The Spartacus War

by Strauss, Barry

  The sources disagree as well about the degree of Spartacus’s success. One writer says that he managed to extricate only one-third of his army before the Romans closed the gap again. Another insists that Spartacus got his entire army through. An ingenious scholar has tried to square the circle by saying that once Spartacus got part of his army through, Crassus had to abandon the fortifications or else he would have been caught between two threats. Hence, the other two-thirds of the army was able to escape as well. In any case, the sources cite huge numbers of rebel slaves at large in the next phase of the war; they also mention Crassus’s fear that Spartacus might now march on Rome. This suggests that, one way or another, Spartacus got most of his men out of Crassus’s net.

  Crassus had gambled and failed. Spartacus had paid a price in blood but he had broken free. It was a tremendous victory for the slaves and a bitter defeat for the Romans. There was nothing for the Romans now but to abandon the defences they had worked so hard to build and to return to the pursuit. Once again, Spartacus had forced a campaign of manoeuvre and mobility, at which he excelled.

  Spartacus displayed his mastery of the art of tactics. Breaking through fixed defences is often difficult, particularly against defenders as good at fortifications as the Romans. Spartacus, therefore, had reason for pride after his breakout but not for false hope. With Crassus behind him and Pompey expected to appear, the rebels continued to enjoy poor strategic prospects. Now, as always, Spartacus had only one reasonable goal: leaving Italy. But how? The Alps had overwhelmed them and the sea had betrayed them. Spartacus might think of finding new and trustworthy pirates somewhere. He might even contemplate persuading the army to march back north and give the Alpine passes another try. But not now; surely his battered people needed rest. That reasoning, at any rate, might explain the statement in the sources that his goal now was Samnium.

  Samnium is a region of the south-central Apennines, lying north and north-east of Capua. It was famously rugged and anti-Roman. Sulla’s army had destroyed Samnium’s elite military manpower at the Battle of the Colline Gate in 82 BC, so Samnium could offer Spartacus little support from its free population. With the help of local slaves, however, the rebels might have carved out a retreat in Samnium’s remote hills. Perhaps they had already found assistance there in their march northwards in spring 72 BC. Spartacus’s knowledge of Samnium might even have dated back to his days in the house of Vatia in Capua. So Spartacus led his army northwards through Bruttium and back into Lucania, heading for Samnium.

  But it was not to be. The rebel army broke up again. As one source says, ‘they began to disagree among themselves.’ As before, the split had an ethnic component. A large contingent of Celts and Germans decided to go off on their own. Their leaders were named Castus and Cannicus (or Gannicus). The sources put the group at well over 30,000 men but the figures are, at best, educated guesses. It is not clear if all the Celts and Germans in the rebellion joined them, nor do we know if any other nationalities chose the splinter group.

  In any case, we needn’t conclude that the split was just a matter of tribal politics. A reasonable person might have argued that Spartacus had failed and needed to be replaced; his Sicilian strategy, it could have been said, had wasted valuable time and lives. If he had saved the army on the Melìa Ridge, he had also brought it there in the first place. According to the sources, before he learned about the break-up, Crassus was afraid that Spartacus was leading his men towards Rome again. This may be just what Castus and Cannicus wanted to do. Dreaming of storming the enemy’s citadel, perhaps they scorned the idea of retreating to Samnium.

  So, for the second time, the rebel army broke in two. Crassus surely took heart.

  TO THE DEATH

  9

  The Celtic Women

  It was just before dawn and the light was still dim. In approximately March 71 BC in the hills of northern Lucania, the two women probably felt a chill in the air as they climbed the mountainside. Budding branches alternated with green-clad pines, and there might even have been some snow on the peak. The women were Celts, members of the breakaway army of rebel slaves led by Castus and Cannicus. Privacy is a rare luxury in an army on the move. This morning, though, they had needed to get away from the crowd in order to carry out monthly rituals. They might have been druids, and privacy, a sacred grove and precision in timing were essential elements of Celtic religion.

  The nature of their rite is unclear. Celtic rituals were legion; as Caesar wrote: ‘the whole of the Gallic people is passionately devoted to matters of religion.’ Celtic women commonly met in small groups to call on the gods. ‘The magic of women’ galvanized many in Celtic society. As for the two women on the mountain, Sallust says that they were ‘fulfilling their monthly things’. Some scholars take this as a reference to menstruation, while others consider it a reference to the phases of the moon, pointing out that the Celtic religion paid close attention to the calendar. (The moon is still visible in pre-dawn light.) Plutarch says that the women were ‘sacrificing on behalf of the enemies’ (i.e. Rome’s enemies - that is, the women’s own soldiers). These possibilities are not mutually exclusive. Many religions connect the menstrual and lunar cycles, and many communities link their success with women’s fertility.

  The two women stumbled upon the sight of Roman soldiers, 6,000 men carrying out the mission of circling around the enemy and taking unobserved a ridge of the same mountain the women were climbing, Mount Camalatrum. Crassus had sent the men under the command of Caius Pomptinus and Quintus Marcius Rufus while he prepared to lead the main attack from another direction. The men under Pomptinus and Rufus had gone to the trouble of camouflaging their helmets, an effort that kept them invisible from any scouts that the rebels might have posted. The Romans were on the verge of achieving complete strategic surprise when the two women discovered them. If they managed to sound the alarm, the Romans’ battle plan would unravel and yet another of Crassus’s traps would snap shut empty.

  Unfortunately for Crassus the two women rose to the occasion. They did not panic, which is no surprise, given the ancient evidence. A Roman writer says Celtic women were always ready to help beleaguered husbands by charging into battle, where they would bite and kick the enemy. Archaeological evidence shows elite Celtic women buried with chariots and weapons. So, on that day in 71 BC, hurrying back to camp in order to sound the alarm was easy.

  The incident symbolizes how much had gone wrong for the rebels and yet how formidable they remained. Their divided forces paid less attention to security than to religion. That wasn’t entirely negative, as the women’s versatility demonstrates. But if religion encouraged a spirit of resistance, sometimes it grew too stubborn. Let us set the scene and then return to the women’s dis-covery on the ridge.

  Earlier, the news that the rebels had divided their forces had probably proved a tonic to Crassus. Any gloom over the prospect of Spartacus’s whole force careening towards Rome had given way to enthusiasm over the possibility of picking the new, smaller armies apart, one at a time. Having followed them from Bruttium, no doubt taking the Via Annia again, Crassus turned first to the easier target. The breakaway group had made camp beside a lake in Lucania.

  The lake piqued the ancient sources’ interest because of its unusual property of turning from drinkable to bitter and back again. That sounds like a seaside lake, and it would be reasonable to place it near the coastal Lucanian city of Paestum. The ‘lake’ might in fact have been the marsh that stretched between Paestum and the mouth of the Silarus (modern Sele) River before land reclamation projects dried it up in the 1930s.

  Many armies have marched through Paestum. Lucanians conquered it around 400 BC when it was still a Greek colony called Poseidonia. The legions annexed Lucanian Paestum in 273 BC, after the city made the mistake of supporting Rome’s enemy, Pyrrhus. The ancient city’s ruins lie practically within sight of the beaches where the Allies landed in 1943, en route to Salerno, about 35 miles away to the north. The Germans fought at Paestum fo
r nine days before they withdrew. Archaeologists have found tens of thousands of so-called acorn missiles at Paestum, and some suggest that they date to Crassus’s campaign in 71 BC. Acorn missiles are named after the small nuts that they resemble in size and shape. They were made of stone, baked clay or lead. Sling missiles were a weapon of choice against cavalry, and Spartacus deployed horsemen effectively, so it would have made sense for Crassus to have loaded up on them.

  Five miles east of Paestum, on the edge of today’s Cilento Hills, above the modern town of Capaccio, there rises craggy Mount Soprano; some identify it with the ancient Mount Camalatrum. The plain at the foot of the mountain is a fertile area, not far from the Via Annia; it would have been a good place to raid for supplies. The Lower Silarus River ran through the plain, about 10 miles away to the north-west. At this time of year the river would have looked silvery, swollen with mountain run-off. A strong sea breeze blows here on the plain. The insurgents might have smelled the scent of freedom in it. Riyos, which many scholars believe was the Gauls’ word for ‘free’, might have echoed around the lake.

  Admittedly, there is another candidate for the Lucanian lake: a mountain lake (now dry) near the inland Lucanian city of Volcei

  (modern Buccino), some 40 miles north-east of Paestum. This lake’s water was drinkable in spring, thanks to the run-off of melting snow, but turned brackish in summer. But soon afterwards the rebels seem to have been in the vicinity of Capaccio, which tips the scales in favour of locating the Lucanian lake near it.

  It was here, beside the lake, that the two Celtic women made their fateful trip up the mountain. The sources imply that they made it down again and they warned their men about the threat. The Romans ‘were in danger’ say the sources. But Crassus saved the day. He arrived from another direction and caught the enemy by surprise. Apparently, in the heat of battle the rebels forgot about the men on the hill. Suddenly, with a loud cry, the Romans hidden on the hill ran down and took them in the rear. The terrified rebels ran for their lives. The cool and professional behaviour of the two Celtic women on the hill failed to pay off in the end. Crassus and his lieutenants would have slaughtered the rebel army, if not for the sudden appearance of help.

  Spartacus had arrived. His presence in spite of the split with Castus and Cannicus is not surprising. Neither Paestum nor Volcei is far from the point where the turnoff for Samnium leaves the Via Annia; the breakaway group would have continued on the Via Annia towards Capua and then taken the Appian Way to Rome. Evidently, the Thracian had not given up on his wayward colleagues. Indeed, perhaps he stayed close because he hoped to win them back. His timely appearance made Crassus give up the hunt and saved the breakaway army.

  But Crassus attacked a second time. The second battle took place at a spot called Cantenna. Three miles south of Capaccio lies the town of Giungano (modern name), behind which rises Mount Cantenna. Perhaps this is the Cantenna of the ancient source; like Camalatrum, its location is unknown, but all indications put Cantenna in northern Lucania.

  When Crassus attacked the second time Spartacus and his men had not yet moved off. But Crassus managed to distract them, thereby leaving the men under Castus and Cannicus on their own. After barely surviving the first attack, they were physically weak and perhaps demoralized as well. The failure to stand and fight had violated every rule of Celtic and Germanic culture; now they paid a price for their safety in shame.

  Before attacking, Crassus had laid the groundwork well. He had divided his forces in two marching camps, each with its own trench and earthworks. He placed both camps near the enemy in a gesture of self-confidence and intimidation. Crassus set up his headquarters tent in the larger of the two camps. Then, on a designated night, he pulled all his troops out and posted them in the foothills of the mountain. He left his headquarters tent in the camp, though, in order to fool the enemy.

  Next, Crassus split his cavalry into two groups. He sent one unit out under Lucius Quinctius, his legate, with orders to tempt Spartacus with a feigned battle. It is a tribute to Quinctius’s professionalism that he executed this delicate manoeuvre well. Then again, the example of the decimation of Mummius’s troops after they had failed to carry out a similar manoeuvre against Spartacus no doubt focused the minds of Quinctius’s men. In any case, they followed orders well. They neutralized Spartacus’s forces while avoiding losses of their own.

  The other group of cavalry had a job that also called for finesse. Arguably, they had the more difficult task. They had to approach the German and Celtic forces under Castus and Cannicus and lure them out to fight, only to simulate retreat. The goal was to lead the enemy into a trap. Crassus and his infantrymen were waiting, perhaps around a bend in the hills. The rebels followed Crassus’s cavalrymen right into the ambush. At this point the Roman cavalry fell back into the wings. Drawn up in battle formation, opposite the rebels, was cold Roman iron.

  It was Crassus’s dream and Spartacus’s nightmare: a pitched battle against the Roman army. The rebels’ best hope was to flee to safety. Whether that was still possible, now that the trap had been sprung, is doubtful. Besides, even if they could have fled, the men of Castus and Cannicus were unlikely to have done so. They had the stain of their flight at Camalatrum to wipe out. They stood and fought.

  For Celts, battle was a religious act. Beforehand, they vowed to their war god the booty they hoped to take. Their thoughts went to the aftermath of a successful battle, when they could sacrifice captive animals, bury the enemy’s weapons, and cut off the heads of his slaughtered chiefs. If they lost the battle - well, a man’s ultimate offering to the gods was his own body, and a pious Celt would have given it gladly.

  The odds did not favour them against Crassus. He probably outnumbered them and his men certainly far outstripped the enemy in weapons and discipline. Castus and Cannicus no doubt displayed good leadership skills but they are unlikely to have matched Spartacus’s tactical gifts. Above all, the Celtic way of war stood in the way of success.

  Unlike the Romans, who emphasized coordination and discipline, Celts thought of battle as a series of heroic duels. Celts - and Germans too - grouped themselves in battle around their hero chiefs, fighting along with them to victory or death. This was no way to counteract the military science of the legions. As a Roman veteran, Spartacus knew this, and no doubt he laboured mightily to cure his men of this notion, but Spartacus was gone.

  Cantenna proved to be a crushing Roman victory. No figures of their losses survive. The sources disagree about the number of rebel casualties. One tradition cites 30,000 or 35,000 dead, while Plutarch records 12,300. The larger figures can be discarded as implausible; not even the lowest can be taken at face value. It is safest to say that the rebels suffered very large losses. Both traditions agree that Castus and Cannicus died on the battlefield. Plutarch states that this was ‘the most valiant battle of all’ that Crassus fought. The author was referring to the stiff resistance that the Celts and Germans put up. On his account, only two dead men out of 12,300 were found with back wounds. All the rest kept their places in the battle and fought the Romans to the death.

  If that is true, it was a very Celtic ending. The Celts idealized a hero’s death on the battlefield and despised the thought of flight. For example, not a single Gaul turned in flight during the Battle of Bibracte (near the modern Autun, France) against the Romans in 58 BC, as Caesar noticed. The Celts considered it better to take one’s own life, in fact, than to surrender. The Celts long honoured the principle of suicide in defeat, from the famous Hellenistic statue of the Dying Gaul and his wife to the suicide of the British queen Boudicca. Castus, Cannicus and many thousands had kept their honour. But the glory of Gaul and Germany lay dead on a field in Lucania.

  We hear nothing of prisoners but there probably were some. Others might have escaped and made it back to Spartacus’s army. One wonders if the two Celtic women who went up Mount Camalatrum were there at Cantenna, perhaps at the edge of the battlefield, praying for their men. If so, did they di
e with them, perhaps by suicide?

  Crassus had the right to relish victory. Outside textbooks, no army works like a machine, but even so, Crassus had trained his men to give him their best. Brutal discipline had finally paid off. Machiavelli, who would say that it is better for a prince to be feared than loved, would have approved of Crassus’s methods. Crassus had avenged defeat on the Melìa Ridge. He had achieved more through one night of cunning than he had in weeks spent moving masses of earth.

  After the battle, the Romans took in a rich haul of loot from the defeated army, but the greatest treasures had propaganda value. According to Livy, they found five fasces with rods and axes, tokens of a Roman magistrate’s power to beat and behead. The loss of the fasces had shamed the lictors, the magistrate’s attendants who normally carried them; the recovery honoured Crassus’s men. More important, they recovered five Roman eagles and twenty-six battle standards. Each standard was a long pole decorated with various symbols and insignia, and every century, cohort and legion had its own. The legion’s standard was a single silver eagle. Officers called standard-bearers carried the standards in battle, often taking them into the teeth of the enemy. At the Battle of Pydna in 168 BC a standard-bearer hurled his standard into the enemy, and many men died in order to win it back. Every Roman standard had, as it were, blood on it.