Sulla moved his four legions past Nola without a sideways glance, though he sent Metellus Pius the Piglet to the commander of the legion sitting before it with a message to the effect that the praetor Appius Claudius Pulcher was not to shift himself for any reason short of Nola’s complete submission. A dour man—and recently widowed—Appius Claudius merely nodded.
At the end of the third week in May, Sulla arrived at the Hirpini town of Aeclanum, which lay on the Via Appia. The Hirpini had begun to mass there, his intelligence sources had informed him; but it was not Sulla’s intention to allow any further concentrations among the insurgents of the south. One look at the defenses of Aeclanum caused Sulla to smile his deadliest smile, long canines on full display—the town walls, though high and well built, were wooden.
Well aware that the Hirpini had already sent to the Lucanian Marcus Lamponius for help, Sulla sat his forces down without bothering to put them into a camp. Instead, he sent Lucullus to the main gate to demand Aeclanum’s surrender. The town’s answer came in the form of a question: please, would Lucius Cornelius Sulla give Aeclanum one day to think things over and come to a decision?
“They’re playing for time in the hope that Lamponius will send them reinforcements tomorrow,” said Sulla to Metellus Pius the Piglet and Lucullus. “I’ll have to think about Lamponius, he can’t be allowed to run rampant in Lucania any longer.’’ Sulla shrugged, looked brisk, got back to the business of the moment. “Lucius Licinius, take the town my answer. They may have one hour, not more. Quintus Caecilius, take as many men as you need and scour every farm around the town for firewood and oil. Pile the wood and oil-soaked rags along the walls on either side of the main gates. And have our four pieces of artillery positioned in four different places. As soon as you can, set fire to the walls and start lobbing flaming missiles into the town. I’ll bet everything inside is made of wood too. Aeclanum will go up like tinder.”
“What if I’m ready to start burning in less than an hour?” asked the Piglet.
“Then start burning,” said Sulla. “The Hirpini aren’t being honorable. Why should I be?”
As the wood of which they were composed was aged and dry, Aeclanum’s fortifications burned fiercely, as did the buildings inside. All the gates were thrown open in a panic and the people streamed out crying surrender.
“Kill them all and sack the place,” said Sulla. “It’s time the Italians understood they’ll get no mercy from me.”
“Women and children too?” asked Quintus Hortensius, the other senior tribune of the soldiers.
“What, not got the stomach for it, Forum advocate?” Sulla enquired with a mocking look.
“You mistake the intent of my question, Lucius Cornelius,” said Hortensius evenly in his beautiful voice. “I have no feelings to spare for Hirpini brats. But like any other Forum advocate, I like everything clarified. Then I know where I stand.”
“No one must survive,” said Sulla. “However, tell the men to use the women first. Then they can kill them.”
“You’re not interested in taking prisoners to sell as slaves?” asked the Piglet, practical as always.
“Italians are not foreign enemies. Even when I sack their towns, there will be no slaves. I’d rather see them dead.”
From Aeclanum, Sulla turned south on the Via Appia and marched his contented troops to Compsa, the second Hirpini stronghold. Like its sister town, its walls were made of wood. But news of the fate of Aeclanum had spread faster than Sulla had moved; when he arrived, Compsa was waiting with all its gates open and the magistrates outside. This time Sulla was inclined to be merciful. Compsa was spared a sack.
From Compsa the general sent a letter back to Catulus Caesar in Capua and told him to send two legions under the brothers Aulus and Publius Gabinius into Lucania. Their orders were to take every town off Marcus Lamponius and free up the Via Popillia all the way to Rhegium. Then Sulla bethought himself of another useful man, and added a post scriptum that Catulus Caesar should include the junior legate Gnaeus Papirius Carbo in the Lucanian expedition.
In Compsa, Sulla received two messages. One informed him that Herculaneum had finally fallen during a strongly contested attack two days before the Ides of June, but that Titus Didius had been killed during the fighting.
“Make Herculaneum pay,” wrote Sulla to Catulus Caesar.
Sulla’s second message came across country from Apulia, and was from Gaius Cosconius.
After a remarkably easy and uneventful voyage, I landed my legions in an area of salt lagoons near the fishing village of Salapia exactly fifty days after leaving Puteoli. All went precisely as planned. We disembarked at night in complete secrecy, attacked Salapia at dawn and burned it to the ground. I made sure every person in the vicinity was killed so that no one could send news of our arrival to the Samnites.
From Salapia I marched to Cannae and took it without a fight, after which I forded the Aufidius River and advanced on Canusium. Not more than ten miles further on, I met a large Samnite host led by Gaius Trebatius. Battle could not be avoided. Since I was very much outnumbered and the ground was not favorable to me, the engagement was a bloody one, and costly to me. But costly to Trebatius as well. I decided to fall back on Cannae before I lost more men than I could afford, got my soldiers into good order and recrossed the Aufidius with Trebatius on my tail. Then I saw what my ploy should be, pretended we were in a panic, and hid behind a hill on the Cannae bank of the river. The trick worked. Sure of himself, Trebatius began to ford the Aufidius with his troops in some disarray. My men were calm and eager to continue the fight. I wheeled them at a run through a full circle, and we fell on Trebatius while he was still in the river. The result was a complete victory for Rome. I have the honor to inform you that fifteen thousand Samnites died at the Aufidius crossing. Trebatius and the few survivors fled to Canusium, which has prepared for a siege. I have obliged it.
I left five cohorts of my men, including the wounded, in front of Canusium under the command of Lucius Lucceius, then took the fifteen cohorts remaining to me and headed north toward Frentani country. Ausculum Apulium surrendered without a fight. So did Larinum.
As I write this report, I have just received news from Lucius Lucceius that Canusium has capitulated. Following his orders from me, Lucius Lucceius has sacked the town and killed everyone, though it would appear Gaius Trebatius himself escaped. As we have no facilities to cope with prisoners and I cannot afford to have enemy soldiers running loose in my rear, the destruction of all in Canusium was my only alternative. I trust this does not displease you. From Larinum I shall continue to advance toward the Frentani, awaiting news of your own movements and further orders.
Sulla laid the letter down with great satisfaction and shouted for Metellus Pius and his two senior tribunes of the soldiers, as both these young men were proving excellent.
Having given them Cosconius’s news and listened with what patience he could muster to their marveling (he had told no one of Cosconius’s voyage), Sulla proceeded to issue new orders.
“It’s time we contained Mutilus himself,” he said. “If we do not, he’ll fall on Gaius Cosconius in such numbers not one Roman man will be left alive, and that’s scant reward for a brave campaign. My sources of information tell me that at the moment Mutilus is waiting to see what I do before he decides whether to go after me or Gaius Cosconius. What Mutilus hopes is that I turn south on the Via Appia and concentrate my efforts around Venusia—which is strong enough to occupy all my attention for a considerable length of time. Once he hears positive confirmation of this, he’ll look for Gaius Cosconius. So today we pull up stakes and we set off to the south. However, with darkness we reverse the direction of our march and leave the road completely. It’s rough and hilly country between here and the upper Volturnus, but that’s the way we’re going. The Samnite army has been encamped halfway between Venafrum and Aesernia for far too long, but Mutilus shows no sign of moving. We have almost a hundred and fifty miles of very difficult marching
before we reach him. Nevertheless, gentlemen, we’re going to be there in eight days, and fit to fight.”
No one attempted to argue; Sulla always pushed his army unmercifully, but such was its morale since Nola that it felt itself—and Sulla—equal to anything. The sack of Aeclanum had done wonders for the soldiers too, as Sulla had held nothing back out of the meager spoils for himself or his officers save a few women, and not the best women at that.
The march to Mutilus, however, took twenty-one days, not the original estimate of eight. Of roads there were none, and the hills were crags which often had to be skirted tortuously. Though inwardly Sulla fretted, he was wise enough to turn a cheerful and considerate face toward legionaries and officers both, and made sure his army maintained a certain degree of comfort. In certain ways the winning of his Grass Crown had made a tenderer man of Sulla, ways all aimed at his ownership of his army. If the terrain had been as easy as he had thought it was going to be, he would have pushed them; as it was, he could see the necessity of keeping them in good spirits and accepting the inevitable. If Fortune still favored him, he would find Mutilus where he expected to find him; and Sulla thought Fortune was still on his side.
Thus it was the end of Quinctilis when Lucullus rode into Sulla’s camp, face eager.
“He’s there!” cried Lucullus without ceremony.
“Good!” said Sulla, smiling. “That means his luck has run out, Lucius Licinius—because mine hasn’t. You can pass that message on to the troops. Does Mutilus look as if he’s planning to move soon?”
“He looks more as if he’s giving his men a long holiday.’’
“They’re fed up with this war, and Mutilus knows it,” said Sulla contentedly. “Besides which, he’s a worried man. He’s been sitting in the same camp for over sixty days, and every fresh piece of news he gets only makes his decision as to where to go next more difficult. He’s lost western Campania, and he’s in the process of losing Apulia.”
“So what do we do?” asked Lucullus, who had a natural martial streak and was loving his learning from Sulla.
“We make smokeless camp on the wrong side of the last ridge leading down to the Volturnus, and there we wait. Keeping very quiet,” said Sulla. “I’d like to strike as he’s preparing to move. He must move soon, or lose the war without another fight. If he were Silo, he might elect that course. But Mutilus? He’s a Samnite. He hates us.”
Six days later Mutilus decided to move. What Sulla couldn’t know was that the Samnite leader had just received word of a terrible battle outside Larinum between Gaius Cosconius and Marius Egnatius. Though he had kept his own army idle, Mutilus hadn’t permitted Cosconius to use northern Apulia like a parade ground. He had sent a big and experienced army of Samnites and Frentani under Marius Egnatius to contain Cosconius. But the little Roman force was in high fettle, trusted its leader completely, and had got into the habit of deeming itself unconquerable. Marius Egnatius had gone down in defeat and died on the field together with most of his men, appalling news for Mutilus.
Not long after dawn Sulla’s four legions issued out of the concealing ridge and fell on Mutilus. Caught with his camp half dismantled and his troops in disorder, the Samnite stood no chance. Badly wounded himself, he fled with the remnants of his army to Aesernia, and shut himself up inside. Once more this beleaguered city girded itself to withstand a siege—only now it was Rome on the outside, Samnium within.
While he was still dealing with the aftermath of the rout, Sulla was informed of the victory against Marius Egnatius by letter from Cosconius himself, and looked exultant. No matter how many pockets of resistance remained, the war was over. And Mutilus had known it for over sixty days.
Leaving a few cohorts at Aesernia under the command of Lucullus to keep Mutilus locked up, Sulla himself marched to the old Samnite capital of Bovianum. This was a formidably fortified town, possessing three separate citadels connected by mighty walls. Each citadel faced in a different direction, built to watch one of the three roads at the junction of which Bovianum sat, deeming itself invulnerable.
“You know,” said Sulla to Metellus Pius and Hortensius, “one thing I always noticed about Gaius Marius in the field—he was never enamored of the mechanics behind taking towns. To him, nothing mattered except pitched battle. Whereas I find taking towns quite fascinating. If you look at Bovianum, it appears impregnable. But make no mistake—it will fall today.”
He made his word good by tricking the town into thinking his entire army was sitting below the citadel facing the road from Aesernia; in the meantime, one legion sneaked through the hills and attacked the citadel looking south to Saepinum. When Sulla saw the huge column of smoke arising from the Saepinum tower—his prearranged signal—he attacked the Aesernia tower. Less than three hours later Bovianum submitted.
Sulla quartered his soldiers inside Bovianum instead of putting them into camp and used the town as his base while he scoured the countryside for miles around to make sure southern Samnium was properly subdued—and incapable of raising fresh troops.
Then, leaving Aesernia besieged by men sent from Capua, and with his own four legions reunited, Sulla conferred with Gaius Cosconius. It was the end of September.
“The east is yours, Gaius Cosconius!’’ he said cheerfully. “I want the Via Appia and the Via Minucia completely freed up. Use Bovianum as your headquarters, it makes a superb garrison. And be as merciless or as merciful as you see fit. The most important thing is to keep Mutilus penned up inside Aesernia and prevent any reinforcements from reaching him.”
“How are things to the north of us?” asked Cosconius, who had heard virtually nothing since he had sailed from Puteoli in March.
“Excellent! Servius Sulpicius Galba has cleaned up most of the Marrucini, Marsi and Vestini. He says Silo was on the field, but escaped. Cinna and Cornutus have occupied all the Marsic lands, and Alba Fucentia is ours again. The consul Gnaeus Pompeius Strabo has reduced the Picentes and the rebel parts of Umbria to ruins. However, Publius Sulpicius and Gaius Baebius are still sitting in front of Asculum Picentum—which must surely be at death’s door from starvation, but continues to hold out.”
“Then we have won!” said Cosconius in tones of awe.
“Oh, yes. We had to win! An Italy without Rome in total command? The gods wouldn’t countenance that,” said Sulla.
Six days after the beginning of October he arrived in Capua to see Catulus Caesar and make the necessary arrangements for the wintering of his armies. Traffic was flowing once more down the Via Appia and the Via Minucia, though the town of Venusia held out stubbornly, powerless to do more than watch Roman activity on the great road running alongside it. The Via Popillia was safe for the passage of armies and convoys from Campania to Rhegium, but was still unsafe for small parties of travelers, as Marcus Lamponius clung to the mountains still, concentrating his energies now upon sorties little more impressive than brigand attacks.
“However,” said Sulla to a happy Catulus Caesar as he prepared to leave for Rome at the end of November, “by and large, I think we can safely say the peninsula is ours again.”
“I’d prefer to wait until Asculum Picentum is ours before I say that,” said Catulus Caesar, who had worked indefatigably for two years in a thankless job. “The whole business started there, Lucius Cornelius. And it’s still holding out.”
“Don’t forget Nola,” said Sulla, and snarled.
2
But the days of Asculum Picentum were numbered. Riding his Public Horse, Pompey Strabo brought his army to join that of Publius Sulpicius Rufus in October, and spread a wall of Roman soldiers all the way around the city; not even a rope let down from the ramparts could now go undetected. His next move was to sever the city from its water supply—an enormous undertaking, since the water was led off the gravel beneath the bed of the Truentius River at hundreds of different points. But Pompey Strabo displayed considerable engineering skill, and took pleasure in supervising the work himself.
In attendance up
on the consul Strabo was his most despised cadet, Marcus Tullius Cicero; as Cicero could draw quite well and took a self-invented shorthand with extreme accuracy and rapidity, the consul Strabo found him very useful in situations like the one gradually depriving Asculum Picentum of water. As terrified of his commander as he was appalled at his commander’s utter indifference to the plight of those within the city, Cicero did as he was told and remained dumb.
In November the magistrates of Asculum Picentum opened the main gates and crept out to tender the city’s submission to Gnaeus Pompeius Strabo.
“Our home is now yours,” said the chief magistrate with great dignity. “All we ask is that you give us back our water.”
Pompey Strabo threw back his grizzled yellowish head and roared with laughter. “What for?” he asked ingenuously. “There won’t be anyone left to drink it!”
“We are thirsty, Gnaeus Pompeius!”
“Then stay thirsty,” said Pompey Strabo. He rode into Asculum Picentum on his Public Horse at the head of a party comprising his legates—Lucius Gellius Poplicola, Gnaeus Octavius Ruso, and Lucius Junius Brutus Damasippus—plus his tribunes of the soldiers, his cadets, and a picked contingent of troops five cohorts strong.
While the soldiers immediately spread out through the town with smooth discipline to round up every inhabitant and inspect every house, the consul Strabo proceeded to the forum-marketplace. It still bore the scars of the time when Gaius Vidacilius had occupied it; where the magistrates’ tribunal had once stood there now lay a tumbledown pile of charred log fragments, the remains of the pyre Vidacilius had climbed upon to burn himself to death.
Chewing the vicious little switch he used to chastise his Public Horse, the consul Strabo looked about him carefully, then jerked his head at Brutus Damasippus.
“Put a platform on top of that pyre—and make it quick,’’ he said to Damasippus curtly.
Within a very short time a group of soldiers had torn down doors and beams from the buildings closest by and Pompey Strabo had his platform, complete with a set of steps. Upon it was placed his ivory curule chair and a stool for his scribe.
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