Colleen McCullough - 1. First Man in Rome

The Cimbri had done well under the leadership of Boiorix, who had guided both his own division and that of Getorix as far as the confluence of the Danubius with the Aenus; at that point he left Getorix with a relatively short journey to complete on his own, while the Cimbri turned south down the Aenus. Soon they were passing through the alpine lands peopled by a tribe of Celts called the Brenni, after the first Brennus. They controlled the Pass of Brennus, the lowest of all the passes into Italian Gaul, but were in no condition to prevent Boiorix and his Cimbri from using it. In late Quinctilis of the calendar, the Cimbri reached the Athesis River where it joined the Isarcus, the stream they had followed down from the Pass of Brennus. Here in verdant alpine meadows they spread out a little, and looked up to the height of the mountains against a rich and cloudless sky. And here the scouts Sulla had sent out discovered them. Though he had thought himself prepared for every contingency, Sulla hadn't dreamed of the one he now was called upon to cope with; for he didn't yet know Catulus Caesar well enough to predict how he would react to the news that the Cimbri were at the head of the Athesis Valley and about to invade Italian Gaul. "So long as I live, no German foot will touch Italian soil!" said Catulus Caesar in ringing tones when the matter was discussed in council. "No German foot will touch Italian soil!" he said again, rising majestically from his chair and looking at each of his senior officers in turn. "We march." Sulla stared. "We march?" he asked. "We march where?" "Up the Athesis, of course," said Catulus Caesar, with a look on his face that said he considered Sulla a fool. "I shall turn the Germans back across the Alps before an early snow makes that impossible." "How far up the Athesis?" Sulla asked. "Until we meet them." "In a narrow valley like the Athesis?" "Certainly," said Catulus Caesar. "We'll be in much better case than the Germans. We're a disciplined army; they're a vast and unorganized mob. It's our best chance." "Our best chance is where the legions have room to deploy," said Sulla. "There's more than enough room along the Athesis for as much deployment as we'll need." And Catulus Caesar would hear no further argument. Sulla left the council with mind reeling, the plans he had formulated to deal with the Cimbri all worse than useless; he had rehearsed how he would go about feeding whichever one of his alternatives would work the best to Catulus Caesar so that Catulus Caesar thought the scheme was his. Now Sulla found himself with no plan, and could formulate no plan. Not until he managed to persuade Catulus Caesar to change his mind. But Catulus Caesar would not change his mind. He uprooted the army and made it march upstream along the Athesis where that river flowed a few miles to the east of Lake Benacus, the biggest of the exquisite alpine lakes which filled the laps of the foothills of the Italian Alps. And the further the little army it contained twenty-two thousand soldiers, two thousand cavalry, and some eight thousand noncombatants marched northward, the narrower and more forbidding the valley of the Athesis grew. Finally Catulus Caesar reached the trading post called Tridentum. Here three mighty alps reared up, three jagged broken fangs which had given the area its name of Three Teeth. The Athesis now ran very deep and fast and strong, for its sources lay in mountains where the snows never melted fully, and so fed the river all year round. Beyond Tridentum the valley closed in even more, the road which wound down it to the village petering out where the river roared in full spate beneath a long wooden bridge set on stone piers. Riding ahead with his senior officers, Catulus Caesar sat his horse gazing around him, and nodding in satisfaction. "It reminds me of Thermopylae," he said. "This is the ideal place to hold the Germans back until they give up and turn north again." "The Spartans holding Thermopylae all died," said Sulla. Catulus Caesar raised his brows haughtily. "And what does that matter, if the Germans are pushed back?" "But they're not going to turn back, Quintus Lutatius! Turn back at this time of year, with nothing but snow to their north, their provisions low, and all the grass and grain of Italian Gaul not many miles away to their south?" Sulla shook his head vehemently. "We won't stop them here," he said. The other officers stirred restlessly; all of them had caught Sulla's jitters since the march up the Athesis began and their common sense screamed that Catulus Caesar's actions were foolish. Nor had Sulla concealed his jitters from them; if he had to prevent Catulus Caesar from losing his army, he would need the support of Catulus Caesar's senior staff. "We fight here," Catulus Caesar said, and would not be budged. His mind was full of visions of the immortal Leonidas and his tiny band of Spartans; what did it matter if the body died untimely, when the reward was enduring fame? The Cimbri were very close. It would have been impossible for the Roman army to have marched further north than Tridentum, even if Catulus Caesar had wished it. Despite this, Catulus Caesar insisted upon crossing the bridge with his whole force, and putting it into camp on the wrong side of the river, in a place so narrow the camp stretched for miles north to south, for each legion was strung behind its neighbor, with the last legion bivouacking near the bridge. "I have been atrociously spoiled," said Sulla to the primus pilus centurion of the legion closest to the bridge, a sturdy steady Samnite from Atina named Gnaeus Petreius; his legion was Samnite too, composed of Samnite Head Count, and classified as an auxiliary. "How've you been spoiled?" asked Gnaeus Petreius, staring at the flashing water from the side of the bridge; it had no railing, just a low kerb made from logs. "I've soldiered under none but Gaius Marius," Sulla said. "Half your luck," said Gnaeus Petreius. "I was hoping I'd get the chance." He grunted, a derisive sound. "But I don't think any of us will, Lucius Cornelius." They were standing with a third man, the commander of the legion, who was an elected tribune of the soldiers. None other than Marcus Aemilius Scaurus Junior, son of the Leader of the House and a keen disappointment to his doughty father. Scaurus Junior turned now from his own contemplation of the river to look at his chief centurion. "What do you mean, none of us will?" he asked. Gnaeus Petreius grunted again. "We're all going to die here, tribunus." "Die? All of us? Why?" "Gnaeus Petreius means, young Marcus Aemilius," said Sulla grimly, "that we have been led into an impossible military situation by yet another highborn incompetent." "No, you're quite mistaken!" cried young Scaurus eagerly. ' 'I noticed that you didn't seem to understand Quintus Lutatius's strategy, Lucius Cornelius, when he explained it to us." Sulla winked at the centurion. "You explain it, then, tribunus militum! I'm all agog." "Well, there are four hundred thousand Germans, and only twenty-four thousand of us. So we can't possibly face them on an open battlefield," said young Scaurus, emboldened by the intent stares of these two Military Men. "The only way we can possibly beat them is to squeeze them up into a front no wider than our own army can span, and hammer at that front with all our superior skill. When they realize we won't be budged why, they'll do the usual German thing, and turn back." "So that's how you see it," said Gnaeus Petreius. "That's how it is!" said young Scaurus impatiently. "That's how it is!" said Sulla, beginning to laugh. "That's how it is," said Gnaeus Petreius, laughing too. Young Scaurus stood watching them in bewilderment, their amusement filling him with fear. "Please, why is it so funny?" Sulla wiped his eyes. "It's funny, young Scaurus, because it's hopelessly naive." His hand went up, swept the mountain flanks on either side like a painter's brush. "Look up there! What do you see?" "Mountains," said young Scaurus, bewilderment increasing. "Footpaths, bridle tracks, cattle trails, that's what we see!" said Sulla. "Haven't you noticed those frilly little terraces that make the mountains look like Minoan skirts? All the Cimbri have to do is take to the heights along the terraces and they'll outflank us in three days and then, young Marcus Aemilius, we'll be between the hammer and the anvil. Squashed flatter than a beetle underfoot." Young Scaurus turned so white that Sulla and Petreius moved automatically to make sure he didn't pitch overboard into the water, for nothing falling into that stream would survive. "Our general has made a bad plan," said Sulla harshly. "We should have waited for the Cimbri between Verona and Lake Benacus, where we would have had a thousand alternatives to trap them properly, and enough ground to spring our trap." "Why doesn't someone tell Quintus Lutatius, then?" young Scaurus whispered. "Because he's just another stiff-rumped consul," said Sulla. "He doesn't want to hear anything except the gibberish inside his own head. If he were a Gaius Marius, he'd listen. But that's a non sequitur Gaius Marius wouldn't have needed telling! No, young Marcus Aemilius, our general Quintus Lutatius Catulus Caesar thinks it best to fight as at Thermopylae. And if you remember your history, you'll know that one little footpath around the mountain was enough to undo Leonidas." Young Scaurus gagged. "Excuse me!" he gasped, and bolted for his tent. Sulla and Petreius watched him weave along trying to hold his gorge. "This isn't an army, it's a fiasco," said Petreius. "No, it's a good little army," Sulla contradicted. "The leaders are the fiasco.'' "Except for you, Lucius Cornelius." "Except for me." "You've got something in your mind," Petreius said. "Indeed I do." And Sulla smiled to show his long teeth. "Am I allowed to ask what it is?" "I think so, Gnaeus Petreius. But I'd rather answer you at dusk, shall we say? In the assembly forum of your own Samnite legion's camp," said Sulla. "You and I are going to spend the rest of the afternoon summoning every primus pilus and chief cohort centurion to a meeting there at dusk." He calculated swiftly under his breath. "That's about seventy men. But they're the seventy who really count. Now on your way, Gnaeus Petreius! You take the three legions at this end of the valley, and I'll hop on my trusty mule and take the three at the far end." The Cimbri had arrived that same day just to the north of Catulus Caesar's six legions, boiling into the valley far ahead of their wagons to be brought up short by the ramparts of a Roman camp. And there remained, boiling, while the word flew through the legions and sightseers made their way north to peer over the wicker breastworks at the chilling sight of more men than any Roman had ever seen and gigantic men at that. Sulla's meeting in the assembly forum of the Samnite legion's camp took very little time. When it was over, there was still sufficient light in the sky for those who attended it to follow Sulla across the bridge and into the village of Tridentum, where Catulus Caesar had established his headquarters in the local magistrate's house. Catulus Caesar had called a meeting of his own to discuss the arrival of the Cimbri, and was busy complaining about the absence of his second-in-command when Sulla walked into the crowded room. "I would appreciate punctuality, Lucius Cornelius," he said frigidly. "Please sit down, then we can get down to the business of planning our attack tomorrow." "Sorry, but I haven't time to sit down," said Sulla, who wasn't wearing a cuirass, but was clad in his leather undersuit and pteryges, and had sword and dagger belted about him. "If you have more important things to do, then go!" said Catulus Caesar, face mottling. "Oh, I'm not going anywhere," said Sulla, smiling. "The important things I have to do are right here in this room, and the most important thing of all is that there will be no battle tomorrow, Quintus Lutatius." Catulus Caesar got to his feet. "No battle? Why?" "Because you have a mutiny on your hands, and I'm its instigator.'' Sulla drew his sword. “Come in, centuriones!'' he called. "It'll be a bit of a crush, but we'll all fit." None of the original inhabitants of the room said a word, Catulus Caesar because he was too angry, the rest either because they were too relieved not all the senior staff were happy about the projected battle of the morrow or too bewildered. Seventy centurions filed through the door and stood densely packed behind and to both sides of Sulla, thus leaving about three feet of vacant space between themselves and Catulus Caesar's senior staff who were now all standing, literally with their backs against the wall. "You'll be thrown off the Tarpeian Rock for this!" said Catulus Caesar. "If I have to, so be it," said Sulla, and sheathed his sword. "But when is a mutiny really a mutiny, Quintus Lutatius? How far can a soldier be expected to go in blind obedience? Is it true patriotism to go willingly to death when the general issuing the orders is a military imbecile?" It was nakedly obvious that Catulus Caesar just did not know what to say, could not find the perfect rejoinder to such brutal honesty. On the other hand, he was too proud to splutter inarticulate expostulations, and too sure of his ground to make no reply at all. So in the end he said, with cold dignity, "This is untenable, Lucius Cornelius!" Sulla nodded. "I agree, it is untenable. In fact, our whole presence here in Tridentum is untenable. Tomorrow the Cimbri are going to find the hundreds of paths along the slopes of the mountains made by cattle, sheep, horses, wolves. Not one Anopaea, but hundreds of Anopaeas! You are not a Spartan, Quintus Lutatius, you're a Roman, and I'm surprised your memories of Thermopylae are Spartan rather than Roman! Didn't you learn how Cato the Censor used the Anopaea footpath to outflank King Antiochus? Or did your tutor feel Cato the Censor was too lowborn to serve as an example of anything beyond hubris? It's Cato the Censor at Thermopylae I admire, not Leonidas and his royal guard, dying to the last man! The Spartans were willing to die to the last man simply to delay the Persians long enough for the Greek fleet to ready itself at Artemisium. Only it didn't work, Quintus Lutatius. It didn't work! The Greek fleet perished, and Leonidas died for nothing. And did Thermopylae influence the course of the war against the Persians? Of course it didn't! When the next Greek fleet won at Salamis, there was no prelude at Thermopylae. Can you honestly say you prefer the suicidal gallantry of Leonidas to the strategic brilliance of Themistocles?" "You mistake the situation," said Catulus Caesar stiffly, his personal pride in tatters thanks to this red-haired Ulyssean trickster; for the truth was that he cared more to extricate himself with dignitas and auctoritas unimpaired than he did about the fate of either his army or the Cimbri. "No, Quintus Lutatius, you mistake the situation," said Sulla. "Your army is now my army by right of mutiny. When Gaius Marius sent me here" he dropped the name with dulcet clarity into the pool of silence "I came with only one order. Namely, to make sure this army survives intact until Gaius Marius can take it into his personal care and he cannot do that until he has defeated the Teutones. Gaius Marius is our commander-in-chief, Quintus Lutatius, and I am acting under his orders at this very moment. When his orders conflict with yours, I obey his orders, not yours. If I permit this foolhardy escapade to continue, this army will lie dead on the field of Tridentum. Well, there is not going to be a field of Tridentum. This army is going to retreat tonight. In one piece. And live to fight another day, when the chances of victory are infinitely better." "I vowed no German foot would tread on Italian soil," said Catulus Caesar, "and I will not be forsworn." "The decision isn't your to make, Quintus Lutatius, so you are not forsworn," said Sulla. Quintus Lutatius Catulus Caesar was one of those old-guard senators who refused to wear a golden ring as an insignia of his senatorship; instead, he wore the ancient iron ring all senators had once worn, so when he moved his right hand imperiously at the ogling men filling the room, his index finger didn't flash a yellow beam it wrote a dull grey blur upon the air. Utterly still until they saw that grey blur, the men now stirred, moved, sighed. "Leave us, all of you," said Catulus Caesar. "Wait outside. I wish to speak alone with Lucius Cornelius." The centurions turned and filed out, the tribunes of the soldiers followed, and Catulus Caesar's personal staff, and his senior legates. When only Catulus Caesar and Sulla remained, Catulus Caesar returned to his chair and sat down heavily. He was caught in a cleft stick, and he knew it. Pride had led him up the Athesis; not pride in Rome or in his army, but that pride of person which had prompted him to announce no German foot should tread Italian soil and then prevented his recanting, even for the sake of Rome or for his army. The further he had penetrated up the valley, the stronger his feeling became that he had blundered; and yet pride of person would not allow him to admit the blunder. Higher and higher up the river Athesis, lower and lower his spirits. So when he came to Tridentum and thought how like Thermopylae it was though of course in strictly geographic terms it was not like Thermopylae at all he conceived a worthy death for all concerned, and thereby salvaged his honor, that fatal personal pride. Just as Thermopylae rang down the ages, so too would Tridentum. The fall of the gallant few confronted with the overwhelming many. Stranger, go tell the Romans that here we lie in obedience to their command! With a magnificent monument, and pilgrimages, and immortal epic poems. The sight of the Cimbri spilling into the northern end of the valley brought him to his senses, then Sulla completed the process. For of course he did have eyes, and there was a brain behind them, even if it was a brain too easily clouded by the vastness of his own dignitas; the eyes had taken note of the many terraces making giant steps out of the steep green slopes above, and the brain had understood how quickly the Cimbric warriors could outflank them. This was no gorge with cliffs; it was simply a narrow alpine valley unsuitable for deploying an army because its pastures sloped upward at an angle quite impossible for troops to take in rank and file, let alone wheel and turn in proper maneuvers. What he hadn't been able to see was how to extricate himself from his dilemma without losing face, and at first Sulla's invasion of his pre-battle conference had seemed the perfect answer; he could blame it on a mutiny, and thunder in the House, and arrange for the treason trials of every officer involved, from Sulla down to the least centurion. But that solution hadn't lasted more than a very few moments. Mutiny was the most serious crime in the military manual, but a mutiny which saw him standing alone against every other officer in his entire army (he had quickly seen from their faces that none of the men who had been closeted with him when Sulla walked in would refuse to join the mutiny) smacked a great deal more of common sense overcoming monumental stupidity. If there had never been an Arausio if Caepio and Mallius Maximus had not forever besmirched the concept of the Roman general's imperium in the eyes of the Roman People and even some factions within the Senate then it might have been different. As it was, he understood very quickly after Sulla's appearance that were he to continue to insist a mutiny had taken place, it was he himself who would suffer in the eyes of the Roman world, he himself who might well end in being arraigned in the special treason court set up by Saturninus. Consequently, Quintus Lutatius Catulus Caesar drew a deep breath and embarked upon conciliation. "Let me hear no more talk of mutiny, Lucius Cornelius," he said. "There was no need for you to make your feeling so public. You should have come to see me privately. Had you only done so, matters could have been sorted out between the two of us alone." "I disagree, Quintus Lutatius," said Sulla smoothly. "If I had come to you privately, you'd have sent me about my business. You needed an object lesson." Catulus Caesar's lips tightened; he looked down his long Roman nose, a handsome member of a handsome clan, fair of hair and blue of eye, his hauteur armed for battle. "You've been with Gaius Marius far too long, you know," he said. "This sort of conduct doesn't accord with your patrician status." Sulla slapped his hand against his leather skirt of straps so loudly its fringes and metal ornaments clattered. "Oh, for the sake of all the gods, let's forget this family claptrap, Quintus Lutatius! I'm fed up to vomit-point with exclusivity! And before you start ranting on about our mutual superior, Gaius Marius, let me remind you that when it comes to soldiering and generaling, he outshines us the way the Alexandrian lighthouse dims a single piddling candle! You're not a natural military man any more than I am! But where I have the advantage of you is that I learned my craft in apprenticeship to the lighthouse of Alexandria, so my candle burns brighter than yours!" "That man is overrated!" said Catulus Caesar between his clenched teeth. "Oh no, he's not! Bleat and bellow about it as hard as you like, Quintus Lutatius, Gaius Marius is the First Man in Rome! The man from Arpinum took on the lot of you single-handed, and beat you hollow." "I'm surprised you're such an adherent but I promise you, Lucius Cornelius, that I won't ever forget it." "I'll bet you won't," said Sulla grimly. "I do advise you, Lucius Cornelius, to change your loyalties somewhat in years to come," Catulus Caesar said. "If you don't, you'll never become praetor, let alone consul!" "Oh, I do like naked threats!" said Sulla conversationally. "Who are you trying to fool? I have the birth, and if the time should come when it's to your advantage to woo me, woo me you will!" He looked at Catulus Caesar slyly. "One day, you know, I'll be the First Man in Rome. The tallest tree in the world, just like Gaius Marius. And the thing about trees so tall is that no one can chop them down. When they fall, they fall because they rot from within." Catulus Caesar did not answer, so Sulla flung himself into a chair and leaned forward to pour himself wine. "Now about our mutiny, Quintus Lutatius. Disabuse yourself of any belief you might be cherishing that I don't have the gumption to follow this through to its bitterest end." "I admit I don't know you at all, Lucius Cornelius, but I've got sufficient measure of your steel these last couple of months to understand there's very little you're unwilling to do to get your own way,'' said Catulus Caesar. He looked down at his old iron senator's ring as if he could draw inspiration from it. "I said before, and I say it again now, let there be no more talk of mutiny.'' He swallowed audibly. "I shall abide by the army's decision to retreat. On one condition. That the word 'mutiny' is never mentioned to anyone ever again." "On behalf of the army, I agree," said Sulla. "I would like to order the retreat personally. After that I presume your strategy is already worked out?" "It's absolutely necessary that you order the retreat personally, Quintus Lutatius. Including to the men waiting outside for us to emerge," said Sulla. "And yes, I do have a strategy worked out. A very simple strategy. At dawn the army will pull up stakes and move out as quickly as it possibly can. Everyone must be over the bridge and south of Tridentum before tomorrow's nightfall. The Samnite auxiliaries are lying closest to the bridge, therefore they can guard it until everyone else is over, then cross it themselves in last place. I need the entire corps of engineers immediately, because the moment the last Samnite is over the bridge, it must come down. The pity of it is that it's built on stone piers we won't have the opportunity to dismantle, so the Germans will be able to rebuild the bridge. However, they're not engineers, and that means the job will take them far longer than it would us, and their structure may fall apart a few times as Boiorix brings his people across. If he wants to go south, he has to cross the river here at Tridentum. So we must slow him down." Catulus Caesar rose to his feet. "Then let's get this farce over and done with." He walked outside and stood calmly, completely in control of his outer self; the repairing of dignitas and auctoritas was already beginning. "Our position here is untenable, so I am ordering a full retreat," he said, crisply and clearly. "I have given Lucius Cornelius full instructions as to how to proceed, so you will take your orders from him. However, I wish to make it plain that the word 'mutiny' has never been spoken. Is that understood?" The officers murmured assent, profoundly glad that the word "mutiny" could be forgotten. Catulus Caesar turned to go back inside. "You are dismissed," he said over his shoulder. As the group scattered, Gnaeus Petreius fell in beside Sulla, and walked with him toward the bridge. "That went pretty well, I consider, Lucius Cornelius. He did better than I thought he would. Better than others of his kind, I swear.'' "Oh, he has a brain behind all that grand manner," said Sulla easily. "But he's right, 'mutiny' is a word never spoken." "You won't hear it from my lips!" said Petreius fervently. It was fully dark, but the bridge was lit by torches, so they crossed its chinked logs without difficulty. At its far end Sulla ran ahead of the centurions and tribunes following him and Petreius, and turned round to face them. "All troops ready to roll at the first sign of light," he said. "Corps of engineers and all centurions are to report to me here one hour before first light. Tribunes of the soldiers, come with me now." "Oh, I'm glad we've got him!" said Gnaeus Petreius to his second centurion. "So am I, but I'm not a bit glad we've got him," said the second centurion, pointing in the direction of Marcus Aemilius Scaurus Junior, hurrying after Sulla and his fellow tribunes. Petreius grunted. "I agree, he is a bit of a worry. Still, I'll keep an eye on him tomorrow. 'Mutiny' may be a word none of us has heard, but our men of Samnium aren't going to be misled by a Roman idiot, no matter who his father is."