Authors: John Maddox Roberts
Crassus was a different matter. He had all the political qualities for the office but was sadly lacking in the military department. This was due to bad luck more than anything else, for the commands he had been assigned following his domestic office tenures had been lacking in opportunities. While Pompey had been winning glory in the civil wars in Italy, Sicily and Africa, and in Spain against Sertorius and Perperna, Crassus had been fighting slaves. Even then, Pompey had taken some of what little glory there is in a servile war, for he had smashed the force under the Gallic gladiator Crixus that had left Spartacus to make its own way home. Crassus had made up for some of his disappointment with a memorable gesture. He had crucified six thousand captured slaves all along the Appian Way from Capua to Rome. As rebels they were now useless as slaves, and they served as an example to other malcontents. It also let everyone else know that Marcus Licinius Crassus was not a man to be trifled with.
Crassus envied Pompey's glory and Pompey envied Crassus's incredible wealth. Both itched for Lucullus's eastern command. It made for a volatile combination and Rome was edgy as a result. Everyone would breathe a little easier when the two stepped down in less than two months to leave Rome and take up their proconsular posts elsewhere. Hortalus and his colleague Quintus Metellus, another amiable hack, terrified nobody. (This was not the kinsman under whom I served in Spain, but another Quintus Caecilius Metellus, later surnamed Creticus.)
At a gesture from Pompey, a young man came forward and stood nervously before the now-silent assembly. He was a military tribune, still dressed in a travel-stained tunic of the sort that is worn beneath armor. By ancient custom, he had surrendered his weapons and armor at the city gate, but he retained his military belt with its pendant, bronze-studded straps and his hobnailed military boots, which crunched loudly on the marble floor. I did not know him, but resolved to make his acquaintance when this session was over.
Hortalus stood from his seat at the lowest tier and turned to address the Senate. He was dressed in a toga of dazzling whiteness, draped gracefully in a new fashion he had devised. It was so impressive that tragic actors had begun to imitate it.
"Conscript Fathers," began the beautiful voice, "this tribune, Gnaeus Quintilius Carbo, has come from the eastern command with a communication from General Lucullus. Please give him your fullest attention." Hortalus sat and Carbo took a scroll from its leather tube. Unrolling it, he began to speak, at first hesitantly and then with confidence.
"From General Lucius Licinius Lucullus to the noble Senate and People of Rome, greeting.
"Conscript Fathers: I write to you to announce victory in the East. Since defeating Mithridates in the great battle of Cabira more than a year ago, I have attended to administrative duties here in Asia while my subordinate commanders have reduced the king's strongholds and fought the guerrillas in the hills. I send by the same messenger a detailed account of this campaign. I now have the honor to announce that Pontus, Galatia and Bithynia are totally under Roman control. Mithridates has fled and taken refuge with his son-in-law, Tigranes of Armenia."
At this, Lucullus's faction, a considerable part of the Senate, leapt to their feet, applauding and cheering. Others showed their approval with more restraint, while the financiers and his political rivals sought not to show their anger and disappointment. One could not, after all, openly condemn a Roman victory. I cheered as loud as anybody. The jubilation died down and Carbo resumed his reading.
"While this is a significant victory, the East will never be safe for Romans while Mithridates lives and is at large. Tigranes has shown defiance of Rome by granting Mithridates asylum, and in the new year I propose to enter Armenia with my legions and demand of Tigranes the surrender of Mithridates. If he refuses, I shall make war upon him. Long live the Senate and People of Rome."
At this, the anti-Lucullan faction erupted in fury. For Lucullus to make war on a foreign ruler without a formal declaration from the Senate would be a serious breach, indeed. There were calls for his recall, even for his execution. At length Hortalus stood, and all fell quiet. By custom, neither Consul would speak until the Senate had its say.
"Conscript Fathers, this is unseemly. Let us consider what General Lucullus has actually said." Like the lawyer he was, Hortalus began to tick off the cogent points. "He has brought a guerrilla campaign to a conclusion; he does not petition for permission to celebrate a triumph. Second, he does not say he will enter Armenia, he 'proposes' to, thus leaving leeway for orders to the contrary. Third, he does not say he will invade, but rather that he will 'enter' the country." How one enters a foreign country with an army and without permission and not be invading it remains a mystery to me, but Hortalus was a hairsplitter.
"Fourth, he does not propose to attack the forces of Tigranes, but simply to demand the surrender of Mithridates. How can we condemn the justice of this, after the injuries that pernicious king has done to Rome? Let us rather take satisfaction in what has been done so far, and send representatives to General Lucullus to discern his intentions and convey the will of the Senate to him. There is no need for urgency. His legions will remain in winter quarters for at least three more months. The campaigning season in Asia begins in March. Let us not be carried away by partisan passions. Let us rather rejoice that once again Roman arms have prevailed against the barbarians."
Cicero stood. "I agree with the distinguished Consul-elect. Let us declare a day of public rejoicing in honor of a Roman victory." This proposal was carried by acclamation.
Now Pompey stood. It was his day to wield the imperium, and Crassus sat silent, savoring his rival's discomfort. Nobody had the slightest difficulty in reading Pompey's thoughts. His clenched jaw said it all. He knew there was a real danger that Lucullus would destroy both Mithridates and Tigranes, leaving no enemies in the East to capture and plunder. There would be nothing left but Parthia, which had given us no cause for belligerence. Besides, the Parthians fought as mounted archers, and it was doubtful that even a master tactician like Pompey could overcome them without terrible losses. We Romans excel in infantry and siege tactics, not in the lightning, will-o'-the-wisp campaigning of the steppe warriors.
"Of the legality of General Lucullus's proposed penetration of Armenia"--a nice bit of phrasing, I thought--"I shall refrain from speaking. I shall not hold this office when he marches. For now, I decree a day of public rejoicing, with sacrifices of gratitude to all the gods of the state. All further public business is forbidden for this day. Let us address the people."
With a cheer, we made our way outside. I found myself jostling Sergius Catilina and could not resist a jab. "Not bad for a man whose statue was destroyed by lightning, eh?"
He shrugged. "The story's not yet over. Plenty can happen between now and March. If you ask me, some piddling guerrilla campaign isn't much cause for rejoicing."
It was one of Rome's besetting evils that, in order to petition the Senate to celebrate a triumph, a general had to have a smashing, spectacular victory that accomplished three things: end the war, extend the boundaries of Roman territory and carpet the ground with several thousand dead foreigners. Along with desire for loot and political power, the lust of our generals to celebrate a triumph got us into far too many unjust wars.
Outside, the scene was incredibly transformed. The jabbering mob we had pushed through was gone, replaced by as orderly an assembly as one could ask for. The lictors and heralds had got the populace to form up in the ancient manner, by tribes. In front, facing the Rostra, were the neatly ranked members of the Centuriate Assembly, the Plebeian Council and the Equestrian Order. Before all stood the tribunes of the people. I was gratified to see that the members of these assemblies had rushed home to don their best togas for the occasion. All stood in perfect order, ready to receive news of victory or disaster with
dignitas
, as befitted citizens. Moments like that made one proud to be a Roman.
The Consuls, Censors and praetors mounted the Rostra and stood beneath the bronze beaks of enemy ships. In utter silence, Pompey stepped forward. Beside him was the chief of the heralds, a man with the most amazingly loud voice I ever heard. At intervals through the crowd stood other members of the guild, ready to relay his words to those yet farther back. Pompey began to speak, and the herald amplified his words, and the citizenry learned of the events in the East.
Great shouts of joy went up at the conclusion of the address. Mithridates had slaughtered Roman citizens and allies all over Asia, and was probably the most hated man in the Roman world. It is characteristic of people to concentrate all their fears and hatreds on a single man, preferably a foreigner. These people were in far more danger from their own generals and politicians, but that would never occur to them. At any rate, everyone felt that it was all up for Mithridates. Pompey said nothing publicly about Lucullus's intention to invade Armenia, merely that he would demand the surrender of Mithridates from Tigranes.
In honor of the occasion, Pompey decreed an extra distribution of grain and wine, and a day of races to take place in one week. Even louder cheers greeted this, and the assembly began to break up as the people went off to the temples to observe the sacrifices. Quite aside from their genuine love of ritual and gratitude to the gods for a Roman victory, there would be plenty of meat for everybody that night as the carcasses of the sacrificial animals were cut up and distributed.
As the crowd around me began to thin, I caught sight of the young tribune, Carbo. He was alone now, his brief moment of glory past, when he had the sole attention of the most powerful deliberative body the world had ever known. He looked lonely standing there, and I had already determined to make his acquaintance, so I walked over to him.
"Tribune Carbo," I said, "my congratulations on your safe return. I am Decius Metellus, of the Commission of Twenty-Six."
"The praetor's son?" He took my hand. "I thank you. I was just about to go to the Temple of Neptune, to give thanks for my safe sea voyage."
"That can wait," I assured him. "All the temples will be jammed with people today. You can go in the morning. Will you be staying with your family while you are here?"
He shook his head. "I'm from Caere. I have no family here in the city. Now my duty is done, I suppose I'd better see about quarters for the night."
"No sense being put up in some tiny officer's cubicle on the Campus Martius," I said. "Come stay at my house while you're in the city."
"That is most hospitable," he said, delighted. "I accept gladly."
I confess I was not motivated by a pure spirit of gratitude to one of our returned heroes. I wanted information from Carbo. We walked down to the river docks and arranged for a porter to carry his baggage to my house. First he removed a clean tunic from his pack and we went to one of the public baths near the Forum, where he could wash off the salt and sweat of several weeks of travel.
I did not wish to burden him with serious discussion while he was relaxing, so I confined myself to city gossip while we bathed and were pounded by the masseurs. Meantime, I studied him.
Carbo belonged to one of those families of the rural gentry in which the military obligation was still taken very seriously. His arms, face and legs had the deep tan of long service in Asia, and there was a broad welt on his forehead and a small bald spot on his crown from the incessant wearing of the helmet. He had all the marks of hard training with arms. I liked the look of him, and it gave me hope to see that we still had such soldiers in Roman service.
We were both hungry after the baths, but there would be only lean pickings at my house, for the markets would all be closed. So we retired to a delightful little tavern run by a man named Capito, a client of my father's. It was on a side street near the Campus Martius, with a beautiful courtyard surrounded by a vine-arbor that provided cool shade in summer. The arbor was rather bare at this time of year, but the day was clear and warm, so we elected to sit at an outside table. At my order, Capito brought us a platter heaped with bread, cheeses, dried figs and dates, and another piled with tiny, grilled sausages. He and his wife and servers made much over Carbo, the hero of the hour; then they retired to let us eat in peace. We tore into this minor banquet with great appetite, washing it down with a pitcher of excellent Alban wine. When I judged that we were safe from death by starvation, I began to sound him out.
"Your general has done splendidly so far. Do you foresee equal success in the coming campaign?"
He thought awhile before answering. This was a thing I was to note about him. He never spoke quickly on weighty subjects, but always considered his words carefully.
"Lucius Lucullus is as fine a general as I have ever served," he said at last. "And he is the finest administrator I have ever known, by far. But he is not popular with the soldiers."
"So I've heard," I said. "A hard one, is he?"
"Very strict. Not foolishly so, mind you. Two generations ago, his discipline would have been esteemed by everyone. But the legionaries have grown lax. They still fight as hard and as expertly as ever, and they can take hard campaigning, but the likes of Marius and Sulla and Pompey have spoiled them. I mean no disrespect, but those generals bought their men's loyalty by allowing them to loot at will after a victory, and letting them live soft at the end of the campaigning season."
He dipped a scrap of bread into a pot of honey and chewed slowly, considering further. "Nothing wrong with allowing the men a little loot, of course. The enemy's camp, or a town that persists in resisting after it's been offered good terms, or a share of the money when the prisoners have been sold off, those things don't harm good order and discipline. But those generals I mentioned have let their men plunder whole countrysides and extort money and goods from the locals during an occupation. That's bad. Bad for discipline and bad for public order. And it makes Rome hated wherever the legions are quartered."