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The Death of Marcellus

Page 13

by Dan Armstrong


  “What is their grievance, Senator?”

  “Lentulus is here. Let him speak for them.”

  Lentulus stepped forward from a cluster of Greeks in the audience. “These men believe, Consul, that your handling of the citizens of Syracuse after your capture of their city was overly aggressive and unjust. You treated them as prisoners of war and allowed your soldiers to plunder their private possessions and take their slaves. They are here to voice their opposition to your election. They don’t believe you’re fit to be a consul.”

  Amid hushed whispers and turning heads, Marcellus stood from his curule chair and went to the left side of the Senate floor, where any citizen would address the Senate and plead a case. The man in the most powerful position in the Republic had descended from the seat of power to the level of an ordinary citizen. He took a moment to appraise the senators and those around the chamber’s perimeter. Bibulus stood off to his right with a sneering grin.

  “I was told in recent days,” began Marcellus, speaking slowly and with no emotion, “that a contingent of Sicilians had come to Rome with allegations that I was unfair in my administration of the capitulation of Syracuse.” He paused long enough to find these Sicilians in the audience and acknowledge them with the slightest tip of his head. “I believe all Roman military actions should be subject to critique and review. In the end, it will only make our officers better and our state stronger. In my opinion, these Sicilians deserve an audience here in the Senate—when it can be done fairly.”

  Heads turned in the audience and in the collection of senators. Whispers passed like a hush through the room.

  “Because of the absence of my colleague Laevinus,” continued Marcellus, “it would be best for all involved if we waited for his return, so that he may preside over the Senate while it is I who is being judged.”

  The murmuring suddenly silenced.

  “We have a war going on. Our immediate objectives are clear,” stated Marcellus. “We need soldiers and they must be trained, regardless of who is in the curule chair. We also have a shortage of men to pull the oars of our warships. I suggest that we hold off all Senate business, other than the recruitment of soldiers and oarsmen, until my co-consul returns and this issue with the people of Syracuse can be resolved.”

  The clarity and confidence with which Marcellus spoke left no doubt about his intentions or his sense of justice. He returned to the curule chair, used his right hand to push aside the excess folds of his toga, and sat down. “I ask for the Senate’s permission to adjourn until the return of Marcus Valerius Laevinus. In the meantime, I will supervise the recruitment of two more legions.”

  Marcellus’ restraint impressed everyone present. He knew how he had pursued the war in Syracuse. He felt absolutely justified in everything that he had done and was fully capable of presenting that to the Senate. He could very easily have presided over his own case. He could have thrown the Syracusans out of the city altogether. Instead he would give them a fair chance to air their grievances when his co-consul returned. He would not resume his duties as co-consul, except the necessary recruitment of soldiers, until all was settled.

  CHAPTER 19

  Each year of the war demanded more soldiers, and each year the pool of available men shrank. A mere six legions had been mustered the year Hannibal came through the Alps. Twenty-five had been active in the year just passed. Now after eight years of war, not only were there no more men but there was also no money to pay them. Marcellus was in a pinch. He wanted no less than twenty-one legions in the field for the year, two of which—meaning ten thousand recruits—would be entirely new. Part of his responsibility as consul was to recruit those soldiers and raise the money to pay them.

  At daybreak the morning of March 16, a red flag was raised on the Capitoline Hill calling all men seventeen to forty-five to assemble before the Temple of Jupiter for roll call and immediate entry into the military. I was there to help record the names of the new recruits.

  The following day the recruits gathered on the east side of Mars Field outside the Temple of Mars. Marcellus sacrificed a bull at the altar, then went into the temple. Before an audience of senators and pontiffs, he strode up to the statue of Mars and shook its shield and its lance in a ritual as old as the Republic. One of his lictors put the purple cape of consular command on his shoulders, then Marcellus and the twelve lictors crossed the yard to the tribunal overlooking the exercise field. From a podium on the platform, with his lictors lined up behind him, the new consul led the soldiers’ oath of duty. The ten thousand recruits shouted their allegiance to Rome, then in unison: “I swear that I will obey my superiors, and use all my strength to carry out that which they order.”

  Twelve recently appointed tribunes, including Marcus, stepped forward and the process of training began.

  At this time in my life, I had never seen the dynamics of a Roman legion in action. I had always believed that all armies entered battle using the phalanx, a rectangular formation of six to seven thousand men—three feet apart in all directions when marching, one and a half feet apart during battle. The soldiers’ large square shields enclosed all sides of the rectangle and when necessary covered the soldiers from above. The men within the phalanx carried sixteen foot pikes that protruded from the turtle-like formation, creating a wall of spikes to lead its advance. It was essentially a defensive formation, designed so that nothing could penetrate the phalanx as it proceeded. An army could contain any number of phalanxes, sometimes working in conjunction with cavalry. The phalanx had a long Greek heritage, rising to glory and being somewhat modified during the campaigns of Alexander of Macedon.

  The legion was something much different and was designed to attack the opposing army, not just defend itself against it. The phalanx was static, a block of shielded men guarded by extended pikes, marching forward as one. The legion was a dynamic entity, ever moving within itself, while also advancing. This put the Roman army at the leading edge of warfare.

  From the stands at Mars Field, I watched six weeks of exercises. The legion dynamics were practiced over and over—at first without weapons or armor and then fully armed. Afterward, every soldier knew his role so well that during the height of battle indoctrinated routine would, hopefully, prevent panic.

  As Marcus explained it to me, the basic unit of the legion was the maniple. The maniple consisted of one hundred and sixty men, aligned in a rectangle sixteen men wide and ten men deep, with three feet between men in battle formation and the capacity to close those gaps to one and a half feet for specific maneuvers.

  The maniples were arranged in three lines. Each line consisted of ten maniples—sixteen hundred soldiers. When stretched out across a battlefield, with space enough between maniples for another maniple to pass, a line extended about three quarters of a mile. Each maniple had a senior centurion, a junior centurion, a sub-centurion, as an optio at the rear, a trumpeter, and a signifier, who carried the company’s standard in battle as a point of reference for the soldiers.

  Three lines of ten maniples defined a legion, but each line was slightly different. The first line of maniples consisted of a class of soldier called hastati. These men were usually in their twenties and were put in front for their speed and vigor. They wore a breastplate or chain mail, a greave on the shin of their left leg, and a brass helmet. They also carried the distinctive semi-cylindrical Roman shield, called a scutum, a gladius, and two pila—wooden spears with metal tips designed to bend if they didn’t hit a soft target, so that they couldn’t be thrown back.

  The second line also contained sixteen hundred men divided into ten maniples, but they were called the principes. These were the heavy foot soldiers, usually the best men in the legion, who were a little older and had greater experience than the hastati. They were equipped in much the same way as the hastati, but often with a breastplate over chain mail.

  The third line contained the triarii. These were the oldest and most experienced soldiers. Their ten maniples were half the size of thos
e in the first two lines—sixteen men wide but only five deep. The triarii acted as reserves when a maniple or several maniples in the forward lines gave way. They were armed like the principes, but carried a pike for thrusting, rather than the two pila for throwing.

  These three lines were separated by approximately seventy-five feet on the battlefield and were arranged in a checkerboard, so that when needed, a maniple could advance forward between the two maniples in front of it. This was a significant change from the phalanx formation, where each phalanx lined up directly behind the other, allowing considerably less maneuverability.

  Each legion was accompanied by three hundred cavalry and twelve hundred light infantry called velites. The velites were the youngest recruits, seventeen to twenty years old. They wore only animal skin headdresses, no armor, and carried a light, round wooden shield, two javelins, and a dagger, called a pugio. The velites were considered a flexible piece of the legion and were used in several different ways.

  Each maniple was numbered so that they could be directed in battle, and the combination of one maniple of hastati, one of principes, and one of triarii—one behind the other—was called a cohort—which were also numbered. One hundred and twenty velites and thirty cavalry were attached to each cohort, giving the legion ten cohorts of approximately five hundred and fifty soldiers each. Six tribunes were attached to a legion. Five of the tribunes commanded two cohorts each; the sixth tribune commanded the cavalry.

  When put into action, something I witnessed over and over again during the training period, the velites led the legion’s advance into battle, dashing ahead of the three lines in a sprint to launch their javelins into the oncoming enemy. They would then retreat back between the maniples to the rear of the legion to wait for another opportunity to make a sortie.

  Upon the velites’ return, the hastati would make the first full contact with the enemy’s front line. As the hastati either broke through the enemy or were repulsed, the second line, the principes, would advance through the lanes between maniples. This could be used as a crushing blow to the opponent or to fortify the hastati.

  If the enemy held up to this attack, the triarii would advance into areas of weakness. The cavalry was used to protect the flanks and had not been a key part of the legion’s dynamics until the middle of the war, after Hannibal had schooled Roman generals in its use.

  Along with the legion’s basic maniple movements, several other maneuvers were practiced at Mars Field. One was the opening and closing of ranks, which had to be done with great precision and involved reducing the three-foot spacing between soldiers to one-and-a-half, or vice versa. Advancing in a straight line, without loss of position, was another very basic exercise. The triangle or wedge was also a common tactic, performed dynamically in battle to break through a specific portion of the enemy line. A maneuver called the circle or orb was used for protection when under attack from the front and rear simultaneously.

  This was all new to me, and because Marcellus wanted me to chronicle the battles for analysis later, I soon mastered the parts and actions of a legion.

  A Roman army was made up of two legions, each matched with an allied legion of the same size—meaning four contingents of approximately five thousand men each, twenty thousand total foot soldiers and cavalry. Marcellus would command just such an army, twenty thousand men—half Romans, half allied levies—to pursue Hannibal.

  CHAPTER 20

  One night during the second week of training, while all of us were staying at the house in the city because of its proximity to Mars Field, three fires broke out simultaneously in the forum—in the market area called the Seven Shops, at the Novae Tabernae Bank, and at the palace of the Vestal Virgins.

  Fire was always a fear in Rome, especially in the tenement neighborhoods where the apartments were so cheaply built and so close together. These fires were especially awful for their suddenness and number. The buildings on the Aventine Hill and the Palatine Hill were hardly affected, but everyone in the Claudian household awoke with the wave of panic that spread through the city more rapidly than the fire itself.

  A team of thirteen slaves formed a water brigade to protect the Vestal Virgins and save the Vestal palace. Afterward, these slaves were bought by the state and freed.

  The other fires caused a bigger problem. The shops on the north side of the forum burned down completely, as did the bank, the fish market, and scores of nearby homes and apartments.

  The horror of that night—the vicious fire, the screaming victims, the anguish in the populace—reminded me of my days in Syracuse at the time of the siege, particularly the night Marcellus gained entry to the city in the hours before dawn. Only the mobilization of the entire city of Rome prevented greater damage from the fires.

  As soon as the fires were out, and there was a moment to take a breath, the rumor spread that the fires had been set by refugees from Capua in revenge for the treatment they had received after the siege of their city. The next day Marcellus called for an Assembly of the Tribes in the comitium. He offered a reward of gold to anyone who had information about the fires. If that person was a slave, he added, they would be freed.

  A man by the name of Manus came forward. He was a slave for the Calavii of Capua. He told the assembly that his master and five other Capuan noblemen had masterminded the fires. Manus also revealed where they were hiding and that they planned to set more fires that night.

  By the end of the day all of the conspirators had been arrested. At their trial the following day in the forum, they argued that Manus could not be trusted and that he would say anything to gain his freedom, even lie about his master. In response to these accusations, Marcellus brought the men face to face with Manus. They couldn’t maintain their lies under the pressure of continued questioning and finally confessed. Marcellus ordered fifty lashes for the noblemen and all of their accomplices, many of whom were slaves.

  Marcus and I attended the trial. Marcus, who like most Romans had a taste for revenge, stayed for the floggings that took place immediately afterward. I recalled the flogging I had seen in Syracuse and had no stomach for watching humans torn apart by flailing whips, but because of Marcus, I did stay for the first two.

  The senior Calavii was the first. He was stripped of all but a loincloth and tied by the wrists between two wooden posts. The senior centurion from my maniple, Statorius, did the flogging. He was a particularly gruesome sort, who enjoyed inflicting punishment and had specifically asked Marcellus for the duty.

  The cold heart and leaden character of this man could not have shown any darker than during this ugly spectacle. He pulled off his tunic and with a menacing look began his work bare-chested. Though I stood in the crowd beside Marcus, my eyes were focused on my feet, and only at times when the nobleman shrieked and the crowd cheered did I glance up to see Statorius in action.

  The whip was imbedded with brass studs that caused the skin to rip away in bloody strips. The more blood, the more bare muscle, the more Statorius seemed to enjoy his chore, lighting his eyes with a demonic glow and twisting his face into a cruel, grinning grimace.

  The nobleman was as old as Marcellus and overweight. During his time beneath the whip, he shouted out that brutal floggings like this had occurred unnecessarily after the siege of Capua and were the reason he had sought to burn Rome to the ground. Despite his anger, he couldn’t withstand the punishment and was dead before Statorius had completed the fifty lashes.

  His handsome and fair-haired son was next. He showed more courage, steeling himself against the pain, daring to remain silent throughout the ordeal, which infuriated the heavily sweating Statorius who was so proud of his bloody art. The young man survived his flogging and was dragged off to a holding pen to watch the others receive their lashes. Imprisonment would come later.

  At this point, I told Marcus I had seen enough. Although he would stay, he accompanied me to the edge of the crowd to speak to me before I left.

  “I didn’t have the chance to tell you this
morning, Timon.” He was grinning and animated. “I have secured another tutoring job for you.”

  “I thought we were leaving for combat duty.”

  “You’ll be tutoring Sempronia in the fall, after our return.”

  “Who arranged this?”

  “My mother. I told her I wanted a wife who understood Greek culture and science.”

  He was excited, and I tried to be, but I was still struggling with the ugliness of the flogging. He could see it in my face.

  “Timon, this world is a brutal place. I know you’ve seen that already during your time in Syracuse, but when you travel with the army, it will be worse.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Prepare yourself. We have some difficult times ahead.”

  CHAPTER 21

  A week after the trial of the Capuans, Marcellus’ co-consul, Marcus Valerius Laevinus, returned to Rome from Greece. His ship landed north of Salapia. He rode east with two turma of cavalry to Via Latina, then headed north to Rome. His route took him past Capua. The people there were still raw from the siege in the fall.

  One story told of a split in the Capuan city council in the days prior to surrendering to Quintus Fulvius Flaccus. Some of the councilors were certain Rome would offer them clemency. Others foresaw unrestrained Roman vengeance. The head of the council, a man by the name of Vibius Virrius, reminded the others how important loyalty was to the Romans and advised them to expect the worst because Capua had broken her word. The night before the surrender, Virrius invited twenty-seven other councilors to his villa for a feast. They ate and drank for hours, then all took poison at midnight. When the city gates were opened, and the Romans soldiers took the city, half the city council lay dead in Vibius’ home. A week later, after the Capuans had suffered through the worst of the Roman pillaging, some called those councilors the lucky ones.

 

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