Fortune's Favorites

by Colleen McCullough

  The fleet which put out from Gades was a very big one, and formidably guarded by every warship the governor could commandeer. The transports were loaded with wheat, oil, salt fish, dried meat, chickpea, wine, even salt-all intended to make sure New Carthage did not starve because of the Contestani blockade from land and the pirate blockade from sea.

  And having revictualed New Carthage, Metellus Pius loaded Gaius Memmius's legion aboard the empty transports, then sailed at a leisurely pace up the eastern coast of Nearer Spain, amused to see the pirate craft his fleet encountered scuttle out of the way. The pirates may have defeated Gaius Cotta in a fleet-to-fleet engagement several years before in these same waters, but they had little appetite for salt Piglet.

  The Piglet was going, of course-exemplary Roman nobleman that he was-to deliver Gaius Memmius and the legion to Pompey in Emporiae: and if he was also going to crow a little and to be just a trifle too sympathetic about Pompey's ignominious summer in the field, well... The Piglet considered Pompey owed him that for trying to steal his thunder.

  Just after the fleet passed the great pirate stronghold of Dianium it put in to a deserted cove to anchor for the night; a small boat came stealing out of Dianium and made for the Roman ships. In it was the younger Balbus, full of news.

  "Oh, how good it is to be back among friends!" he said in his soft, lisping Latin to Metellus Pius, Metellus Scipio and Gaius Memmius (not to mention his uncle, very pleased to see him safe and well).

  "I take it that you didn't manage to make contact with my colleague Gnaeus Pompeius," said Metellus Pius.

  "No, Quintus Caecilius. I got no further than Dianium. The whole coast from the mouth of the Sucro to the Tader is just boiling with Sertorius's men, and I look too much like a man of Gades-I would have been captured and tortured for sure. In Dianium there are many Punic-looking fellows, however, so I thought it wiser to lie low there and hear whatever I could hear."

  "And what did you hear, Balbus Minor?"

  "Oh, I not only heard! I also saw! Something extremely interesting," said Balbus the nephew, eyes shining. "Not two market intervals ago a fleet sailed in. It had come all the way from Pontus, and it belonged to King Mithridates."

  The Romans tensed, leaned forward.

  "Go on," said Metellus Pius softly.

  "On board the flagship were two envoys from the King, both Roman deserters-I think they had been legates commanding some of Fimbria's troops. Lucius Magius and Lucius Fannius."

  "I've seen their names," said Metellus Pius, "on Sulla's proscription lists."

  "They had come to offer Quintus Sertorius-he arrived in person to confer with them four days after they sailed in- three thousand talents of gold and forty big warships."

  “What was the price?'' growled Gaius Memmius.

  "That when Quintus Sertorius becomes the Dictator of Rome, he confirms Mithridates in all the possessions he already has and allows him to expand his kingdom further."

  "When Sertorius is Dictator of Rome?" gasped Metellus Scipio, staggered. "That will never happen!"

  "Be quiet, my son! Let the good Balbus Minor continue," said his father, who kept his own outrage concealed.

  "Quintus Sertorius agreed to the King's terms, with one proviso-that Asia Province and Cilicia remain Rome's."

  "How did Magius and Fannius take that?"

  "Very well, according to my source. I suppose they expected it, as Rome is not to lose any of her provinces. They consented on the King's behalf, though they said the King would have to hear from them in person before confirming it formally."

  "Is the Pontic fleet still in Dianium?"

  "No, Quintus Caecilius. It stayed only nine days, then it sailed away again."

  “Did any gold or ships change hands?''

  "Not yet. In the spring. However, Quintus Sertorius did send the King evidence of his good faith."

  "In what form?"

  "He presented the King with a full century of crack Spanish guerrilla troops under the command of Marcus Marius, a young man he esteems highly."

  The Piglet frowned. "Marcus Marius! Who is he?"

  "An illegitimate son of Gaius Marius got on a woman of the Baeturi when he was governor propraetore of the Further province forty-eight years ago."

  "Then this Marcus Marius is not so young," said Gaius Memmius.

  "True. I am sorry, I misled you." Balbus looked abject.

  "Ye gods, man, it's not a prosecutable offense!" said the Piglet, amused. "Go on, go on!"

  "Marcus Marius has never left Spain. Though he speaks good Latin and was properly educated-Gaius Marius knew of him, and had left him well provided for-his inclinations are toward the Spanish barbarian cause. He has been, as a matter of fact, Quintus Sertorius's most successful guerrilla commander-he specializes in the guerrilla attack."

  "So Sertorius has sent him off to teach Mithridates how to ambush and raid," said Metellus Scipio. "Thank you, Sertorius!"

  "And will the money and ships be delivered to Dianium?" asked Metellus Pius.

  "Yes. In the spring, as I have said."

  This amazing piece of news provided food for thought and for Metellus Pius's pen all the way to Emporiae. Somehow he had never considered that Sertorius's ambitions extended further than setting himself up as a Romanized King of All Spain; his cause had seemed absolutely inseparable from the native Spanish cause.

  "But," he said to Pompey when he reached Emporiae, "I think it's high time we looked at Quintus Sertorius more closely. The conquest of Spain is only his first step. Unless you and I can stop him, he's going to arrive on Rome's doorstep with his nice white diadem all ready to tie round his head. King of Rome! And ally of Mithridates and Tigranes."

  After all that purring anticipation, it had not proven possible for Metellus Pius to twist his own thin knife in Pompey's glaringly obvious wounds. He had taken one look at the erstwhile Kid Butcher's empty face and empty eyes and understood that instead of reminding him of his shortcomings, he would have to subject him to extensive spiritual and mental repairs. Numidicus the father would have said that his own honor demanded that the knife be twisted anyway, but Pius the son had lived too long in his father's shadow to have quite such a rarefied idea of his honor.

  With the object of effecting extensive repairs to Pompey's shattered image of himself, the Piglet craftily sent his tactless and haughty son off into Narbonese Gaul with Aulus Gabinius, there to recruit cavalry and horses; he had a talk to Gaius Memmius to enlist him as an ally, and sent Afranius and Petreius to start reorganizing Pompey's skeletal army. For some days he kept conversation and thoughts away from the last season's campaigns, glad that the news from Dianium had given conversation and thoughts such a dynamic fresh turn.

  Finally, with December almost upon him and a pressing need to return to his own province, the old woman from Further Spain got down to business.

  "I do not think it necessary to dwell upon events already in the past," he said crisply. "What ought to concern both of us is next year's campaigns."

  Pompey had always liked Metellus Pius well enough, though he now found himself wishing his colleague had rubbed him raw, crowed and exulted; he might then have been able to dismiss his opinions as worthless and healthily hated his person. As it was, the genuine kindness and consideration only drove his own inadequacy home harder. Clearly the Piglet did not deem him important enough to despise. He was just another junior military tribune who had come a cropper on his first lone mission, had to be picked up, dusted off, and set astride his horse again.

  However, at least this attitude meant they could sit together amicably. In pre-Sertorian times Pompey would have taken over what was obviously going to be a war conference; but the post-Sertorian Pompey simply sat and waited for Metellus Pius to produce a plan.

  "This time," said the Piglet, "we will both march for the Sucro and Sertorius. Neither of us has a big enough army to do the job unassisted. However, I can't move through Laminium because Hirtuleius and the Spanish army will be back the
re lying in wait for me. So I will have to go by a very devious route indeed, and with as much stealth as possible. Not that word of my coming won't reach Sertorius, and therefore Hirtuleius. But Hirtuleius will have to move from Laminium to contain me, and he won't do that until Sertorius orders him to. Sertorius is a complete autocrat in all matters military."

  "So what way can you go?" asked Pompey.

  "Oh, far to the west, through Lusitania," said the Piglet cheerfully. "I shall fetch up eventually at Segovia."

  "Segovia! But that's at the end of the earth!"

  "True. It will throw sand in Sertorius's eyes beautifully, however, as well as avoiding Hirtuleius. Sertorius will think I am about to move into the upper Iberus and try to take it off him while he's busy dealing with you. He'll send Hirtuleius to stop me because Hirtuleius at Laminium will be more than a hundred miles closer to Segovia than he."

  “What do you want me to do, precisely?'' asked this new and much humbler Pompey.

  "Stay in camp here in Emporiae until May. It will take me two months to reach Segovia, so I'll be moving long before you. When you do march, proceed with extreme caution. The most vital part of the whole strategy is that you look as if you're moving with purpose and completely independently of me. But that you do not reach the Turis and Valentia until the end of June."

  "Won't Sertorius try to stop me at Saguntum or Lauro?"

  "I doubt it. He doesn't work the same territory twice. You are now in a position to know Saguntum and Lauro well."

  Pompey turned dull red in the face, but said nothing.

  The Piglet went on as if he noticed no change in Pompey's complexion. "No, he'll let you reach the Turis and Valentia this time. They will be new to you, you see. Herennius and the traitor Perperna are still occupying Valentia, but I don't think they'll stay to let you besiege them-Sertorius doesn't like making his stand in coastal cities, he prefers his mountain strongholds-they are impossible to take."

  Metellus Pius paused to study Pompey's face, faded back to its new pinched whiteness, and was profoundly thankful to see that his eyes were interested. Good! He was taking it in.

  “From Segovia I will march for the Sucro, where I expect Sertorius will maneuver you into battle."

  Frowning, Pompey turned this over in his mind, which, the Piglet now realized, was still functioning well; it was just that Pompey no longer possessed the confidence to make his own plans. Well, a couple of victories and that would come back! Pompey's nature was formed, couldn't be unformed. Just battered.

  "But a march from Segovia to the Sucro will take you right down the middle of the driest country in Spain!" Pompey protested. "It's an absolute desert! And until you reach the Sucro itself you'll be crossing ridge after ridge instead of following valley floors. An awful march!"

  "That's why I shall make it," said Metellus Pius. "No one has ever chosen the route voluntarily before, and Sertorius will certainly not expect me to do so. What I hope is to reach the Sucro before his scouts sniff my presence." His brown eyes surveyed Pompey with pleasure. "You've studied your maps and reports intensively, Pompeius, to know the lay of the land so well."

  "I have, Quintus Caecilius. It can't substitute for actual experience, but it's the best one can do until the experience is accumulated," said Pompey, pleased at this praise.

  "You're already accumulating experience, don't worry about that!" said Metellus Pius heartily.

  "Negative experience," muttered Pompey.

  "No experience is negative, Gnaeus Pompeius, provided it leads to eventual success."

  Pompey sighed, shrugged. "I suppose so." He looked down at his hands. "Where do you want me when you reach the Sucro? And when do you think that will be?"

  "Sertorius himself won't move north from the Sucro to the Turis," said Metellus Pius firmly. "Herennius and Perperna may try to contain you at Valentia or on the Turis somewhere, but I think their orders will be to fall back to Sertorius on the Sucro. I shall aim to be in Sertorius's vicinity at the end of Quinctilis. That means that if you reach the Turis by the end of June, you must find a good excuse to linger there for one month. Whatever happens, don't keep marching south to find Sertorius himself until the end of Quinctilis! If you do, I won't be there to reinforce you. Sertorius's aim is to remove you and your legions from the war completely-that would leave him with vastly superior numbers to deal with me. I would go down."

  "Last year saw you come up, Quintus Caecilius."

  "That might have been a freak occurrence, and I hope that is what Sertorius will call it. Rest assured that if I meet Hirtuleius and am victorious again, I will endeavor to conceal my success from Sertorius until I can join my forces to yours."

  "In Spain, difficult, I'm told. Sertorius hears everything."

  "So they maintain. But I too have been in Spain for some years now, and Sertorius's advantages are melting away. Be of good cheer, Gnaeus Pompeius! We will win!"

  To say that Pompey was in a better frame of mind after the old woman from the Further province left to take his fleet back to Gades was perhaps a slight exaggeration, but there certainly had been a stiffening in his spine. He removed himself from his quarters to join Afranius, Petreius and the more junior legates in putting the finishing touches to his restructured army. As well, he thought, that he had insisted on taking one of the Piglet's legions away from him! Without it, he could not have campaigned. The exact number of his soldiers offered him two alternatives: five under-strength legions, or four normal strength. Since he was far from being a military dunce, Pompey elected five under-strength legions because five were more maneuverable than four. It came hard to look his surviving troops in the eye-this being the first time he had really done so since his defeat-but to his gratified surprise, he learned that none of them held the deaths of so many of their comrades against him. Instead they seemed to have settled into a dour determination that Sertorius would not prosper, and were as willing as always to do whatever their lovely young general wanted.

  As the winter in the lowlands was a mild and unusually dry one, Pompey welded his new units together by leading them up the Iberus a little way and reducing several of Sertorius's towns–Biscargis and Celsa fell with satisfying thumps. At this point, it being the end of March, Pompey withdrew again to Emporiae and began to prepare for his expedition down the coast.

  A letter from Metellus Pius informed him that after taking delivery of his forty warships and three thousand talents of gold in Dianium, Sertorius himself had departed into Lusitania with Perperna to help Hirtuleius train more men to fill the reduced ranks of the Spanish army, leaving Herennius in charge of Osca.

  Pompey's own intelligence network had markedly improved, thanks to the efforts of uncle and nephew Balbus (now in his service), and his Picentine scouts were faring better than he had expected.

  Not until after the beginning of May did he move, and then he proceeded with extreme caution. A man of the land himself, he noted automatically as he crossed the Iberus at Dertosa that this rich and extensively farmed valley looked very dry for the time of year, and that the wheat coming up in the fields was sparser than it ought to be, was not yet eared.

  Of the enemy there was no sign, but that fact did not fill Pompey with pleasure on this second march into the south. It merely made him more cautious still, his column defensive. Past Saguntum and Lauro he hurried with averted face; Saguntum stood, but Lauro was a blackened ruin devoid of life. At the end of June, having sent a message he hoped would reach Metellus Pius in Segovia, he reached the wider and more fertile valley of the Turis River, on the far bank of which stood the big, well-fortified city of Valentia.

  Here, drawn up on the narrow flats between the river and the city, Pompey found Herennius and Perperna waiting for him. In number, his Picentine scouts informed him, they were stronger than he, but had the same five legions; some thirty thousand men to Pompey's twenty thousand. Their greatest advantage was in cavalry, which his scouts estimated at a thousand Gallic horse. Though Metellus Scipio and Aulus
Gabinius had tried strenuously to recruit cavalry in Narbonese Gaul during the early winter, Pompey's troopers numbered only four hundred.

  At least he could be sure that what his Picentine scouts told him was reliable, and when they assured him that there was little difference between scouting in Italy and scouting in Spain, he believed them. So, secure in the knowledge that no Sertorian cohorts lurked behind him ready to outflank him or fall upon his rear, Pompey committed his army to the crossing of the Turis. And to battle on its southern bank.

  The river was more a declivity than a steep-sided trench, thus presented no obstacle even when battle was joined; its bed was rock-hard, its waters ankle deep. There was no particular tactical advantage to be seized by either side, so what developed was a conventional clash which the army with better spirit and strength would win. The only innovation Pompey used had arisen out of his deficiency in cavalry; correctly assuming that Perperna and Herennius would use their superiority in horse to roll up his flanks, Pompey had put troops bearing old-fashioned phalanx spears on the outside of his wings and ordered these men to use the fearsome fifteen-foot-long weapons against mounts rather than riders.

  The struggle was hotly contested and very drawn out. By no means as gifted a general as either Sertorius or Hirtuleius, Herennius did not see until it was too late that he was getting the worst of it; Perperna, to his west, was ignoring his every order. The two men had, in fact, not been able before the battle began to agree upon how it should be conducted; they ended in fighting as two separate entities, though this Pompey could not discern, only learned of later.

  The end of it was a heavy defeat for Herennius, but not for Perperna. Deciding that it was better to die if Sertorius insisted he must continue the war in tandem with this treacherous, odious man Perperna, Herennius threw his life away on the field, and the heart went out of the three legions and the cavalry directly under his command. Twelve thousand men died, leaving Perperna and eighteen thousand survivors to retreat to Sertorius on the Sucro.

  Mindful of Metellus Pius's warning that he must not reach the Sucro until the end of Quinctilis, Pompey did not attempt to pursue Perperna. The victory, so decisive and complete, had done his wounded self the world of good. How wonderful it was to hear his veterans cheering him again! And to wreath the eagles and the standards in well-earned laurels!