‘Then that’s what we’ll do, gentlemen,’ said Lepidus at once. ‘We shall march against this Plinius, and press him back to Messana. Sooner or later Pompeius must stand and fight, on dry land with the good old Roman broadsword. When he meets us shield to shield his dirty little Greek freedmen won’t save him. This army alone has the task of delivering our dear City from famine. An inspiring thought; make it known to the troops.’
‘The trouble is’, put in a junior legate, ‘that Pompeius still has a navy. When we march into Messana we shall be just in time to see him and all his followers disappearing over the horizon; and, what is really terrible, taking their plunder with them.’
‘Messana will always be worth plundering,’ Gallus said soothingly. ‘They may sail off by the hundred, but thousands must remain behind. If they take the gold and silver, they will leave the wine and corn.’
‘If that fleet sails eastward then the grain-ships can reach Ostia and we have done what we left Africa to do,’ said Lepidus. ‘But in a few days our transports will be nearing Sicily with the four remaining legions. What will become of them if the Pompeians break into the convoy?’
‘Soldiering is a dangerous trade,’ answered Gallus with a shrug. ‘It’s astonishing how many soldiers get killed, in spite of all our precautions. We have twelve legions ashore. They ought to be enough.’
‘If four legions go to the bottom it will be one of the greatest disasters since Cannae,’ Lepidus went on. ‘Worst of all, my secretary is crossing with that convoy.’
‘If your Eunomus is with the convoy one ship at least will come safely to land,’ said Gallus rudely. ‘If ever a man was born to be crucified it’s that freedman.’
Gallus proved right, though for the next few days Lepidus rode with his army in a very worried frame of mind. On the sixth day Eunomus, weary and travel-stained, rode into the fortified camp where twelve legions lay among the Sicilian uplands. The Imperator had given orders that he was to be brought to headquarters the moment he arrived, whatever the hour of the day or night. It was now shortly after sunset, and he found his patron finishing a solitary supper.
‘So you crossed safely after all!’ Lepidus cried in delight.
‘I crossed, my lord, but not safely,’ the freedman answered. ‘There were four legions on the transports, and we took it for granted the pirates would be out of action. When we sighted a strange squadron we thought they must be Agrippa’s scouts. They turned out to be Pompeians. I’ve never seen such a shambles in my life. They rammed ship after ship until their beaks couldn’t stand any more collisions. They didn’t dare board, because of our legionaries. So they came up astern, and broke off the steering oars without actually ramming us. That went on all day, until in the evening the wind got up. Then they drew off, and in the dark we got away from them. In the end the Eagles of two legions got to Lilybaeum, though with heavy loss. The other two legions turned back for Utica. I don’t know whether they reached harbour, or whether the pirates drowned them on the following day.’
‘That’s bad enough, but I had been expecting worse. I now command fourteen legions, and Plinius can bring only eight against me. I suppose you know the rest of the news, that Caesar has failed us? I had a letter from him yesterday, sent round by Sardinia to avoid the pirate cruisers. He says he will try again in a month’s time, but he has taken a terrible beating. He must build more ships, and impress crews. And there’s no reason to suppose his second attempt will have any better luck.’
Eunomus stared at the Imperator. He had known his patron for many years, but this was a Lepidus he had never met. He was sunburned and fit, and his corselet had bitten calluses into his shoulders. He spoke without hesitation instead of waiting for advice; and he had taken the news of his loss calmly and bravely, instead of tearing his hair and calling for help. The freedman rearranged his ideas; he would not betray his patron to Pompeius, or jockey him into a position where he must line up with the pirates against Caesar. This confident Imperator could destroy the pirate realm with his own forces. Then there would be Caesar, now licking his wounds in Italy; but that bridge could be crossed when they came to it.
‘You don’t need reinforcements, my lord,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Your army sees itself as capable of conquering the world. That’s what matters, what the troops themselves think of their chances. When you have cleaned up this island we must lay plans for the future. Rome depends on grain from oversea. You have been sending it from Africa; the other source of supply is Sicily. When you rule both lands Caesar, and the Senate, must listen respectfully, or see their people go hungry.’
‘I cannot starve my own City; no Aemilius could do such a thing. But in general you are right. Similar ideas had occurred to me. I have no ambition to rule the world single-handed, but in my position there is no sitting still. I must either rise or fall.’ Lepidus seemed quite sure he would rise.
Then Eunomus delivered the messages with which Junia had charged him, and for a time they spoke of domestic matters; until the officer of the day came in with the final reports from the outposts, and Gallus called to discuss orders for tomorrow.
Sitting on a stool in the corner, Eunomus got out his tablets. In Utica he had been well known to senior officers, and without question he slipped back into his old position of confidential secretary.
The orders for tomorrow were not difficult to draft, though everyone grumbled about the slowness of their victorious advance. Plinius Rufus was the hindrance who held them to a snail’s pace. His army was as inferior in quality as in numbers; in particular he had no cavalry who could face the Numidians. But he was a sound, unimaginative, drill-book tactician; and eight legions, even of second-rate troops, were not a force that could be ignored. His men were well disciplined and willing to use the spade. He could not be tempted to come out of his fortified camp, even when weak detachments of foragers were displayed at the foot of his entrenchments. Gallus considered it too risky to attack an unbeaten army behind the stakes of its hilltop palisade; so the only way to dislodge him was by wearisome flank marches. Tomorrow the African legions must toil up more of these steep roadless crests, and perhaps threaten to dig trenches of their own round the Sicilian camp; in the end Plinius would withdraw, behind a well-organized rearguard. A few miles to the eastward they would run into him, dug in again.
‘I suppose he is dragging out the campaign until Caesar tries again, and loses another fleet,’ said the legate. ‘It’s odd that Pompeius doesn’t invade Italy; there must still be a few Optimates in Campania. Evidently he is determined to keep to the defensive. That’s it. He will beat Caesar once more, and then open negotiations. But if when that time comes we are outside the walls of Messana he must treat with us, not with Caesar. Perhaps there is no real hurry. While Pompeius controls the sea we can’t starve Messana, and it would take years to breach its walls. Why fight, and get a lot of good men killed, when marching and countermarching will get us there in the end, without bloodshed?’
‘I agree,’ said the Imperator, with the abrupt decision that was a new feature of his character. ‘But we must keep up the pressure. Next month Caesar intends to try again. By then we must be close outside Messana. Meanwhile we might be doing something with the towns in the south of the island. From Syracuse right over to Agrigentum they obey Pompeius, but they are defended only by local volunteers. They must be just about ready to come over to the winning side. My secretary, who is experienced in that kind of thing, will get in touch with the town councils. If by any chance Agrippa should happen to beat Menas, we don’t want a Caesarian squadron taking over the south coast.’
‘That’s right, sir,’ Gallus answered. ‘When we negotiate what will matter is the area we control, not the amount of fighting we have done. Plinius is very hard to move, and he blocks the road to Messana; but our horse can ride round his southern flank to menace the harbours facing Africa. They will see reason as soon as we threaten to burn their suburbs.’
‘That is decided, then,’ said Lepidus. �
��Send out a strong body of horse tomorrow. Don’t let them plunder unless the Sicilians defy them. You can make them respect private property if you try hard enough. They are only ignorant Numidians, too barbarous to say they will mutiny unless they are permitted to pillage.’
Gallus frowned at the thrust. But this Imperator was becoming more than a figurehead. He had been something of a hero ever since the assault on Lilybaeum. He was losing his dependence on professional advice; it was necessary, nowadays, to swallow an occasional rebuke.
‘Very good, sir,’ he said formally. ‘The cavalry will start at sunrise. And I will see that our legionaries stop this wasteful burning of farms. We can say with truth that most of Sicily is on our side, and that they may not behave as though they were ravaging a hostile country.’
Before he went to sleep Lepidus permitted himself the indulgence of a little boasting, with the discreet Eunomus for audience.
‘For the last thirty years I have commanded legions. Now, as you may have noticed, I am beginning to command legates as well. I led a gallant charge, you know, as soon as we landed. That gives me standing with the veterans. If I ordered my praetorians to arrest Gallus, it’s quite likely they would obey me. Of course I don’t propose to do anything of the sort, but it’s nice to believe I could if I wanted to.’
‘You are a very great man, my lord. In Utica you had rank, wealth, a large army, and extensive dominions. Now you have in addition the prestige of victory. In the whole world you used to be third. The conqueror of Sextus Pompeius will be something more.’
‘Perhaps Caesar will be drowned at his next try. But a patriotic Roman must not indulge these dreams. What matters is to defeat Pompeius and deliver the City from famine.’
The future seemed as vague, as promising, as exciting, as it had been in the old days, when the Divine Julius sought the help of a young praetor.
‘Have you heard the latest saying about Caesar?’ said the lady Clodia to her maid. ‘He’s got so tired of always being beaten that now he plays dice with himself, left hand against right. That way, some part of him is bound to win.’
‘Poor Caesar. It is awful, isn’t it, my lady? But they say the great Imperator Lepidus will soon bring bread to Rome.’
‘Oh, him,’ answered the lady Clodia with a sniff.
12. Messana
36 BC
In a full month the campaign had moved only sixty miles to the east. Plinius Rufus and his eight legions still barred the way to Messana, while Lepidus, with fourteen legions, strove to bring him to battle. To the troops on both sides the war had become a routine; Sicilians digging trenches and hanging on to them until they were almost surrounded, Africans marching endlessly over the roadless uplands. Hardly a man had been killed in battle, but heat and forced marches cost both armies many stragglers. When Lepidus dismounted at the usual farmhouse he was doing what he seemed to have been doing ever since he could remember.
This evening there were more officers than usual at headquarters, and even the cooks looked interested. Of course, they would be expecting news from that other seat of war, incredibly remote though it was only fifty miles away; news of Caesar’s second attempt at seaborne invasion. ‘Has the message come?’ he called to his scoutmaster.
‘No, sir, no news yet. But the message will reach us without delay. At every beach fresh horses are waiting, and in case of disaster I have laid signal fires on the cliffs.’
‘What do you mean, in case of disaster?’ asked the Imperator sharply.
‘Well, sir, they might never send a message. They might all be killed, or driven back to Italy. Local fishermen say that if ships are destroyed in the straits wreckage will be thrown up all along the northern shore. If our look-outs don’t hear from Caesar, and see wreckage instead, they will assume that the fleet has been sunk. They will light their beacons, and we shall know that we have been left to win this war by ourselves.’ The officer smiled proudly, glad that he had been lucky enough to report his ingenious plan to the Imperator in person.
‘It’s as well to be ready for anything,’ said Lepidus condescendingly. ‘But Caesar has eighteen legions. I can’t imagine a force that size being so utterly destroyed that no messenger survives to bring news of disaster.’
‘I should add, sir,’ the scoutmaster continued, detaining his commander, ‘that the enemy has been receiving signals all day. There must be a chain of beacons between Messana and their camp. They were hoisting flags from midday onwards, and now that the light has gone they are continuing with flashes from a lamp. We can’t read their code, of course; it’s impossible to break a Greek code. But that shows that something important must be happening outside Messana.’
‘That’s very good work. I shall bear it in mind,’ said the Imperator as he hastened into the little room where at last he might recline on a soft couch. His thigh-muscles had become accustomed to riding, but to his bottom practice only made the saddle seem harder.
He preferred to sup alone, treasuring this solitude in which he might think over the events of the day. So long as he was on horseback he was on parade, and must be cheerful, energetic, and affable; apprehensive soldiers were always trying to read omens in the visage of their commander. Lying on his couch, with the supper table at his elbow, he might groan, or curse aloud, without spreading alarm and despondency. In the beginning Gallus had been annoyed, as though it were the right of the senior legate to share the inmost thoughts of his commander; now Gallus had been taught his place, and if he was still disgruntled he did not show it in public. There was only one commander of the army of Africa, and his name was Aemilius Lepidus.
This evening he found it impossible to think consecutively, impossible even to eat with enjoyment, though he was very hungry.
He could do nothing but shift restlessly from one buttock to the other, waiting for news.
Events which might decide the future of the world for ages to come were happening less than fifty miles away, and he was as ignorant of them as if they were taking place on the far side of the moon. His scoutmaster worked hard, and on the whole skilfully, but very little information came through the enemy lines. After the opening days of the campaign there had been no more deserters. Eunomus had broken with his correspondents in Messana and Syracuse, obeying the stringent orders of his patron. That freedman could find out anything, by using his own methods; but it was impossible to stop him playing the double agent if he communicated with the enemy at all. When Greek towns in the south gave in their allegiance, as happened nearly every day, the town councillors reported recent movements of Pompeian troops, which Lepidus knew already, thanks to the excellent patrolwork of his Numidian cavalry. But unarmed Greek civilians could tell nothing of the plans of the enemy command in guarded Messana. He was completely in the dark.
All he knew, and that by slow roundabout letters from Italy, was that on the 15th of the month Caesar intended to try another double invasion; his fleet would offer battle to the pirates while the army was ferried over the narrow strait. And this was the evening of the 15th.
It was strange that Pompeius had made no proposals for peace; he must be very confident. Suppose he destroyed young Caesar, what would be his next move? An invasion of Italy, to restore the Optimates? But after the great proscription there were hardly enough Optimates alive to form a Senate, let alone an army. It was more likely that, after killing a Triumvir, he would himself seek the vacant place. He might offer to cooperate with Antonius and Lepidus. But Antonius had lost interest in Roman affairs; he craved the adulation those degenerate Asiatics lavished on their rulers. Such a Triumvirate would in fact be a partnership between Sextus and Lepidus.… The idea promised a possibility of good government. Sextus must naturally be the junior partner. If he advanced such a plan he would not find Lepidus implacable.
What was that? A bang on the door? Here was Gallus bursting in, too excited to salute. ‘Forgive me for disturbing you, sir, but you must know this without delay. Beacons are blazing for seven miles along the coast
. The whole shore must be littered with wreckage. The Italian fleet has gone to the bottom!’
‘Very well. I must come out and see for myself. That leaves this army to face Pompeius alone, but we are capable of conquering him. Do you think Plinius knows? Is his camp acknowledging signals from Messana?’
As he peered through the door the centurion of the guard pushed forward a dismounted trooper. ‘Courier from the outlying picket, Imperator. He says his news is urgent, and that he must tell it to you in person.’
‘Sir, Plinius is preparing to move,’ said the cavalryman. ‘We noticed his camp-fires burning more brightly than usual, and suspected he might be building them up to leave them burning behind him. When we patrolled forward we found his pickets had withdrawn. Two of our men peered right through his palisade, and saw his legionaries mustering in full armour, with shields uncovered. They are marching off to fight somewhere, sir, but hardly to attack this camp. They are keeping reasonably quiet, but not as quiet as if they were going to try a night surprise.’
‘Then some of Caesar’s men got ashore. Not very many, or Plinius would not march out to attack them. Enough to give Pompeius a cheap tactical success, not enough to be a threat to him,’ said Lepidus, as much surprised as his hearers that this sudden flash of military insight should have come to him.
‘Sound the Assembly,’ he continued. ‘We march at once. This opportunity must not be wasted. With Plinius blocking every defile we have taken a month to gain sixty miles. Now that he moves of his own accord we must make ground to the eastward.’
‘Would it be more prudent to wait for daylight?’ asked Gallus doubtfully. ‘If we follow Plinius in the dark we may blunder into an ambush.’
‘We shan’t delay, even for an eclipse or an earthquake,’ Lepidus answered in high excitement. ‘Whatever the weather, we march as soon as the men are mustered. And we shall not follow Plinius. We shall move north to the coast road, and then make straight for Messana.’
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