Moar liek Pomepebutthole! Huehuehuehuehuehue...
I jest, I know next to nothing about Roman history, but my interest has been piqued.
The Die Is Cast--OR--How A Single Birth Changed History
- Thread starter SlyDessertFox
- Start date
Moar liek Pomepebutthole! Huehuehuehuehuehue...
I jest, I know next to nothing about Roman history, but my interest has been piqued.
Dirk
Banned
Freaking awesome TL! Your situational writing skills are great!
Hmmm, I'd maybe change that Gaius Cato, or add his nomen in and always refer to him by such + cognomen. As it stands, I can see how somebody without sound knowledge of this time period and Roman naming conventions could get hopelessly confused.
Hmmm, I'd maybe change that Gaius Cato, or add his nomen in and always refer to him by such + cognomen. As it stands, I can see how somebody without sound knowledge of this time period and Roman naming conventions could get hopelessly confused.
He was just Gaius Cato (or at least that's how he's presented in all the sources). It's terribly confusing but I'll try and always put Gaius Cato for him and either just Cato or, probably more often, Marcus Cato/Marcus Porcius Cato for the Cato we all know and love.
EDIT: Also, thanks for the praise.
Dirk
Banned
Why not just make up a nomen for him, then? Look through a list of Roman nomina and use a simple one that nobody famous has. Maybe Lollius?
No thanks required, it's just the truth! Check your email though
Alea Iacta Est
Rome, January 19th, 702AVC
Rome, January 19th, 702AVC
Publius Clodius Pulcher pondered his chances at election as he strided along the Via Appia back to Rome, his band of slaves and gladiators marching alongside him. Defeat was not an option, for it would almost certainly mean prosecution and a likely conviction in the courts for the widespread violence he was using to secure his election and, more importantly, to engineer Milo's defeat. It didn't particularly matter, as far as Clodius was concerned. Milo was equally culpable, and as praetor he could ensure Milo's downfall in...
“Up ahead!” his slave Felix pointed in the distance. Felix was so named because he was one of the only ones who continually manages to come out of Clodius' street fights unharmed, a very lucky fate indeed.
Clodius peered ahead as a mass of men—armed, from the looks of it-- came into view in the distance.
“Those don't look like travellers,” Clodius stated the obvious.
“Milo's men alright,” Felix' observation led to furious discussion among Clodius' followers. Clodius knew that many of them were eager for a brawl, but this was no time or place to fight. Nevermind he was seriously outnumbered.
“Stay together,” he turned around to address his gang, “I do not want anybody to lift a finger on Milo's men as we pass, does everyone have that clear?” Clodius was greeted by mostly silence, so he tried again, “Is that clear?” Finally, he was greeted with a satisfactory reply, and proceeded to continue his trip.
As they approached Milo's gang, Clodius grew tense. His numbers were larger than he thought. While Clodius was by no means adverse to using violence obviously, he by no means wanted an encounter in these conditions. His violence was meant to advance his political career, not destroy it in one suicidal move.
The two gangs crossed each other's paths slowly and menacingly, both moving to opposite ends of the roads. Abuse and insults were hurled in both directions. Clodius worringly noted that those at the end of Milo's gang inched ever closer to his own men. He instinctively drew a tight grip on his concealed dagger, and witnessed Felix do the same. Then he heard a scream, and he looked back to what he expected and feared to see. One of his men lay dead on the street, blood puddling up around him with one of Milo's partisans standing above him. Then, as he grasped the gravity of the situation, he saw Milo's man go down in a heap from an unwieldy sword swipe courtesy of one of Clodius' own men. And then all hell broke loose.
Lucius Tremellius cursed his luck. This was his first time back in 3 years, and rather than being able to spend it with his family and enjoy it, he was instead pressured by Publius Crassus into being his personal guard, alongside Faustus and Quintus Ennius of course. Ennius, no surprise, loved it. Well, the idea of it anyway; he wasn't particularly glad that Crassus had not encountered any situation where they would be of much practical use, meaning where he would get to beat people to a pulp. Though the pay was enough to allow Ennius to gamble and drink and get in brawls of his own about as much as he wished, so he was content with it. Faustus just didn't seem to care. There was something about him that lent itself well in allowing him to drift from place to place without much complaint. It wasn't depressed resignation—Faustus was one of the upbeat people Tremellius had come across—but it certainly wasn't eagerness for change either. Perhaps he'd find out as he got to know him.
Tremellius, on the other hand, was bitter. He did not particularly enjoy fighting; soldiery was his duty, and while he relished in being a soldier, he was only continuing in his grandfather and father's path, who, interestingly enough, had served under Marius and Sulla respectively. Playing soldier for Roman politicians in the streets of Rome—although he understood the need, given the violence that had engulfed the city since the time he departed—was not a career path he had in mind, especially when it came with the unspoken understanding that he might be required to kill fellow Romans if it ever came to that.
Of course, neither was he happy with having to escort Crassus every which way, which was what he was doing now. Crassus had summoned him the previous evening, explaining his need to have the trio accompany him to Pompeius Magnus' estate outside Rome. Tremellius could not very well say no, and so here was, trotting along on his horse. He solemnly looked ahead into the distance; great, now there was a large throng of people he'd have to maneuver through. Just his...
Tremellius paused mid thought, and took a closer look at the crowd of people in front of him. He had to take a third look to confirm what he saw, and alerted Publius.
“Those men are armed, sir.”
“Yes, Milo's men by the looks of it,” Publius observed.
“How do you know?” Ennius inquired, his tone unable to contain his excitement at the prospect of a fistfight.
“Clodius' rabble would never be as well armed”
Ennius grunted thoughtfully, and the four men paused until Crassus gave orders. This may have not been the army, but they still acted like soldiers.
“Move up slowly, if they don't turn off the road up ahead, we'll just have to go around them.”
Tremellius saw no fault with the plan, but as they approached, Milo's men began filing off to the side of the road. That's when another band travelling in the opposite direction became visible, and audible shouts could soon be heard eminating from both sides.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
“Hold,” Crassus held up his hand, “Follow me,” he lead them off to the side of the road, and Tremellius tensed up, unsure if they would pass without incident. He eased up and let out a sigh of relief as the two gangs had nearly passed each other. Just as he let out his sigh, he tensed up once more as someone from Milo's gang broke rank and charged and stabbed a Clodian partisan. He knew what would happen next; the man was in turn taken out, and a massive scruffle ensued.
Tremellius warily turned to Crassus who cursed himself.
“By Jupiter, why today?” Crassus thought aloud. “Everyone, dismount. All on me.” Ennius eagerly complied, but Faustus and Tremellius hesitated.
“You can't be serious?” Faustus spoke aloud what Tremellius was more or less thinking.
“But I can. This is no time for argument, if either Milo or Clodius dies, Rome will be in flames by tonight.
Reluctantly, Tremellius and Faustus dismounted and followed him into the melee. Ennius threw himself into the scrum with relish. Tremellius easily ducked below a poorly trained sword thrust, lifting the poor man up as he nearly fell over on him and heaving him over his body on to the ground, paying him no more mind. He wouldn't kill anybody if he could help it.
Another man came up behind him and tackled him to the ground, while his accomplice pulled out his dagger to slit Tremellius' throat. Faustus came to the rescue, throwing the man off him and drawing his sword to dispatch the other. He clearly did not have as many qualms about killing people as Tremellius did.
Both of them now followed Crassus, who was making his way to the injured Clodius.
“Clodius, you bloody fool!” He hoisted him over his shoulder, sword in one hand as he backed away, Tremellius and Faustus protecting the both of them. “Where the hell is Ennius?”
Tremellius broke rank to seek out Ennius, taking out anyone in his way. He yanked Ennius from behind, and was nearly met with a hook to the jaw bone before Ennius realized who he was.
“We're getting out!” Reluctantly, Ennius returned with Tremellius, and they led a tactical retreat to a nearby barn, everyone else being too distracted fighting each other to notice them slip away.
Can't wait for the next update!
I might not be able to get one up this weekend, since I have to work, but I'll try.
Not really, I've just been terribly busy. Spring break started today, so I'm trying to take advantage of it to launch a flurry of updates on these timelines.
Alea Iacta Est
Elections, 702 AVC
Elections, 702 AVC
The various disturbances that had wracked the state in late 701 into 702 AVC had caused the elections to be delayed until late February. Violence between Clodius and Milo had led many to yearn for Pompeius to be appointed dictator, an extraordinary proposal that Cicero meekly voiced his opposition to, and the Catonians mobilized with all their effort to block. Clashes in late January into February finally convinced Cicero to plead with Lepidus, who was nominally appointed head of state until elections were held, to set a date for the comitia centuriatato convene and once and for all hold elections before they would have to concede to Pompeius and bring him in to restore order.
“Yes, I fear my life may be in danger if I do not,” Lepidus chuckled nervously and tried to make light of the mobs that were daily harassing his home, both from Clodius and Milo. It was perhaps the only time the two men ever had concurrent goals.
“But,” he continued, “That is exactly why I cannot hold the elections. Rome is far too unstable and chaotic for elections to be held, and the augurs will surely keep delaying the elections even if I do declare them.”
Cicero sighed before responding, “I can take care of the augurs. We need elections soon, even if it means that ridiculous wretch gets his praetorship.”
“And Milo?”
“Milo can be controlled. As much as I am loathe to be in his debt, I have obligations to him for his effecting my recall. In any case, he is as effective an enemy to Clodius as any”
“Very well, Cicero. I will declare the comitia be convened in one week from the ides.”
There were few unsurprising results in the elections. Clodius, his gang following behind him, triumphantly listened as his election was the first of the praetors declared, and basked in his triumph, his enemies humiliated in how handily he had won. At the very least, they had been hoping he would be one of the last elected, thus at least showing his popularity was not as strong as it was during his tribunate. What it instead proved was it was even stronger.
His sly grin spread wide across his face, Clodius waltzed over to some of his supporters, shaking their hands and thanking them for voting for him. Being February, it was chilly, and clouds ominously were gathering across the sky. The occasional gusts of chilling air did not help things, and Clodius could not help but shiver. He wished for nothing more than to retreat to his home and celebrate his victory from the confines of his warm house on the Aventine, but he stuck it out, wishing to make his gratitude well known.
Some of the men were those who he had personally paid for to come into town and vote for him from various towns scattered across Italy. Others were those he had slipped a few bribes too, and all of them were those he wanted to make sure were in his debt and knew he would have their interests in mind. Like any politician, he had taken out serious loans to assure his election, and he looked forward to being able to secure for himself a lucrative province to pay back his lenders and prepare for his greatest achievement, a victory in the consular elections. Asia would be nice-there would be no military matters to worry about-but if not, he certainly would not mind Macedonia...
Clodius paused in his ingratiating himself with his equestrian supporters to steal a glance at Milo confidently marching to hear the consular results read out. Clodius gracefully excused himself. He had campaigned hard to assure Milo did not win the consulship, and his gang wore battle scars from the clashes between the two men over the past several months. More of his political capital had been spent supporting Metellus Scipio[1] and Plautius Hypsaeus for the consulship than supporting his own bid for praetor. If Milo was elected, it would be a stinging defeat, and would spell a long year ahead.
As the results were read out, Clodius initially felt confident. Metellus Scipio was the clear frontrunner, and Plautius Hypsaeus appeared to be holding his own ahead of Milo. Clodius' gang stared down Milo's as they tensely awaited the results, and Milo's retaliated in kind. The two sides stood stone faced at each other, ready to engage at any moment. Behind Clodius, Hypsaeus lingered awkwardly around his patron, and Metellus Scipio chose to distance himself. Eventually, he disappeared to thank his supporters after his election was the first to be declared. With Milo still trailing Hypsaeus, Clodius could hardly believe how total his victory was appearing.
Then, as the last of the centuries began to declare their votes, Milo experienced a sudden surge and overtook Hypsaeus. Clodius shuddered at the prospect of his arch enemy now becoming consul, Plautius Hypsaeus despaired and left the Campus Martius in disgrace, realizing he had lost. Milo had nearly buckled and for a brief few moments, Clodius had believed he had pulled off the impossible and defeated the combined backing of Pompeius and the Catonians. He was stunned, his plans to secure Milo's conviction for maiestas by assuring his placement as praetor of that court now in ruins for the time being. Nor was their time for an ambitu[2] case, as the delayed elections had assured they would be sworn in within the week no doubt.
Nonetheless, Clodius wished to present himself as the better person, and calmly approached Milo's gang, confidently ignoring them as they clutched their daggers. He embraced a surprised Milo in a bear hung, exclaiming,
“Congratulations my dear friend on your election. May Fortuna be with you I hope, for you do not have the cadre of tribunes I have at my back, nor the love of the people,” It was as much a threat as it was a congratulatory statement. Milo, for his part, was not cowed,
“You'll be surprised what you can accomplish with gladiators and the senate at your back,” he retorted.
“I am sure Scipio will be surprised to know that he is now counted among your allies. You'd be wise not to disregard the power of the people, my dear friend, many have done so and suffered the dreaded consequences.”
With that threat, Clodius departed, not allowing Milo the gratification of a retort. Clodius knew he could count on any number of tribunes; Titus Munatius Plancus and Quintus Pompeius Rufus were solid partisans of his, and he reckoned that if the situation required it, he could convice Gaius Sallustius Crispus to choose his interests over Pompeius' despite his divided loyalties. And of course, Metellus was in his debt for his crucial campaigning. Clodius may have lost the battle, but the war was not yet over.
The following day, Clodius approached the Temple of Jupiter to read what was posted. Plancus had informed him that Milo had nailed some papers to the door, outlining what he hoped to achieve in the early days of his consulship. It was even chillier today, and Clodius cursed himself as the wind nearly blew his toga off. As he passed by the rostra, he approached the man reading out the day's decrees and events, and whispered in his ear.
“Quintus Pompeius Rufus will be delivering a contio at noon!” the man declared to anyone who may have been listening, adding, “He will be speaking on the agenda of Titus Annius Milo!” Clodius thanked the man and continued on. He hardly knew what Milo's proposals were, and yet he was already prepared to rebuke them. Having learned from his defeats in years past, Clodius knew well enough he could get more done by managing things through loyal allies, rather than directly.
In front of the temple, Clodius was not surprised to see Rufus already pouring over the details of Milo's planned legislation. Rufus had posted his own agenda (as had Plancus and the other tribunes), but it was none too ambitious; he knew he would be spending more time opposing legislation than sponsoring his own. If any opportunities presented themselves, he could always modify his position and sponsor an ambitious bill later down the road.
“Rufus, my good friend!” Clodius wrapped his arm around Rufus' neck, startling him and sending him stumbling forward. “Get a good look at this legislation. You're giving a scathing contio against it at noon.”
Rufus gave a sigh and accepted his fate. “Do you know what's here?”
“No, but if you give me a second to look at it first,” Clodius was cut off by his friend.
“It's ambitious. He wants to place a 5 year interval between a magistracy and a pro-magistracy”
“So the same shit that Cato has been talking about for the past year? I don't think Pompeius will like it when he hears his man is taking aim at Caesar!” Clodius laughed, but Rufus didn't join in.
“Caesar's essentially been grandfathered in,” his friend noted dryly. “This won't effect him much.”
“Rufus, my friend, you have much to learn in the art of politics. You've come a long way, but I fear you think too much like a Cato and less like a Gracchus.” Clodius was fond of using those names to represent an inflexible by the letter and standard politician, and a wily and creative one like his idol Tiberius Gracchus. While those characterizations were not necessarily true, it got his point across, and more importantly, it gave him another way to make fun of Cato.
Rufus looked at him quizzicly before Clodius explained himself. “I do not care if Caesar was elaborately accounted for, nor do I care if Caesar is aware of that. What I care about is appearances, and to those who won't bother to actually read the full law-including many senators, and certainly all the plebs-it looks like an attack on Caesar by Cato's gang. And...” he once more wrapped his arm around his friend's neck, gave a sly smile, and whisked his other hand towards the sky, “And better yet...if Pompeius supports it, it looks like he is breaking with Caesar.”
“I see your point, but surely people won't be fooled into believing Pompeius is breaking with his father in law?”
“Think, Rufus, think. Start thinking like a Gracchus,” Clodius chided him. After he gave Rufus a moment to think, he sighed after no response came and continued, explaining, “Unless, of course, they believe Pompeius is preparing a divorce from Julia.”
“Cicero, my old friend!” Clodius ambushed Cicero from behind, wrapping his arm around his neck and making Cicero squirm in discomfort. Clodius recognized the value in making his enemies uncomfortable, as it gave him an intimidation advantage over them. Cicero, not wanting to encourage him, feigned ignorance of his presence.
“Surely, you are not still bitter over your exile?” Clodius feigned a wounded tone. “That was 6 years ago dear Cicero,” he pulled him in closer, “Politics is politics, the past is the past. I believe the 5 years of verbal assault I've undergone since then is punishment enough for my error?”
“I assume you're not here to engage in pleasant conversation about our intense hatred for each other?” Cicero finally gave in.
Clodius, evaded the question. “Your pupil, Rufus seems to have learned well from his years under your tutelage.” he pressed on when he saw Cicero wince at the mention of Rufus' name, “I assume you were here to listen to his speech.”
By this time, Cicero's slave Tiro, sensing his master's discomfort, had finally came between Cicero and Clodius. Cicero, not seeing a way out and nevertheless curious as to why Clodius wanted to speak with him, responded, “Yes, it's a shame someone with his oratorical talent associates himself with men of vulgar speech and personality.”
Ignoring the insult, Clodius moved the discussion forward in the direction he wished. Giving a brief chuckle in acknowledgment, he lobbed a curveball.“I also assume you've heard about Pompeius and Caesar yes?”
Cicero's interest was now piqued, and he raised an eyebrow. “I don't believe I have.”
Clodius now knew he had Cicero's full attention. “Well I suppose it's good news for you...” he paused for effect, “I've heard Pompeius is divorcing Julia”
Cicero was shocked at what he heard, but was immediately suspicious, as he was of everything that came out of Clodius' mouth. At the same time...perhaps Pompeius had heeded his advice? “That's preposterous” was all he managed to respond with, as the possibilities raged through his head.
“You would think...” Clodius was interrupted by a man who stumbled into him, and then nearly ran over Cicero. Probably drunk, he assumed before continuing, “You would think so. But I heard he is trying to court those not aligned with Cato. A smart move, don't you think?”
Cicero hardly heard what Clodius had said. Instead, he was thinking of how fast he could reach Pompeius' residence. If what the wretch said was true, then he wanted to hear it from Pompeius himself.
“Yes, smart. I must be going now, I appreciate the information.” Cicero and Tiro dove behind a crowd, and escaped from Clodius. “Tiro, how much denarii do we have with us?”
Tiro struggled to find his purse, before it dawned on him that he no longer had it. The drunk—well, he probably wasn't drunk—had stolen it, he presumed, Cursing himself, he spread his hands and replied, “Less than the drunk has.”
[1] Since Pompey isn't able to marry Metellus Scipio's daughter, Metellus is far from an ally of Pompey's at this time like he was in OTL in 52 BC.
[2] Basically, canvassing, bribing, etc. Normally, you could charge someone de ambitu in between their election and their inauguration.
Alea Iacta Est
Unrest et Chaos, March 3rd-11th, 702 AVC
Unrest et Chaos, March 3rd-11th, 702 AVC
“Preposterous.” Pompeius dismissed the accusation bruskly.
“Then why has even Milo heard of the charge? Surely these things do not spread to even your allies without having a grain of truth?” Cicero hopefully clung to the notion that he could at least force Pompeius to consider breaking with Caesar, if he was not doing so already. Julia was safely out of earshot, tending to their baby outside.
Pompeius ran his hand through his hair. “Milo is not so much my ally as he is Clodius' enemy.”
“Then what of his provinicial proposal? Are you not behind them?”
“What of them? Caesar has been accounted for, and his command in any case does not expire for 2 more years, as the people decreed.”
Cicero saw his chance. He launched into a legalistic tangent, twisting and manipulating what was written in the legislation to paint it as anti-Caesarian as possible in the eyes of the Catonians. His slave Tiro dutifully copied it down—his arguments here might be useful should he ever want to use them in a contio or in a speech before the senate. Pompeius, for his part, was not convinced, and only grew irritated.
“Damnit, Cicero, I may prefer the battlefield to the curia, but I am not a blathering idiot.” He was about to continue on his tirade, but the soft sounds of rain drops pelting against the rooftop allowed him a brief respite to calm his temper. His facial expression softened, and when Julia retreated inside from the rain, he decided now was the best time to terminate the discussion.
“The rain may pick up soon. I think it's best if you leave now before it pours.” They exchanged goodbyes, Pompeius escorting him to his horse, and Cicero departed alongside Tiro back to Rome.
The house of Marcus Porcius Cato resembled to a remarkable degree the man himself. As Cicero approached his residence on the Aventine, it stood out for its complete blandness. It was modest in appearance, and, unlike Marcus Crassus' house (now the residence of his eldest son Publius), it lived up to its outward appearance on the inside. The walls were completely barren, and there was hardly any furniture aside from wooden benches and a small table. A bust of the famous stoic Zeno was perched upon a stool in the corner, and Cicero joked that he was surprised there was only one.
The fact that they were meeting here at all was a result of the meeting being on short notice, and Cato volunteering his residence. Cicero discovered he was evidently the last one to arrive, for Hortensius, Ahenobarbus, and Metellus Scipio were already conversing. Ahenobarbus and Scipio appeared uncomfortable on the benches, squirming around and awkwardly shifting their positions. Hortensius decided to forego that problem and remained standing, using the wall as support. Cato, of course, sat perfectly upright, oblivious to his friends' discomfort, his cane shunted to the side. Cicero decided to emulate Hortensius, and decided against taking a seat. None moved to greet him, and instead he merely joined in on the discussion.
“For once, Cato, you are right.” Hortensius raised an eyebrow and Metellus Scipio mockingly cleared his ears. It was a rare thing indeed for Cicero to find common ground with Cato on political tactics, even if they generally agreed on the larger picture. Cato, predictably, ignored them as Cicero continued, “If we are to drive a wedge between Caesar and Pompeius, we must be unyielding in pushing this narrative.”
“So you agree then, Scipio must put forward a proposal to recall Caesar from his illegal war” Cicero winced as always at the term illegal war. He used to believe Cato used the term as a rhetorical device to stress his argument, but his constant use of it in private conversation meant Cato truly believed what he was saying.
“Yes,” he said hesitantly.
“And then Clodius will make sure it is vetoed.” Hortensius predicted.
“Precisely.” Cicero grinned, relieved he had support in the room. He was prepared for a protest from Cato, and was not dissapointed.
“Then we shall fight through it all and push them over the edge.” Cicero was familiar with Cato's brinkmanship, and had grown tired of it. Admittedly, it had normally been effective for his aims, but it was seemingly the only political ploy Cato knew how to use.
“We are looking to drive a wedge between Caesar and Pompeius, not force Pompeius into firmly supporting Caesar,” Cicero countered. “If you push us too far, Pompeius will be forced to respond in kind, and we'll be left with him and Caesar stronger allies than ever.”
“And we will expose them for the tyrants that they are!” Scipio rolled his eyes and Cicero spread his hands in exasperation.
“Cato's rhetoric aside,” Ahenobarbus intervened, “Surely we could garner the support for a recall? He's conducting the war poorly, seeing how he's lost all his gains with the rebellion?”
“If you want your command, Ahenobarbus, you'll have to wait 2 more years at least to get it,” Cicero sighed, exasperated. The conversation—or, by this point it would be more accurately described as an argument—for hours, only the approaching darkness bring it to a merciful end. Cato offered to allow them to remain in his house overnight. Fearing that meant sleeping on his barren floor, everyone respectfully declined.
Caius Sallustius Crispus watched with growing anger as Cato and Rufus engaged in a battle of words on the rostra. Cato was being led off by the tribune's lictors, continuing his tirade and resisting as they struggled to drag the man away. Rufus was basking in the limelight, unceasingly towing the line that Cato, Milo, and Pompeius were in league with each other to strip Caesar of his legitimate command. Sallustius was at the end of his rope, and had just about had enough.
Calmly walking up towards the rostra, he pushed his way through the throngs up people gathered to listen to and watch the spectacle. Some people made way, and soon a pathway opened up for him directly to Rufus. Everybody began to stare at him, and even Rufus paused for a brief moment in his speech to give him a perplexed glance. Sallustius returned an icy glare as Rufus continued his speech.
“The people are being depriv...” Sallustius firmly grasped Rufus' shoulder and yanked him to the ground mid sentence. Rufus hit the wooden floorboards of the rostra hard, and was frozen in shock and confusion. What the hell was happening?
“Enough of these games. Enough lies.” Sallustius scanned the crowd, trying to figure out where among them were Clodius' thugs. “It is absurd that Pompeius would divorce himself from his father in law. It is more absurd, and even criminal, that rather than debate the merits of the legislation Milo proposes we...”Sallustius felt a tug on his shoulder, and went tumbling backwards, stumbling off the rostra and into the crowd.
“The gladiators are training over in suburra, Sallustius,” Rufus mocked, eliciting nervous laughter from the crowds. Rufus tried to continue his speech once more, but Sallustius summoned his lictors and ordered his arrest. Rufus resisted, and soon his lictors, having given up on arresting the intransigent Cato, returned, and were duly ordered to arrest Sallustius in turn. A standoff resulted between the two groups of lictors, both unsure what to do and neither particularly eager to fight each other.
Sallustius, scanning the crowd to see certain men gathering together—presumably Clodius' thugs coming to rescue their patron's endangered ally—and decided to make a go for the rostra once more. Charging, he caught Rufus off guard, pulling him down on top of him and then rolling away, and confidently climbing back on to the rostra.
“It is abhorrent that rather than debate the merits, we are left bamboozled by petty politicking over...”Sallustius saw Rufus charging him, and, thinking quickly, he lowered his shoulder and lifted the lighter tribune over him, sending him flying. The crowd braced his fall, saving his face from becoming acquainted with the concrete.
“The great dual wisdom of Cato and Clodius and their henchmen are contriving to distract us from the merits and demerits of the legislation in favor of petty squabbles over Caesar and Pompeius. It...” Sallustius realized the crowd was no longer listening to him. Instead, the crowd had turned into a mob—two mobs, to be more accurate—that descended into a pitched battle.
“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. His feud on the rostra had turned into an all out war between the gangs of Clodius and Milo. Seeing men approach him, he fled with his lictors, Clodius' men rapidly coming towards him. He fled up the palitine, and quickly came to the conclusion that his lictors would be rapidly overrun if he did not find shelter. Desperately scanning for a place of shelter, he spotted Cicero's grand house up ahead. Cursing himself at having to beg a man he despised to protect his life, he ducked into the house, his lictors following suit.
Terentia was nearly startled to death as a handful of men poured into her atrium, and young Marcus Cicero Minor, who had happened to be standing by the door, was left brushing himself off after being knocked to the ground.
“Terentia, I am terribly sorry, where is your husband Cicero, it is very urgent.”
Still startled, she eeked out a reply, “H-He's at, he's at Metellus Scipio's house, wh-wh-why?” Stones and rocks pelting the walls and accompanied by angry shouts cued her in.
“There is a mob outside the door that wants my head, may I seek safe haven in here?”
Regaining her composure, she assented. “I assure you, I will be of no trouble.” He turned to his lictors, “You men, guard the door and windows.”
Terentia sighed. “Marcus, go grab the butcher knives please, just in case”
Titus Annius Milo rushed to the forum to partake in the carnage. It was less like an organized battle, and more like a bar brawl on a battlefield sized scale. He clutched his dagger tightly. With any luck, Clodius was in the crowd and he could finally rid himself of his staunchest foe.
Now was not the time for thinking however. A battle raged, and he had to focus. Pulling a man off his comrade, he threw him to the ground and attempted to run him through with his dagger. Milo was no military man, but he had served in many a campaign in his youth, and the poor man had probably never donned military dress in his life. He went to finish him off, when he in turn was yanked from behind and saw a dagger being pulled back and lunging toward his face.
Thinking quickly, Milo grabbed the man's arm just in time, twisting it enough until the dagger fell out. Milo thanked the gods as he regained his footing, perhaps a little too soon for the man he had previously been about to dispatch now had time to bring himself together, and Milo turned around just in time to get a clumsy slash across his left shoulder and bicep. Wincing in pain, he yelped at another slash gashing him across the leg. He managed to compose himself enough to open up a major gash on the man's arm with one swipe, forcing him to drop his dagger and grab his arm in agony.
Given a chance to escape, Milo retreated from the forum, falling back and struggling up the Capitoline. Limping heavily, he made it to the steps of Jupiter's temple, stumbling there and looking peering back to see the mob descending on towards him. Now bleeding profusely from his leg, he made an attempt to get inside the temple, but was lurched back by the mob that had now reached him. Obeying the sacrosanctity of the temple grounds, the mob duly dragged him mercilessly off the temple grounds. Milo could only close his eyes as they beat him to death.
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Alea Iacta Est
Aftermath and Scheming, Part I
“What on earth are they doing?” Sallustius asked worryingly as he watched from the balcony the mob in the forum gathering sticks twigs and piling them up in the center.Aftermath and Scheming, Part I
“Building a pyre.” Cicero commented dryly. Sallustius turned back inside. “2 days, 2 days now this has been going on.” Cicero banged his hands against the balcony in frustration. “We need a senatus consultum ultimum or Pompeius to arrive or...something to stop this madness.” Sallustius looked sympathetically at him. He may have been perhaps the most populist senator in Rome, but he loathed the street violence engulfing the streets.
“Publius Crassus is here.” Terentia emerged from inside.
“Finally,” Cicero exclaimed in relief. “Send him up here.” Crassus arrived with his younger brother and three soldiers following closely behind him, Tremellius, Faustus, and Ennius.
“So what's the plan?”
“I believe my men and yours are escorting us to Scipio's house?” Sallustius turned to Cicero to seek confirmation.
“Yes, you're the only man with his own hired guards that I trust these days. Later, if we can, we'll slip out to grab Pompeius.” Cicero added. “Though I wish you brought more than 3 men.”
Crassus, for whatever reason, found that hilarious and broke into laughter. “These three men here could take on the whole of Rome and stand a fair chance. Hardened veterans they are, they'll have no problem taking on any thug in the street, and they know it too.” Cicero looked not all that convinced, but it wasn't like he had any better options. “Things seem to be heating up down there,” Crassus pointed towards the forum. “Quite literally,” his younger brother added.
Cicero and Sallustius turned to get a glimpse of what they were talking about. A massive bonfire filled the forum and Cicero assumed Milo's body was atop it. Cicero silently bid a farewell to his now dead ally, and hoped only that Clodius' downfall would be etched into the violence of the past few days.
As if reading his mind as they walked down the steps and out the door, Crassus remarked as an aside, “You know Clodius is condemning the violence?”
Cicero sighed in exasperation. Of course Clodius was already shielding himself from inevitable reprisals in the courts.“Condemning violence by day, inciting it by night.”
“Nobody accused Clodius of being stupid,” Sallustius added.
“Is this not a sacrilegious act?” Pompeius questioned intently.
“For the love of Jupiter, Pompeius, Caesar is the Pontifex Maximus, he can pull strings for you later if you need them. If it ends your worries, I have asked the augurs to declare favorable omens.” Metellus Scipio practically shouted, exasperated by Pompeius' preoccupation with the matter of bringing soldiers into Rome.
“If you would like to call the senate together and figure out how to not get them all lynched by the mobs battling it out on the streets, you are welcome to try.” Cicero followed Metellus up. They were gathered at his garden around his pond—he had insisted they meet outside since it was a nice day—and Cicero was already irritation was not helped by the sun beating down right in his eyes.
“How..”Sallustius also had to adjust his position to escape the rays of the sun, “How long until you can gather enough of your men to bring order to the city?”
“Three days,” Pompeius sighed.
“Three days?!” Cicero threw up his hands. “In three days, Rome will be nothing more than a pile of rubble.”
Pompeius grew irritated but managed to calm himself. “Now it is my turn to lecture you fine men. Rome has been in anarchy for three days already and it is still standing. As much as I would like to be able to snap my fingers and have soldiers descend from the heavens right now, ready to march on Rome, the gods are not that kind to me. The 200 men I have with me would be fitting for a small town, but not to settle things down in Rome. I am the military man here, so I would prefer it if you men did not get in the way of things you do not understand.” Crassus assented, agreeing with Pompeius on the unfeasability of speeding things up.
Sallustius, much to everyone's surprise, was the one to speak up in opposition. “The men here, are they fully armed?”
“Uh, yes.” Pompeius answered, taken aback by the question.
“Then I don't see what the problem is.” Everyone now stared at him, as he continued, confidently outlining what he meant. “200 men is more than enough to take control of the city. If we leave here for Rome at dusk, we can enter the city under cover of darkness. Neither side has been very active at night, so when we enter, we occupy the forum and build some barricades. Before we leave, send out messengers to gather up and send to Rome whoever it is you were planning on gathering, and Metellus will summon a meeting of the senate. Send out your men to escort whoever wishes to attend to the senate house, and commense business. I presume we are going to abolish the collegia once more, yes?
He turned to Metellus and Cicero, who assented. “When the collegia are abolished, I think it's wise to use the soldiers to break them up,and then they can go home.” he clapped his hands together. “There, in 2 days, you have just brought order to Rome, and are now even more of a hero than before.”
Everyone was in awe at Sallustius' reasoning ability. None had ever expected much from the young tribune, so it came as a surprise when he left Pompeius speechless, unable to find fault with the plan. This only left Pompeius incensed—he had been stood up by a junior ally who had never commanded an army in his life on a military matter—but not even he could shoot down the proposal. It was a straightforward and effective plan, and Pompeius was compelled to go through with it.
The next few days saw law and order effectively restored to Rome. The senate retroactively ratified Pompeius' special command to end the violence in the city, and the collegia were decreed to be abolished once more, its enforcement being seen to by Pompeius' soldiers. He was given a special exemption and allowed to remain in the city with his imperium.
A strange quiet had ushered over the city. Yes, Rome was bustling with activity like before. The black market was alive and well between the Esquiline and Viminal hills in Suburra, and the forum returned to its normal state of gossip and shopping. The suburbs were as vibrant as ever, and most carried out their day as they always have, paying no care to the unrest in the city or cautiously observing it from a distance, getting daily updates from passersby and other travelers.
No, the quiet that swept over the city was of a political nature. There was an absence of speeches, and of bold declarations. Even Clodius was lying low, slipping into and out of senate meetings discreetly, wishing to wait for things to calm down before re-emerging in the spotlight. All business for the next week or two was conducted in the confines of the curia or in the houses of senators and politically active equestrians. It was a much less emotionally charged and more sullen atmosphere as they discussed with unusual openness who should be brought to trial for the murder of Milo. Yet at the same time, it was almost as if Rome waited with bated breath for the silence to break, knowing it was only temporary.
Clodius listened with increasing worry as partisans of his were implicated and slated for being scapegoated for the violence. Being a sitting magistrate, he was currently immune from prosecution, but the groundwork was clearly being laid for his prosecution the following year. More than ever now, Clodius needed to, if not scuttle it, at least delay any legislation on the lex Milo de provinciis (or whatever it would be called now that his enemy was dead). An extra year to prepare was what he needed, a year to gather the funds necessary to win a trial, and a year to allow the atmosphere in Rome to calm down and the events to become more distant. He needed a year to rethink his entire strategy now that his most implacable foe was no more.
Clodius made his way from the forum down the Via Sacra and towards the Viminal Hill. The refreshing spring air was covered by the usual stench of the insulae and he cursed himself when he stepped in dog feces; he hoped at least, not wanting to entertain the unpleasant thought of who else it could be from. Unable to spare the time to go to a public bath, Clodius considered discreetly washing his boot in the fountain, but decided the drinking water was dirty enough already. So it was with the stench of shit that he approached Pompeius’ house on the Viminal Hill.
“Salve, my dear Julia” he greeted Pompeius’ wife at the door as he entered into the atrium. She was breastfeeding the baby—Julia was adamant that the job not be left to a midwife, as was the norm among the upper class—and pointed him in the direction of the garden. “He’s become obsessed with it since we returned to” she began to sniff, becoming aware of the stench. “since we returned to Rome. What is that smell?”
“I, uh,” Clodius attempted to explain, embarrassed. “I, uh…it’s not been the best of days.
“Oh, um”
“The garden, yes? I can just go in the garden?”
“Um, yes.” Clodius made his way to the garden, surprised at the sheer amount and variety of plants. It was more like a jungle than a garden, and he had trouble weaving through the plant life.
“Beautiful, right?” Pompeius exclaimed, catching Clodius off guard. “I think I might even be able to fit a small pond in here, what do you think?” Clodius fumbled for a reply.
“Uh…sure.” He felt something rip and looked down to see a giant tear in his toga. Today was just not his day, he thought as he unraveled his toga, left in nothing but a brown tunic. At least the aroma’s from the plants seemed to conceal his stench.
“Did you step in shit or something?” Pompeius remarked, sniffing the air and finally turning to face him. So much for the aroma’s concealing the smell.
“On the way over here.” Clodius replied quickly, hoping to get past talking about how unfortunate of a day he’s been having. It was hard to project confidence and intimidation while standing in a thick garden in a tunic, all the while smelling literally like crap.
“Why are you here?” Pompeius questioned. “I somehow doubt my political rival decided to come over here and discuss flora over fine wine.” Clodius let loose a chuckle. At least he didn’t have to pretend to know about plants while he tried to lead the discussion to where he wanted it to go. Now he could get right down to business.
“I believe we have a mutual interest.” Pompeius raised an eyebrow at the statement, his interest piqued.
“And that would be?”
“You desire command against Parthia, that much is obvious.”
“You think so?”
“A man who has spent his career campaigning in the east sees a chance to revive his political fortunes and posthumously one up his lifetime rival by accomplishing what he couldn’t?” Clodius was of course referring to Crassus’ defeat. Before Pompeius could respond, he continued, “You want the Parthian command, and I desire Milo’s provincial legislation to die with him.”
“And what is stopping you from just vetoing it with your henchmen in the tribunate? Surely that’s easier and more face saving than coming to me and expecting I’ll do your bidding?” Pompeius was irritated that Clodius felt he could walk in and secure his support so casually. He still held a grudge against him for the humiliation he suffered 5 years ago, when he became a prisoner besieged inside his own house. “What makes you assume I need your assistance to get the command against Parthia?”
“You certainly don’t want me in opposition.” Clodius countered coolly. “I would rather I have a consul friendly to my interests in place than having to resort to those measures.”
“Plautius Hypsaeus,” Pompeius recited with disgust. “That fool?”
“He is the legitimate suffect consul, having come in third in the consular elections last month.”
“The legitimate consul is he who is elected in the special election held.” Pompeius responded forcefully, now losing patience.
“The consular elections were merely a month ago…” Pompeius cut him off. “I made the mistake of doing your bidding once before. I allowed Caesar to talk me into it, and I was repaid with rocks and stones.” Now having completely lost his temper, he began pushing and shooing Clodius away. “Out, you wretch! You disgrace to the Claudian line!” Claudius stumbled backwards and out of the house onto the street, the door slammed hard behind him. Brushing himself off, he calmly walked away. Pompeius had had his chance. Now it was time to go to his plan B.
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Alea Iacta Est
Aftermath and Scheming Part II
Aftermath and Scheming Part II
“That flies in the face of precedent,” Cicero continued where he left off, only briefly interrupted by Clodius’ arrival. Domitius Ahenobarbus was the object of his attack, and Clodius surmised his scheming was coming along nicely. “A consul is dead, and the only legitimate way to determine his successor is through election.” Cicero was greeted with a mixture of encouraging chants and boos, and sat down to allow Ahenobarbus a rebuttle.
“Having an election in March also defies precedent, and yet here we are. If I may remind everyone here, the last two elections were postponed for months due to violence and instability. It could be next year that these elections actually occur.”
Pompeius was worried and perplexed at the support being shown Plautius Hypsaeus by the boni and sat nervously on the other side of the room. Cicero, of course, had begun piecing everything together. He did not stand up to respond, and instead ceded the floor to Cato. He wanted to know how deep this plan reached. Cato stood up and thanked Cicero, his distinct black toga making him clearly visible to everyone in the room.
“What Ahenobarbus says is true. We have far more important matters, such as Caesar’s illegal war, to deal with that require two consuls. In these special circumstances, I do not see why it is necessary to summon the Romans from around the colonies once more to vote merely a month after they already voted. Nor do I trust that the results will not be rigged by the partisans of Pompeius and Caesar. Plautius Hypsaeus, no matter his politics, came in third place in the consular elections. With Milo dead, it is obvious that Hypsaeus is the legitimate consul designatus.”
Cato was greeted with more cheers than hisses, not unusual, for the man carried an almost cult following among many senators, including the backbenchers. He began steering the debate in his favor, and there was little Cicero and Pompeius could do about it; nor, in Cicero’s case, was there much he necessarily wanted to do about it. He had become disenchanted with politics in the past few years, especially so when it came to doing Pompeius’ bidding.
“What just went on in there?” Pompeius caught up to Cicero, who sighed at his failure to slip away quietly. He expected Pompeius would be looking for him.
“Clodius,” Cicero gave an apathetic reply, hoping to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.
“Clodius in league with the Catonians? That is sheer lunacy, what would they stand to gain?”
Cicero sighed. Must Pompeius always be so blind to political maneuvering? “The sun and the moon.” He replied.
“What?”
“The sun and the moon.” He repeated, and then clarified when Pompeius looked at him quizzicly. “Clodius would promise them the sun and the moon to accomplish his ends.”
“And what is the sun and the moon?”
“Power in the streets. Opposition to you, Caesar. Are you following?” Cicero was at his wits end with Pompeius.
“That would explain…”
“Explain what?” Cicero questioned, this time with interest.
“He came to solicit my support last week.”
“And you said?” By now Cicero was drenched and his mood reflected the dreary atmosphere, as all he desired was returning to his dry home and retiring for the evening.
“I would never work with him and would continue to try and ruin him.”
Cicero winced at the words, and buried his hands in his face. Was Pompeius this inept? Declaring his intention to seek the destruction of a political foe coming to him for support? A political foe as volatile as Clodius? “And what did you expect?!” he turned back towards Pompeius, exasperation on his face. “That Clodius would simply limp away? That he would not try other means? He’s fighting for political survival and you drove him into the arms of Cato of all people!?” Having scolded Pompeius to his satisfaction, he stomped off, leaving him stranded in the forum in the rain.
Fortunately for everyone involved, the sun decided to shine when the comitia tributa was gathered to ratify the lex put forward by Metellus to inaugurate Plautius Hypsaeus as consul. It was ratified relatively easily, as was expected. Pompeius confined himself to his house on the Viminal, depressed and outraged at suffering another political humiliation. Politics had given him nothing but setbacks.
“If only politics were like the army,” he mumbled to Julia during their meal, talking more to himself than her. “Then I would be atop Rome. No scheming. No oratory, no backroom dealing. The best persuader is the persuasion that is brought by force.” Julia ignored him, allowing her husband to think out loud. He hardly noticed, seemingly becoming more disillusioned with Roman politics by the day.
Julia wondered how he’d take another political defeat. Being very much in tune with Roman politics—she was, after all, the daughter of Julius Caesar—she knew Clodius’ coalition was aiming to deny him the Parthian command he so desperately desired. Clodia Pulchra had spared no details in bragging about it to everyone she came across, “It will crush him,” she had boasted to Julia proudly. Everyone but Pompeius seemed to know, and she thought better about being the one that broke the news to him. Julia hated hanging around Clodia; she was true to the Claudian tradition of being arrogant and unpleasant, but she also seemed to know everything that was going on in Roman politics, from who was sleeping with whose wife, to what the next big standoff would be. Keeping in touch with her was a sacrifice Julia was willing to make.
“You know,” Pompeius mused, this time seeming to actually be talking to her, rather than to himself. “I’ve been thinking about purchasing Lucullus’ old estate, along the Bay of Neapolis.”
“You want to be Xerxes with a toga?” she referred to his old derogatory nickname for Lucullus.
“Xerxes had all the wealth and power in the world, did he not?” Pompeius reclined in his couch, awaiting a response.
“But not enough to defeat the small but determined Greeks.” Julia knew enough about the Greco-Persian Wars to draw the comparison. Pompeius returned a thoughtful grunt.
“In any case, it’s a nice place. It’ll have to wait until after I get back from the east however.” Julia could only return a meek agreement, wondering if he would ever go to the east.
Fascinating update, just in general this is an amazing TL. The PODs are all ones I have been wanting to read about since I last looked into the period. Julia and child alive, Publius Crassus alive, Clodius alive and Milo dead. Those are truly amazing PODs.
I find it very interesting that Pompeius is being alienated from the senate so much, IOTL he seemed to have this wierd reverence for the institution that stopped him several times from pulling a Sulla/Marius/Ceasar on the place, so him turning against the senate is highly interesting. I cannot wait to see what is happening in Gaul and look forward to seeing how the political shifts in Rome affect Ceasar. It looks increasingly like Pompeius and Caesar are going to be fighting on the same side when everything falls apart, with Crassus perhaps siding with Caesar due to his past service and the familial history, everything I have heard of the man indicate that he was a staunch supporter of Caesar and could easily take Marcus Antonius' place as right hand man.
I find it very interesting that Pompeius is being alienated from the senate so much, IOTL he seemed to have this wierd reverence for the institution that stopped him several times from pulling a Sulla/Marius/Ceasar on the place, so him turning against the senate is highly interesting. I cannot wait to see what is happening in Gaul and look forward to seeing how the political shifts in Rome affect Ceasar. It looks increasingly like Pompeius and Caesar are going to be fighting on the same side when everything falls apart, with Crassus perhaps siding with Caesar due to his past service and the familial history, everything I have heard of the man indicate that he was a staunch supporter of Caesar and could easily take Marcus Antonius' place as right hand man.
Alea Iacta Est
Bellum Gallicum, Part I
Bellum Gallicum, Part I
“Clouds seem to have passed,” Marcus Antonius remarked, peeking his head outside. “And..ah, what do we have here?” he turned back inside.
“Is it the scouts?” Caesar asked urgently. They had been gone for some time, and he desperately wanted to know where the Gallic relief force was.
“Well, let’s see. Dirty young men that seem like they just went through hell?” he smiled deviously. “Either that, or your former lovers are here to settle the score.” That elicited laughs from Trebonius and Labienus, but merely an unamused stare from Caesar. Those rumors would stay with him until the day he died. Probably longer, for any hostile historian would be happy to set it down for eternity in the history books.
“Imperator!” his guard approached from outside the tent and saluted him. “The scouts have returned.”
“Bring them in.” Caesar ordered casually. The guard saluted and proceeded to do just that. He was followed back inside by the centurion leading the scouting mission, Marcus Fabius, who duly saluted before Caesar questioned him.
“Any trouble?” he asked.
“No, none at all, sir. We were pursued, by the Gauls you sent with us, they proved their loyalty, fortunately.”
“Good,” Caesar always liked to hear that everything went according to plan. He opened his mouth to speak, but Antonius interrupted him. “Enough with the friendly chatter, how far is the army, and how large is it?” Caesar glared at him, but chose to let the interruption slide. Fabius stood around awkwardly for a few seconds to see if any dispute between them erupted, before deciding to respond.
“Do you recall the story that Gaius Marius told about the Teutones taking 6 days to pass his camp.” Fabius asked ominously.
“Yes, a fabrication to be sure.” Caesar responded coolly, not letting his emotions show.
“A fabrication perhaps,” the centurion fidgeted nervously. “But I fear this army was far too large for me to surmise its size. It stretched well beyond eyesight, nor could we swing around behind it, for it was too large.”
“Very well,” Caesar mused over that info. “How far away are they?”
“I’d say a day on foot.” This information intrigued and worried Caesar more. He had expected them to be further away, and had hoped they would be in much smaller numbers. He thanked Fabius and dismissed him, waiting for him to be safely out of earshot before conversing with his staff.
“Utter bullshit.” Trebonius spoke first. “It would take an army the size of Rome to stretch across an area for 6 days.”
“You may want to find better scouts, preferably those not influenced by tall takes,” Antonius joked, half serious.
“From where?” Caesar questioned seriously.
“Caesar is right, most of our reliable scouts are now either with Vercingetorix or his relief army” Labienus replied, frustrated. Miscommunication had already cost them dearly once at Gergovia, and he feared it could rear its ugly head a second time.
“Enough,” Caesar put an end to the discussion over the competency of his scouts. “At least we know that the relief army is large, and it is close. It’s exact size doesn’t particularly matter.”
“Imperator!” the guard at his tent entrance came in once more.
“Yes?” Caesar asked, perplexed at his sudden intrusion.
“A sentinel from one of the redoubts is urgently seeking to speak with you.”
“Let him in,” Caesar replied, intrigued at what the man had to say.
“The Gauls, sir. They are encamped not more than a mile away.”
“Son of a bitch,” Antonius remarked as he leaned against the table and buried his face in his forearms. Trebonius began to pace nervously, and Caesar merely looked up at the roof of his tent, wondering how his scouts could have screwed up so badly.
“How do you know this?” Labienus broke the silence and asked. It was a good as question as any. A sentry certainly couldn’t see a mile away.
“We were out foraging, sir and…”
“A sentry foraging on duty?” Labienus pressed him.
Caesar held up his hand. “Let the lad speak, it doesn’t matter what he was doing when there’s an army bearing down on us. Continue.”
The sentinel looked around nervously before continuing his story. “I saw some men gathering water by a stream. They had trousers on, so I knew they were Gauls. Anyway, I didn’t think they saw me so I snuck around to another end of the stream and wadded across it. That’s when I saw scores of men on the hill. It looked like they were pitching camp.”
Caesar took the last statement with quite a bit of relief. “So they’re not marching?” he asked. Antonius whispered a thank you to the gods, and Trebonius let out a large sigh of relief.
“No, I don’t believe so.”
“Well then,” Caesar places his hand on his desk. “Arkadius,” he beckoned for his slave. “Give this man some gold coin. He’s earned it.”
“Yes, dominus.” Arkadius complied obediently.
“So it is settled then, yes?” Commius slammed his now empty cup of wine down on the wooden table. He was hardly audible over the alcohol induced chatter of the various chieftans. Keeping them orderly was always a difficult task. “Enough!” he shouted over them. “Enough, quiet down!” This finally got their attention. “Vindex, you can explain how good your mother is in bed another time!” he drew a hearty laugh from everyone by singling out the one man still talking.
“Ah, fuck you.” Vindex waved him away.
“As I was saying,” Commius took another mouthful of wine from his now refilled cup. “We will assemble the army tomorrow and assault the walls as early as possible, yes?” Most mumbled their assent.
“What about the trenches and traps?” Vercingetorix’s cousin, Vercassivellaunus spoke up.
“We fill ‘em up.” The Lemovaci chief Sedullos replied matter of factly, as he sipped his wine. He enjoyed savoring it, rather than just downing the wine in one or two gulps.
“How long will that take?” Vercasivellaunos persisted. “All I am saying is, we should leave nothing to fortune.” More chatter begun among the chieftans, and Commius was about to respond when the guard at the door approached him. “A soldier claiming to be a noble of the Mandubii wishes an audience.”
“Send him in.” What few Mandubii there were in his camp had come from the cavalry breakout from Alesia some time ago. Commius recognized the potential usefulness of someone who knew the terrain.
The man towered over them all in height, his blonde beard and long unkept hair helping him cut an imposing figure. “I see you have no natives in your war council,” he scanned around the room, not at all caring impressed by a room full of men of superior status. “A pitty.” He calmly walked up to Vindex and grabbed his cup of wine, tilting his head back and downing it before placing it back down. Vindex moved to protest, and the guards tightened their grip on their swords, but Commius intervened.
“Are you just here to drink all our wine, or do you have anything useful to report?”
“Careful,” the man replied calmly. “You should treat with respect a man who has valuable information.” Most were too stunned to reply, so he just shrugged his soldiers and continued on. “I’m assuming none of you imbeciles scouted out around Alesia yet?” he asked.
“Why?” was all Commius manages to reply with, still stunned by the man’s blatant disregard for authority.
“Because…” he responded, irritated by their sheer stupidity, “You may have recognized that there is one gaping in hole in the Roman fortifications.”
“Ah, so you’ve been out scouting all by yourself, I see?” Commius responded with derisive sarcasm.
The man stared at him for a second, partially with pitty, and partially with contempt. “I don’t need to scout it out to know there’s a weak spot in his wall. I’ve lived in these parts my entire life, and know the area better than you know your right from your left hand. Which, given the intelligence level you seem to exhibit, I question you even do know the difference.”
“Go on then, where is this big gap then?”
The man let out a sigh of contempt before explaining, “The northwest side of the wall. The terrain is broken and uneven enough to prevent the Romans from building a continuous wall. There’s also very conveniently a large hill that can hide a thousands of men easily. You would have discovered this easily if you had carried out even a single scouting mission.” The Mandubii noble didn’t bother to hang around, and promptly excused himself and departed, leaving the war council bewildered.
Commius sent an advance party out ahead to confirm what the man had said, and when they discovered he was indeed accurate, he sent out more forces to secure it. Vercassivellaunus was ordered to take 40,000 men (half the army) to the mount under the cover of darkness and then wait for an assault to be commenced on the main front by the rest of the relief force.
Throughout the evening, in clear view of the Roman army, the Gauls began filling up the trenches, repelling small sallies sent forth to hamper their efforts. As darkness approached, an all out assault was launched. The Gauls threw themselves against the Roman defenses, pushing the Romans back in some areas, and being held at bay at others. At this time, Vercingetorix, hearing the battle cries and the clash of armor, rallies his men and leads them out in a full sally. The men charged forth from Alesia, long hooks and other sally tools in hand to scale and break down the wall. The Gauls were fighting a desperate fight, a fight for their very livelihoods and survival, while the Romans fought just as tenaciously, believing complete victory to be at hand if the battle is won.
Missiles of all kings sailed over the heads of both sides, and it was impossible for many of them to miss their targets in the crowded atmosphere. Oftentimes they hit their own men as much as the enemy. It was at this time, as the momentum swung back and forth, that Vercassivellaunus launched his all out assault on the weak spot in the Roman fortifications, sending the Romans scrambling to plug the hole in their line.
“Antonius!” Caesar called for his third in command, having already activated Labienus and Trebonius. “Draw 6 cohorts from wherever you can find them. Plug that gap as quickly as possible!” Caesar himself departed to gather more troops himself, while Antonius galloped off in earnest. Antonius gathered what few reserves he could find—a mere 3 cohorts—and peeled off 3 more cohorts from the less embattled areas. Attempting to swing around to the other flank, he was forced to detach 2 cohorts to deal with a breach in the line by Vercingetorix. Bogged down, Antonius struggled to lead his men through to relieve the soldiers facing Vercassivellaunus, who were by now hanging on by the skin of their teeth, barely able to hold the line together.
In the midst of rallying his troops, Antonius was cut down by a stray arrow, piercing through his side and lodging itself in his belly. While the men around him rushed to drag him to safety, his relief force broke down, unable to reach their destination. Caesar soon arrived on the scene with detachments of his own, rallying them to his banner and leading them on a desperate race to plug the gap. By this point the holding force had crumbled, retreating in disarray until they were shamed by Caesar into throwing themselves back into the fight.
The battle had reached a critical point now, and the crucial theater was in the one weak spot in the line, where Caesar’s reinforcements, having prevented total collapse were themselves barely holding on against the tide. It was at this moment that Caesar’s horse was struck by an arrow, sending him tumbling to the ground as it reared up in pain. His men, already panicked as it was, believed he had been struck and killed by the arrow. They began to despair and the line began to crumble, Caesar getting back up and procuring another horse to show he was still alive not enough to stop the damage and prevent a breakthrough.
Now trying to prevent a total collapse, Caesar linked up with the struggling Labienus—Gaius Trebonius, by this time, had also been killed—and sounded the retreat, trying desperately to salvage what he could. The retreat was made easier by the rising of the sun, which allowed what was left of the Roman army to regroup and commence an organized retreat. This, combined with the exhaustion of the Gauls, is perhaps what prevented the total annihilation of Caesar’s army. It provided little comfort, for when Caesar and Labienus finally tallied up those who survived, they numbered barely 4,500, not even a single legion’s worth. The army limped back to Narbonensis, their spirits completely broken and Caesar’s ambitions completely dashed.
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Well now a new wild card is being thrown into the mix.
As for Pompeius, his alienation is of a...different variety than what you may be thinking. His off hand comments about Lucullus' estate in the Bay of Naples provide a clue. Publius Crassus is an interesting figure. He was both a staunch ally of Caesar and, at the same time, perhaps Cicero's biggest admirer. He doesn't have all the political connections and wealth his father had (that is naturally going to be split up between him and his younger brother), but he has a strong and ambitious personality and intelligence. Which reminds me...I should clear up something about Syria. OTL, Caius Cassius Longinus stayed in Syria and repelled a Parthian invasion in 51 (more on that in a future update, *winks), so naturally it may be questioned why Publius Crassus didn't do the same ITTL. My rationale is he wanted to get back to Rome for his own...political...reasons, and so patched things up there quickly, leaving Cassius (who still played an instrumental role alongside him ITTL in saving the army), to hold the fort over until a proper magistrate can take over.
Another thing: You folks might be wondering what's the point of making Julia and Pompey have a son together the starting point of the TL, especially in the wake of the last update. I will pre-empt those thoughts simply by stating that this grandson of Caesar's biggest effects will be seen much further down the road.