Colleen McCullough - 5. Caesar

Pompey beat Caesar to Dyrrachium, but only just. The west coast of the landmass which comprised Greece, Epirus and Macedonia was only vaguely demarcated; the southern boundary of Epirus was generally taken as the north shore of the Gulf of Corinth, but that was also Grecian Acarnania, and the northern border of Epirus was largely anywhere an individual fancied. To a Roman general, the Via Egnatia, which ran from the Hellespont for close to seven hundred miles through Thrace and Macedonia to the Adriatic, was definitely in Macedonia. Some fifteen miles from the west coast it branched north and south; the northern branch terminated at Dyrrachium and the southern branch at Apollonia. Therefore most Roman generals classified Dyrrachium and Apollonia as part of Macedonia, not as part of Epirus. To Pompey, arriving in haste and disorder at Dyrrachium, it came as a colossal shock to discover that all of Epirus proper had declared for Caesar, and so had Apollonia, the southern terminus of the Via Egnatia. Everything south of the river Apsus, in fact, now belonged to Caesar. Who had ejected Torquatus from Oricum and Staberius from Apollonia without bloodshed and in the simplest way: the local people cheered for Caesar and made life for a garrison too difficult. From where he had landed at Palaestae, the distance along a poorly surveyed and built local road to Dyrrachium was a little over a hundred miles, yet he almost beat Pompey, marching the Roman Via Egnatia, to Dyrrachium. To make matters more distressing for Pompey, Dyrrachium too decided to support Caesar. His local recruits and the townsfolk refused to co-operate with the Roman government in exile at all, and began a program of subversive action. With seven thousand horses and nearly eight thousand mules to feed, Pompey could not afford to sit himself down in hostile country. "Let me deal with them," said Titus Labienus, a look in his fierce dark eyes that Caesar or Trebonius, or Fabius, or Decimus Brutus, for that matter would have recognized instantly for what it was: the lust for savagery. Unaware of the extent of the barbarian streak in Labienus, Pompey asked an innocent question. "How can you deal with them in a way others cannot?" The big yellow teeth showed in a snarl. "I'll give them a taste of what the Treveri came to dread." "All right, then," said Pompey, shrugging, "do so." Several hundreds of shockingly maimed Epirote bodies later, Dyrrachium and the surrounding countryside decided it was definitely more prudent to cleave to Pompey, who, having heard the tales flying through his enormous camp, elected to say and do nothing. When Caesar retired to the south bank of the Apsus, Pompey and his army followed to set up camp on the north bank immediately opposite; at this ford across the big river, the south branch of the Via Egnatia crossed on its way to Apollonia. No more than a stream of water between himself and Caesar ... Six legions of Roman troops, seven thousand horse soldiers, ten thousand foreign auxiliaries, two thousand archers and a thousand slingers against four veteran Gallic legions, the Seventh, the Ninth, the Tenth and the Twelfth. Pompey's was an enormous numerical advantage! Surely, surely, surely more than enough! How could a huge force like his go down in a battle against four legions of Roman foot? It couldn't. It simply couldn't. He'd have to win! Yet Pompey sat on the north bank of the Apsus, so close to Caesar's camp fortifications that he might have pitched a stone and hit some veteran of the Tenth on the helmet. And didn't move. In his mind he was back in the Spains facing Quintus Sertorius, who could march out of nowhere eluding every scout, inflict a terrible defeat on a relatively huge army, then disappear again into nowhere. Pompey was back under the walls of Lauro, he was back gazing up at Osca, he was back dragging his tail between his legs as he retreated across the Iberus, he was back seeing Metellus Pius win the laurels. And Lucius Afranius and Marcus Petreius, who ought to have brought pressure to bear on Pompey, were back in Nearer Spain facing Sertorius too, remembering also how laughably easily Caesar had out-maneuvered them in Nearer Spain a mere six months earlier. Nor was Labienus there to deride Caesar in his customary way, stiffen Pompey's failing resolve; Labienus had been left behind to garrison Dyrrachium and keep its people loyal. Together with those nagging couch generals, Cato, Cicero, Lentulus Crus, Lentulus Spinther and Marcus Favonius. No one actually in camp with Pompey had either the vision or the steel to cope with Pompey in a doubting mood. "No," he said to Afranius and Petreius after several nundinae of inaction, "I'll wait for Scipio and the Syrian legions before I give battle. In the meantime, I'll sit here and contain him." "Good strategy," said Afranius, relieved. "He's suffering, Magnus, suffering badly. Bibulus has almost strangled his seaborne supply lines; he has to rely on what comes overland from Greece and southern Epirus." "Good. Winter ought to starve him out. It's coming early, and coming fast." But not early enough and not fast enough. Caesar had Publius Vatinius with him. The proximity of the two camps meant that some degree of communication went on across the little river between the sentries; this swelled to include legionaries with time on their hands, and was to Caesar's advantage. His men, so lauded and admired for their valor and unquenchable determination during the Gallic War, became the target of many questions from the curious Pompeians. Observing this largely unconscious reverence, Caesar sent Publius Vatinius to the middle of the nearest fortification tower and had him speak to the Pompeians. Why go on shedding Roman blood? Why dream of defeating the absolutely unbeatable Caesar? Why didn't Pompey offer battle if he wasn't terrified of losing? Why were they there at all? When he heard what was going on, Pompey's reaction was to send to Dyrrachium for his chief problem-solver, Labienus, with a special request to Cicero that he come along as well in case counter-oration was necessary. With the result that every couch general decided to come (they were so bored!), including Lentulus Crus, who at the time was listening to a great deal of subtle persuasion in the form of offers of money from Balbus Minor, sent by Caesar to win him over. Praying that no one in Pompey's camp recognized him, Balbus Minor perforce came too. Labienus arrived on the very day that negotiations were scheduled to commence between Caesar and a Pompeian delegation led by one of the Terentii Varrones. The conference never happened, broken up when Labienus appeared, shouted Vatinius down, and then launched a volley of spears across the river. Cowed by Labienus, the Pompeians scuttled away, never to parley again. "Don't be a fool, Labienus!" Vatinius called. "Negotiate! Save lives, man, save lives!" "There'll be no dickering with traitors while I'm here!" yelled Labienus. "But send me Caesar's head and I'll reconsider!" "You haven't changed, Labienus!" "Nor will I ever!" While this was going on, Cicero was comfortably and cozily partaking of wine and a chat in Pompey's command house, delightfully undisturbed for once. "You seem very perky and chirpy," said Pompey gloomily. "With excellent reason," said Cicero, too full of his joyous news and too bursting with the compulsion of a wordsmith to communicate to curb his tongue. "I've just come into a very nice inheritance." "Have you now?" asked Pompey, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, truly, Magnus, it couldn't have come at a better moment!" caroled Cicero, oblivious to impending disaster. "The second installment of Tullia's dowry is due two hundred thousand, if you please! and I still owe Dolabella sixty thousand of the first installment. He's sending me a letter a day about it." Cicero gave his charming giggle. "I daresay he has iugera of time to write, since he's an admiral with no ships." "How much did you get?" "A round million." "Just the sum I need!" said Pompey. "As your commander-in-chief and friend, Cicero, lend it to me. I'm at my wit's end to pay the army's bills I mean, I've borrowed from every Roman soldier I own, and that's an unthinkable predicament for a commander! My troops are my creditors. Now I hear that Scipio's stuck in Pergamum until the winter's over. I was hoping to pull myself out of the boiling oil with the Syrian money, but..." Pompey shrugged. "As it is, your million will be a big help." Mouth dry, throat closed up like a sphincter, Cicero sat for long moments unable to speak, while the puffy, brilliantly blue eyes of his nemesis stared into his very marrow. "I did send you to that wisewoman in Thessalonica, didn't I? She did cure your eyes, didn't she?" Swallowing painfully, Cicero nodded. "Yes, Magnus, of course. You shall have the million." He shifted in his chair, drank a little watered wine to stroke that sphincter open. "Er I don't suppose you'd let me keep enough to pay Dolabella?" "Dolabella," said Pompey, rearing up in righteous indignation, "works for Caesar! Which makes your own loyalty suspect, Cicero." "You shall have the million," Cicero repeated, lip trembling. "Oh, dear, what can I tell Terentia?" "Nothing she doesn't already know," said Pompey, grinning. "And my poor little Tullia?" "Tell her to tell Dolabella to ask Caesar for the money."