Three's Company

by Alfred Duggan

  The Imperator rode round his forward positions, to give his troops a chance to recognize and cheer their leader; as far as possible he did this every day. Then he returned to his quarters and disarmed. He was tired after the exertion of the forced march, and he needed rest before the council of war arranged for midday.

  But Eunomus, full of plans, would not leave his lord in peace. If young Caesar was really out of the game the assets which had made him a great man could be distributed afresh. The legates who ruled Italy in his name would be seeking a new lord, and in practice they could choose only between Lepidus and Antonius. Yet three was the proper number for the rulers of the world; two equal colleagues would mean civil war at once, and a single tyrant would be assassinated. If Pompeius were made Triumvir that would bring peace to the west and conciliate the remnant of the Optimates; and he would be junior to Lepidus, who must rise from third place to second. Most important of all, the party was without a leader. The Caesarians had followed that boy because he was heir to the Divine Julius; they must still follow someone. The mob might prefer Antonius the rake, but every man of property and position would think first of Aemilius Lepidus, the mature aristocrat who had been Master of the Horse to the Dictator nearly twenty years ago.

  The party had ruled since the crossing of the Rubicon. The leader of the party held more power than the commander of any number of legions; for every legionary, except the pirate-bands who followed Pompeius, was a Caesarian even before he was a soldier. Could Antonius, in his luxurious exile, prevail in an election against the veteran Lepidus, present in the Forum?

  Eunomus poured these schemes into the ear of his tired lord. He wanted to send envoys to Pompeius, to bribe Menas to change sides again, to make a truce with Plinius and then break it by a sudden surprise attack. If they could not raise enough ready cash to bribe every commander in the theatre of war, he proposed that they should leave Messana untaken and at once invade Italy. The Forum must be crammed with leaderless Caesarians. They would acclaim the first eminent Caesarian who appeared at the head of a few cohorts and delivered a rousing speech.

  As the ascending sun filled the hut with the breathless heat of August Lepidus panted petulantly on his couch. He would not be hurried. He was too tired and too hot to decide anything. His secretary must go right away and not bother him. By midday the Triumvir was asleep, ignorant whether he was now the second greatest man in the world or still merely the third.

  When his officers arrived for the council he sat on the edge of his couch, clad only in his nightshirt. He saw smiles, and guessed he had reminded them of the famous occasion when he had paraded in his nightshirt to find that Antonius had stolen an army from under him; but it was too late to send for his armour. With all the dignity he could muster he called the meeting to order, and commanded Gallus to report on the situation.

  It was impossible to get a firm opinion out of anybody. Rumours must be already running through the army, and every subordinate would be thinking first of his own career. But nobody wanted to fight, that presently became obvious. Nothing was sure about a battle, except that good Caesarians would be killed; it was not even certain that tomorrow Pompeius would be an enemy. Gallus reported that Plinius lay quiet in his well-fortified camp. The Pompeians also were waiting for the situation to clear.

  The council had just decided unanimously against breaking ground for an investment of Messana, when there was a disturbance outside the hut. A sentry challenged, and the guard turned out in alarm; confused scuffling ended in the rhythmic clash of the general salute. The centurion of the guard pushed his head through the door, calling breathlessly: ‘Sir, here’s a strange officer. He doesn’t know the password. But he’s all alone. He insists on coming in.’ Then another voice shouted: ‘Of course I shall come in. Don’t you know me? I am Caesar’s chief legate.’ A young man entered.

  He gave a really good salute, as though to prove that he was a professional soldier and not one of those young politicians who put in a year or so of staff-work as a qualification for office. Then he smiled with easy self-confidence, speaking directly to the Imperator.

  ‘Good afternoon, Triumvir. I’m sorry to force your sentry, but this is urgent. I know you will remember me. You do, don’t you? Vipsanius Agrippa. We met outside Perusia. I suppose I should have sent a messenger; but there’s a war on, and I must talk things over with you.’

  ‘Where on earth have you sprung from?’ was all Lepidus could find to answer.

  ‘From Tyndaris, a little harbour to the north. My fleet is inside it; but I haven’t much of an army on shore, and it was quite a job to break through the Pompeians. Their cavalry is pretty slack, but I haven’t a single horseman of my own. I came here on foot, over the hill. Perhaps you can lend me a mount to ride back’

  He looked round the room, smiling cheerfully.

  ‘I’m in luck, to break in on a council of war. Now I can tell my news to all of you at once. First of all: we’ve just about won this war. My navy holds a secure base, and we can fetch over from Italy all the troops we need. Cornificius has three legions now, or what’s left of them, on the far side of the lava-fields. He will struggle round Etna to link up with you in a day or two. Once Caesar and Lepidus are united, or perhaps I should say Lepidus and Caesar, Pompeius won’t bother us for long. Now, Triumvir, can you spare me some baggage-mules, and a detachment of horse; or must I go on carrying all my supplies by boat?’

  ‘What news of Caesar? Is he with you?’ Lepidus asked anxiously.

  ‘He’s over in Italy now, but I expect him almost immediately. Oh, I see. Those rumours have reached you. Yes, it’s true he was missing for a day and a night. He came ashore with Cornificius, and then decided to go back to the mainland. That meant crossing the strait in an open boat, and on the way he was chased by a pirate. But Caesar’s Luck, you know.… He got safely away. The trouble was he had to jump ashore on a deserted beach, and no one knew what had become of him. He spent the night among the rocks, with only his orderly for company. It’s given him a beastly cold in the head, but otherwise he’s none the worse. I suppose the pirates boasted that they had killed him. By the way,’ he looked round the room again, this time without a smile, ‘it’s odd that the rumour should have reached you so quickly. Some of your men may be fraternizing with the enemy. I should look into it, if I were you.’

  ‘That’s splendid news about my colleague,’ answered Lepidus before anyone else could speak. This was politics again, not warfare; and in that he could hold his own with any young careerist from nowhere. Of course Eunomus had not been alone in exploring the possibility of a Pompeian alliance; probably half his officers had been negotiating on their own account with their opposite numbers in the Pompeian camp.

  ‘I hope you will stay to dinner,’ he went on, ‘and afterwards we shall send you back with an escort of Numidian horse, fellows who will impress even soldiers straight from the City. If you like I shall come with you. Take a good look at my camp first, so that you know how much help you can count on. Later I would like to see your men. Muster-rolls do very well for pay-masters; we fighting soldiers can plan better after we have seen the men on the ground.’

  There were polite murmurs round the table as Agrippa took a stool and a servant hurried in with wine and cakes. Then Gallus shot out a question which had slipped clean out of Lepidus’s recollection.

  ‘What about the pirate fleet? I suppose, since your ships are in Tyndaris, the Pompeians are at the bottom of the sea?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Agrippa answered cheerfully. ‘They are still bobbing about in the harbour of Messana. I dodged across when they weren’t looking. But I am ready to fight them the next time they come out. In the end we must win. My crews get more handy every time they fight, and Caesar can build ten ships for every one that’s sunk. Sicily by itself can’t take on the rest of the civilized world. In the end the pirates will sail away to go plundering somewhere else.’

  ‘I see,’ Gallus said curtly. ‘But in the meantime we are cut
off on this island.’

  As the council of war trooped out to dinner Agrippa was surrounded by eager questioners, anxious to hear the latest gossip from Rome.

  That afternoon Lepidus the great Triumvir, commander of fourteen war-hardened legions, rode over with the young legate to inspect this chance reinforcement. In his mind nothing was as yet settled. Caesar seemed to be on the way out; himself he could not win a victory, even over the scratch forces of a shady pirate; his young admiral was a careless optimist, who dodged the hostile fleet instead of fighting it. Yet Caesar had enormous resources. The great Popular party served him with devotion, and he ruled all the good recruiting-grounds. A time might come when it would be prudent for Lepidus to break with the ambitious, bloodthirsty, incompetent boy; for the present the alliance might as well continue.

  At dusk he rode back to his own camp, alone save for the impressive escort of Numidian horse. He was even more undecided than when he set out. Since the campaign opened Agrippa’s troops had been soundly trounced every time they met the enemy. They were good soldiers, picked men, sons of the legionaries who had conquered the civilized world; they still appeared brave and willing, though shabby and underfed. But there was something in the way they held themselves, even on a ceremonial parade in the presence of a Triumvir, which showed that they expected to be beaten again the next time they went into battle.

  For the present, of course, they were loyal to the magic name of Caesar. But if the boy exposed them to defeat after defeat, and at the hands of a disreputable enemy, they would in time begin to look for a luckier commander. On the spot there was a successful, prudent, victorious and solvent leader, who would welcome them to his Eagles.

  He had watched the legate Laronius lead out a detachment, to link up with Cornificius who was supposed to be fighting his way across the lava-fields of Etna. Some men were barefoot when they set out, none were shod to march over lava. Pompeius had only to delay Cornificius, and thirst would drive the remnant of three legions to surrender. Would Caesar’s prestige survive yet another disgraceful defeat, especially when you remembered that he had first landed with Cornificius and then fled back to the safety of Italy?

  By the time he was in his bath, with hot steam taking the stiffness out of his riding-muscles, Lepidus had made up his mind to postpone the issue. If Cornificius were destroyed he would at once open negotiations with Pompeius; if Laronius brought in the stragglers the Triumvirate might yet survive. In that case he would see Caesar privately, and tell that conceited young man some of the home truths which had been bottled up in his breast ever since that ghastly interview among the butchered corpses of Perusia.

  Three days later Laronius marched by the Lepidan camp, escorting the rescued survivors of the journey over the lava-fields. The walls of Messana, and the nearby entrenchments of Plinius, were hung with laurels in gratitude for victory; Agrippa also decorated his camp, and sacrificed in gratitude for the victory granted to him. Puzzled, Lepidus asked Crastinus to find out what had really happened, out there among the petrified streams of lava.

  Well supplied with secret-service money, the orderly invited a few veterans from Agrippa’s praetorian cohort to an all-night drinking-party. Next morning he reported in good shape, except for foul breath and a bleary eye; what he had been told was still fresh in his mind.

  ‘Both sides claimed a victory, sir, as you may remember; and it seems to me that for once both sides were right. Those three legions were in a very bad way, short of food and sleeping in the open; now the Eagles, and a fair proportion of the men, are safe with the legate Agrippa. That’s a victory for Caesar, though not a very glorious one. But those imitation legions of Pompeius, Sicilians and pirates and mongrels all pretending to be Roman soldiers, they also have something to celebrate. They met real Romans, the pick of Caesar’s cohorts; and before the day was ended they had seen their backs. That’s a bit of a surprise, isn’t it, sir? I think the Pompeians were as surprised as anyone. As far as I can make out, this is how it happened.’

  He collected his thoughts and began again, scoring the table-top with a thickened thumbnail.

  ‘Cornificius was here, by the coast; and the Pompeians were waiting for him here, on the far side of the lava. That’s a stretch of only eight miles, but it took the Caesarians two days to cross it. They tell me the country is unbelievably rough, and the lava is all sharp edges that cut your feet to ribbons. To make things worse, there’s no water. Well, Cornificius set out, and on the first day covered about six miles. By nightfall his men were all in, and they had to sleep where they lay; no baggage, no blankets, no firewood to cook a meal. No water, either, of course, except what they carried with them. But they are good men and well trained; they didn’t open their bottles until the tribunes gave them permission. On the second day it was hotter than ever, and the going still so rough that they must use their hands. Presently they could see the edge of the lava-field, and beyond it a spring of fresh water. Of course when they saw it they drank all they had left in their bottles. Then five cohorts of Pompeians suddenly took post round the spring. So the three legions, or what was left of them found themselves with empty bottles and a battle to fight before they might drink again.…

  ‘You know, sir, how it can go in an army. One minute everyone’s slogging along, grumbling, but obeying the last order and not bothering about what the next order will be; then in a flash everyone loses hope, and even the legate can’t get himself obeyed. That’s what happened when they saw they must fight for their water. Cornificius ordered them to deploy for attack; they just sat down and told him they were too tired and thirsty to go any farther. Tribunes drew their swords and centurions banged about with their cudgels; but the troops wouldn’t budge. Cornificius saw there was nothing for it but to surrender. He was briefing envoys to go over and get in touch with the Pompeian commander when suddenly the enemy retreated. So his men scrambled forward and had their drink. Then they formed up again, as right as rain.’

  Crastinus paused again, for effect.

  ‘At the last minute that silly Pompeian amateur soldier had thrown away all his advantage. He saw Laronius coming up behind him, and thought he was being encircled in some deep Caesarian trap. Instead of hanging on to the spring to the last man and the last javelin, as any professional officer would have done, he disengaged to a flank, at a fast double. If he had held his ground for an hour he might have gone home with three captured Eagles. As it was, he attacked the Caesarian rearguard when they were safely past him. Cornificius’s men broke, shamefully. They would have scattered all over Sicily; but Laronius and his fresh troops stood firm while they rallied. As I see it, the net result is this: Cornificius has saved his three Eagles; but the men who march with them are not worth having in any decent army.’

  ‘Do you think all Caesar’s troops are unwilling to fight?’

  ‘Perhaps, sir. It’s hard to say. I was drinking with old soldiers, veterans who know that there’s nothing more dangerous than to run away in blind panic. They would never break ranks, though if things looked very bad they might kill their officers and go over to the enemy. But Caesar’s new recruits are not the stuff they were in my young days. I wouldn’t trust them. Anyway, the Caesarian army can’t compare with our legions. They have been beaten so often that they expect to be beaten next time. If they turned against us we could wipe the floor with them.’

  ‘That’s most interesting. Thank you, Crastinus. You understand that these Caesarians are our loyal allies, and that shoulder to shoulder we shall overcome Pompeius? There’s no question of war between Caesar and myself. All the same, it’s comforting to know that my army is the strongest in these parts.’

  Lepidus had planned a quiet day, an inspection of his troops and then a really long bath to keep him fit in this more than African heat. But by noon a message had been received from Agrippa, and there was another tactical movement to be arranged.

  Politically the most important news was that soon Caesar would join his soldiers in Tyn
daris. He professed himself eager to meet his fellow-Triumvir, there was much to be discussed between them. Lepidus hastened to send back a polite acceptance, but he did not propose a date for the interview. He was still not sure about the line he would take with this young puppy, whose sole asset was his lucky name; but obviously there would have to be an adjustment of their relative positions. The conqueror of Sicily could not remain the subordinate of a young man who had lost three fleets in two years.

  A second dispatch had been composed by Agrippa on his own initiative. Spies had informed him that reinforcements were due to reach the Pompeians in Messana. Titienus, a veteran Optimate who had been lucky enough to escape from Perusia, had levied some irregular cohorts in the south-west of the island; he would try to slip past the blockade to join the main Pompeian army. Agrippa hoped to ambush him in the hills. As he explained, this Optimate band was not of great military importance. But a small tactical success would raise the spirits of his own legions, who had not yet won a single skirmish; and for many years a stake had been waiting in the Forum for the head of Titienus. He enclosed a sketch-map to illustrate his contemplated movement, and trusted the Triumvir would render any assistance necessary.

  ‘He wants to be sure we are still at war with Pompeius,’ said Gallus as soon as he had read the dispatch. ‘A clumsy way to find out, but then Agrippa is not very bright. Caesar’s boyfriend, twenty-five years of age, and they give him supreme command of both army and navy! Love will be the ruin of the service! But we may as well humour him for the present. Our men will enjoy killing Optimates. It will remind them that even this petty war is being fought for liberty. Let me have a look at that map. We ought to send a detachment to save our gallant allies, before Titienus chases them halfway up Etna.’

  Unfortunately the map was no help at all. However it was turned it would not fit the broken hill-country in plain view from the camp.