“We are marching on Rome,” said Sulla calmly. “Don’t worry, Quintus Pompeius. It won’t be necessary to invade the defenseless city, you know. I am simply bringing my army along for company on the way. Discipline has never been so strictly enforced—I’ve got over two hundred and fifty centurions under orders that there’s not to be so much as one turnip stolen from a field. The men have a full month’s rations with them, and they understand.”
“We don’t need your army for company.”
“What, two consuls without a proper escort?”
“We have our lictors.”
“Yes, that’s an interesting thing. The lictors decided to go with us whereas the tribunes of the soldiers decided not to go with us,” said Sulla. “Elected office obviously makes a difference to a man’s attitude about who runs what in Rome.”
“Why are you so happy?” cried Pompeius Rufus in despair.
“I don’t quite know,” said Sulla, concealing his exasperation beneath a show of surprise. Time to smooth some soothing cream on the soft hide of his sentimental and doubting colleague. “If I’m happy for any reason, I suppose it’s that I’ve had enough of Forum idiocies, of men who think they know better than the mos maiorum and want to destroy what our ancestors built up so carefully and patiently. All I want is Rome the way Rome was designed to be. Fathered and guided by the Senate above all other bodies. A place where men who seek office as tribunes of the plebs are harnessed, not let run amok. There comes a time, Quintus Pompeius, when it is not possible to stand by and watch other men change Rome for the worse. Men like Saturninus and Sulpicius. But most of all, men like Gaius Marius.”
“Gaius Marius will fight,” said Pompeius Rufus dolefully.
“Fight with what? There’s not a legion closer to Rome than Alba Fucentia. Oh, I imagine Gaius Marius will try to summon Cinna and his troops—Cinna’s in his pocket, of that I’m sure. But two things will prevent him, Quintus Pompeius. One is the natural tendency of all other men in Rome to doubt my sincerity in leading my army to Rome— it will be deemed a ploy, no one will believe I’ll carry this intent through to its bitter end. The second thing is the fact that Gaius Marius is a privatus. He has neither office nor imperium. If he calls to Cinna for troops, he has to do it as a plea to a friend, not as consul or proconsul. And I very much doubt that Sulpicius will condone any such action by Gaius Marius. Because Sulpicius is one who will think my action a ploy.”
The junior consul was gazing now at his senior colleague in utter dismay—fine words! Correct words. Words which told Quintus Pompeius Rufus that Sulla had every intention of invading Rome.
*
Twice upon the way—once at Aquinum and once at Ferentinum—Sulla’s army encountered envoys athwart its path; news that Sulla was marching to Rome must have flown like an eagle. Twice did envoys order Sulla to lay down his command in the name of the People and send his army back to Capua; twice did Sulla refuse, though on the second occasion he added,
“Tell Gaius Marius, Publius Sulpicius, and what remains of the Senate that I will meet them on the Campus Martius.”
An offer the envoys did not believe, nor Sulla mean.
Then at Tusculum Sulla found the praetor urbanus, Marcus Junius Brutus, waiting in the middle of the Via Latina with another praetor for moral support. Their twelve lictors—six apiece—were huddled together on the side of the road trying to hide the fact that the fasces they carried contained the axes.
“Lucius Cornelius Sulla, I am sent by the Senate and the People of Rome to forbid your army to advance one foot closer to Rome than this spot,” said Brutus. “Your legions are under arms, not en route to a triumph. I forbid them to go further.”
Sulla said not a word, just sat his mule stony-faced. The two praetors were shoved roughly off the roadway into the midst of their terrified lictors, and the march to Rome continued. Where the Via Latina encountered the first of the diverticulum roads which ringed Rome round, Sulla halted and divided his forces; if anyone believed his story that the army would remain on the Campus Martius, that man now had to accept the fact that Sulla was bent upon invasion.
“Quintus Pompeius, take the Fourth Legion and go to the Colline Gate,” said Sulla, privately wondering whether his colleague had the steel to carry this enterprise through. “You will not enter the city,” he said gently, “so there is no need to worry. Your task is to prevent anyone’s bringing legions down the Via Salaria. Put your men into camp and wait for word from me. If you see troops advancing down the Via Salaria send to me at the Esquiline Gate. That is where I will be.”
He turned then to Lucullus. “Lucius Licinius, take the First and the Third and march them at the double. You have a long way to go. You are to cross the Tiber on the Mulvian Bridge, then march down through the Campus Vaticanus to Transtiberim, where you will halt. You will occupy the whole of that district, and garrison all the bridges—those across Tiber Island, the Pons Aemilius and the old Wooden Bridge.”
“Ought I not to garrison the Mulvian Bridge?”
Sulla gave a fierce grin of triumph. “There will be no legions marching down the Via Flaminia, Lucius Licinius. I have had a letter from Pompey Strabo—who deplores the unconstitutional actions of Publius Sulpicius, and will be very pleased if Gaius Marius does not assume the command against Mithridates.”
He waited at the crossroads until he judged Pompeius Rufus and Lucullus were far enough ahead of him, then he wheeled his own two legions—the Second plus one unnumbered because it was not a consul’s legion—and led them to the Esquiline Gate. At the junction of the Via Latina with the Via Appia and the ring road, the Servian Walls of the city were too far away to be sure if there were any sightseers atop them, but as Sulla marched east along the road which led through the serried ranks of tombs belonging to Rome’s necropolis, the walls grew much closer. And every soldier in Sulla’s two legions could see that the battlements were packed with people who had come to look, to cry out in incredulous amazement.
At the Esquiline Gate he made no pretense of hesitation. He sent his unnumbered legion into Rome on the run, not to filter through its streets but to ascend the Servian Walls and man the great double rampart of the Agger; this ran from the Colline Gate to the Esquiline Gate, which meant that Sulla’s own men were now in touch with the men of Pompeius Rufus. One legion handily placed along the Agger, Sulla then brought the first two cohorts of the Second Legion into the great marketplace which lay inside the Porta Esquilina, and stationed the other cohorts immediately outside it. Rome was contained. It now depended upon Publius Sulpicius and Gaius Marius as to what would happen next.
The Esquiline Mount was not a suitable place for military maneuvers. The streets leading into the Forum Esquilinum were narrow, perpetually congested, any widening stuffed with booths, stalls, carts, wagons; and the great marketplace was home to merchants, idlers, washerwomen, slaves fetching water, people eating and drinking, ox-carts, panniered asses, peddlers, low-cost schools and a forest of stalls. There were lanes and alleys aplenty leading into the Forum Esquilinum, but two big streets also terminated here—the Clivus Suburanus coming uphill from the Subura, and the Vicus Sabuci coming uphill from the area of manufactories and workshops south and east of the swamp called Palus Ceroliae. Yet here on this unsuitable ground was the battle for Rome fought, about an hour after Sulla entered the city.
The Esquiline Forum itself had been ruthlessly cleared, of course; where the markets had been there now stood still and watchful lines of soldiers at easy attention. Clad in full armor, Sulla sat his mule to one side of his army’s vexillum and the standards of the consul’s Second Legion. At the end of an hour a curious hum began to drown out the cries and noises emanating from the streets leading to the square, growing louder and louder as its source approached, until it could be distinguished as the yells of a great body of men spoiling for a fight.
They erupted into the Esquiline Forum from the mouth of every alley and lane, the spearhead of Sulpicius’s “bodyguard” p
lus the slaves and freedmen Gaius Marius and his son had rounded up, largely through the efforts of Lucius Decumius and the other leaders of the crossroads colleges which dotted Rome. And stopped short at the sight of rank upon rank of Roman legionaries, their silver standards flashing, drummers and trumpeters clustered beside their general waiting—quite placidly, it seemed—for his orders.
“Trumpeter, play, swords out and shields to the front,” said Sulla in a clear calm voice.
A single trumpet brayed; it was followed immediately by the soft screech of a thousand swords being drawn from their scabbards, the thump of shields brought round and engaged.
“Drummers, play, hold ranks and wait to be attacked,” said Sulla, his voice carrying easily to the unruly crowd of defenders.
The drums began, a hollow rattle that went on and on and on, more unsettling by far to the mob which faced the soldiers than the sound of war cries would have been.
Then the mob parted. Out in front stepped Gaius Marius, sword in hand, helmet on head, a scarlet general’s cape streaming behind his shoulders; beside him was Sulpicius, behind him Young Marius.
“Charge!” roared Marius, and emitted a shrill whoop.
His men tried to obey, but could not gain sufficient impetus in that restricted space to budge Sulla’s front line, which fended them off contemptuously with shields alone, keeping swords by sides.
“Trumpeters, play, engage the enemy,” said Sulla, leaned in his saddle sideways and himself grasped the silver eagle of the Second.
With an enormous effort of will and only to please their general—for no man now the time had come truly wanted to draw blood—the soldiers of Sulla lifted their swords and fought back.
No tactics or maneuvers were possible. The Forum Esquilinum became a struggling mass of tightly packed men who slogged without direction or control. Within minutes the First Cohort had forced its way into the Clivus Suburanus and the Vicus Sabuci, the Second Cohort followed suit, and more cohorts were streaming in disciplined files through the Esquiline Gate, sheer weight and training pushing back the civilians fighting for Marius and Sulpicius. Sulla on his mule moved forward to see what if anything he could do, the only person present with sufficient height to see above the masses of bobbing heads. And discovered that in every street and lane the residents of the tall buildings leaning over them were raining missiles down upon his soldiers—clay pots, logs of wood, bricks, stools. Some, thought the Sulla who had once lived in just such an insula, were genuinely angry at the invasion of their city; but others simply couldn’t resist the temptation to chuck things from on high into the wonderful free-for-all below.
“Find me some lighted torches,” he said to the aquilifer who ought to have been carrying his legion’s silver eagle.
The torches came very quickly, robbed from the square,
“Sound every trumpet and drum, top volume,” said Sulla.
In this confined space overhung with insulae the noise was maddening; activity stopped for the precious moments Sulla needed.
“If one more object is thrown, I will fire this city!” he screamed at the top of his voice, took a torch and hurled it high into the air. It dropped neatly through a window, and was followed by more torches. Every head disappeared, the missiles ceased.
Satisfied, he returned his attention to the fight, sure there would be no further bombardment. The insula dwellers now understood this was no circus, it was serious. A fight was one thing—a fire quite another. Everyone feared fire more than war.
He called up a cohort not yet engaged and sent it off into the Vicus Sabuci under orders to turn right into the Vicus Sobrius and right again into the Clivus Suburanus, there to take the city mob in the rear.
This proved the turning point; the undisciplined rabble flagged, stopped, then panicked, leaving Marius shouting that any slave who continued to fight would be freed, and Sulpicius—no coward—still fighting a rearguard action with Young Marius inside the Esquiline Forum. But soon Marius, Sulpicius and Young Marius too turned and fled, heading down the Clivus Pullius with Sulla’s troops in hot pursuit, Sulla at their head with the silver eagle in his hand.
At the temple of Tellus on the Carinae—where there was a precinct, therefore some space—Marius attempted to halt his polyglot force and rally it to return to the fight. But it refused to behave professionally, its members weeping, flinging swords and clubs away before running off toward the Capitol. Even within the streets of a city, soldiers were better.
When Marius, Young Marius, and Sulpicius suddenly disappeared, the fighting stopped completely. Sulla rode his mule down the Vicus Sandalarius to the great common land of the swamps below the Carinae, where the Via Sacra met the Via Triumphalis. There he halted and had his trumpeters and drummers call the Second to its standards. And there a few soldiers caught in the act of looting were brought before Sulla by their centurions.
“You were well warned—not so much as a turnip from a field,” he said to them. “No legionary of Rome plunders Rome.”
He then had the guilty men executed on the spot, a salutary lesson for the watching ranks.
“Send for Quintus Pompeius and Lucius Lucullus,” he said after the soldiers had been dismissed to an ordered ease.
Neither Pompeius Rufus nor Lucullus had had to do any work, and certainly no fighting.
“That’s good,” said Sulla to them. “I am the senior consul, it is purely my responsibility. If mine was the only force engaged, then the blame is firmly at my door.”
He could be so fair, thought Lucullus, looking at him in wonder; and then he could turn around and invade Rome. A complex man. No, that wasn’t quite the right word. Sulla was a man of mood changes so opposite and so strong that one never knew how he was going to react. Nor did one ever know what might set him off. Except, suspected Lucullus, Sulla himself.
“Lucius Licinius, leave seven cohorts of the First across the river to keep Transtiberim quiet. Send three cohorts of the First to guard the granaries of the Aventine and the Vicus Tuscus against citizen looting. The Third will garrison all the most sensitive points along the river. Put one cohort at the Port of Rome, the Campus Lanatarius, the Piscinae Publicae, the Porta Capena, the Circus Maximus, the Forum Boarium, the Forum Holitorium, the Velabrum, the Circus Flaminius, and the Campus Martius. Yes, that’s ten places for ten cohorts.”
He turned to the junior consul. “Quintus Pompeius, keep the Fourth outside the Colline Gate and make sure they continue to watch for any legions which might come down the Via Salaria. Bring my other legion down off the Agger and disperse its cohorts among the northern and eastern hills—Quirinal, Viminal, Esquiline. And put two cohorts in the Subura.”
“ Do we garrison the Forum Romanum and the Capitol?’’
Sulla shook his head emphatically. “Most definitely not, Lucius Licinius. I’ll not copy Saturninus and Sulpicius. The Second can stand duty below the Capitol slopes and around the Forum—but out of sight of either place. I want the People to feel they’re safe when I call a meeting.”
“Do you remain here?” asked Pompeius Rufus.
“Yes. Lucius Licinius, another job for you. Have some heralds go through the city proclaiming that any missile thrown from an insula will be treated as an act of war against the lawful consuls, and the insula will be fired on the spot. Have other heralds follow the first lot to proclaim that a meeting for all the People will be held in the Forum at the second hour of day.” Sulla paused to think if that was all, decided it was, and said, “As soon as you have everything in train, both of you will report back to me here.”
The primus pilus centurion of the Second, Marcus Canuleius, appeared and stood in the background where Sulla could see him, looking perfectly content; that’s a splendid sign, thought Sulla, relieved. It means my soldiers are still my soldiers.
“Any sign of them, Marcus Canuleius?” he asked.
The centurion shook his head, its great sideways plume of bright red horsehair riding his helmet like a fan. “No, Lucius
Cornelius. Publius Sulpicius was seen crossing the Tiber in a boat, which may mean he’s heading for a port somewhere in Etruria. Gaius Marius and his son are thought to be heading for Ostia. The urban praetor, Marcus Junius Brutus, has also fled.”
“The fools!” exclaimed Lucullus, surprised. “If they ‘genuinely felt they had the law on their side, they ought to have remained in Rome. Surely they know their chances are better if they debate you in the Forum!”
“You’re quite right, Lucius Licinius,” said Sulla, pleased that his legate had interpreted events in this way. “Panic, I think,” he said. “If either Marius or Sulpicius had stopped to reason his course properly, he would have seen the wisdom of staying in Rome. But I am always lucky, you know. Luckily for me they chose to leave the city.” Luck, nothing, he thought to himself. Both Marius and Sulpicius knew that if they had remained, I would have had no choice other than to have them secretly killed. If there’s one thing I cannot afford, it is to debate either of them in the Forum. They’re the popular heroes, not me. Still, their flight is a two-edged sword. It means I don’t have to find a way to kill them in an apparently blameless manner—but it does mean I will have to incur the odium of procuring a sentence of exile on them.
*
All through the night wakeful soldiers patrolled the streets and open spaces of Rome, campfires burning in any small spot where one could be kindled, the tramp of hobnailed caligae a sound which no sleepless Roman had ever heard beneath his windows. But the city pretended to sleep, and got up shivering in a chilly dawn to the sounds of heralds crying that Rome was at peace in the custody of her lawfully elected consuls, and that at the second hour of daylight the consuls would hold a meeting from the rostra.
The meeting was surprisingly well attended, even by the many supporters of Marius and Sulpicius in the Second and Third and Fourth Classes. The First Class was there in entirety while the Head Count stayed away; the Fifth Class also stayed away.
“Ten, fifteen thousand,” said Sulla to Lucullus and Pompeius Rufus as he walked down the slope of the Clivus Sacer from the Velia. He was clad in his purple-bordered toga, as was Pompeius Rufus, and Lucullus wore his plain white toga with the senator’s broad stripe on the right shoulder of his tunic; there was to be no hint of armed might, nor any soldier on display. “It’s vital that every word I say be heard by every man present, so make sure that heralds are properly stationed to relay my words out to the periphery of the crowd.”
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