FOR WANT OF THE HAMMER
GALLIA TRANSALPINA PART 3, 647 AVC
Quintus Caecilius Metellus sat at his desk writing to Sulla. The only contact he had had with the outside world for the past two months had been with letters going south and east through Massilia; the cold was such that the alpine passes were blocked, and that no messenger would dare venture north of Arausio or west of Narbo, let alone into barbarian Aquitania or Gallia Comata. However, it was now the tenth day of Aprilis, and the warmth was returned--a true warmth, the constantly shuttling Massiliotes assured him.
Sulla had continued sending men--quite ruthlessly, in Quintus Caecilius's opinion--through the heavy snows that blanketed the hills and made road indiscernible from gully, and so had remained tenuously in contact. Publius Rutilius Rufus had less stomach for using his men harshly, and so he was safe--safe, or
dead--and probably warm too, in the
oppidum of some Gallic king, but incommunicado.
The supply issue was as yet unresolved but Quintus Caecilius, caring for his men, had used the war chest appropriately, and used some heavy negotiation to receive better deals from the Massiliotes; he bought in bulk, and received a discount. After all, the food--when properly stored--could last forever, but excess gold spent would disappear.
He was in the middle of his letter, sitting there with four--instead of the usual six; the weather was warming up, after all!--wolf pelts draped over his shoulders, when the tribune on command detail marched in.
"Sir, troops sighted by scouts two hours ago to the northwest. They have confirmed that it is Gnaeus Pompeius and his two legions, returning from the Massif Central."
"Ah!" Metellus jumped up, abandoning the letter. "Excellent, are they almost here?"
"Yes, Sir. They're just outside the gates."
"Well, let them in! We have room for twelve legions, after all," said Metellus. The tribune saluted and left to give his orders to the waiting legionary who'd been sent by the guards on duty. Metellus strapped on his sword belt and left the tent, setting out for the north gate--the men hurrying there and the faraway guards craning their necks told him Gnaeus Pompeius's location.
As he neared the gate he saw that the gates had been opened, and that Gnaeus Pompeius's legions were streaming inside in an orderly manner. He noticed that losses seemed to be low, but the men all looked thin; and then he saw Gnaeus Pompeius and Gnaeus Octavius Ruso enter on their horses. They dismounted just outside the gate and saw him.
Even Gnaus Pompeius's stocky frame had suffered from lack of food, and Gnaeus Octavius Ruso was downright skinny. "Fellow tribunes!" said Quintus Caecilius to them when they'd walked over to him, and shaking their hands warmly. Pompeius seemed indifferent, but Ruso almost fainted from thankfulness; it seemed as though Pompeius's army had been short on kindness in the harsh months in the high hills of the Massif Central.
"Quintus Caecilius," said Pompeius in greeting. "Gah, it's so damned cold! Why don't we retire to your tent; you know I didn't get a proper commander's tent, so I've been sleeping in the same underwear for two months."
Quintus Caecilius's mouth became an "O" of surprise until he decided that that was a joke, and laughed. Pompeius's face showed that it wasn't a joke, and Metellus hastily said, "Well then, let's. You know I only have to wear four wolf pelts instead of six; the season is finally warming up."
"Yes," said Pompeius as they marched down the Via Praetoria toward the Principia--the commander's tent. The bustle and movement of the slaves and servants of Metellus's two legions helping the slaves and servants of Pompeius's legions to transport the goods and pack animals into the camp sounded all around them as Pompeius continued, "Maybe our damned Pontifex Maximus should make this the new January."
Quintus Caecilius, well aware that Pompeius knew that the Pontifex Maximus was his uncle, elected to say nothing. Ruso asked, "Ah, what's there to eat?"
"Whatever the Massiliotes provide," said Metellus, eager to brag. "I made a great deal with them, and the men are well fed. There'll be enough for your men, of course; more than enough."
"Good," said Ruso.
"Good, I'm starving," roared Pompeius. "Give the men pigshit, I don't care; I just don't want to see another wild boar in my life. It's enough meat to give a man hemorrhoids."
Quintus Caecilius was again surprised and a bit offended at this display of vulgarity. Embarrassed for Ruso, who'd obviously suffered over the winter, he said, "Lunch can wait another hour. Why don't you two sit down in my tent and tell me what happened on the Massif?"
Pompeius grumbled and mumbled, but assented in the end. After flinging himself down in the tent and rubbing his hands together with many murmurs of appreciation and thanks for the warmth, he began simply: "We got there soon enough, and marched right into the middle of the mess. I made a winter camp somewhere on the Oltis River, and we set to work. I took one legion, and Gnaeus Octavius Ruso here held the fort; when my men and I felt our balls would freeze off, we returned and let Ruso and the other boys have a turn. And that's how we did it all these three months or so." He thought back and then nodded, satisfied that the time frame had been right.
"And...what did you do?" asked Metellus after a lengthy pause.
"I spent the first two weeks hammering at the Gabali; they're a small tribe, but their position in the middle of those godforsaken mountains makes them fierce. Admirable people. Damned barbarians. Almost all the men I lost were to them; we had no way home and were low on supplies, so we reduced every
oppidum, and took all their supplies."
Southern Gallic tribes in 647 AVC
"And what happened to them?"
Pompeius shrugged. "We killed them, and they starved, and they froze to death. I guess the Ruteni and Arverni might have taken some survivors in; it would have been women, mostly."
Ruso's shiver showed what he thought of the survivors' fate.
Quintus Caecilius shook his head, clearing it of the images that came into it, and said, "And then what?"
"So we essentially destroyed the Gabali, and had enough supplies to make larger forays. We were always careful, and the Gauls were astounded at our speed--Roman adaptability and all that, right? Ruso took a turn against the Vellavi, and we crushed them together with the Arverni--turns out Gallia Transalpina isn't the only part of the world that these Massif tribes like to raid nonstop. After that I took my legion down into the lower Oltis valley--fancied myself a bit of warmth--and had some fights with the Cadurci.
"I came back up to the camp when the weather warmed up, and took my legion and five cohorts [half] of the other against the Ruteni. They were all accepting early in January, but the fighting had gotten them nervous. Thought that Rome would turn their way. Well, I did; I went along the Massif and all during that warm spell sacked every
oppidum in my way. They aren't quite as destroyed as the Gabali, but I know that they won't bother us for another ten years."
"Oh, Gnaeus Pompeius!" shouted Metellus, whose face had begun registering outrage halfway through this speech. "The Ruteni were our anchor in the Massif! They told us what was going on, and kept the other tribes down! You...you...you monster!"
Gnaues Pompeius cracked a careless smile, revealing scurvy-plagued gums, and asked deviously, "Is that the worst you're going to call me?"
Lucius Cornelius Sulla sat in Narbo on his way to regroup in Arelate. It was three weeks since the trial of Catulus Caesar (thought Sulla didn't know it yet), and ten days since Gnaeus Pompeius's return to Arelate. In that time, Publius Rutilius had returned pale but successful from Gallia Comata: No German would pass through the lands of the Aedui, the Aulerci, the Remi, the Lingones, the Leuci, or the Sequani without Rome's knowing about it. Sulla was in fact quite impressed by how far Publius Rutilius had managed to travel with four legions during the harsh winter of Gallia Comata; sure, he'd had help from the native tribes--all eager to please Rome in face of the German menace, but he'd also had to travel along the dirt tracks they called roads, and through drifts of snow five and sometimes ten feet deep.
Sulla, in Tolosa then, had received a letter from Quintus Caecilius just a few days ago to that affect, and was now hastening to regroup. For his plan to work it was essential that everybody think the Germans were still in Gaul, and not moving into Hispania Citerior. Once it became well known that they were in Hispania--which meant two or three months at least--Spurius Dellius was sure to block any move to expand Publius Rutilius's imperium, and Sulla would be in Spain as Legate against the Germans once more. In Hispania, however, his command was sure to be even more independent, and he was sure to have more resources at his disposal. Plus, Hispania wasn't so damned cold.
At the moment, however, Sulla was quite warm. He had dined once more in the house of the duumvir Publius Cornelius; it was heartwarming to see his bickering with Quintus Lutatius Vergobretus again. All in all, most of Sulla's soldiers had survived, despite the conditions and the brief yet exciting raids against the Germans; surely the Germans, white though they were, now had tales of an albino Roman ghost leading an army from hell out of the snow to scare their children with. He hoped that they'd be surprised when he showed up again, in Hispania.
Yes, his soldiers had survived, and none of his lieutenants were worse for wear. Marcus Antonius Gallus was his right-hand man as far as the rest of the campaign was concerned, and he was thinking of getting the man elected Military Tribune in Rome, to continue the good work--this time, in Hispania. Gaius Julius Caesar Strabo Vopiscus had learned much, and had earned a reputation with the man as a fair and gentle leader--not quite Sulla's style, but its appeal combined with Strabo's cross-eyed nature made for a strangely endearing and homely mix.
Marcus Livius Drusus Junior had done even better. Changed by Sulla's steady and slow influence, he was moving away from the idiotic orneriness that his father had set in him, and was moving toward new ideas. Namely, such an idea as that Marcus Antonius Gallus--and other New Men besides--had much value. The Rome of Marcus Livius Drusus Senior was not the same Rome that his son dreamed of, anymore. Sulla would request him for Hispania, too.
Now Sulla sat on his hard bed in Narbo, and a servant knocked softly at the door. "Come in, what is it?" said Sulla all at once.
The servant entered, bowing. "
Dominus, a messenger from Arelate has arrived with this letter for you." Sulla took the letter and the man bowed out.
He turned it over in his hands, wondering if it was from Rufus or Piglet, and opened it. The handwriting was unfamiliar, and his eyes widened and leapt across the page as he read:
Lucius Cornelius Sulla,
Ah, such a joyous day! Be sure to convey the good news to my son, and indeed let him read the letter, do! I only write to you because it is less appropriate for more-or-less official news to come to you through a subordinate. Well, the trial of Quintus Lutatius Catulus is over!
And I'll make it brief, and tell you what happened. Gaius Fulcinius produced some shabby witness--a young man supposedly from Teanum Sidicinum, and who was allegedly at Arausio (there's no record of him, you know!) [
of course, thought Sulla,
because the records were trampled by the Germans]
--named Gnaeus Matius, who moved those idiots of the Third and Fourth Classes to tears! Well they howled and they cried, and we decided that intervention would result in a lynching. So the Defense had no witness.
And then the next day the arguments were given. Oh, what a travesty! Fulcinius talked for perhaps two minutes with no style at all, calling Quintus Lutatius every name under the sun. When Lucius Licinius Crassus Orator--using every oratorical skill at his disposal!--stepped up to refute these vile lies, agents of Fulcinius's began to heckle him, and we of the Boni fled for our lives! [Sulla began to wonder how much of this was true, and how off his gourd Marcus Livius Drusus Senior had gone]
But then, ah then, the third day came. The Verdict. And we had our revenge. Scaurus and Metellus had come over to the right side again, after seeing Fulcinius's terrible power--I swear, he's another Gracchus. [Sulla's thin white lips had drawn down in a monstrous frown upon reading that Scaurus and Lucius Pontifex Maximus had switched sides.
Good, another Gracchus needs to come to kill you all]
It was cold then, you know, the second day of Aprilis. It looks as though so many thought that the verdict was assured that they didn't come, so it was only the fifty Equestrians of the jury, and maybe five hundred men come to watch...and us. Oh, it was brilliant, Lucius Cornelius! You would have participated with such alacrity! [
Too bad you didn't hold your breath on it]
Led by Quintus Caecilius Metellus Nepos--I see now that that's why he disappeared on the day of the arguments--were the sons of Senators and the wealthiest Equestrians, and the other Equestrians on our side, and those Equestrians that are our cousins and brothers, but who dabble too much in business or have too little interest in politics to want to join the Senate. With them were some ex-gladiatorial rabble, and a host of unhappy clients. But I tell you, Lucius Cornelius, that those client, and those ex-gladiators, and those brilliant young men did their job!
They stood on the Clivus Capitolinus looking right down into the Well of the Comitia, silent as death. Nobody saw them until they drew their swords and began banging and banging on their shields and on their greaves and on the cobblestones of the street. The whole six hundred or so men who were there--oh, and I was there, oh!--looked up, and I saw Gaius Fulcinius go so white in the face that I fancied it was you standing there in front of me! [Sulla reared up on the bed and then stood, clenching a fist.
Gaius Fulcinius?! That ugly son of a donkey-loving barbarian scum I'll fucking kill that this Drusus godsdamnthemall--]
When the red receded from the front of Sulla's eyes and his faculties returned to him, he read the little bit that was left:
Well that settled the Knights' decision quite quickly, didn't it? Conviction and four swords for each soft, fat belly that had never been to war; or Absolution, and it's off home to the wife and kids? Ah, it's fresh in my mind, Lucius Cornelius; not one dissenting voice, and Gaius Fulcinius and that minion Spurius Dellius shouting and vetoing all they could--but of course, the trial had commenced, and could not be ended for no reason. My dear friend Lucius Caecilius Metellus Dalmaticus nullified all claims that the proceedings were nefas [immoral, wicked, sacrilegious]
, and Spurius Dellius was forced to continue.
Our friend Quintus Lutatius marched out of his house on the Palatine and proceeded to his villa at Circei, to enjoy the summer--whenever it will come, that is.
Your good ally, Marcus Livius Drusus
Sulla crumpled the letter and its contents, tried to tear them apart crumpled as they were, and flung them furiously into his clean latrined bucket. He clenched his fists, and his jaws clenched, and he said nothing. This would ruin all his work on the intelligent Marcus Livius Drusus Junior; also, who knew what Spurius Dellius would think of Hispania now?
After a few minutes the clenching stopped. Sulla stripped his tunic off and laid down under the warm furs on the bed. Two hours later, he was asleep.