FOR WANT OF THE HAMMER
- Thread starter tuareg109
- Start date
The adjective is 'Narbonensis', as in 'Gallia Narbonensis'.
So, in English Narbonensians, in Latin Narbonenses (nominative plural of the adjective).
Yes?
tuareg109
Banned
@Scientist Shan: Thanks!
So "Mel et mulieres Narbonenses"--"Narbonnese honey and women"--is right?
Sounds about right....
So "Mel et mulieres Narbonenses"--"Narbonnese honey and women"--is right?
Sounds about right....
tuareg109
Banned
FOR WANT OF THE HAMMER
ROMA ET ITALIA PART 8, 647 AVC
ROMA ET ITALIA PART 8, 647 AVC
A week had passed since the decisive whirlwind acquittal of Ahenobarbus, and Lucius Licinius Lucullus decided that it was time to get some answers. He shivered and walked quickly with his arms wrapped about him through the streets of the Palatine, for the weather hadn't tempered a bit, and February was biting just as hard as December and January had.
He'd waited patiently for a letter from Gaius Fulcinius, or any indication that he would receive an explanation, but nothing had occurred. Oh, he'd been so angry! So angry! No more acting in front of the Caecilii Metelli, he'd cursed Marcus Antonius and Quintus Servilius Caepio just as loudly as the rest of them for speaking in defense of that vile, intemperate man.
Gaius Fulcinius saw Lucullus's face as he was let in, and didn't like what he saw. The man was so conceited! What did he have to offer anybody, other than his wife? Fulcinius forced himself not to smile; if he ever spoke in public against Lucullus, he'd use that colorful term. Giving a friendly smile he said, "My good friend Lucius Licinius, what can I do for you?"
"You can give me an explanation, that's what!" said Lucullus, sweeping past Fulcinius and into the bare garden; all the leaves and greenery were gone, fallen during the winter, and the garden didn't have the calming effect it had had before.
Fulcinius, who was standing in the archway, raised his eyebrows when Lucullus turned. "Lucius Licinius, you must have known that victory is never completely assured. While the Equestrians do support me, they're also grateful for Gnaeus Domitius's grain acquisitions, and the reopening of trade in Numidia."
"They're more than just grateful to you; they worship the ground you walk on!"
"Yes, but they hadn't seen my legislation's tangible results. Gnaeus Domitius's grain and trade immediately caused gold and silver to stream into their accounts."
"No!" said Lucullus loudly, thrusting a foot forward in unconscious defiance. "You didn't try hard enough! You didn't even want to convict Ahenobarbus."
Fulcinius could see that this last statement wasn't too sure, and that Lucullus wanted to be convinced. Gah, but he was an idiot! What had he ever done for Fulcinius? What use was there for him, and what use was there in calming and assuring him? He was just a waste of time. But...but....
Now that the thinking of Scaurus and his followers had swung in the direction of Lucullus's, the man was spending much more time with all of them. Whereas before he had avoided speaking to his brother- and cousins-in-law due to the awkwardness of Caecilia Metella Calva's behavior, and due to their own--as he saw it--pigheadedness in supporting Catulus Caesar; now he spoke with them enthusiastically of new evidence and witnesses to support the case against Catulus Caesar, and the bravery of Quintus Caecilius, among other things. The Pontifex Maximus and his astute elderly cousin Quintus Caecilius Balearicus were perceptive enough to realize that this was what Lucullus had wanted all along; however, far from being just as perceptive as Gaius Fulcinius and knowing that this was due to jealousy, they saw it as hidden wisdom, and made much of his aptitude around the Forum.
And, because he was conversing and associating with Scaurus and the Caecilii Metelli much more, he got much more exclusive inside information than he would have had they still supported Catulus Caesar. In the five weeks before Ahenobarbus's trial and after the Pontifex Maximus and Scaurus's changes of mind, he'd been very useful to Gaius Fulcinius indeed. And, since Gaius Fulcinius did not dwell with the super-noble crew, and since none of his supporters did, he kept up the Anti-Ahenobarbus pretense in order to keep Lucullus as a source.
And so he decided to allay Lucullus's fears and suspicions. Let him discover what I really think--of him, and of everything--some other day. This all flashed through his mind in a second. He stepped across the garden, arms held out, crying, "Lucius Licinius, Lucius Licinius! Have I not done much for you? I assure you that my agents did the best they could, but these damned Knights regard a lowly ignoble Tribune of the Plebs like me as their plaything! After all, they use us every year to keep the Senate in check as best they can. Ahenobarbus tout as a hero because of hid deeds, which--to them--are excellent, and his name!"
"What about his name?" Lucullus asked, genuinely curious. He wanted to believe that Fulcinius was on his side.
"Domitius! It's such an august and ancient plebeian name; the Equestrians love it! That a man from such an old and noble family is bold and--while his actions were illegal and reprehensible--" almost got carried away with the praise! "successful makes the Knights doubt themselves. I'll have to make the most of Catulus Caesar's mistakes to convince them unequivocally that bad generalship and unconstitutional actions deserve the most stringent censure." Gaius Fulcinius knew that long and complicated words sometimes tended to win over an audience--especially one that didn't know all the oratorical tricks!--and his instinct was right with Lucullus.
The man sagged and sighed, "Ah, I must apologize, my friend. I came storming in here, accusing you of...the highest treason. Treason against Rome. Ah, the world is not our to command, is it? We must make our fortunes. Convince them." His fist slammed into his palm and he said, "Well, I'm going. There's work to do."
"Wait," Gaius Fulcinius grabbed Lucius Licinius's shoulder gently as he rushed toward the door. "I've had a week silent of information, Lucius Licinius. Do you care to tell me what Scaurus and your dear brother-in-law are planning?"
"Stop that," snapped Gaius Memmius angrily at Gaius Flavius Fimbria, whose teeth were chattering on the way back from Ostia. It was the ninth of Februarius, a day after Lucullus's visit to Gaius Fulcinius, and it was the day that Marcus Antonius had chosen to set out for his province.
"I'm late as it is," he'd said to his good friends--or so he thought--the week before. "I should've gotten there before you left, Fimbria." He'd stayed, of course, to speak in defense of Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus.
"Gah," said the soft Fimbria. "It's too cold in the year to travel. Just leave it to the clerks, nothing is going to happen."
Marcus Antonius gave him a scathing look and said, "That's no proper attitude. Anything that happens there is my responsibility, and I need to make sure that production is maxed out. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I want to give Gaius Fulcinius no excuse to rape the Treasury."
So they'd nodded and agreed to accompany him to Ostia--to keep up appearances. And bit their nails the whole way there, wondering what he'd discover. They'd had several letters from the merchants and warehouse-owners reassuring them of airtight ledger books and security; Memmius and Fimbria, however, were as a rule a nervous pair. Anything could go wrong! Anything at all!
Now they were returning to Rome, having to face the twenty-mile ride on horses. For Gaius Memmius it was uncomfortable, but it set Fimbria's teeth chattering. They'd both wanted to hire a warm, blanketed litter, but another of Marcus Antonius's scathing looks had stopped any additional words; a big, blustery, military man, Antonius Orator didn't understand his "friends'" softness.
In fact, it was this softness that perpetuated their friendship. In Rome Marcus Antonius was hard-pressed to find men who shared his views on the ongoing trials--all the rage about the entire city--and that he approved of. Quintus Servilius Caepio's defense of Catulus Caesar was despicable, and he was an oily man besides. The Equestrians, though supporting Ahenobarbus and condemning Catulus Caesar just as he did, were--so he thought--beneath his dignity; why should he mix with them? Titus Bruttius was an idiot, and too tied to Titus Pomponius. Which was why Marcus Antonius enjoyed mixing with Gaius Memmius and Gaius Flavius Fimbria: They shared his views.
However, both men being soft--as mentioned--meant that they were not really military men; they couldn't care less about developments in Gaul and Numidia unless it affected the price of grain, which they were--unbeknownst to anybody but themselves--of course speculating with, and had tried to manipulate. Because of the massive amounts of grain available due to Ahenobarbus, they hated him, and Gaius Memmius--Fimbria governing in Sicily at the time--had actually argued with Marcus Antonius against Ahenobarbus. That is, until Marcus Antonius drew the province of Sicily as his Propraetorian command.
So efficient and so dutiful, Marcus Antonius was sure to report irregularities due to Fimbria's scheming--and so Fimbria was against him. And then Gaius Memmius knew that Fimbria would turn around and blame him, as Grain Quaestor years ago, to obtain clemency and even try to shift the blame. So they were both being as friendly to Marcus Antonius as possible; not an easy task, for Marcus Antonius Orator despised servility and sycophancy. A man should be his own man, and not butter up to others, thought Marcus Antonius. And so the two Gaiuses had to tread the precarious middle ground so that, if Marcus Antonius found any evidence of wrongdoing, they could appeal to him for forgiveness and clemency, and give the most terrible oaths, and give up their public careers--all to avoid being stripped of their citizenship and exiled.
Neither of these events would have bothered them on a spiritual or psychic level, for they cared as little for Rome and her citizenship as those two incorporeal concepts cared for them; no, they were terrified because exile and loss of citizenship were scandalously ruinous. They'd die dirt-poor in a ditch somewhere, if they were caught. So they resolved to use any methods--but preferably the easiest, least bloody methods--to prevent this.
So they had skillfully buttered up to Marcus Antonius without alarming his sense of decency and manhood, and sent him off to Sicily with as good an opinion of them as possible.
"W-well I c-can't help it," chattered Fimbria miserably in response to Gaius Memmius's command.
"Well the river's lined with houses! Just stop and buy a tunic or blanket or something; stop that damn chattering!" His partner-in-crime's chattering didn't truly bother Gaius Memmius; he was just angry and nervous about what Marcus Antonius might discover.
"Ugh, h-h-horrible! A R-roman Senator buying some p-peasant's p-pigshit cloak? Sickeni-i-i-A-CHOO!" Fimbria finished with a monstrous sneeze that sent phlegm onto the road and his horse beginning to bolt. He wrenched the reins and slapped the animal's neck. "Stupid horse!" he roared, quite without chattering, and the horse stopped, surprised again.
Memmius got his horse to canter up, and slowed to resume the previous pace, all while laughing. "Oh, my tears might freeze!" he shouted shrilly. "I would've called you Balbatius--" [the Stutterer] "--were it not for that last yell! You forget all cold when you're surprised, huh?"
Fimbria stared at him indignantly but said nothing. The downside to having an efficient partner-in-crime at fleecing the Treasury was that one could never say or do any real offence. Memmius's laughter soon subsided, and they went on in silence, except for the whistling wind and the chattering that it caused in the cold air.
"Shame you didn't bring any slaves," said Memmius thoughtfully after some minutes. "You could've just taken his tunic."
Fimbria groaned. "Next t-time be assured, I'll take a slave anywhere I g-go." Neither stopped to think of the discomfort or injury this might cause the slave; of course not, they were Fimbria and Memmius, and this was Rome. Where in the whole wide world did anybody care about a slave's health ahead of his own comfort?
Gaius Memmius said, "Oh, Metella Calva takes a slave everywhere she goes."
They both howled with laughter, and Fimbria forgot his chill again. "Oh, but I f-fuck slaves just like she does! Only the ones I do are female!" he said. That set them off again, until they calmed; neither able to think of another joke, they rode in silence again.
"Say," began Gaius Memmius, who began most of their conversations, "why weren't you in the Senate two days ago?" The Senate hadn't met the day before because it was an official Comitial Day, and it had been the day of Ahenobarbus's trial--the Senate didn't meet on Comitial Days.
"Oh," Fimbria's hand flopped around, "just s-some b-b-b-BUSINESS" he forced out. "Why, what happened?"
"Our dear Pontifex Maximus stood up at the end of the meeting, just before adjournment, and declared that he wouldn't intercalate this year."
"Well, why not?"
"He says that the gods don't approve of it, or some-such other mumbo-jumbo, but I think that he wants to give less time of the year for Fulcinius et alii to legislate, and to work further mischief."
"Oh, clever L-lucius Caeci-ilius! W-what's that, t-twenty-t-two days less?"
Gaius Memmius nodded. "Yes, that's the part of Intercalaris that we don't get this year. Lucius Caecilius is usually so anal about keeping the calendar in line with the seasons; it's amazing that he ventured to leap the Leap Year. I guess Intercalaris in two years will be forty-four days long." [Roman Leap Years occurred once every two years]
"Oh well done, Lucius C-caecilius!" said Fimbria, almost repeated himself.
"Yes," said Memmius, hugging his arms around himself. "Well done indeed, P-p-p-DAMN IT, n-not me t-too!"
tuareg109
Banned
FOR WANT OF THE HAMMER
GALLIA TRANSALPINA PART 2, 647 AVC
GALLIA TRANSALPINA PART 2, 647 AVC
The scout stopped and turned, and looked back at Sulla. "Just up ahead," he whispered. Sulla nodded, surprised that the man would take him this close; wasn't that why he was whispering? They had been crouch-walking under the low branches of a forest of sycamores that led up, up, up onto a hill; the scout had gone up several days ago, and had a very interesting find.
Now Sulla followed, unburdened by armor and muffled in a warm cloak. His calfskin boots made scarcely a sound in the few inches of soft snow that were all that was left over from the cold midwinter--which had lasted about five months. Now it was almost mid-March, and the warm spell relieving the Mediterranean had wrapped around the Massif Central and now up the Atlantic coast; along with the mysteriously warm waters [Gulf Stream] that came up the western coast of Aquitania and Gallia Comata and Armorica all year, the warm winds managed to almost banish the snow. In Gallia Comata, Sulla knew, Publius Rutilius and his legates were probably still freezing; here near the Atlantic coast, Sulla was quite comfortable.
Sulla had spent the month between recuperation in Narbo and squatting on the ledge quite efficiently. He had led his four legions--in good repair and in high fettle--through to Tolosa, where the Volcae Tectosages that owned that city welcomed him well enough, if not exactly enthusiastically. The prospect of feeding some 20,000 men, 2,000 horses, and some 4,000 pack animals did not appeal to the Volcae Tectosages of Tolosa. Which was why they were delighted when Sulla left after two days, eager to get into Aquitania, and to begin the hunt.
After Tolosa, however, the good Roman roads ended, and the wide dirt tracks that the Gauls and traders who came this far used as roads were churned into mud by the tramping of 20,000 pairs of boots, and by some 6,000 sets of hooves. Sulla, never one to make stupid mistakes, forced his legate and the tribunes and clerks off of their horses; the men would see their leaders sharing their fate, and would at least be heartened. Only the Auxilia cavalry--these from Italian Gaul and Liguria, and famed for their skill--didn't walk; they weren't used to marching at all, and would be radically disheartened.
Then they hit upon a winding, rocky snake of ground that was a few miles wide at points and quite uncharacteristic of the Aquitanian Basin--which tended toward soft, silty, sandy ground that became mud soon enough after the beginning of winter. This was an excellent stroke of good luck, and led through the heart of Aquitania and then turned abruptly north to skirt the western edge of the Massif Central.
The Gallic oppida--towns--that Sulla encountered he left alone; all he asked, and every time, was news of the Germans. Marcus Antonius Gallus interpreted, and every day brought them closer and closer.
Then the rocky track had petered out, and they'd been bogged down in mud again. And the great snows began. In the middle of February Sulla angrily called a halt and ordered a camp to be made on a ridge of the foothills of the Massif Central. From it they could see thirty miles--about a fourth of the way--toward the Atlantic Ocean; Sulla's men rested under mountains of wool, and his scouts rode out miserable week after week, searching carefully.
And then the snows had ended as abruptly as they'd begun just a week ago, at the end of February, and this scout had come in with an excited tale to tell. So Sulla followed him now, and tiptoed up to the edge of the ridge. Another man would have dropped his jaw, but Sulla was in full control of his faculties. His eyes did widen, however, as he took the sight in.
The ridge dropped vertically down about five hundred feet into a wide vale already showing the green of spring, and there were encamped the Germans. To the vale's other end five miles away, and side to side for miles and miles, were camped hundreds of thousands of wagons. They sat their disorganized and milling about, quite unlike a Roman camp. And Sulla knew what he had to do, if only to be able to claim a good solid victory. "How could I get down there with an army?" he asked the scout.
The next day Sulla lurked around a wide, but sharp, bend in the vale, with his entire body of troops; 20,000 men and 2,000 cavalrymen would follow him into battle. He'd had the troops use rags and cloths to muffle their armor and weapons, and the cavalrymen to muffle the sound of their horses' hooves. As it happened, this was unnecessary; Fortuna was always with Sulla, and she dictated that today was a day of howling wind. The Germans wouldn't hear them coming until they were upon them.
Sulla had formulated his plan the day previous, and it would be followed to the letter. The cavalry would storm in first and drive a deep wedge--relatively, for the column stretched for twenty miles--about two miles into the German ranks, killing as many warriors near the periphery as they could; then half of them would break left and half right, ride to the vale's edges, and then charge to the melee fray which would be in progress--that is, toward the center, to cover a large area of fleeing Germans, and to hit whatever fighting Germans there might be in the rear.
Two legions of infantry would follow the cavalry closely at a march, and charge the full width of the German horde when they came close enough; these people, still disoriented from the cavalry attack and possibly mounting a counterattack, would be surprised by the infantry. They would hold the line--quite easily, he imagined--until the cavalry outflanked the Germans; then they'd give ground slowly, and have an orderly retreat around the sharp bend. The cavalry would by now be herding the Germans more than killing them; Sulla hoped to get at least a thousand prisoners out of this attack.
The other two legions stayed fresh to guard the retreat, and to present a fresh enemy to Germans that were running out of breath--not that Sulla expected many Germans to follow. They'd be very surprised and, with over three-quarters of their forces out of earshot, let alone knowing that a battle had just occurred, would be hesitant to follow.
To the cavalry Sulla also gave the command to swoop down and capture at least one or two fleeing women; if each man got one woman, it would mean 2,000 more slaves for his men, and for sale. And the battle went just according to plan.
It was finally warm enough that Quintus Caecilius Metellus could walk around without losing the feeling in his fingers and toes, but it didn't bring him much relief. Because of this warm spell--which all the Gallic Auxilia were insisting would not last very long, even though it was already March--envoys from Massilia had journeyed up the short but jostling way to Arelate to treat with him. Massilia had been founded as a Greek colony, and was indeed still almost exclusively Greek, only about a hundred and fifty years after the founding of Rome. Facing war with the Etruscans, Carthage, and the Celts, the Massiliotes had chosen to ally themselves to the rising star that was Rome, and they had benefited greatly from this; entrance into Rome's sphere meant that all commerce to and from Gaul was handled through Massilia--much easier than using a smaller, less-civilized port; or transporting through the barbarian-ridden Alps.
So Massilia's population had skyrocketed, and it now enjoyed a privileged position in the eyes of Rome. The province of Gallia Transalpina and its legions protected Massilia from attack, and Massilia patrolled the waters of the western Mediterranean against pirates; Rome, never a naval power, was profoundly thankful for this. However, now that the war wasn't going too well and the weather cleared up enough for them to be able to travel in comfort and style, Quintus Caecilius heard no end to the complaints.
Catulus Caesar's loss at Arausio had caused the Massiliotes to--rightfully--think that the Germans would roll down the Rhodanus, and right over their rich city. That the Germans hadn't was a miracle, but one the Massiliotes didn't want to chance again. So they came at Quintus Caecilius, and treated him as if he were another Catulus Caesar.
"The performance of recent governors of the Province hasn't exactly been...up to par, Quintus Caecilius," said Euphemios, the oily Greek who lived up to his name and who was the head of the delegation, in impeccable Greek.
Quintus Caecilius frowned and made a point of answering in Latin. "I don't see what that has to do with the current situation."
"The Germans can't be too far away, Quintus Caecilius," continued Euphemios in Greek, though he knew Latin just as well as his native tongue.
"They are far away, my friend; I assure you of that. Were they closer, Publius Rutilius and Lucius Cornelius would have already defeated them."
"Ah," said Euphemios, thinking. These Romans put much greater stock in their ancestors than the democratic Greeks of Massilia did; that they hadn't chosen another ancient aristocrat like Quintus Lutatius--who was a Caesar, descended from Aeneas and (through him) Venus--pointed to the fact that they were wising up. From whah Euphemios had heard of Publius Rutilius, he seemed an able and competent man. But this other.... "Hmm, I seem to have never heard of this Lucius Cornelius. Is he a Scipio?"
Quintus Caecilius gave a loud chuckle. "Oh dear gods no! The military talent in that family died with Scipio Aemilianus. No, my good friend Publius Rutilius wouldn't bring a living Scipio along for war if he had a knife at his throat."
Euphemios's eyebrows raised. "I did not know this about the Scipious," he said, deliberately using the Greek Third-Person Accusative instead of Latin. Quintus Caecilius's eyes narrowed, and he managed to look exasperated at the same time, but Euphemios decided not to notice. He plowed on, "Now who is this other Lucius Cornelius?"
"He is Lucius Cornelius Sulla, and he is my brother-in-law and good friend. He brought the war with Jugurtha to an end," Piglet added proudly.
Oh, no nepotism here! Euphemios had heard of Jugurtha's failure against some albino Roman...until the Germans had reappeared, of course. And that had been the beginning of Massilia's worries, too. "I have heard of him," said Euphemios. "He is an albino, yes?"
Quintus Caecilius grinned. "You might think that, before seeing his eyes." At Euphemios's questioning look he elaborated. "Lucius Cornelius's skin is the color of milk, Euphemios. Under the famed Numidian sun it burned and peeled and burned again until he got his famous hat--which he seems not to need during the winters here. He got a little bit of color, maybe like some pale cheese, until he got away from Numidia; then he went right back to being his pure white self."
"I imagine that that's difficult," said Euphemios. "What about his eyes?"
"Well they're not albino eyes, for one. Then...well..." Quintus Caecilius shrugged. "I hope you meet him someday, and then you'll know what I mean. His eyes are the color of the ice above the Alps, Euphemios. They contain so many things, and it's like they see right through you."
"I'm sure they're a great asset for him when intimidating others," said Euphemios gravely. If what the commander of Arelate said was true, then Euphemios surely did not want to meet this man. The Greeks--even those of Massilia who, after having mixed with Gauls for a few hundred years, were fairer than most--were suspicious of very light, pale, or otherwise "bewitching" eyes; they held a place in superstition as the eyes of witches and demons, those who were sure to bring the ire of the Gods if one wronged them even slightly. Given Lucius Cornelius Sulla's success against a man such as Jugurtha, Euphemios thought it best to err on the side of caution.
Quintus Caecilius nodded proudly. "They sure are. He's a great man, too. He'll lead Rome to such greatness as she's never seen."
"And I'm sure that Massilia will go along with her!" said Euphemios, ever the patriot.
"Yes, my friend," nodded Quintus Caecilius. "Where Rome goes, so does Massilia."
"Young man," said Euphemios gratefully and in Latin, "you have allayed all of my fears. Now what of Publius Rutilius?"
Last edited:
I like it, a lot. (still can't forget the Howadrian Jugurtha). The most impressive is the rythm of updates you have with no loss of quality.
Narbonese (with only one "N") is the most convenient, if we admit the linguistics evolve more or less like OTL (helped by the archaic content of southern gallo-romance). It's the most likely transliteration, and keeping -n/s is pretty much unavoidable.
"Narbonian" at the very best, can appears as a pedantic (in universe Dathi
) construction, but not a natural evolution.
For having something else, you'll need a radical liguistic change in Narbonensis.
Narbonese (with only one "N") is the most convenient, if we admit the linguistics evolve more or less like OTL (helped by the archaic content of southern gallo-romance). It's the most likely transliteration, and keeping -n/s is pretty much unavoidable.
"Narbonian" at the very best, can appears as a pedantic (in universe Dathi
) construction, but not a natural evolution.For having something else, you'll need a radical liguistic change in Narbonensis.
tuareg109
Banned
I like it, a lot. (still can't forget the Howadrian Jugurtha). The most impressive is the rythm of updates you have with no loss of quality.
Narbonese (with only one "N") is the most convenient, if we admit the linguistics evolve more or less like OTL (helped by the archaic content of southern gallo-romance). It's the most likely transliteration, and keeping -n/s is pretty much unavoidable.
"Narbonian" at the very best, can appears as a pedantic (in universe Dathi
For having something else, you'll need a radical liguistic change in Narbonensis.
Thanks a lot! And thanks for the language info.
Thought, what do you mean by "Howadrian Jugurtha"? Google Search reveals only this page. A search for "Howardian Jugurtha" is just as unsuccessful.
Also, your username is great! One of the most intriguing figures of the Late Republic.
tuareg109
Banned
.......Did the Cimbris just get smashed?
Or was that just a smaller contigent?
No fears, my friend; they'll have their day! Just a small contingent.
tuareg109
Banned
Alrighty then! Now I want my TEUTONIC HAMMER OF WAAAAAAAGGHH!!!
Right-o, but remember that they cannot move very quickly.
Next update will detail Catulus Caesar & the Banhammer that is Fulcinius.
Update after that will be Sulla & Metellus again.
tuareg109
Banned
FOR WANT OF THE HAMMER
THE TRIAL--WITNESSES, 647 AVC
THE TRIAL--WITNESSES, 647 AVC
It was one day before the Kalends of Aprilis--that is, the 31st of Martius--and all of Rome was congregating, in the second hour of daylight, to witness the trial of Quintus Lutatius Catulus Caesar. The warmer air of early and mid-March had faded into a sullen, surly cold; like an unwanted, kicked cur the cold came back, and all of Rome was shivering again.
Grain would come in from the corners of the Roman world; in fact, the African yield should be greater, due to the increased rainfall and late summer. It was the farmers and market gardeners of Italy that would suffer severely; planting hadn't even began this year, and no man knew when it would. To the Italian Socii and to the Latin Rights Holders, the weather seemed simply to be a symptom of the discontent and insanity in Rome; to Romans, it was just another case of the gods trying to fuck them.
The Pontifex Maximus and his subordinate Flamines tried everything in their priestly powers to turn the weather, and were unsuccessful. So they tossed their arms in the air and said, "Come on, we're only men! You think we know everything?"
And so, though it was cold enough that even Marcus Antonius Orator--in warm(-ish) Sicily now--would have put on an extra tunic or two, it seemed as though half of Rome turned up for the trial. All public business was suspended, and public companies on a holiday; the Senate did not meet, nor did the College of the Tribunes of the Plebs. Sewage workers, state-owned slaves, off-duty Lictors, aqueduct-cleaners and -repairmen, Senators, Equestrians, members of the Head Count and Fifth Class eager for a show, members of the middle classes looking for justice, and all kinds of others congregated at and around--for miles, it seemed--the Well of the Comitia.
Of men working there were many, too. Men with portable ovens and stoves dispensing hot strips of spiced lamb wrapped in warm buns, and selling cups of hot mulled wine. There were only a few men--for it was poor fare--selling thick woolen cloaks and socks; Rome had been so cold for so long that anybody who hadn't owned a warm article of clothing either had bought one or was dead.
It was on that cold day that the crowd, having waited only a few relatively silent minutes (nobody wanted to be outside longer than could be helped), sighed as one as the Urban Praetor Spurius Dellius stepped up to the lip of the rostra to address the citizens of Rome.
"Romans, we are here today to hear the trial of a fellow citizen, the ex-Consul Quintus Lutatius cognominated Catulus, of the tribe Stellatina, who was deprived of his Proconsular command by the Tribune of the Plebs Gaius Fulcinius last year. Prosecuting him will be the aforementioned Tribune Gaius Fulcinius. Defending him will be Lucius Licinius Crassus Orator."
Satisfied that he had followed the law, true to form, Spurius Dellius drew in a breath and then continued, the air expelled from his mouth fogging in the cold air, "We will first hear the opening statement of and witnesses for the prosecution." He stepped back and gave Gaius Fulcinius the stage.
Gaius Fulcinius stepped up bare-armed, as always apparently unaffected by the frost, and paused to gaze here and there into the crowd. "Romans, I shall not bore you by lengthy oratory today; in any case, I have no stomach for it." Oh, that's rich! thought Lucius Pontifex Maximus, and then remembered that they were, technically, on the same side. "Were that brave young Quintus Caecilius Metellus were here, and could give the best witness testimony; nae, we have humbler men by far to address this assembly. Common soldiers they may be--for there are two legionaries and only one centurion--they comprise a full percent of the men that survived the slaughter that Quintus Lutatius allowed--indeed, a slaughter that he encouraged!--through inaction and ineptitude. I have no more to say, except that we shall now hear the words of Gnaeus Matius."
Gaius Fulcinius stepped back smoothly and nodded to the young man, all of twenty-one years old, who stood shivering--from fright, for cold he could handle well--on the rostra with the august leading lights of the Republic. Gnaeus Matius stepped forward timidly with the Pontifex Maximus at his side. "Do you," said Lucius Caecilius Metellus in that smooth, soothing, and yet so loud, voice of his, "swear to tell the truth as it is, and as it shall always be, under the sight of all the Gods of the Sky, and caressed by all the Gods of the Earth?"
"I do," said Gnaeus Matius solemnly. Hailing from a landowning family of the Fourth Class just north of Capua, Gnaeus Matius was very superstitious; the crowd saw this, and leaned forward to hear what he had to say.
"Ah, good morning, Ro--" he stopped at a gesture from the Prosecutor; the second row of listeners could scarcely hear him. So he stepped forward a bit more, set his mouth, and commenced to shout; no Orator, he, but the naivety sure endeared him to the crowd. "Good morning, Rome--ah, Romans. I wouldn't quite say that I'm a simple young man, but, ah, there's a lot I don't know. There's a lot I've still got to learn. I learned a lot on that sonofawhore day in Gaul, though, and it was Quintus Lutatius taught me." There was a pause as the audience digested this, anticipating some whiplash; then it came: "Quintus Lutatius taught me all the wrong way."
There was a murmur of appreciation at this trick. The more skeptical in the crowd realized that this was probably a word-for-word memorization of a speech pre-written by Fulcinius; yet most of the people simply ate it up. "Rome is what she is; she is a place of excellence, and of glory, and of ambition. Even from my home in Teanum Sidicinum I know of Rome and the ways of Roman men--the bravest men in the world...for I am a Roman citizen! I went voluntarily--as a young Roman should!--to the Consul's recruiters; no man had to seek me out! I went to them, with my father's sagum hanging on me and with his old armor on the old family mule, and marched north to Gallia Transalpina with Quintus Lutatius Catulus, and with Rome's four legions.
"Rome's four legions, that Quintus Lutatius destroyed." Here his eyes filled with tears, and the front ranks of listeners hushed, for they could see it; the word passed back, and in future discussions--no matter the gossips or words of Drusus and his supporters--scarcely a man could credit that they were not genuine. "Every single one of my tentmates--Gaius Naevius, Gaius Trebatius, Quintus Tullius Cornutus, Lucius Ulpius, Gaius Laelius, Lucius Duronius, Spurius Fadius--were good men all, and true Roman sons; they all died in the choking dust under that damned hill. The Centurion Aulus Furius and the Optio Publius Gellius were both men I knew well, and loved as brothers.
"We were all as brothers there, at Arausio. Next to that damned river." He paused and drew in a ragged breath; the crowd jumped, for not a sound could be heard but the dear young voice of Gnaeus Matius. The entire crowd of about 40,000 men--more than ten percent of Rome's free male population--could here his shouting-yet-soft voice. "The damned river," he repeated. "I believe that more horses drowned in it under their clinging riders and under the fast current, than did men; Quintus Lutatius committed a terrible blunder right then and there--he deployed our cavalry on the left, next to the river!"
And incredulous murmur went up from the crowd: What kind of idiot deploys his cavalry where it can be of no use? Most of the men there had served in at least several campaigns, and even those who hadn't ever touched a sword knew something of tactics and strategy from the tales of Scipio Africanus and Fabius Maximus; these lessons, told by grammatici to sons--and, rarely, daughters--of men of the Fourth- and Third- even the poorer Second-Classes, and with poorer children hovering about until they received a kick to the behind--No education for those who do not pay!--often featured clay figures representing infantry maniples and cavalry squadrons. With these the children learned how famous battles had unfolded.
And every Roman man knew to use cavalry on the unprotected flank.
With a river on his left, Quintus Lutatius should have employed his cavalry on the right, where it could charge or outflank the Germans; how could you outflank if you had to ride into a river to do it?
"Yes, brothers!" shouted Gnaeus Matius emotionally. "He put our cavalry on the left, and the Germans just curled round our right flank! Not only did he make the blunder of thinking he knew anything of generaling, and commit the stupid mistake of not taking and fortifying the clearly visible hill not two miles from the battlefield, and idiotically choose to fight in that damned dust-choked bowl--oh, I felt as though Hades himself were crawling down my throat! No, not only all that, fellow Romans; with all that, he decided to leave us completely undetected on that flank."
The crowd, armchair generals and all, now had its excuse. The outcome of the battle had of course been known for a long time, and Quintus Lutatius's incompetence only a little time less; exact details, however, had not been forthcoming to the members of Rome note dwelling in the highest circles of the Senate. A growling and a howling began, and the Senators on the rostra began to back away, ready to run. Gaius Fulcinius stood looking quite satisfied, but Scaurus and Metellus Pontifex Maximus--though on his side during this trial--began to shiver all over.
"See," Scaurus shout-whispered over the roar of the crowd, "what he can do? Worse than Gracchus."
Lucius Pontifex Maximus's eyes bored into Gaius Fulcinius's back with fear-fueled hatred as he replied, "Then we'll have to do what we did to Gracchus...won't we?"
Scaurus's face became strained as the crowd began to push toward the rostra, shouting for Gnaeus Matius and their love for him. Tears streamed down his face as he finished his speech, unheard. Gaius Fulcinius motioned that his other two witnesses were not needed, and Scaurus replied to the Pontifex Maximus, "We'll wait. When we show them the surprise tomorrow...they may calm down. Trust us again."
"Why should they not trust us?" asked the Pontifex Maximus stormily.
In spite of all the anxiety and strain, Scaurus's sense of humor got to him and he hooted laughter; the sound, however, was lost in the wind. The Pontifex Maximus awaited a reply, and got it: "Quintus Lutatius and idiots like he have given them good cause not to trust us. I think, Lucius Caecilius, that if the Senatorial Class is to survive, it must choose its members and its friends more carefully."
Now Gnaeus Matius was riding on the shoulders of the crowd, and Drusus, dejected and hopeless-looking, signed to Spurius Dellius that he had no witnesses. The only man he had had lined up to speak for Quintus Lutatius was...Quintus Lutatius himself. Given the current atmosphere, the crowd would likely tear him apart if he made an appearance.
"And if those friends happen to be family?" shouted Metellus, thinking of his good nephew, and of how his cousin's daughter was married to Scipio Nasica.
Scaurus winced, thinking of his own son--the young man who could never quite live up to the august name that Marcus Aemilius Scaurus had built up almost from the ground. He said eventually, after some thought, "My family is Rome, and Rome is my family."
Last edited:
tuareg109
Banned
Meh, similar effect. Sonofawhore actually seems more of an insult/curse to me. A woman could be a bitch, and still respectable (like Cicero's wife!); a whore, in this time period, was respected by almost nobody.