“What?”
“The boni, the Good Men! Gaius Gracchus, Lucius Opimius, and our own Scaurus claim to have invented boni to describe their factions, but Plautus applied boni to plutocrats and other patrons a hundred years ago! I remember hearing it in a production of Plautus’s Captivi—put on while Scaurus was curule aedile, by Thespis! I was just old enough to be a playgoer.”
Marius was staring. “Lucius Cornelius, stop worrying about who coined pointless words, and pay attention to what really matters! Mention theater to you, and everything else is forgotten.”
“Oooops, sorry!” said Sulla impenitently.
Marius resumed reading.
We now move from the Forum Romanum to Sicily, where all sorts of things have been happening, none of them good, some of them blackly amusing, and some downright incredible.
As you know, but I shall refresh your memory anyway because I loathe ragged stories, the end of last year’s campaigning season saw Lucius Licinius Lucullus sit down in front of the slave stronghold of Triocala, to starve the rebels out. He’d thrown terror into them by having a herald retell the tale of the Enemy stronghold which sent the Romans a message saying they had food enough to last for ten years, and the Romans sent the reply back that in that case, they’d take the place in the eleventh year.
In fact, Lucullus did a magnificent job. He hemmed in Triocala with a forest of siege ramps, towers, shelter sheds, rams, catapults, and barricades, and he filled in a huge chasm which lay like a natural defense in front of the walls. Then he built an equally magnificent camp for his men, so strongly fortified that even if the slaves could have got out of Triocala, they couldn’t have got into Lucullus’s camp. And he settled down to wait the winter out, his men extremely comfortable, and he himself sure that his command would be prorogued.
Then in January came the news that Gaius Servilius Augur was the new governor, and with the official dispatch came a letter from our dear Metellus Numidicus Piggle-wiggle, which filled in the nasty details, the scandalous way in which the deed had been done by Ahenobarbus and his arse-boy the Augur.
You don’t know Lucullus all that well, Gaius Marius. But I do. Like so many of his kind, he presents a cool, calm, detached, and insufferably haughty face to the world. You know, “I am Lucius Licinius Lucullus, a noble Roman of most ancient and prestigious family, and if you’re very lucky, I might deign to notice you from time to time.” But underneath the facade is a very different man—thin-skinned, fanatically conscious of slights, filled with passion, awesome in rage. So when Lucullus got the news, he took it on the surface with exactly the degree of calm and composed resignation you might expect. Then he proceeded to tear out every last piece of artillery, the siege ramp, the siege tower, the tortoise, the shelter sheds, the rubble-filled defile, the walled-in mountain shelves, everything. And he burned the lot he could burn, and carried every bucketload of rubble, fill, earth, whatever, far away from Triocala in a thousand different directions. After which he demolished his own camp, and destroyed the materials it contained too.
You think that’s enough? Not for Lucullus, who was only just getting started! He destroyed every single record of his administration in both Syracuse and Lilybaeum, and he marched his seventeen thousand men to the port of Agrigentum.
His quaestor proved terrifically loyal, and connived at everything Lucullus wanted to do. The pay had come for his army, and there was money in Syracuse from spoils taken after the battle of Heracleia Minoa. Lucullus then proceeded to fine every non-Roman citizen in Sicily for putting too much strain upon Publius Licinius Nerva, the previous governor, and added that money to the rest. After which he used some of the new shipment of money which had arrived for the use of Servilius the Augur in hiring a fleet of ships to transport his soldiers.
On the beach at Agrigentum he discharged his men, and gave them every last sestertius he had managed to scrape up. Now Lucullus’s men were a motley collection, and proof positive that the Head Count in Italy is as exhausted these days as all the other classes when it comes to providing troops. Aside from the Italian and Roman veterans he’d got together in Campania, he had a legion and a few extra cohorts from Bithynia, Greece, and Macedonian Thessaly—it was his demanding these from King Nicomedes of Bithynia which had led the King to say he had no men to give, because the Roman tax farmers had enslaved them all. A rather impertinent reference to our freeing the Italian Allied slaves—Nicomedes thought his treaty of friendship and alliance with us should extend the emancipation to Bithynian slaves! Lucullus rolled him up, of course, and got his Bithynian soldiers.
Now the Bithynian soldiers were sent home, and the Roman and Italian soldiers were sent home to Italy and Rome. With their discharge papers. And having removed every last trace of his governorship from the annals of Sicily, Lucullus himself sailed away.
The moment he was gone, King Tryphon and his adviser Athenion spilled out of Triocala, and began to plunder and pillage Sicily’s countryside all over again. They are now absolutely convinced that they’ll win the war, and their catch-cry is “Instead of being a slave, own a slave!” No crops have been planted, and the cities are overflowing with rural refugees. Sicily is a very Iliad of woes once more.
Into this delightful situation came Servilius the Augur. Of course he couldn’t believe it. And started to bleat in letter after letter to his patron, Ahenobarbus Pipinna.
In the meantime, Lucullus arrived back in Rome, and began to make preparations for the inevitable. When Ahenobarbus taxed him in the House with deliberate destruction of Roman property—siegeworks and camps especially—Lucullus simply looked down his nose and said he thought the new governor would want to start in his own way. He himself, said Lucullus, liked to leave everything the way he found it, and that was precisely what he had done in Sicily at the end of his term—he had left Sicily the way he had found it. Servilius the Augur’s chief grievance was the lack of an army—he had simply assumed Lucullus would leave his legions behind. But he hadn’t bothered to make a formal request of Lucullus about the troops. So Lucullus maintained that in the absence of any request from Servilius the Augur, his troops were his to do what he wanted with. And he felt they were due for discharge.
“I left Gaius Servilius Augur a new tablet, wiped clean of everything I might have done,” said Lucullus in the House. “Gaius Servilius Augur is a New Man, and New Men have their own ways of doing everything. I considered therefore that I was doing him a favor.’’
Without an army there’s very little Servilius the Augur can do in Sicily, of course. Nor, with Catulus Caesar sifting what few recruits Italy can drop into his net, is there any likelihood of another army for Sicily this year. Lucullus’s veterans are scattered far and wide, most of them with plump purses, and not anxious to be found.
Lucullus is well aware he’s left himself wide open to prosecution. I don’t think he honestly cares. He’s had the infinite satisfaction of completely destroying any chance Servilius the Augur might have had to steal his thunder. And that matters more to Lucullus than avoiding prosecution. So he’s busy doing what he can to protect his sons, for it’s plain he thinks Ahenobarbus and the Augur will utilize Saturninus’s new knight-run treason court to initiate a suit against him, and secure a conviction. He has transferred as much of his property as he possibly can to his older son, Lucius Lucullus, and given out his younger son, aged thirteen now, to be adopted by the Terentii Varrones. There is no Marcus Terentius Varro in this generation, and it’s an extremely wealthy family.
I heard from Scaurus that Piggle-wiggle—who is very upset by all this, as well he might be, for if Lucullus is convicted, he’ll have to take his scandal-making sister, Metella Calva, back—says the two boys have taken a vow to have their revenge upon Servilius the Augur as soon as they’re both of age. The older boy, Lucius Lucullus Junior, is particularly bitter, it seems. I’m not surprised. He looks like his father on the outside, so why not on the inside as well? To be cast into disgrace by the overweening ambition of the
noisome New Man Augur is anathema.
And that’s all for the moment. I’ll keep you informed. I wish I could be there to help you with the Germans, not because you need my help, but because I’m feeling left out of it.
*
It was well into April of the calendar year before Marius and Sulla had word that the Germans were packing up and beginning to move out of the lands of the Atuatuci, and another month before Sertorius came in person to report that Boiorix had kept the Germans together as a people sufficiently to ensure his plan was going to be put into effect. The Cimbri and the mixed group led by the Tigurini started off to follow the Rhenus, while the Teutones wandered southeast down the Mosa.
“We have to assume that in the autumn the Germans will indeed arrive in three separate divisions on the borders of Italian Gaul,” said Marius, breathing heavily. “I’d like to be there in person to greet Boiorix himself when he comes down the Athesis, but it isn’t sensible. First, I have to take on the Teutones and render them impotent. Hopefully the Teutones will travel the fastest of the three groups, at least as far as the Druentia, because they don’t have any alpine territory to cross until later. If we can beat the Teutones here—and do it properly—then we ought to have time to cross the Mons Genava Pass and intercept Boiorix and the Cimbri before they actually enter Italian Gaul.’’
“You don’t think Catulus Caesar can deal with Boior on his own?” asked Manius Aquillius.
“No,” said Marius flatly.
Later, alone with Sulla, he enlarged upon his feelings about his junior colleague’s chances against Boiorix; for Quintus Lutatius Catulus was leading his army north to the Athesis as soon as it was trained and equipped.
“He’ll have about six legions, and he has all spring and summer to get them into condition. But a real general he’s not,” said Marius. “We must hope Teutobod comes earliest, that we beat Teutobod, cross the Alps in a tearing hurry, and join up with Catulus Caesar before Boiorix reaches Lake Benacus.”
Sulla raised an eyebrow. “It won’t happen that way,” he said, voice certain.
Marius sighed. “I knew you were going to say that!”
“I knew you knew I was going to say that,” said Sulla, grinning. “It isn’t likely that either of the two divisions traveling without Boiorix himself will make better time than the Cimbri. The trouble is, there’s not going to be enough time for you to be in each place at the right moment.”
“Then I stay here and wait for Teutobod,” said Marius, making up his mind. “This army knows every blade of grass and twig of tree between Massilia and Arausio, and the men need a victory badly after two years of inaction. Their chances of victory are very good here. So here I must stay.”
“I note the ‘I,’ Gaius Marius,” said Sulla gently. “Do you have something else for me to do?”
“I do. I’m sorry, Lucius Cornelius, to cheat you of a well-deserved chance to swipe a few Teutones, but I think I must send you to serve Catulus Caesar as his senior legate. He’ll stomach you in that role; you’re a patrician,” said Marius.
Bitterly disappointed, Sulla looked down at his hands. ‘ ‘What help can I possibly be when I’m serving in the wrong army?”
“I wouldn’t worry so much if I didn’t see all the symptoms of Silanus, Cassius, Caepio, and Mallius Maximus in my junior consul. But I do, Lucius Cornelius, I do! Catulus Caesar has no grasp either of strategy or of tactics—he thinks the gods popped them into his brain when they ordained his high birth, and that when the time comes, they’ll be there. But it isn’t like that, as you well know!”
“Yes, I do,” said Sulla.
“If Boiorix and Catulus Caesar meet before I can get across Italian Gaul, Catulus Caesar is going to commit some ghastly military blunder, and lose his army. And if he’s allowed to do that, I don’t see how we can win. The Cimbri are the best led of the three branches, and the most numerous. Added to which, I don’t know the lie of the land anywhere in Italian Gaul on the far side of the Padus. If I can beat the Teutones with less than forty thousand men, it’s because I know the country.”
Sulla tried to stare his superior out of countenance, but those eyebrows defeated him. “But what do you expect me to do?” he asked. “Catulus Caesar is wearing the general’s cape, not Cornelius Sulla! What do you expect me to do?”
Marius’s hand went out and closed fast about Sulla’s arm above the wrist. “If I knew that, I’d be able to control Catulus Caesar from here,” he said. “The fact remains, Lucius Cornelius, that you survived over a year of living among a barbarian enemy as one of them. Your wits are as sharp as your sword, and you use both superbly well. I have no doubt that whatever you might have to do to save Catulus Caesar from himself, you will do.”
Sulla sucked in a breath. “So my orders are to save his army at all costs?”
“At all costs.”
“Even the cost of Catulus Caesar?”
“Even the cost of Catulus Caesar.”
*
Spring wore itself out in a smother of flowers and summer came in as triumphantly as a general on his victory parade, then stretched itself out, hot and dry. Teutobod and his Teutones came steadily down through the lands of the Aedui and into the lands of the Allobroges, who occupied all the area between the upper Rhodanus and the Isara River, many miles to the south. They were warlike, the Allobroges, and had an abiding hatred for Rome and Romans; but the German host had journeyed through their lands three years earlier, and they did not want the Germans as their overlords. So there was hard fighting, and the Teutonic advance slowed down. Marius began to pace the floor of his command house, and wonder how things were with Sulla, now a part of Catulus Caesar’s army in Italian Gaul, camped along the Padus.
Catulus Caesar had marched up the Via Flaminia at the head of six understrength new legions late in June; the manpower shortage was so acute he could recruit no more. When he got to Bononia on the Via Aemilia, he took the Via Annia to the big manufacturing town of Patavium; this was well to the east of Lake Benacus, but a better route for an army on the march than the side roads and lanes and tracks with which Italian Gaul was mostly provided. From Patavium he marched on one of these poorly kept-up side roads to Verona, and there established his base camp.
Thus far Catulus Caesar had done nothing Sulla could fault, yet he understood better now why Marius had transferred him to Italian Gaul and what he had thought at the time was the lesser task. Militarily it might well be—yet Marius, Sulla thought, had not mistaken the cut of Catulus Caesar. Superbly aristocratic, arrogant, overconfident, he reminded Sulla vividly of Metellus Numidicus. The trouble was, the theater of war and the enemy Catulus Caesar faced were very much more dangerous than those Metellus Numidicus had faced; and Metellus Numidicus had owned Gaius Marius and Publius Rutilius Rufus as legates, besides harboring the memory of a salutary experience in a pigsty at Numantia. Whereas Catulus Caesar had never encountered a Gaius Marius on his way up the chain of military command; he had served his requisite terms as a cadet and then as a tribune of the soldiers with lesser men engaged in lesser wars—Macedonia, Spain. War on a grand scale had always eluded him.
His reception of Sulla had not been promising, as he had sorted out his legates before leaving Rome, and when he reached Bononia found Sulla waiting for him with a directive from the commander-in-chief, Gaius Marius, to the effect that Lucius Cornelius Sulla was appointed senior legate and second-in-command. The action was arbitrary and highhanded, but of course Marius had had no choice; Catulus Caesar’s manner toward Sulla was freezing, and his conduct obstructive. Only Sulla’s birth stood him in good stead, but even that was weakened by his past history of low living. There was also a tiny streak of envy in Catulus Caesar, for in Sulla he saw a man who had not only seen major actions in major theaters, but had also pulled off a brilliant coup in spying on the Germans. Had he only known of Sulla’s real role in that spying, he would have been even more mistrustful and suspicious of Sulla than he already was.
In fact,
Marius had displayed his usual genius in sending Sulla rather than Manius Aquillius, who might also have proven his worth as a watchdog-cum-guardian; for Sulla grated on Catulus Caesar’s nerves, rather as if out of the corner of Catulus Caesar’s eye he was always conscious that a white pard stalked him—yet when he turned to confront the thing, it wasn’t there. No senior legate was ever more helpful; no senior legate was ever more willing to take the burdens of day-to-day administration and supervision of the army from a busy general’s shoulders. And yet—and yet—Catulus Caesar knew something was wrong. Why should Gaius Marius have sent this fellow at all, unless he was up to something devious?
It was no part of Sulla’s plan to settle Catulus Caesar down, allay his fears and suspicions; on the contrary, what Sulla aimed to do was keep Catulus Caesar fearful and suspicious, and thus gain a mental ascendancy over him which when necessary—if necessary—he could bring to bear. And in the meantime he made it his business to get to know every military tribune and centurion in the army, and a great many of the ranker soldiers as well. Left to his own devices by Catulus Caesar in the matter of routine training and drilling once camp was established near Verona, Sulla became the senior legate everyone below the rank of legate knew, respected, trusted. It was very necessary that this happen, in case he was obliged to eliminate Catulus Caesar.
Not that he had any intention of killing or maiming Catulus Caesar; he was enough of a patrician to want to protect his fellow noblemen, even from themselves. Affection for Catulus Caesar he could not feel; affection for that man’s class he did.
*
The Cimbri had done well under the leadership of Boiorix, who had guided both his own division and that of Getorix as far as the confluence of the Danubius with the Aenus; at that point he left Getorix with a relatively short journey to complete on his own, while the Cimbri turned south down the Aenus. Soon they were passing through the alpine lands peopled by a tribe of Celts called the Brenni, after the first Brennus. They controlled the Pass of Brennus, the lowest of all the passes into Italian Gaul, but were in no condition to prevent Boiorix and his Cimbri from using it.
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