by C K Ruppelt
“Hold men, hold!” Crassus screamed when he realized that some of his own men started to make for the gate as well. The gate’s garrison suddenly dropped the iron grate portcullis right into the fleeing masses. Some were killed outright; the following screams clarified that whoever had made it through had run into a slaughter set up by the traitorous guards. The troops still outside had no choice but to face the enemy once more.
He turned his horse to glance over to the west. Sulla’s ranks were even thinner than his own. Despite their impending doom, Crassus admired the enemy commander Telesinus. They had fallen for his trap without a second thought. The enemy troops reformed for a phalanx maneuver, succeeding in pushing a wedge into the small space between his own and Sulla’s soldiers. The now divided parts of the army drifted apart, with Crassus soon losing interest in anything besides keeping his men alive.
***
With a gleam in his eye Crassus looked over his thinned ranks, grinning despite the long and bloody struggle. He loved these boys. The late morning had turned to noon, noon to afternoon, and now dusk was close. Yet they were still holding their position against overwhelming numbers. His grin faded. How much longer could they do this? It was time for a desperate gamble.
“Luctatus, rally all remaining cavalrymen. I want you to try to get at Telesinus from behind. If we can take him out, we’ll break their whole army.” He watched his friend and client make the rounds until a small group of about fifty riders had formed. Crassus rode over so he could whisper. “We’ll make it look like you are fleeing…” He waited for the signal from Luctatus before he waved the centurions on.
“Push! Push! Cuneum formate, form a wedge!” he heard the shouts at the northern side of their square. The legionaries did their best to push forward, the center of their line shoving the enemy line out further and further. The men rotated sideways at the last moment to let the galloping riders through from behind. The opposing forces had thinned enough that forty of the riders made it, with the remainder either killed or losing their horses. Crassus’s eyes lit up in satisfaction as he saw his cavalry ride as if fleeing for their lives, going east to leave the enemy forces behind with none of the Marians bothering to pursue them. Good. In the far distance he observed Luctatus and his men reining in to turn south. A few minutes later he knew the mission had succeeded when the enemy line’s center started to waver. For a brief time, his own riders became visible behind the enemy foot soldiers, many of which turned in response to the shouting behind them. Crassus’s men pushed hard and thinned the center’s enemy ranks with ease.
“Their whole line is caving! Keep pushing!” he shouted in elation. Another few minutes of heavy fighting saw the enemy lose more ground. “Single line! Flank them! It’s now or never!” Crassus screamed at his centurions. The rear ranks moved out to stretch the frontline, with both ends enveloping the senatorial army’s flanks. The enemy center seemed to panic, he could observe many of the rear ranks turning to flee. It took the enemy front a moment to realize what went on behind before an avalanche of soldiers turned and ran from the center outwards, hoping for safety in the woods half a mile away.
“After them, boys! Take down as many as you can!” he yelled, urging his tired horse to follow. The animal wearily stepped over countless bodies. The metallic smell of blood mixed with bodily fluids wafted up to him, but he barely flinched. All that mattered now was winning.
His legionaries ran after the enemy, cutting down any stragglers from behind. Riding in from the north, Luctatus with his few survivors arrived back on the scene just in time to join the rout.
He signaled them until a couple men split from the group to come over, “Tell all the remaining prefects and centurions that I want all the men to form up outside of the woods. We need to comb through it as a group, the enemy might yet rally.” He looked up at the sky. The sun was about to set, yet they could not let up.
***
“There you are!” Crassus called to Sulla the next morning. After his own men had followed the fleeing enemy survivors throughout the night to the small town of Antemnae, he had sent out several scouts to look for Sulla and to let him know where to meet. The last pocket of enemy resistance had fortified themselves.
“I had thought all was lost,” Sulla responded. “Until your scout found us holed up in our old fort I assumed you and your forces were dead.”
“I am very happy to say you were wrong, Lucius. My men won the day and broke the Marian’s back. I don’t think they’ll recover from this.”
“I’ll pray the gods agree,” Sulla said in answer, his face suddenly darkening. “I came by the Colline gate on the way here. One of my centurions gave me the numbers for the dead on the ground. He estimated nearly fifty thousand counting both sides. The blame solely rests on the senator’s shoulders.” Sulla’s eyes narrowed. “I gave specific orders to burn all enemy bodies. I won’t have any burials for them.”
Crassus raised his eyebrows. Sulla’s eyes seemed crazed as the man looked out over Antemnae. Or rather, mad with barely contained fury.
“I will make them pay for this, I swear by all the gods. For the wrongs done to me, and to all my loyal friends and soldiers they murdered,” the general fumed.
Anybody that had sided with Marius would be fair game now. Crassus had no doubt Sulla would show them all what it meant to invoke his righteous wrath. Though Crassus looked forward to his own revenge plus some resulting financial opportunities, he involuntarily stepped back from his commander, as if in fear that the man’s rage might be contagious.
“I will demand the Senate appoint me dictator again. Once I have my special powers, I will fall on the traitorous and corrupt senator swine, like a bird of prey. I will shred them to pieces with my talons. None will stay alive that supported Marius.” Sulla’s forehead glistened with sweat, his eyes narrowed to small slits. “The gate garrison that turned on us? The legionaries that fought under Telesinus and surrendered? Kill them all, no exceptions. Do the same with these here at Antemnae. My mercy has run out.”
672 AUC (82 BC), fall
Rome, Italia, Capital of the Roman Republic
Eighteen-year old Gaius Julius Caesar and his wife Cornelia moved through the darkened city like every other night, staying with yet another set of friends or relatives before moving on after only a couple of days. Roaming the city streets well after midnight, when decent citizens were at home, meant their only encounters were with the unwanted, the indecent, or the many delivery workers whose carts and wagons were banned from the streets during daylight.
“I am so tired of doing this,” his young wife Cornelia raised her voice to Caesar. “Putting on disguises, having friends and loyal clients walk us from hiding place to hiding place is wearing on me. If we could at least start out earlier.”
“We would run into everybody coming home from dinner parties. We wouldn’t be safe even in these disguises,” Caesar answered. From under his thick hood, he watched a young delivery cart runner pass them by, the cone of his torch light playing on the facades of the houses as he gained distance. Once at the next intersection, the boy would block the entry to the narrow street for his cart team to allow them to pass without running into head-on traffic. Caesar’s gaze moved back to his own small group of ten people.
Caesar’s eyes moved back to his wife. Cornelia wore a black wig over her luscious curly, red tinged brunette hair, with a cheap, dirtied stola hanging around her thin frame. This completed the change in her appearance, successful despite her unmasked face and distinct dark blue eyes, which now looked his way with a hint of challenge. His heart melted. She was the only reason he hadn’t succumbed to despair.
“I am sorry. You know we can’t stay longer anywhere. We’ve been caught five times already. I am racking up huge debts with my mother’s family to pay off the crews to let us go. With an incredible two talents reward for my head, Sulla’s men will just keep coming,” Caesar replied. “Our only chance lies with my uncles getting Sulla to issue a pardon.”
His client and friend Gaius Oppius walked up.
“You should really stay quiet,” he told them in a subdued voice. “We’re nearly there, you can talk more later.” Oppius wrinkled his nose. “We should walk on quickly, away from this puke.” The façade of the closest house reeked from the results of excessive love of wine.
They reached the next major intersection and Caesar stopped to check the proscription posting on the wall. Yes, his name was still there. The shock was still fresh from the first time it had been included in this list of people that Sulla wanted dead. The high reward, equaling one hundred forty pounds of silver, was enough to tempt anyone from the lower and middle classes to try their luck as an executioner. The only escape was to pay even more when caught.
Dear Jupiter, help my uncles come through for us soon. “Even with a pardon, my estate is gone, and my priesthood too,” he said, with a breaking voice, “but the worst thing is this feeling of helplessness and being at the mercy of others.” He paused, before continuing much louder. “I swear to you, from here on out I will do anything, whatever it takes, to avoid becoming this powerless again.” He nearly shouted the last sentence, and now fearfully looked around before he started down the road again.
As they hurried to their destination, Cornelia stepped closer to hold his hand.
672 AUC (82 BC), early winter
Rome, Italia, Capital of the Roman Republic
Caesar walked into his uncle Gaius Aurelius Cotta’s atrium, looking for his mother. He found her sitting on a stone bench close to the pool, surrounded by several small potted maple trees, happily chatting with his wife Cornelia. Good, his wife should also hear what he had to say. She more than deserved it, suffering through their ordeal with few complaints.
Ignoring the two for a moment, he looked around the well-lit room. It had been dark, with only a single oil lamp burning when they had arrived in the early morning hours. His uncle’s domus had been newly renovated since his last visit. The previous scenes depicting the Roman pantheon of gods had been replaced with scenes of Homer’s Iliad, his uncle’s favorite old Greek classic. One side of the room was taken over by a huge mural showing the siege of Troy, while the other had several smaller scenes depicting the various heroes involved, including Achilles and Hector during their final showdown. He walked over to the bench to squeeze between the two most important women of his life.
“Mother, I am grateful that your brothers and great uncle Aemilius Scaurus managed to get me pardoned”—he took a deep breath—”but I cannot divorce Cornelia, no matter that Sulla demands it. I just cannot do that.”
He glanced at his beloved wife, who lowered her head, likely to hide the tears Caesar knew were there. His heart skipped a beat, while his left hand reached out to find her right, squeezing it tightly. “I want you to know that I sent Sulla a letter, begging him to forgive me for not going through with it. Nothing can change my mind.” His wife was breathtakingly beautiful in her new stola, tightly wrapped around her body. The blue nicely offset the red sheen of her hair.
Caesar was now eighteen, his marriage to Cornelia had already lasted through three tumultuous years. As a co-consul of his uncle Marius, her father had bitterly opposed Sulla until he had been killed by the hands of his own mutinying legionaries.
“It has not been long since my name was struck from the proscription list, so I don’t want to take any chances. Sulla is likely angry at me and could change his mind any given day.” Caesar looked back at his mother. “I would like Cornelia to stay with you while I will leave Rome. If I’m out of sight I’ll be out of Sulla’s mind, which will be easier on all of you, including aunt Julia. I am grateful that her good reputation has kept her off the list. May the gods praise the Vestal Virgins for their help.” The Vestal Virgins, women priests for Vesta, the goddess of home and hearth, had publicly spoken out for mercy for his aunt.
“Where will you go?” his mother Aurelia asked. “All your money and property were confiscated, including our old house and all of Cornelia’s dowry. There is a reason why I live here with my brother Gaius Aurelius Cotta.”
Caesar’s lips opened until he showed his mother the boyish grin of old. “When Sulla stripped me of my priesthood, he unwittingly allowed me to join the Cursus Honorum. Maybe he didn’t realize that I was barred from a political career as priest; not anymore! Of course, the Senate wouldn’t issue me a legal commission as a tribune, but I can go as an unpaid military aide. If things here change, the service time might yet be credited. I am hoping that uncle Gaius Aurelius will write a letter of recommendation to Marcus Minucius Thermus, who has been confirmed as propraetor governor of Asia province for next year. I know they are friends from the time of Sulla’s eastern campaigns.”
“I have to admit that makes good sense. Also, my brother will surely give you some money to get you started.” Her lips moved into a slow, small, smile; transforming her worried face. “What are the expenses? There is the travel itself, plus provisions. What about armor?” his mother asked.
“I was able to save father’s, which fits well enough, and the swords he bought for me for my military training at the Campus Martius are still among the best money can buy.” He had been eleven years old when he had started his sword training. What a happy time that had been, now feeling like many lifetimes ago.
His mother nodded, her head turning to her daughter-in-law, “Cornelia, what do you think of all of this?”
Caesar’s wife straightened. She wiped her face with the hem of her stola, then faced her mother-in-law. “I don’t like the idea of my husband leaving, but I don’t see that we have a lot of choice. I would be eternally grateful if you and your brother would let me stay here. Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t have to fear for my life anymore.”
Aurelia nodded. “Consider it settled then.” She stood up. “Let’s go to the study to talk to my brother about the details.”
673 AUC (81 BC), summer
Pergamum, Roman Province of Asia
Tribune Caesar had been called to the office of Propraetor Marcus Minucius Thermus, current governor of the Greek speaking Province of Asia, who administered from an impressive old palace serving as the province’s headquarters. The seat of the former rulers of Pergamum dated back several centuries.
He nervously waited in the entryway until he saw a young Roman scribe return.
“Follow me,” the young man told him.
Caesar walked down several long and dark hallways, only lighted enough by occasional oil lamps to keep on track. He scrunched his nose when the building’s wet and moldy odors assaulted him. The impressive façade was apparently no indicator of the state of the roof’s repair. They stopped outside Thermus’ office where he could see the governor through the open door. Thermus sat behind a large, impressive, Corinthian-style desk made of a thick polished maple slab resting on six ornately carved legs.
The aide knocked on the open door to get the governor’s attention. “Sir, Gaius Julius Caesar is here to see you.”
“Have him come in,” Thermus waved the aide away and pointed at one of the several chairs in the room.
“Salve, sit down. I’ll be done in a moment.”
Caesar studied the man. He felt enormous gratitude towards the governor, who was trim, in his mid-forties with short-cropped gray hair, and currently engrossed in a scroll. He finished reading, removed the weights needed to keep the scroll from rolling back up and the added the roll to a growing pile on the right side of the desk. Thermus looked at the smaller pile on the left, most scrolls still sealed. He sighed. “The bane of any magistrate, I’m afraid. Nobody ever told me how much tedious paperwork there is for the likes of us,” he barked his deep and infectious laugh, now turning to give Caesar his full attention.
“Young Caesar.” He leaned forward. “Let me be very honest with you. I wasn’t sure about you at first. I knew of your connection to Marius, while most of my family has been supportive of Sulla. Well, except for my younger brother who served with Marius. With
out your uncle Gaius Aurelius Cotta vouching for you, I would have never taken you on. Anything with the potential of earning Sulla’s wrath is not to be taken lightly.”
Thermus looked to the side, out the window at the sweltering, hot countryside visible behind Pergamum’s city walls, and collected his thoughts.
“That said, I am very glad I took you in. You’ve done a spectacular job for me reorganizing the administrative office. When I asked you to go to Bithynia to talk old king Nicomedes into giving us support with his fleet against Pontus, I didn’t think you could succeed. We didn’t hear from you for over three months and I feared the worst. Of course, with the king known as a connoisseur of young men, the provincial rumor mill was in full swing. You did come back, and with a better agreement than anybody could have hoped for.” Thermus paused to stand up and pour water for both of them from a big earthen pitcher. He handed Caesar one of the cups.
“Next, you excelled when asked to advise at local legal proceedings. You had all the complaints about my predecessors collected throughout the province, filed and copied. Finally, when I asked you to consider the current issues with our military supply logistics, you came up with a great number of suggestions for improvement.
“I applaud you for your vigor and attitude”—Thermus leaned back in his chair, giving Caesar a wide smile—”so, I am going to help you out with your career. You might think I want to punish you, but please be assured that is not my intention. You do not have any true military experience as you’ve never been through battle, which is why I’m sending you to serve under Lucius Licinius Lucullus.” In response, Caesar hissed through his teeth in disapproval. Thermus held up his hand to stop him from protesting. “Lucullus just started a campaign against Mytilene, which was accused and found guilty of harboring pirates. I know that as a stout supporter of Sulla he sees you as a nuisance at best. When you deal with him, think about Lucullus as the gifted military man he is, the famous general with his legendary victories against Mithridates. Sulla would not have been able to overcome Pontus without that man by his side.”
