Colleen McCullough - 1. First Man in Rome

Sulla arrived in Africa at the end of the first week in September with the last two legions and two thousand magnificent Celtic cavalrymen from Italian Gaul. He found Marius in the throes of mounting a major expedition into Numidia, and was hailed gladly, and put immediately to work. "I've got Jugurtha on the run," Marius said jubilantly, "even without my full army. Now that you're here, we'll see some real action, Lucius Cornelius." Sulla passed over letters from Julia and from Gaius Julius Caesar, then screwed up his courage to offer condolences for the death of Marius's unseen second son. "Please accept my sympathy for the passing of your little Marcus Marius," he said, awkwardly aware that his own ratlike daughter, Cornelia Sulla, was doggedly continuing to survive. A shadow crossed Marius's face, then was resolutely wiped away. "I thank you, Lucius Cornelius. There's time to make more children, and I have Young Marius. You left my wife and Young Marius well?" "Very well. As are all the Julius Caesars." "Good!" Private considerations were shelved; Marius put his mail on a side table and moved to his desk, where a huge map painted on specially treated calfskin was spread out. "You're just in time to sample Numidia at first hand. We're off to Capsa in eight days' time." The keen brown eyes searched Sulla's face, peeling and splotchy. "I suggest, Lucius Cornelius, that you explore the Utican marketplaces until you find a really strong hat with as wide a brim as possible. It's obvious you've been out and around in Italy all summer. But the sun of Numidia is even hotter and harsher. You'll burn like tinder here." It was true; Sulla's flawless white complexion, hitherto sheltered by a life lived largely indoors, had suffered during his months of traveling throughout Italy, exercising troops, and learning himself as surreptitiously as possible. Pride had not permitted him to skulk in the shade while others braved the light, and pride had dictated that he wear the Attic helmet of his high estate, headgear which did nothing to save his skin. The worst of the sunburn was now over, but so little pigment did he possess that there was no deepening of his color, and the healed and healing areas were as white as ever. His arms had fared better than his face; it was possible that after sufficient exposure, arms and legs would manage to survive assault by the sun. But his face? Never. Some of this did Marius sense as he watched Sulla's reaction to his suggestion of a hat; he sat down and pointed to the tray of wine. "Lucius Cornelius, I have been laughed at for one thing or another since I first entered the legions at seventeen. At first I was too scrawny and undersized, then I was too big and clumsy. I had no Greek. I was an Italian, not a Roman. So I understand the humiliation you feel because you have a soft white skin. But it is more important to me, your commanding officer, that you maintain good health and bodily comfort, than that you present what you consider the proper image to your peers. Get yourself that hat! Keep it tied on with a woman's scarf, or ribbons, or a gold-and-purple cord if such is all you can find. And laugh at them! Cultivate it as an eccentricity. And soon, you'll find, no one even notices it anymore. Also, I recommend that you find some sort of ointment or cream thick enough to lessen the amount of sun your skin drinks up, and smear it on. And if the right one stinks of perfume, what of it?" Sulla nodded, grinned. "You're right, and it's excellent advice. I'll do as you say, Gaius Marius." "Good." A silence fell; Marius was edgy, restless, but not for any reason connected with Sulla, his quaestor understood. And all of a sudden Sulla knew what the reason was hadn't he labored under the same feeling himself? Wasn't all of Rome laboring under it? "The Germans," Sulla said. "The Germans," Marius said, and reached out a hand to pick up his beaker of well-watered wine. "Where have they come from, Lucius Cornelius, and where are they going?" Sulla shivered. "They're going to Rome, Gaius Marius. That is what we all feel in our bones. Where they come from, we don't know. A manifestation of Nemesis, perhaps. All we know is that they have no home. What we fear is that they intend to make our home theirs." "They'd be fools if they didn't," said Marius somberly. "These forays into Gaul are tentative, Lucius Cornelius they're simply biding their time, gathering up their courage. Barbarians they may be, but even the least barbarian knows that if he wants to settle anywhere near the Middle Sea, he must first deal with Rome. The Germans will come." "I agree. But you and I are not alone. That's the feeling from one end of Rome to the other these days. A ghastly worry, a worse fear of the inevitable. And our defeats don't help," said Sulla. "Everything conspires to help the Germans. There are those, even in the Senate, who walk round speaking of our doom as if it had already happened. There are those who speak of the Germans as a divine judgment.'' Marius sighed. "Not a judgment. A test." He put down his beaker and folded his hands. "Tell me what you know about Lucius Cassius. The official dispatches give me nothing to think about, they're so rarefied." Sulla grimaced. "Well, he took the six legions which came back from Africa with Metellus how do you like the 'Numidicus,' by the way? and he marched them all the way down the Via Domitia to Narbo, which it seems he reached about the beginning of Quinctilis, after eight weeks on the road. They were fit troops, and could have moved faster, but no one blames Lucius Cassius for going easy on them at the start of what promised to be a hard campaign. Thanks to Metellus Numidicus's determination not to leave a single man behind in Africa, all Cassius's legions were over strength by two cohorts, which meant he had close to forty thousand infantrymen, plus a big cavalry unit he augmented with tame Gauls along the way about three thousand altogether. A big army." Marius grunted. "They were good men." . “I know. I saw them, as a matter of fact, while they were marching up through the Padus Valley to the Mons Genava Pass. I was recruiting cavalry at the time. And though you may find this hard to believe, Gaius Marius, I had never before seen a Roman army on the march, rank after rank after rank, all properly armed and equipped, and with a decent baggage train. I'll never forget the sight of them!" He sighed. "Anyway. . . the Germans it seems had come to an understanding with the Volcae Tectosages, who claim to be their kinsmen, and had given them land to the north and east of Tolosa." "I admit the Gauls are almost as mysterious as the Germans, Lucius Cornelius," said Marius, leaning forward, "but according to the reports, Gauls and Germans are not of the same race. How could the Volcae Tectosages call the Germans kinsmen? After all, the Volcae Tectosages aren't even long-haired Gauls they've been living around Tolosa since before we've had Spain, and they speak Greek, and they trade with us. So why?" "I don't know. Nor it seems does anyone," said Sulla. "I'm sorry, Lucius Cornelius, I interrupted. Continue." "Lucius Cassius marched up from the coast at Narbo along our decent road Gnaeus Domitius made, and got his army into final fighting trim on good ground not far from Tolosa itself. The Volcae Tectosages had allied themselves completely with the Germans, so we faced a mighty force. However, Lucius Cassius brought them to battle in the right place, and beat them soundly. Typical barbarians, they didn't linger in the vicinity once they lost. Germans and Gauls alike ran for their lives away from Tolosa and our army." He paused, frowning, sipped more wine, put the beaker down. "I had this from Popillius Laenas himself, actually. They brought him across from Narbo by sea just before I sailed." "Poor wretch, he'll be the Senate's scapegoat," said Marius. "Of course," said Sulla, lifting his ginger brows. "The dispatches say Cassius followed the fleeing barbarians," Marius prompted. Sulla nodded. "Quite right, he did. They'd gone down both banks of the Garumna toward the ocean when Cassius saw them leave Tolosa, they were in complete disorder, as one would expect. I daresay he despised them as simple, rather oafish barbarians, because he didn't even bother to deploy our army in proper formation when he gave chase." "He didn't put his legions into a defensive marching order?" asked Marius incredulously. "No. He treated the pursuit like an ordinary route march, and took every bit of his baggage with him, including all the plunder he'd picked up when the Germans fled, leaving their wagons behind. As you know, our Roman-made road stops at Tolosa, so progress down the Garumna into alien territory was slow, and Cassius was mainly concerned that the baggage train be adequately protected." "Why didn't he leave the baggage in Tolosa?" Sulla shrugged. "Apparently he didn't trust what Volcae Tectosages remained behind in Tolosa. Anyway, by the time he'd penetrated down the Garumna as far as Burdigala, the Germans and the Gauls had had at least fifteen days to recover from their trouncing. They went to earth inside Burdigala, which is, it seems, far larger than the usual Gallic oppidum, and heavily fortified, not to mention stuffed with armaments. The local tribesmen didn't want a Roman army in their lands, so they helped the Germans and the Gauls in every way they could, from contributing more troops to offering them Burdigala. And then they set a very clever ambush for Lucius Cassius." "The fool!" said Marius. "Our army had camped not far to the east of Burdigala, and when Cassius decided to move on to attack the oppidum itself, he left the baggage train behind in the camp, under a guard of about half a legion sorry, I mean five cohorts one of these days I'll get the terminology right!" Marius found a smile. "You will, Lucius Cornelius, I guarantee it. But continue." "It seems Cassius was supremely confident he would encounter no organized resistance, so he marched our army toward Burdigala without even tightening ranks, or making the men march in square, or even sending out scouts. Our whole army fell into a perfect trap, and the Germans and the Gauls literally annihilated us. Cassius himself fell on the field so did his senior legate. All told, Popillius Laenas estimates thirty-five thousand Roman soldiers died at Burdigala," said Sulla. "Popillius Laenas himself had been left in command of the baggage train and camp, I understand?" asked Marius. "That's right. He heard the racket from the battlefield, of course, it drifted downwind for miles, and he was downwind of it. But the first he knew of the disaster was when no more than a handful of our men appeared, running for their lives to shelter in the camp. And though he waited and waited, no more of our men ever came. Instead, the Germans and the Gauls arrived. He says there were thousands upon thousands upon thousands of them, milling around the camp as thick as a plague of mice on a threshing floor. The ground was one mass of moving barbarians in a victory frenzy, lifted out of themselves, brandishing Roman heads on their spears and screaming war chants, all of them giants, their hair standing up stiff with clay, or hanging in great yellow braids down over their shoulders. A terrifying sight, Laenas said." "And one we're going to see a lot more of in the future, Lucius Cornelius," said Marius grimly. "Go on."