SPQR I: The Kings Gambit

by John Maddox Roberts

  “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 impe-rium, 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 gotten 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 stayi
ng 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.”

  "But Lucullus doesn’t allow it?” I asked, refilling both our cups.

  “Absolutely not. Flogging for extortion or taking bribes, beheading for murder. He allows no exceptions.”

  “And the men grumble against him?”

  “Certainly. Oh, it’s to be expected in a long war. Lucullus has been out there for nearly five years, and some of us were in Asia under Cotta, before Lucullus arrived. Men want to go home, and too many are being kept on after their terms of service have expired. No real danger of mutiny yet, but who knows what will happen when they learn that there’s to be another hard campaign, this time in Armenia. He keeps them drilling and training hard, even in winter quarters, and they don’t like that, either.”

  “He should relent a little,” I said. “Promise them the loot of Tigranocerta.”

  “That might be best,” Carbo agreed, “but it might turn out to be a disappointment. From what I’ve heard, Tigranocerta may not be the fabulous royal city everyone talks about. Some say it’s just a big fort: hard fighting and little loot.”

  “That would be unfortunate,” I said. “But I fear that things may be about to get worse for General Lucullus.”

  Carbo’s look sharpened. “What do you mean?”

  “Gnaeus, are you loyal to Lucullus?”

  He seemed somewhat offended. “Loyal to my general? Of course I am. What reason have you to doubt it?”

  “None at all. But all generals have enemies, and sometimes those are on their own staffs.”

  “Lucullus is the best general I have served. I will be loyal to him as long as he is loyal to Rome.”

  “Excellent. You will be returning to the army before the new campaigning season?”

  "Yes. From here I will go to spend some time with my family, then I return to the East.”

  “Good. Gnaeus, I am about to tell you something in strictest confidence, and I want you to convey this to General Lucullus. He does not know me, but he will know my father, the Urban Praetor, by reputation at least. It concerns the actions of his enemies, actions which I think to be not only hostile to Lucullus, but, even worse, pernicious to Rome.”

  Carbo nodded grimly. “Tell me. I will tell him.”

  I took a deep breath. This had the feeling of conspiracy, or at least slanderous troublemaking, but I could not ignore my instincts in this matter. “Sometime in the next year, Pub-lius Claudius Pulcher will sail to Asia to join Lucullus as a tribune. He is the general’s brother-in-law. Publius is a bad man, and lately he has been keeping company with the enemies of Lucullus here in Rome. I suspect that they have persuaded him to join Lucullus in order to undermine his command. Publius has no real interest in serving, but he wants to enter politics. I believe he is currying favor with a number of highly placed men by undertaking this.”

  Carbo’s eyes narrowed. “I will tell him, never fear. And I thank you for taking me into your confidence.”

  “I don’t know whether it is all a part of this or a mere coincidence, but Publius is now entertaining as his house-guest none other than Prince Tigranes, son of the King of Armenia. Do you know anything of him?”

  “Young Tigranes? Just that he and the old man are on the outs. The boy felt he wasn’t being given enough power or some such and tried to raise a rebellion. He failed, naturally, and had to run for his life. That was last year. So he’s in Rome now? I’ll never understand why those eastern kings always want to breed so many sons, the way they always turn into rivals. No family loyalty over there—among the royalty, at any rate.”

  This was a very true observation. A few years before, the King of Bithynia, Nicomedes III, had been so disappointed with his possible heirs that he actually willed his kingdom to Rome, as a bequest. It was the only province we ever acquired in so unorthodox a fashion. It was not totally bloodless, however. To nobody’s surprise, Mithridates found a supposed son of Nicomedes whose claim he could champion and tried to annex Bithynia to Pontus. He allied himself with Sertorius, who had made himself a sort of independent king in Spain and provided Mithridates with ships and officers. For a while he was successful, even defeating an army under Cotta, but that was when Lucullus took the field against him. Lucullus defeated Mithridates i
n a sea battle that time, and recovered Bithynia for us. All because an eastern king had no use for his family. The world is truly a strange place, and Asia is stranger than most parts of it.

  I did not know what sort of trouble it might lead to, but I felt better for having passed on my warning. My only alternative would have been to write a letter to Lucullus, and such written documents are always dangerous things. They can fall into the wrong hands; they can resurface years later when political realities have been utterly transformed, only to be used as evidence in a trial for treason or conspiracy. He who would keep his head in Roman politics must be extremely careful of all such documents.

  Well-fed and somewhat somnolent from the wine, we decided to walk around the city to clear our heads. Carbo, who had never been in Rome on a holiday, wanted to go to the great Temple of Jupiter to watch the ceremonies, which were famed for their elaborate spectacle. We went to my house so that I could lend him a toga and we climbed the long way to the old temple. He was not disappointed, despite the throngs of garlanded celebrants that crowded the Capitol. Romans never need much excuse to celebrate, and they throw themselves into it with a will. Coming back in the dim light of evening, we wandered in the streets awhile, accepting wine from the jars and skins that were passed promiscuously about. At that time, public officials were still expected to mingle with the people during holidays, without regard to rank or status. Aristocrat and bath attendant, patrician, plebeian, public official and common guildsman were all equal on a holiday. Today even Crassus and Pompey should be out in the temples or in the streets, pretending that they were just ordinary citizens like the rest of us. Well, perhaps not quite like the rest. They would have their bodyguards handy. Being good Roman citizens did not make them fools.

  As darkness came, we wended our way to my house. Cato and Cassandra had prepared a room for Carbo. They were delighted to have a guest to fuss over, and I had brought them a bag of pastries and a jar of wine to keep them cheerful during his visit. They had the unkillable sentimentality of old house slaves, and treated Carbo as if he were a general come home to celebrate a triumph, having defeated all the barbarians in the world single-handed.