Lepidus could feel Time hastening over his head; when he glanced up at the sun it seemed to move visibly through the sky. He must issue orders, and very soon; but he still had no idea of the right order to give.
If he advanced to the attack he was sure to be beaten. The slayer of two Consuls would out-manúuvre him; he might kill him with his own sword, as they said he had killed Ahenobarbus at Pharsalus. Yet to attack, to catch the enemy in column of route as they debouched from the pass, was the advice given by every handbook of tactics. If he retreated without even testing the strength of the foe he would be shamed before all his army. Perhaps if he waited, praying very hard to the genius of the gens Aemilia, inspiration would enter his mind and tell him what to do.
His staff would not allow him to seek inspiration in peace. Laterensis was badgering him, there was no other word for it. The man had composed what he thought a good eve-of-battle speech, and wanted to run through it as a try-out in the presence of the Imperator. ‘Great issues hang on our courage,’ he began with practised fluency. ‘Our brethren in Rome gallantly overthrew the tyrant. Before us stands the successor of that tyrant, and all his vile gang. He has been chased from Italy, but our subjects the Gauls lie at his mercy. They look to us for succour. If we prove craven, the legions of Pollio and Plancus will lose heart; they may even despair of liberty, and throw in their lot with those plunderers. Remember, behind Antonius marches our liberator, Decimus Brutus. He endured the hardships of a bitter siege, gallantly withstanding the hosts of tyranny that your children might be born free men. See, beyond the river, those Eagles! Since lawlessly they crossed the Rubicon they have drunk, time and again, the blood of free Romans! Let us charge and overthrow them, with Liberty as our war-cry!’
The young knights looked uncomfortable, but discipline forbade them to silence a legate. Furnius, of equal rank in another army, was not thus inhibited. ‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ he snapped. ‘You do not command a legion of Optimate Senators. All your men are Caesarians, and the veterans among them were at the crossing of the Rubicon. If you continue in that strain they will first cut your throat and then go over to Antonius.’
Crastinus lightened the tension with a little technical comment. ‘Yes, here come three Eagles, breasting the rise together. Those must be the three fresh legions of Ventidius Bassus. They didn’t fight at Mutina, so they will be up to strength. But the men in the ranks are veterans, so I’ve been told. Yes, veterans, and good ones. A very pretty piece of marching. But look, over there to the right. Two more Eagles, and some of the men march bareheaded, without javelins. They have seen hard fighting. There are a lot of them for only two legions. Did our gallant Marcus lose an Eagle? It’s not like him. I would expect him to be killed before he would yield an Eagle in fair fight.’
‘That’s no way for your orderly to talk of a public enemy, sir,’ said Laterensis. ‘My good man, the rebels did not lose an Eagle in the field, though they were defeated. But the gallant Consuls scattered two of their legions. I suppose stragglers from the beaten cohorts now march with the Eagles that remain.’
‘They are Roman soldiers. Some of them fought with me in the conquest of Gaul,’ Furnius murmured. ‘Men like that rally to their standards even in defeat; and I for one am proud to see it.’
‘It is indeed pitiable to see gallant Roman soldiers misled into waging war on their own City,’ said the Imperator. ‘Perhaps there may still be a way to peace. Nothing but the ambition of one man stands between us and universal concord. When Marcus Antonius sees that further retreat is barred by my faithful army he may admit that his cause is hopeless.’
There was a murmur of agreement from all save Laterensis, who snorted. But now Lepidus saw his way clear. He had spoken without thinking, saying merely the obvious soothing thing. But that was notoriously how a supernatural adviser put the right idea into the head of a faithful worshipper, the genius of the gens Aemilia had shown him how to deal with this awkward situation.
‘Attention, gentlemen,’ he said clearly. ‘These are my orders for today, to be carried to every cohort with the utmost speed. The army will remain prepared for action. Alternate cohorts will man the palisade while their comrades eat or rest. Every soldier will be fully armed at all times; but we shall not draw out in line of battle. Sentries will be posted on the river-bank; they will full back on the palisade if the Antonians advance. The utmost vigilance and readiness is imperative. No man may leave the ranks without permission, which will be granted only for necessary fatigues. Now, are there any questions?’
‘Have you further instructions?’ Laterensis asked sulkily.
‘No, but as you seem puzzled I shall explain my intention. I wish to avoid battle, at least for the next ten days. When the proconsul Lucius Munatius Plancus has joined us we shall be greatly superior to the Antonians; before that it would be folly to risk a general action. I go further. If the troops remain firm in their ranks there may never be a battle. The Antonians will see that their struggle is hopeless, and some peaceful arrangement will prevent a shocking effusion of Roman blood. Therefore there must be no provocation; while the army before us refrains from attack our men must not molest their pickets. On our good conduct depends the peace of the Roman world. I shall demand the strictest discipline.’
‘Then we may not attack these public enemies of Rome, even if they come within range of our javelins?’ asked Laterensis. ‘I want to be quite sure, sir, that I understand you; for these are unusual orders in the thick of a civil war.’
‘You have understood my orders, legate, and you will carry them out in every particular. One thing you seem to have misunderstood. We are not in the thick of a civil war. We are trying to preserve a menaced peace.’
Knights and couriers galloped off to spread the orders of their Imperator through his seven legions. Laterensis saluted with exaggerated precision, as though on a ceremonial parade. Furnius permitted himself a low whistle of surprise as he hurried off to his hut, to pass the news to his own commander as quickly as he could get it on paper. The group dispersed, leaving the Imperator alone with his orderly.
‘I’m glad we don’t fight today, my lord,’ Crastinus said quietly. ‘Each day’s delay is another day of life for thousands of good Caesarians. By the way, if we have to attack after all you should put the Tenth in the centre of the front line, with the praetorian cohorts behind them. Perhaps you can get them to charge if they see sharp swords in their rear.’
‘Silence, Crastinus. I must think,’ answered Lepidus.
As he walked back to headquarters he had plenty to think about. Furnius had been surprised at his decision, which meant that as soon as Plancus heard of it he would be surprised also. He might even interrupt his march and leave his colleague unsupported, with fierce Antonians prowling round his palisade. Laterensis, of course, was angry and disappointed. Tonight he would write to his Optimate friends in Rome, and when they learned the news there would be an outcry in the Senate. They might even send lictors to confiscate the Aemilian mansion, though of course the lives of Junia and his sons would be in no danger. Noble Romans did not revenge themselves on helpless women and children, even in a bitter civil war. All that he had discounted. He had known his decision would be unpopular. But anything was better than taking the offensive against Antonius, unsupported.
Now in addition his orderly warned him not to trust his best legion. Of course the Tenth were Caesarian, as he was a Caesarian himself; in the west there were no anti-Caesarian soldiers, save the ragged stragglers who followed Decimus Brutus. But the chief of the Caesarian faction, young Caesar Octavianus himself, had recently made war on the Antonians. That showed that it was reasonable to fight them. How could he drive this argument into the thick heads of his veterans?
If his men were wavering in their allegiance, how was he to win back their loyalty? When faced with a threat of mutiny, the ancestors always answered with extreme severity. He ought to decimate that untrustworthy legion, compelling the men to draw lots so that he
could execute one in ten. But common sense told him that the surviving nine-tenths would not love him any better afterwards. He was an old-fashioned nobleman, who expected unquestioning obedience from the lower orders; but he was also an experienced politician, and when a politician encounters hostility his instinct tells him to offer a bribe. Could he invent an excuse to give the Tenth Legion a bounty? Out of public funds, naturally, not from his own purse. That was no good. He could not think of a convincing reason, and he would have to make the same payment to every soldier in his command.
Very well. There was nothing to be done. He would do nothing. Presently Antonius must attack, and he would make the best defence he could; or Antonius would march away, and his troubles would be over; or Plancus would arrive and share the responsibility.
He ventured one remark, just to show his orderly that he was not completely stunned by the prospect of action. ‘Thank you for your hint. I shall keep the Tenth from any contact with that other army.’ (He must avoid calling the Antonians the enemy; there was no telling how the future would turn out.)
‘Beg pardon, my lord, but that’s the wrong way to go about it,’ answered Crastinus. ‘You should invent an excuse to get them out of camp, and tempt the Antonians to fight them. If the others attack them first they will do well enough. It’s just that they may be a bit slow if they are asked to do the attacking.’
Really, this common soldier seemed to delight in snubbing his commanding officer. Lepidus did not speak again until he had reached headquarters.
Inside the hut Eunomus jumped up from behind his desk of ration boxes to tell his patron the news. Lepidus was fresh from the outposts, and Eunomus never stirred from his cushioned chair; but the freedman always heard the news first. Lepidus was accustomed to this, and nowadays took it calmly.
‘They want to negotiate, my lord. A pity they left it so late. They have scared our sutlers clean back to Narbo. They could have sent envoys when they were twenty miles off, instead of waiting until they reached the river. They haven’t actually sent envoys, I understand. But they are building huts without making any kind of defence round their camp. That shows they must intend to parley.’
‘No, they have sent no envoys. That I would know as soon as you, my Eunomus,’ said Lepidus mildly. ‘What’s all this about their building an unfortified camp? They were at least a mile away when I last saw them.’
‘Marcus Antonius moves fast, my lord. His vanguard marched right up to the river-bank, where the bridge used to stand; then they fell out to light cooking-fires, under the javelins of our pickets. They take it for granted that our men won’t harm them. The cavalry are watering their horses where the river flows past our palisade. That shows their general will send envoys, doesn’t it?’
‘Probably, but it’s no reason why I should receive them. If Antonius genuinely wants peace he can negotiate from a distance, as you said just now. To picnic like that in front of my troops is rank bad manners. It must be intended to make me look foolish, and I won’t have it. Messenger, send a general order throughout the camp. No envoys to be admitted, on any pretext; not even Antonius himself, if he comes unarmed and waving an olive-branch. If someone approaches, the nearest sentry is to cast three javelins: the first over his head, the second into the ground at his feet, the third slap through his belly. He may count ten between each cast. That is an order. Repeat it, to show you understand it.’
‘There,’ he said cheerfully, as the messenger hurried out, ‘that will show them I can make up my mind, even when ill-mannered ruffians try to bounce me into a decision without allowing me time to think. I refuse to be hurried, into making peace or into making war. What I do today may affect the lives of our grandchildren. I must have leisure to decide.’
He dismissed even his secretary, and told the sentry that he was not to be disturbed by anyone. Alone, he paced the floor of his hut, balancing pros and cons in his mind.
Only once before had he taken an important decision, when he disobeyed Pompeius to throw in his lot with Caesar; and then Junia had advised him. On every other occasion respectability had been his only guide, and it had been enough. Respectability had made him a praetor in the good old days when no one had heard of the little river Rubicon; respectability had made him Master of the Horse to a Dictator, respectability had made him proconsul of Narbonese Gaul and Hither Spain. Now no course of action was respectable. It was no use asking what his ancestors would have done. His ancestors would have fought Antonius, and beaten him; if he fought, he knew he would be defeated.
Since he could decide nothing, he would do nothing. Until Plancus arrived he would sit out a siege; a strange kind of siege in which the besiegers foraged under his palisade and built their unfortified camp within range of his javelins. All the same, unless his men guarded the camp with the utmost vigilance he would be lost. After he had eaten a little biscuit, for at midday he was still fasting, he set out to walk round the rampart.
His soldiers were cheerful enough, gazing keenly over the palisade with their javelins handy. But every officer he met was worried. As soon as the Antonians arrived there had been a few desertions; though these were counter-balanced by the appearance of a few deserters from Antonius. It was not an organized movement. As far as he could sort it out, legionaries with relations or close friends among Culleo’s men had gone to visit them, and veteran Antonians who had once served with the Tenth had come over to see their old comrades. Meanwhile the troops of both sides were beginning to exchange shouted gossip, and he saw with dismay that the Antonians were gathering material to repair the broken bridge. By tomorrow the two armies would be playing dice across the palisade unless he did something to remind them that they belonged to separate, perhaps hostile, forces.
When a quartermaster sought him out with a tale of a valuable convoy on the way, he had an inspiration. Hurrying back to headquarters, he sat down to draft detailed orders in his own handwriting.
Proud of his scheme, he explained its beauties to Eunomus while the secretary made out fair copies. ‘I shall need three copies of this order, each certified by my personal signet. One is of course for the officer who must carry it out, the second will go on the headquarters file, the third is to be kept under lock and key with the pay-sheets and the tax-receipts. You see, Eunomus, any action I take during the next few days is sure to be the subject of an inquiry by a committee of Senators. I can’t please everybody; by the end of the month either the Optimates or the Caesarians will be trying to put me in the wrong. I think it will be the Caesarians, for this order must bring on a skirmish. Yet on the face of it my action is purely a matter of routine; no Senator who has commanded troops of his own can find fault with it. Here is this convoy of biscuit and bacon, bought from the taxes of Narbonese Gaul. At this time of year the drivers prefer to travel by night, to spare their oxen the heat of midday; so the wagons are due to reach camp about dawn tomorrow. Only a furlong away are the Antonians; neither friends nor enemies so far, but known to be hungry and penniless. If their patrols encounter the convoy they will try to steal it. Duty demands that I protect my men’s supplies. Therefore at sunset I send out four cohorts to meet the wagons. There, it’s all in the order. That doesn’t look as though I were deliberately bringing on a skirmish, does it?’
‘No, my lord, it does not. This is a prudent precaution; no Senator can blame you for it. Why are you so sure the Antonians will attack the convoy, when it is guarded by four cohorts?’
‘Ah, that’s where my cunning comes in; and the best of it is that nothing appears on the records. It so happens that the legion next on the roster to furnish a detachment is the Tenth. So four cohorts of the Tenth will be detailed for the job. But four cohorts is too large a command for a military tribune. I ought to send a legate. Again I consult the roster, and I find that the legate due for the next expedition is Laterensis. Now do you see?’
‘I understand completely, my lord. Shall I fake the roster to correspond with your orders? That would be prudent, in case the
committee of inquiry impound your papers. A very pretty scheme indeed, if you will accept my humble congratulations. The veterans of the Tenth may be Antonian at heart; but, no matter what their political opinions, they will resist strangers who attack them in the dark to make off with their breakfast.’
‘And even if the Antonians allow the convoy to pass unmolested, Laterensis will seek out their patrols and bring on a skirmish unprovoked.’ His patron completed the explanation with a chuckle.
‘Then you have decided to make war on the Antonians, my lord? Will you throw in your lot with the Optimates?’
‘No, and I have not decided to make war on Antonius. Yet he should know that I am capable of making war on him. Then perhaps we can arrange reasonable terms of peace.’
‘A difficult task, my lord. But you have seven strong legions against his three newly raised ones and the battered survivors of Mutina. So long as you control your men, he must listen to you. It all turns on that. They tell me that at midday the last of the Gallic horse deserted. No one knows whether they went to seek bounties from Plancus or Antonius.’
Lepidus went out without another word. He had expounded his clever stratagem to Eunomus, and the freedman, forgetting the respect due to his patron, had let it be seen that he considered the scheme too difficult to be accomplished. Of course his soldiers would be loyal to their Eagles! He was Imperator and Triumphator; Caesar had honoured him with the Mastership of the Horse. The men must be impressed with the greatness of their commander. Besides, they ought to be proud that they followed Aemilius Lepidus, bearer of one of the greatest historic names of Rome.
Three's Company Page 13