retreat, setting more and more ships afire, sparks leaping in the sea air and catching on the sails of others. It was a dry, warm afternoon, with the breeze endemic of the straits, and the fire spread through the fleet in moments.
Before the enemy commander could change his plan, Didius and his men, invigorated with such early success, were on them. They had ploughed into their fleeing enemy like lions, and the battle had been vicious, but almost entirely one-sided. The battle had raged for the past half hour, but now it was almost over. Didius peered at the remaining rebel ships. Four triremes remained functioning amid the floating wreckage, including the ship of their admiral. He, it was, that Didius wanted now. Didius had broken the enemy fleet and effectively taken control of the seas around Hispania, but to truly put the wind up the rebels on the peninsula, he would like to capture or kill their naval commander. Plus, of course, it would look rather good in his report to Caesar.
The enemy knew it was over, and those vessels were moving now. One had turned sideways in an attempt to block the waters and provide cover for the other three as they slowly spun and made for the harbour at Carteia. Didius chewed his lip now. It was already a great victory, but he was damned if the man was going to escape. Giving the signal, Didius gestured to the trierarch of his flagship, and the vessel broke off its engagement with a half-sunk enemy ship and began to plough carefully between the various wrecked hulls and screaming, drowning sailors, aiming for the fleeing rebels. Half a dozen of his vessels followed, disengaging from their clear victory and chasing down the survivors.
They were in close pursuit. The fastest of their ships moved into a vanguard position, signalling their intent to Didius, and he silently thanked that trierarch. The powerful trireme out front moved to ramming speed, pulling ahead. The pace was one they could not maintain for long at the best of times, but after two battles and a three day pursuit where the crew slept only for a few hours at a time and in shifts, it was impressive they managed it at all. The trireme struck the sidelong enemy vessel amidships, its ram tearing into the hull, ripping the enemy blockade into two halves. The two ships became entangled, a mess of troubled timber, but the blockage had shrunk considerably, and Didius and his six ships ploughed on, skirting the ruined blockade with ease now, and chasing down the enemy.
They were close, but Didius fretted. His men were simply too tired to give that last extra burst. They were keeping pace with the fleeing commander, but not gaining on him. He set his jaw, determined. Alright, if they couldn’t catch them before they made Carteia, he would catch them at Carteia before they had the chance to disembark. As they closed, he frowned. He could see Carteia, ancient walls and close-packed buildings huddled near to the shoreline above a small river’s estuary, but the enemy did not seem to be making for the harbour. He scanned the coast. The river was narrow and too silted up to be navigable, and much of the coastline was either shallow and sandy, or filled with ridges of submerged rocks identifiable only because the sea broke across them from time to time. He realised then why the enemy were not making for the harbour. The place was fortified. Two ships had been scuttled in the harbour entrance, creating a blockade within artillery range from towers. He smiled. The enemy commander had scuppered himself there. He’d had Carteia protected from enemy assault, but then left himself with nowhere to run, trapped in a narrow bay with an unforgiving shore.
He focused. If that was the case, then why were the enemy still making for the shore? He watched as the three surviving enemy triremes raced for the land. The harbour was no use, they were to the west of the rocky shelves, and all Didius could see further west was the bright aquamarine of shallow water, where the submerged beach was such a gentle slope that it ran far out to sea.
Between the rocks and the sands, there must be a narrow, navigable stretch, where the enemy intended to beach their ships and flee ashore. Well they might manage to beach the ships, but Didius would be on them before they could wade to land.
‘Follow those ships. Beach if you have to.’
The trierarch, displaying a similarly determined look, nodded and passed signals to the other ships. The aulete picked up the speed of the tune on his pipes, trying to coax just a little more pace from the oarsmen, but they were already giving all they had. The ships raced for the shore. Miraculously, the enemy seemed to be slowing, just a little, while two of Didius’ ships had managed to edge just a little closer. They were going to make it.
The first he knew of the trouble was when his lead ship, a fast vessel determined to be the first to stop the enemy admiral, suddenly slewed sideways and halted, tipping over. He stared as that ship slumped into the water, the crew bellowing in shock as oars snapped and the mast smacked sidelong into the water.
Didius stared. The enemy ships were even now, some short distance ahead, grinding to a halt on the sands, their crews leaping from the rails to land in waist deep water and wade to the shore. His lead ship, however, was done for, slowly settling into the water, though part would continue to jut from the surface, so shallow was the bay. Without the need for Didius to call off the pursuit, the trierarch of his command ship bellowed orders and the vessel turned sharply. Didius realised then just how close to disaster he’d come, for the oarsmen all along the vessel’s starboard side cursed, their oar blades dragging in the sand under the water, just below the keel, due to the tilt of the ship. They had almost run aground.
As they veered away from the shore, Didius gripped the rail, cursing, and watched as another of his ships fell foul of what he now realised were carefully placed traps. The enemy, aware that the harbour was blocked, and knowing only one section of nearby shore was suitable for beaching, had submerged chains and wreckage, attached to anchors, all along the shore. They had known where they were, and had slipped easily between them, but Didius and his fleet had been entirely unaware, and had consequently blundered straight into them.
The other ships were turning now, two vessels done for, tangled and sinking in the shallow water. Didius fumed, watching the enemy ships disgorging their crews, from the meanest oarsman to the Pompeian admiral himself, all vaulting into waist deep water and wading ashore. He had failed to catch the bastard.
‘Never mind, sir,’ a nearby centurion said with feeling. ‘He might be running, but he’s doing it with his tail between his legs. You’ve cleared the sea of enemy ships. We control the coast now.’
The man was right. Didius nodded his thanks. They had won a tremendous series of victories over the past few days, culminating with this in the very heart of the enemy fleet’s base. He might not have taken their admiral, but the man no longer had a fleet to command.
‘Slow in open water and let the survivors swim aboard,’ he told the trierarch. The crews of his two foundering ships would need to be saved, and, while Didius and his fleet now ruled the seas, the coast was still solidly held by the enemy. Swimming ashore was no option. Now they would have to find somewhere with a safe harbour where they could secure a bridgehead. Plenty of places on the Iberian coastline. And then they would settle in, patrolling the coast, keeping the enemy land-bound and awaiting the arrival of the army to finish the job.
* * *
Fronto sighed as he sank back into the chair in the general’s tent and sipped the wine. It had been a furious journey, but he had to admit that the general, after those debacles in Aegyptus and Africa, seemed to be back to his strategic forte. Labienus and the Pompeys had to be guessing at what was coming, struggling to plan any kind of defence. Didius had sailed months ago for the Balearics, where it was known that the Pompeians had established a powerful naval presence. Caesar had hoped that the new admiral would be able to best the enemy there and make a big noise doing it, drawing the enemy commanders’ attention that way. In fact, the reports they’d received suggested that Didius had done better than they could ever have hoped, smashing the fleet and wresting control of the Balearics from the enemy. The man had not stopped there, though. Last reports had him harrying the enemy fleet south along the coast towards the Pillars of Hercules. The Pompey brothers would be watching that area intently, knowing that Caesar now had control of the waters, and any invasion could easily come via the Balearics or even along the coast of Africa.
Additionally, Caesar’s pet mercenary captain, Publius Sittius, fresh from destroying Scipio’s fleet at Hippo, had infiltrated the Iberian coastline at Saguntum and Carthago Nova and had managed to overthrow the pro-Pompeian commanders, securing the two great port cities in the name of Caesar. Word of their fall must have reached the enemy commanders swiftly, and with the two greatest harbours on the eastern shoreline in Caesarian hands, the danger of Caesar’s invasion force arriving by ship via the Balearics was a strong one. Labienus and the Pompeys had probably argued for days about where their forces were best disposed to stand against Caesar.
But both of these were little more than distractions, drawing the enemy’s eye. In truth, the bulk of Caesar’s forces had been moving for months now. The legions and shiploads of supplies had assembled at Narbo, on the coast south of Gaul and close to the Pyrenees, under the watchful eye of Gaius Trebonius, a man who had served throughout the war in Gaul with distinction. There, Trebonius had begun to gradually move the legions and supply train on into the north-eastern corner of Hispania, down through Tarraco and into the peninsula’s heartland. It had been subtle, and slow, far enough from the enemy in Baetica to the south, not to draw too much attention.
Caesar and his officers, along with alae of cavalry, had taken ship at Ostia after the celebrations ended and all had been made ready, and sailed for Narbo. Labienus and the Pompeys would undoubtedly think Caesar still lounging in Rome, while had, in fact, been marshalling his army mere miles from the border of Hispania, with the army already on the move. It was all very neat.
Trebonius had done a tremendous job, but there his involvement had ended. The man had, apparently, been expecting to join the staff upon Caesar’s arrival and move into Hispania with them in command of a legion. Caesar had instead commanded his old warhorse to sit out the campaign, remaining in Narbo at the hub of the supply train. Fronto had watched Trebonius’ face and added his name to those of Antonius, Brutus and Octavian on his growing list of people who were pissed off at being sidelined by the general. Still, despite his grumbling, Trebonius was clearly still excelling at the job, for as the general and his cavalry and officers rode at speed to catch up with the head of the army, the supplies continued to move neatly.
They had travelled unopposed down the coast and headed inland from Saguntum, receiving reinforcements there from the city secured by Sittius, and joining up with the forces already gathered in Hispania under Quintus Pedius and his generals. Pedius, another of Caesar’s great nephews, had shown sensible restraint. While some of the officers had chided him for not having pushed against the Pompeys and Labienus, Pedius had pointed out that the enemy had considerably outnumbered them, had control of most of the powerful cities, had their supplies in place, and had the popular support of most of the southern peninsula. Pedius had thought it prudent not to throw away his men, in his own words ‘on some deluded heroic blunder,’ but to await the arrival of Caesar and his army, giving them sufficient forces to remove the enemy. Caesar had been impressed and pleased with the decision, and so the two armies had amalgamated.
The journey then had taken them west, leading the Caesarian forces ever closer to the enemy’s concentration in Baetica, and this evening the army had settled and encamped in the plains outside Ilugo. Fronto had planned to spend the evening with the Tenth, who formed part of Caesar's legionary column, and whose senior centurion, Atenos, Fronto had not seen since Thapsus. However, as the army had shuffled into positions, it transpired that a small group of deserters from the enemy force had reached Ilugo today on a path to Saguntum, where they had hoped to find Caesar and his army.
Even now, the general was outside once more, seeing those deserters into the care of a prefect who was to find them food and accommodation. They had been interviewed for an hour in front of the men of Caesar’s staff, and much had been learned.
In response to the fact that Caesar and his forces seemed to be approaching from all over, northeast, southeast, and directly at the east coast, Sextus Pompey had largely drawn the enemy’s forces back into central Baetica, the best to keep the army concentrated ready to face them. If the rebel deserters were to be believed, then the enemy power base was now at Corduba, less than a hundred miles to the west, and every twenty miles or so of road between here and there was settled with enemy pickets, ready to warn of Caesar’s approach.
There, the deserters had begun to differ in their information, for they had come from two different enemy units. One group was convinced that Caesar’s best target was to strike directly at Sextus Pompey in Corduba and tear the enemy’s fortress out from under them. They were convinced that, though Corduba would be a hard nut to crack, it was possible, with a clever enough strategy. They even went so far as to suggest a night-time assault. The other unit, however, had tried to persuade Caesar to move first on the city of Ulia to the south of Cordoba. There, the other brother, Gnaeus Pompey, was busy besieging the town, which had declared for Caesar.
Caesar had received this information with interest, nodding his understanding at each point raised, keeping quiet along with the rest of his officers. When the deserters had completed their report and stepped back, quiet, Caesar had steepled his fingers.
‘What of Titus Labienus?’
There had then been some discussion among the deserters. They seemed to have a variety of conflicting reports as to the location of Caesar’s old lieutenant, ranging from the far end of Iberia, near Gades, up into the mountains at the peninsula’s centre, down to Malaca on the south coast. The upshot, they admitted in the end, was that they did not know. He was somewhere in Baetica. The one thing they all seemed to be able to agree upon was that Labienus was his own man, commanding a powerful cavalry force and not falling under the direct command of the Pompey brothers.
Now, as Fronto finally relaxed and looked forward to a possible catch up with Atenos, Caesar returned to the tent, the deserters seen to.
‘Plans need to be made, gentlemen.’
Pedius coughed. ‘Of the three enemy commanders, by far the most dangerous is Labienus, and, since we do not know where he is, it will be difficult to plan effectively.’
Caesar nodded as he settled in his own chair. ‘Labienus is clever. He knows I’m here. The Pompey brothers can play on their famous name to gain support in the cities, and that’s what they’re doing. Labienus doesn’t have that advantage, and so he has become a ghost, flitting around Iberia with a fast moving cavalry force. By the time we get any report of his presence, be assured he will be gone from there. He will keep on the move and ready to strike. He will wait for us to make our move against the Pompeys and use whatever advantage he can find then. Gods, but I wish the man was still one of this group. What a mind.’
Fronto sipped his wine and put down the cup. ‘So whatever we do, we cannot consider Labienus in the plan, just put in place whatever safeguards we can, and be prepared for a nasty surprise.’
‘Quite. So the question now is where we make our first move. Both options commend themselves.’
Pedius shuffled and leaned forward. ‘Corduba is the de facto capital of Baetica. It is as much a symbol of rebel control as the Pompey name itself, General. I have seen the city myself, and it will be a vicious place to take, but if we can do it, perhaps we can put an end to Sextus Pompey and take control of the seat of rebel power all in one go. You know what damage we would do if we removed their capital and one of the three generals. And while Sextus is the younger of the brothers, in my opinion he is the most strategically minded.’
Caesar took all this in, nodding as he listened. ‘Everything you say is entirely correct, of course. Very astute. But the question is whether that outweighs the advantage to be gained at Ulia. Ulia was sending petitions to Rome months ago begging to be aided against the rebels. Of all those who have entreated us, Ulia has stood staunch for our cause despite being all but surrounded by the enemy. To let them fall to Gnaeus Pompey would send a bad signal to any other city that might come over to us, while to ride to their rescue might tip many others to our cause. Additionally, while Gnaeus is undoubtedly the less talented of the brothers, he is still dangerous, and his name is still as powerful. His capture or demise would strike the enemy as much as that of Sextus. You see the dilemma? Ideally we would move in both directions at once.’
‘Then why not do so?’ Hirtius asked quietly.
Fronto pursed his lips. ‘It would be dangerous. We would be dividing our forces and fighting a war on two fronts.’
‘Yes,’ Galronus said, interjecting to the surprise of all, ‘but I fear focusing on one target exclusively is playing an equal risk.’
‘Oh?’ Caesar asked. ‘How so?’
‘You have an enemy force in Corduba, an enemy force at Ulia, and at least a third cavalry force somewhere, probably close, under Labienus. If you attack Corduba, you risk being trapped against its walls by Gnaeus Pompey and Labienus. If you attack Ulia, you risk the same there from Labienus and Sextus Pompey. Seven years ago we attacked Alesia. I know we won, but remember how dangerous it was. Having to double fortify against an enemy reserve?’
Caesar frowned. ‘An interesting point. Of course, if we move against both, and keep both Pompey’s occupied, we still have to worry about Labienus.’
‘I didn’t say it was a perfect plan, Caesar. Just pointing out a danger.’
Caesar sagged back. ‘In truth, I fear the decision has been made for us. We cannot afford to ignore the chance to trap Sextus in Corduba, but we cannot let Ulia fall. We must move on both. I shall continue to lead the main force against Corduba, and we shall send a smaller force to Ulia in an attempt to break the siege there. Who do we have who knows the land hereabouts, Lucius?’ he asked Pedius.
The officer tapped his lip. ‘I have the man for you. Lucius Vibius Paciaecus. A solid, able commander, who’s led vexillations for us since the winter. He’s been active in these hills for months, and is known to the Ulians.’
Caesar’s smile appeared then. ‘Good. Send for this Vibius Paciaecus. We’ll give him six cohorts of the best heavy infantry we have. Give him the Fifth. They cut their teeth on Alesia and have been consistently successful since then. They’re understrength, so six full cohorts will leave only the engineers and the baggage with our column. Without the baggage, they’ll move fast.’
Pedius made a note on the tablet sitting on the table beside him. ‘Will six cohorts be enough?’
Caesar pointed across the room. Galronus, standing in the line of Caesar’s gesture, frowned. ‘General?’
‘You will join him and take six alae of the best horse we have. Between you, I am content that you can deal with Gnaeus Pompey and save Ulia.’
Galronus bowed his head, and Caesar leaned back. ‘The rest of us will move on Corduba and attempt to wrest it from the younger Pompey.’ The general peered at the map on the wall, noting their current location and that of the two cities they were contemplating. ‘More or less a hundred miles to each, though the Ulia force will arrive first, unburdened by baggage. It would appear that Ulia and Corduba are less than twenty miles apart. We will keep a constant swarm of scouts in the area, all around us, ranging ten miles, to give us warning should Labienus hove into view, and we will set up a system of couriers to keep the two armies in close contact throughout. I don’t want anyone to be taken by surprise.’
* * *
Atenos passed the jug of wine over to Fronto. ‘We seem to be lacking a legate.’
Fronto took a sip of the wine and pulled a face. ‘Out of whose sweaty arse crack did you bottle this stuff?’
The centurion laughed. ‘This shit is the stuff you used to drink with us. I think a few years in the wine trade has made you too snooty, Fronto. Anyway, you’re supposed to water it.’
‘Especially this stuff,’ Fronto grunted. ‘You sip it unwatered to check the quality, and then you water it. Mind, I’m regretting having done so. I’ll be tasting that for a week.’
‘Get it drunk, you Roman petal.’
Fronto tried not to be offended and broke into a weary grin. Atenos was so thoroughly Roman, Fronto often thought of him as one, and forgot that the man was, in his history every bit as Gaulish as Galronus. In some ways, Caesar’s invasion of Gaul had done much to bring Gaul into Rome rather than the other way around.
‘So?’ Atenos said
‘So what?’
‘We’ve no legate, and you’re on the staff. Would be like old times if these two things became connected.’
Fronto chuckled. ‘I’m old, Atenos. Probably too old for the sort of thing we used to get up to.’
‘Balls. And this might be your last chance. I hear you’re planning to hang up your sword. And if this ends the war, there’s a good chance the Tenth will be put into garrison for a year or two to make sure that the world stays settled, and then disbanded entirely as no longer necessary.’ He leaned closer, conspiratorially. ‘It is my distinct impression that this war in Hispania will be the Tenth’s last. It would be rather nice if our last battle with Caesar was under you.’
Fronto smiled. It was true. This probably was his last battle. And while he would miss the life, he was getting too creaky for a lot of this, and his vow to Lucilia was no empty one. He had missed too much of the boys growing up. Having watched them at the Ludus Troiae, he was determined that this wouldn’t happen again. When the war was over and the summer come, Fronto would be done with the army. And Atenos was right. These legions had largely been raised for war in Gaul and then for the extended civil conflicts that followed. If everything returned to peace, there would be no need to maintain so many expensive legions and most, if not all, would be disbanded. His favoured Tenth, who he had led to so many famous victories, would be done.
‘I think I might just tell Caesar that the Tenth is mine, or I go home.’
Atenos clinked the lip of his wine cup against Fronto’s. ‘That’s the spirit. Now if we’re going to fight one last campaign together, then we’d best stick to tradition and get drunk together first!’
And they did.