Marius mules xiv, p.1
Marius' Mules XIV, page 1
Marius’ Mules XIV
The Last Battle
by S. J. A. Turney
1st Edition
“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.”
For Michelle, sorely missed
Cover photos courtesy of Paul and Garry of the Deva Victrix Legio XX. Visit http://www.romantoursuk.com/ to see their excellent work.
Cover design by Dave Slaney.
Many thanks to the above for their skill and generosity.
All internal maps are copyright the author of this work.
Published in this format 2021 by Victrix Books
Copyright - S.J.A. Turney
First Edition
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Also by S. J. A. Turney:
Continuing the Marius' Mules Series
Marius’ Mules I: The Invasion of Gaul (2009)
Marius’ Mules II: The Belgae (2010)
Marius’ Mules III: Gallia Invicta (2011)
Marius’ Mules IV: Conspiracy of Eagles (2012)
Marius’ Mules V: Hades’ Gate (2013)
Marius’ Mules VI: Caesar’s Vow (2014)
Marius’ Mules: Prelude to War (2014)
Marius’ Mules VII: The Great Revolt (2014)
Marius’ Mules VIII: Sons of Taranis (2015)
Marius’ Mules IX: Pax Gallica (2016)
Marius’ Mules X: Fields of Mars (2017)
Marius’ Mules XI: Tides of War (2018)
Marius’ Mules XII: Sands of Egypt (2019)
Marius’ Mules XIII: Civil War (2020)
The Praetorian Series
The Great Game (2015)
The Price of Treason (2015)
Eagles of Dacia (2017)
Lions of Rome (2019)
The Cleansing Fire (2020)
Blades of Antioch (2021)
The Damned Emperors Series
Caligula (2018)
Commodus (2019)
The Rise of Emperors Series (with Gordon Doherty)
Sons of Rome (2020)
Masters of Rome (2021)
Gods of Rome (2021)
The Ottoman Cycle
The Thief's Tale (2013)
The Priest's Tale (2013)
The Assassin’s Tale (2014)
The Pasha’s Tale (2015)
The Knights Templar Series
Daughter of War (2018)
The Last Emir (2018)
City of God (2019)
The Winter Knight (2019)
The Crescent and the Cross (2020)
The Last Crusade (2021)
Wolves of Odin
Blood Feud (2021)
Bear of Byzantium (2021)
Tales of the Empire
Interregnum (2009)
Ironroot (2010)
Dark Empress (2011)
Insurgency (2016)
Invasion (2017)
Jade Empire (2017)
Roman Adventures (Children’s Roman fiction with Dave Slaney)
Crocodile Legion (2016)
Pirate Legion (Summer 2017)
Short story compilations & contributions:
Tales of Ancient Rome vol. 1 – S.J.A. Turney (2011)
Tortured Hearts vol 1 – Various (2012)
Tortured Hearts vol 2 – Various (2012)
Temporal Tales – Various (2013)
A Year of Ravens – Various (2015)
A Song of War – Various (2016)
Rubicon – Various (2020)
Hauntings (2021)
For more information visit www.sjaturney.co.uk or www.facebook.com/SJATurney or follow Simon on Twitter @SJATurney
The maps of Marius’ Mules 14
Part One
Rome – Triumphs and Tribulations
“So great was the calamity which the civil wars had wrought, and so large a portion of the people of Rome had they consumed away, to say nothing of the misfortunes that possessed the rest of Italy and the provinces.”
- Plutarch: Life of Caesar
Chapter 1
June 46 BC.
Plains by the Orontes river, east of Antioch
Sextus Julius Caesar chewed his lip as he peered out into the morning light, tense. The battle raged fiercely, and it was difficult to predict how it would pan out as yet. The roar and din of men crying out in rage and pain, overlaid with the whinny and snort of horses, the thuds of blows landing on wooden shields, the rattle, clank, shush and ding of metal meeting metal, the whole thing wove itself into a blanket of sound that filled the plain from hillside to hillside, echoing across the miles of farmland.
He was no novice to battle, for all his youth. Though, as Caesar’s great nephew, Sextus had been kept away from the heart of the civil war, posted to peripheral and less volatile positions, he had served his military apprenticeship in a time of strife and battle could not be avoided. He had seen war as a tribune, and then as a commanding officer, first in Hispania before the civil war truly kicked in there, and then at Nicopolis against the armies of Pharnaces II. Like young Octavius, and even younger Pinarius, in Rome, Sextus had envied their cousin Pedius, the eldest of the four, who had served with the general on campaign. Now, however, he was beginning to understand why his powerful great uncle had kept him away from the civil war for so long.
Watching Roman kill Roman was an affront to civilization, and that was what was happening all across the plain. The legions of Quintus Caecilius Bassus had marched north from Tyrus with such suddenness and speed that it had taken a masterful logistical mind to mobilise an army to meet him. Fortunately, that was one thing Sextus shared with his great uncle, and the army he, rightful governor of Syria, had managed to field was every bit the match for the rebellious Bassus and his legions. Pedius, he suspected, would never have found himself in this position, for the man was always ready for whatever life threw at him, and for all his youth, Octavius would undoubtedly have managed to find a way to remove Bassus from command long before he’d managed to march with an army. Sextus, though, was a straightforward man. A clever one, yes, but without his cousins’ guile. He liked to think himself a traditional Roman, though unfortunately he seemed to be living in a very untraditional Roman world. Rather than craftily avoiding conflict, he had met it head-on, and would secure victory the old fashioned way.
‘Bassus rides with his cavalry,’ one of the senior officers noted, pointing out across the plain. Sextus peered into the dust and the spray of blood to the left flank, where the cavalry forces were contesting for control of the field. It was an important position. Many officers, he knew, would write off the cavalry as a lesser force and concentrate on the struggle of the legions in the centre, thinking that the heavy infantry would be the ones to decide the day. Sextus knew differently, as, apparently, did Bassus. Whoever won the flank would manage to bring their cavalry round to the poorly-defended rear and would stand a good chance of breaking their foe. As such, Sextus had made sure to field sufficient horse on both flanks to match the riders of Bassus. He would not make such a simple mistake. He was heir to the greatest general in the world, and it was important, here, when the might of Rome met in battle, to show that he was up to the challenge.
‘He is over-confident,’ Sextus said, nodding. ‘He believes his army will win, and he believes it will happen on the flank. He is wrong.’
‘His men fight like lions,’ another officer supplied. ‘They believe his lies. Our men struggle. Perhaps they do, too.’
The lies… the rumours that Caesar had perished at Thapsus in Africa mere weeks ago, racing across the republic in advance of official word. Rumours that Sextus entirely disbelieved, and that he felt certain had been manufactured by Bassus in Tyrus to secure his anti-Caesarian revolt. He shook his head, addressing the officer. ‘It is not in the will, but in the experience. Our men do not believe my great uncle to have perished. They know they still fight for him and for the strength of a new Rome, uncorrupted by the old pedagogues. They struggle because our army is a ragtag force of secondary garrisons, green recruits and near-retirees, all we could gather to face the battle-hardened legions of Bassus. Yet see how they hold, and it will change nothing. We will win on the flanks, for I have my secret weapon.’
He turned and looked over his shoulder. Here, on the low rise which had become his command post, he could see past the tents and the corral of officers’ horses, the standards and the wagons, and saw the unit he had kept in reserve, out of sight of the enemy, hidden from view.
Gauls and Germans. Almost a thousand riders, veterans of war from the first days of his great uncle’s campaigns against the Helvetii and the Belgae. Men who Caesar had left in Syria as part of the garrison, for they were riders the general could trust. Sextus knew damn well that Bassus would have reserves, too, and likely even cavalry. But Bassus would have poor riders in reserve, allies from Pontus or Judea, or perhaps Galatians. Nothing like the savage force Sextus commanded, which waited in the shadows, champing at the bit.
His gaze played across the field once more. The struggle really could go ei ther way at the moment, though he was confident that one signal would change all of that. But it was important to give the troops he had already fielded the chance to win the battle themselves, to give them heart and to enhance their reputation. Yet he would not hesitate to field the Gauls and Germans, and the time for such a move was fast approaching.
He could see the centre, still struggling. Bassus had gained the edge there, his iron-hard veterans slowly pushing the governor’s forces back, but still they were not breaking, and they held well. The right flank was immobile, contested by equal forces, and little was likely to happen there. The left flank, though…
He could see the standards there, marking Bassus’ position among the riders. The man had committed to the fight in person. He was a fool. Scores of generations of Roman generals had learned that the best place for a general was safely at the rear where he could see the entire field and adapt and move as required. Bassus had instead put himself in danger. Sextus made the decision, then. He’d given his army long enough to prove their mettle and, even if they weren’t the men who won the battle, they would be proud they had held long enough for victory to be secured. Now was the time to break the left flank and, with Bassus himself among the cavalry, there was a good chance the enemy commander would perish in the fray. Everyone knew how easily an army lost its heart with the death of its general. Sextus would commit the Gauls and Germans, turn the flank, kill Bassus, and break the enemy infantry with a harrying cavalry action to their rear.
‘Aulus, give the signal. Deploy our reserves on the left flank.’
The adjutant gave a curt nod of the head and stepped away across the dry, dusty mound, gesturing to a messenger on his pony. The attack of the reserves would be a surprise, no standards waved or horns blown to warn Bassus what was coming. Just word of mouth setting the riders free.
Sextus looked back only once, checking that the messenger did his job. Sure enough, the trousered, braided mass of riders were beginning to move without the need for signals. He turned back and concentrated on the field before him. The last thing he wanted was for some astute officer among the enemy to see him looking back at a hidden reserve, and send out the alarm.
The riders burst into view like a flood shattering a dam, a mass of colour and metal, bright shields and gleaming helmets, banners shaped like fierce animals, horses racing, swords out, spears levelled. As they emerged, their war cries began. No longer needing secrecy, they now called upon their strange northern gods to aid them in the fray as they rode straight at the left flank.
Sextus nodded his satisfaction. His prefect of cavalry had been briefed well, and even as the reserves appeared in sight and the bellowing began, the man sent out the orders to his beleaguered riders on that flank. In a perfectly choreographed move, the Armenian and Pontic cavalry broke off their hard fought attack carefully, peeling back to both sides like a pair of curtains opening.
The Gauls and Germans filled the gap like the bright rays of the sun invading a dark room between those parting drapes. The effect was impressive. Sextus had never seen these men in action, but those few men on his staff who had served under Caesar across the republic had given him cause to trust in their efficacy. They had been right.
The battle changed in a heartbeat. The two cavalry forces had been struggling to make headway, battering at one another in a press where men and beasts fell together, only to become a carpet of writhing flesh to be pounded into the dust by their compatriots. Suddenly, Bassus’ cavalry were being forced back and savaged. A unit of Germans, howling their gods’ names and cursing in their strange tongue, cleaved into the tired and battered enemy like a blade into soft flesh. They met not a wall of steel and muscle, but a weary mass that gave in an instant. By the time Sextus’ regular cavalry had pulled aside and then reengaged in support of the fresh Germans and Gauls, the new force had penetrated deep into the enemy ranks. There, Sextus watched them at work with astonishment.
They were acrobats. Even from a distance he could see them vaulting from the saddle where they could gain no headway, using knives and shorter blades to gut the enemy horses from beneath and then grabbing their reins once more and leaping back onto their mounts before the stricken animals had even hit the ground. Others had stopped using their hexagonal shields to block blows and were instead using them as weapons, lifting them so that they were horizontal and smashing the hard rim into nearby riders, even as they swung their swords at the far side. They seemed to have little care who was in the way of their blows. Their swords were considerably longer than those of the enemy, which could have been a disadvantage in the press, and yet they swung those massive blades wide, smashing riders from their saddles, cleaving limbs, crushing the necks of horses with the sheer strength of the blows, heedless of how they might catch their allies in the chaos. Oddly, despite the seemingly careless violence, the incidents of harming their companions seemed to be rare.
It was fascinating. They were the very antithesis of a Roman unit. There was no order or discipline evident in their attack, and they moved not with the purpose of ants but with the crowded ferocity of locusts. And yet despite the lack of organisation or order, they worked together like a troupe of acrobats, ducking and leaping, avoiding their own, lancing out with spears, swinging with swords, stabbing with knives and battering with shields, even using their mounts as weapons to force the enemy into more vulnerable positions. They were chaos, but gods they were deadly chaos.
In moments the battle was theirs. The enemy cavalry, completely unprepared for this onslaught and unable to effectively counter it, especially tired and abused as they were, began to break. Bassus had given an order somehow, and a fresh unit of cavalry was coming forward in support, but it was too little and too late. They never even managed to engage, for their entry to the fight was blocked by the fleeing riders from the rear of the flank. The cavalry had broken.
The enemy cavalry crumbled. The prefect in command of Sextus’ riders desperately called out to his officers, telling them to hold position and not to chase down the fleeing horsemen. This was a critical point. If an enthusiastic cavalry unit decided they were not done with the broken enemy and gave chase, then the won flank was worthless. For a heart-stopping moment it looked as though that was precisely what would happen, for the Germans and Gauls, their bloodlust at its height, seemed to be ignoring the order to re-form. Instead, they pressed forward against the increasingly angry calls of the prefect.
Then Sextus realised what they were doing, and the prefect did too, a moment later. The fierce allies were not chasing down their fleeing victims, but meeting the reserves head-on, even as the riders attempted to navigate their panicked companions. The prefect gave up trying. His orders were going unnoticed, but it seemed that the Gauls and Germans commanding their units had their own plan. They broke into three wings now, the largest smashing into the terrified enemy reserve and ruining any chance of their regaining the flank. A second, slightly smaller, wing turned and began to smash into the side of the legions of Bassus. Where the heavy infantry had been struggling, Sextus’ legions desperately holding them back, now the dynamic changed. The enemy, pressed from both sides, lost heart even as fresh energy surged through the forces of Sextus.
