It was after Metellus Pius had seen Balbus Senior and read Memmius's letter that he began to think about how he might extricate Memmius from his incarceration in New Carthage. There had been changes in the man Sertorius dismissed as an old woman too, changes wrought by the crushing blow to his pride the Senate had dealt him in bestowing an equal imperium upon Kid Butcher, of all people. Perhaps nothing less than this monumental insult could have stripped away sufficient layers of the Piglet's defensive armor to allow the metal inside to show, for the Piglet had been cursed or blessed with an autocratic father of superb courage, incredible haughtiness and a stubbornness that had sometimes amounted to intellectual imbecility. Metellus Numidicus had been cheated of his war against Jugurtha by Gaius Marius, cheated time and time again or so he had seen it by that same New Man. And in turn cheated his son of anything more than a reputation for filial devotion in piously striving to have his hugely admired father recalled from an exile inflicted by Gaius Marius. Then just when the son might have congratulated himself that he stood highest in Sulla's estimation, along came the twenty two year old Pompey with a bigger and better army to offer. His punctilious attention to what was the proper thing for a Roman nobleman to do forbade Metellus Pius the satisfaction of trying to make his tormentor, Pompey, look insignificant by any underhanded means. And so without his realizing it a new and better general was busy jerking and tugging himself free of the Piglet's tired old stammering skin. To make Pompey look small by winning more battles more decisively was unimpeachable, a fitting revenge because it emerged out of what a Roman nobleman could be when he was pushed to it by a Picentine upstart. Or an upstart from Arpinum, for that matter! Having learned that particular lesson very early on, he chose his scouts from among the ranks of his own Roman men and the men of Phoenician Gades who feared the Spanish barbarians far more than they did the Romans. So it was that Metellus Pius had learned the whereabouts of Lucius Hirtuleius and his younger brother not very long after they had sat themselves down with the Spanish army in the neighborhood of Laminium, in south central Spain. With one of his new sour smiles, the Piglet leaned back and appreciated this strategy to the full before flicking a mental obscene gesture in the direction of Laminium and vowing that ten years would not see him fool enough to venture up the headwaters of either Anas or Baetis. Let Hirtuleius rot from sheer inactivity! He had ensconced himself on the Anas fairly close to its mouth, thinking that it was wiser to let the Lusitani see how well prepared he was to deal with them than to reside more comfortably along the Baetis, a hundred miles to the east. But he had busied himself to such purpose by June that he felt the defenses of his province were in good enough state to resist the wall of waiting Lusitani without his personal presence on the Anas and without more than two of his six remaining legions to garrison his fortifications. By now the old woman of the Further province knew perfectly well who were Sertorius's informants; so he proceeded to put his new policies about intelligence into practice, and leaked in the most innocent way to these men the news that he was moving away from his position on the lower Anas. Not up the headwaters of the Anas or the Baetis and thus into the arms of Lucius Hirtuleius at Laminium but to relieve Gaius Memmius in New Carthage. He would (the informants were telling Hirtuleius not many days later) cross the Baetis from Italica to Hispalis, then move up the Singilis River toward the massif of the Solorius, cross it on its northwestern flank at Acci, proceed thence to Basti, and so down onto the Campus Spartarius through Eliocroca. In actual fact this was the way Metellus Pius might have gone; but what was important to him was that Hirtuleius should believe it. The Piglet was well aware that Herennius, Perperna and Sertorius himself were thoroughly absorbed in teaching Pompey a much needed lesson, and that Sertorius reposed full confidence in the ability of Hirtuleius and the Spanish army to pen the Piglet up inside his own provincial sty. But New Carthage was a way out of his own provincial sty that could possibly lead to a northward march from New Carthage to relieve Pompey at Lauro; the five legions the Piglet would have were a possible tipping of the balance from Sertorius's way to Pompey's. The march of Metellus Pius could therefore not be allowed to happen. What Metellus Pius hoped was that Hirtuleius would decide to leave Laminium and come down onto the easy terrain between the Anas and the Baetis. Away from the crags in which any Sertorian general was likely to be victorious, Hirtuleius would be easier to beat. No Sertorian general trusted the peoples of the Further province east of the Baetis, which was why Sertorius had never attempted to invade that area. So when Hirtuleius heard the news of Metellus Pius's projected march, he would have to intercept it before Metellus Pius could cross the Baetis into safe territory. Of course Hirtuleius's most prudent course would have been to travel well to the north of the Further province and wait to intercept Metellus Pius on the Campus Spartarius itself, this certainly being country friendly to Sertorius. But Hirtuleius was too canny to make this logical move; if he left central Spain for a place so far away, all the Piglet had to do was to double back and romp through the pass at Laminium, then choose the quickest line of march to join Pompey at Lauro. There was only one thing Hirtuleius could do: move down onto the easy terrain between the Anas and the Baetis, and stop Metellus Pius before he crossed the Baetis. But Metellus Pius marched more quickly than Hirtuleius thought he could, was already close to Italica and the Baetis when Hirtuleius and the Spanish army were still a hard day's slog away. So Hirtuleius hurried, unwilling to let his prey slip across the broad deep river. The month was Quinctilis and southern Spain was in the grip of that summer's first fierce heat wave; the sun sprang up from behind the Solorius Mountains fully armed to smite lands not yet recovered from the previous day's onslaught and only slightly relieved by the breathless, humid night. With extraordinary solicitude for his troops, Metellus Pius gently inserted them into big, airy, shady tents, encouraged them to hold cloths soaked in cold spring water to brows and napes of necks, made sure they had drunk well of that same cold spring water, then issued each man with a novel item of extra equipment to carry into battle a skin full of cold water strapped to his belt. Even when the merciless sun was glinting off the forest of Hirtuleius's spears rapidly approaching down the road from the north, Metellus Pius kept his men in the shade of their tents and made sure there were enough tubs of cold water to keep the cold compresses coming. At the very last moment he moved, his soldiers fresh and keen, chattering cheerfully to each other as they marched into position about how they would manage to help each other snatch a much needed drink in the middle of the fight. The Spanish army had tramped ten hard miles in the sun already. Though it was well provided with water donkeys, it had not the time to pause and drink before battle was joined. His men wilting, Hirtuleius stood no chance of winning. At one time he and Metellus Pius actually fought hand to hand a rare occurrence in any conflict since the days of Homer and though Hirtuleius was younger and stronger, his well watered and well cooled opponent got the better of him. The struggle carried them apart before the contest came to an end, but Hirtuleius bore a wound in his thigh and Metellus Pius the glory. Within an hour it was over. The Spanish army broke and fled into the west, leaving many dead or exhausted upon the field; Hirtuleius had to cross the Anas into Lusitania before he could allow his men to stop. "Isn't that nice? asked Metellus Pius of his son as they stood surveying the diminishing dust to the west of Italica. "Tata, you were wonderful!" cried the young man, forgetting that he was too grown up to use the diminutive of childhood. The Piglet swelled, huffed. "And now we'll all have a good swim in the river and a good night's sleep before we march tomorrow for Gades," he said happily, composing letters in his mind to the Senate and to Pompey. Metellus Scipio stared. "Gades? Why Gades?" "Certainly Gades!" Metellus Pius shoved his son between the shoulder blades. "Come on, lad, into the shade! I'll have no man down with sunstroke, I need every last one of you. Don't you fancy a long sea voyage to escape this heat?" "A long sea voyage? To where?" "To New Carthage, of course, to relieve Gaius Memmius." "Father, you are absolutely be
yond a doubt brilliant!" And that, reflected the Piglet as he drew his son into the shade of the command tent, was every bit as thrilling to hear as the rousing volley of cheers and the shouts of "Imperator!" with which his army had greeted him after the battle was over. He had done it! He had inflicted a decisive defeat upon Quintus Sertorius's best general.
The fleet which put out from Gades was a very big one, and formidably guarded by every warship the governor could commandeer. The transports were loaded with wheat, oil, salt fish, dried meat, chickpea, wine, even salt all intended to make sure New Carthage did not starve because of the Contestani blockade from land and the pirate blockade from sea. And having revictualed New Carthage, Metellus Pius loaded Gaius Memmius's legion aboard the empty transports, then sailed at a leisurely pace up the eastern coast of Nearer Spain, amused to see the pirate craft his fleet encountered scuttle out of the way. The pirates may have defeated Gaius Cotta in a fleet to fleet engagement several years before in these same waters, but they had little appetite for salt Piglet. The Piglet was going, of course exemplary Roman nobleman that he was to deliver Gaius Memmius and the legion to Pompey in Emporiae: and if he was also going to crow a little and to be just a trifle too sympathetic about Pompey's ignominious summer in the field, well... The Piglet considered Pompey owed him that for trying to steal his thunder. Just after the fleet passed the great pirate stronghold of Dianium it put in to a deserted cove to anchor for the night; a small boat came stealing out of Dianium and made for the Roman ships. In it was the younger Balbus, full of news. "Oh, how good it is to be back among friends!" he said in his soft, lisping Latin to Metellus Pius, Metellus Scipio and Gaius Memmius (not to mention his uncle, very pleased to see him safe and well). "I take it that you didn't manage to make contact with my colleague Gnaeus Pompeius," said Metellus Pius. "No, Quintus Caecilius. I got no further than Dianium. The whole coast from the mouth of the Sucro to the Tader is just boiling with Sertorius's men, and I look too much like a man of Gades I would have been captured and tortured for sure. In Dianium there are many Punic looking fellows, however, so I thought it wiser to lie low there and hear whatever I could hear." "And what did you hear, Balbus Minor?" "Oh, I not only heard! I also saw! Something extremely interesting," said Balbus the nephew, eyes shining. "Not two market intervals ago a fleet sailed in. It had come all the way from Pontus, and it belonged to King Mithridates." The Romans tensed, leaned forward. "Go on," said Metellus Pius softly. "On board the flagship were two envoys from the King, both Roman deserters I think they had been legates commanding some of Fimbria's troops. Lucius Magius and Lucius Fannius." "I've seen their names," said Metellus Pius, "on Sulla's proscription lists." "They had come to offer Quintus Sertorius he arrived in person to confer with them four days after they sailed in three thousand talents of gold and forty big warships." What was the price?'' growled Gaius Memmius. "That when Quintus Sertorius becomes the Dictator of Rome, he confirms Mithridates in all the possessions he already has and allows him to expand his kingdom further." "When Sertorius is Dictator of Rome?" gasped Metellus Scipio, staggered. "That will never happen!" "Be quiet, my son! Let the good Balbus Minor continue," said his father, who kept his own outrage concealed. "Quintus Sertorius agreed to the King's terms, with one proviso that Asia Province and Cilicia remain Rome's." "How did Magius and Fannius take that?" "Very well, according to my source. I suppose they expected it, as Rome is not to lose any of her provinces. They consented on the King's behalf, though they said the King would have to hear from them in person before confirming it formally." "Is the Pontic fleet still in Dianium?" "No, Quintus Caecilius. It stayed only nine days, then it sailed away again." Did any gold or ships change hands?'' "Not yet. In the spring. However, Quintus Sertorius did send the King evidence of his good faith." "In what form?" "He presented the King with a full century of crack Spanish guerrilla troops under the command of Marcus Marius, a young man he esteems highly." The Piglet frowned. "Marcus Marius! Who is he?" "An illegitimate son of Gaius Marius got on a woman of the Baeturi when he was governor propraetore of the Further province forty eight years ago." "Then this Marcus Marius is not so young," said Gaius Memmius. "True. I am sorry, I misled you." Balbus looked abject. "Ye gods, man, it's not a prosecutable offense!" said the Piglet, amused. "Go on, go on!" "Marcus Marius has never left Spain. Though he speaks good Latin and was properly educated Gaius Marius knew of him, and had left him well provided for his inclinations are toward the Spanish barbarian cause. He has been, as a matter of fact, Quintus Sertorius's most successful guerrilla commander he specializes in the guerrilla attack." "So Sertorius has sent him off to teach Mithridates how to ambush and raid," said Metellus Scipio. "Thank you, Sertorius!" "And will the money and ships be delivered to Dianium?" asked Metellus Pius. "Yes. In the spring, as I have said." This amazing piece of news provided food for thought and for Metellus Pius's pen all the way to Emporiae. Somehow he had never considered that Sertorius's ambitions extended further than setting himself up as a Romanized King of All Spain; his cause had seemed absolutely inseparable from the native Spanish cause. "But," he said to Pompey when he reached Emporiae, "I think it's high time we looked at Quintus Sertorius more closely. The conquest of Spain is only his first step. Unless you and I can stop him, he's going to arrive on Rome's doorstep with his nice white diadem all ready to tie round his head. King of Rome! And ally of Mithridates and Tigranes." After all that purring anticipation, it had not proven possible for Metellus Pius to twist his own thin knife in Pompey's glaringly obvious wounds. He had taken one look at the erstwhile Kid Butcher's empty face and empty eyes and understood that instead of reminding him of his shortcomings, he would have to subject him to extensive spiritual and mental repairs. Numidicus the father would have said that his own honor demanded that the knife be twisted anyway, but Pius the son had lived too long in his father's shadow to have quite such a rarefied idea of his honor. With the object of effecting extensive repairs to Pompey's shattered image of himself, the Piglet craftily sent his tactless and haughty son off into Narbonese Gaul with Aulus Gabinius, there to recruit cavalry and horses; he had a talk to Gaius Memmius to enlist him as an ally, and sent Afranius and Petreius to start reorganizing Pompey's skeletal army. For some days he kept conversation and thoughts away from the last season's campaigns, glad that the news from Dianium had given conversation and thoughts such a dynamic fresh turn. Finally, with December almost upon him and a pressing need to return to his own province, the old woman from Further Spain got down to business. "I do not think it necessary to dwell upon events already in the past," he said crisply. "What ought to concern both of us is next year's campaigns." Pompey had always liked Metellus Pius well enough, though he now found himself wishing his colleague had rubbed him raw, crowed and exulted; he might then have been able to dismiss his opinions as worthless and healthily hated his person. As it was, the genuine kindness and consideration only drove his own inadequacy home harder. Clearly the Piglet did not deem him important enough to despise. He was just another junior military tribune who had come a cropper on his first lone mission, had to be picked up, dusted off, and set astride his horse again. However, at least this attitude meant they could sit together amicably. In pre Sertorian times Pompey would have taken over what was obviously going to be a war conference; but the post Sertorian Pompey simply sat and waited for Metellus Pius to produce a plan. "This time," said the Piglet, "we will both march for the Sucro and Sertorius. Neither of us has a big enough army to do the job unassisted. However, I can't move through Laminium because Hirtuleius and the Spanish army will be back there lying in wait for me. So I will have to go by a very devious route indeed, and with as much stealth as possible. Not that word of my coming won't reach Sertorius, and therefore Hirtuleius. But Hirtuleius will have to move from Laminium to contain me, and he won't do that until Sertorius orders him to. Sertorius is a complete autocrat in all matters military." "So what way can you go?" asked Pompey. "Oh, far to the west, through Lusitania," said the Piglet cheerfully. "I shal
l fetch up eventually at Segovia." "Segovia! But that's at the end of the earth!" "True. It will throw sand in Sertorius's eyes beautifully, however, as well as avoiding Hirtuleius. Sertorius will think I am about to move into the upper Iberus and try to take it off him while he's busy dealing with you. He'll send Hirtuleius to stop me because Hirtuleius at Laminium will be more than a hundred miles closer to Segovia than he." What do you want me to do, precisely?'' asked this new and much humbler Pompey. "Stay in camp here in Emporiae until May. It will take me two months to reach Segovia, so I'll be moving long before you. When you do march, proceed with extreme caution. The most vital part of the whole strategy is that you look as if you're moving with purpose and completely independently of me. But that you do not reach the Turis and Valentia until the end of June." "Won't Sertorius try to stop me at Saguntum or Lauro?" "I doubt it. He doesn't work the same territory twice. You are now in a position to know Saguntum and Lauro well." Pompey turned dull red in the face, but said nothing. The Piglet went on as if he noticed no change in Pompey's complexion. "No, he'll let you reach the Turis and Valentia this time. They will be new to you, you see. Herennius and the traitor Perperna are still occupying Valentia, but I don't think they'll stay to let you besiege them Sertorius doesn't like making his stand in coastal cities, he prefers his mountain strongholds they are impossible to take." Metellus Pius paused to study Pompey's face, faded back to its new pinched whiteness, and was profoundly thankful to see that his eyes were interested. Good! He was taking it in. From Segovia I will march for the Sucro, where I expect Sertorius will maneuver you into battle." Frowning, Pompey turned this over in his mind, which, the Piglet now realized, was still functioning well; it was just that Pompey no longer possessed the confidence to make his own plans. Well, a couple of victories and that would come back! Pompey's nature was formed, couldn't be unformed. Just battered. "But a march from Segovia to the Sucro will take you right down the middle of the driest country in Spain!" Pompey protested. "It's an absolute desert! And until you reach the Sucro itself you'll be crossing ridge after ridge instead of following valley floors. An awful march!" "That's why I shall make it," said Metellus Pius. "No one has ever chosen the route voluntarily before, and Sertorius will certainly not expect me to do so. What I hope is to reach the Sucro before his scouts sniff my presence." His brown eyes surveyed Pompey with pleasure. "You've studied your maps and reports intensively, Pompeius, to know the lay of the land so well." "I have, Quintus Caecilius. It can't substitute for actual experience, but it's the best one can do until the experience is accumulated," said Pompey, pleased at this praise. "You're already accumulating experience, don't worry about that!" said Metellus Pius heartily. "Negative experience," muttered Pompey. "No experience is negative, Gnaeus Pompeius, provided it leads to eventual success." Pompey sighed, shrugged. "I suppose so." He looked down at his hands. "Where do you want me when you reach the Sucro? And when do you think that will be?" "Sertorius himself won't move north from the Sucro to the Turis," said Metellus Pius firmly. "Herennius and Perperna may try to contain you at Valentia or on the Turis somewhere, but I think their orders will be to fall back to Sertorius on the Sucro. I shall aim to be in Sertorius's vicinity at the end of Quinctilis. That means that if you reach the Turis by the end of June, you must find a good excuse to linger there for one month. Whatever happens, don't keep marching south to find Sertorius himself until the end of Quinctilis! If you do, I won't be there to reinforce you. Sertorius's aim is to remove you and your legions from the war completely that would leave him with vastly superior numbers to deal with me. I would go down." "Last year saw you come up, Quintus Caecilius." "That might have been a freak occurrence, and I hope that is what Sertorius will call it. Rest assured that if I meet Hirtuleius and am victorious again, I will endeavor to conceal my success from Sertorius until I can join my forces to yours." "In Spain, difficult, I'm told. Sertorius hears everything." "So they maintain. But I too have been in Spain for some years now, and Sertorius's advantages are melting away. Be of good cheer, Gnaeus Pompeius! We will win!"
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