The King's Gambit(28)
Now Pompey stood. It was his day to wield the impe-rium, and Crassus sat silent, savoring his rival’s discomfort. Nobody had the slightest difficulty in reading Pompey’s thoughts. His clenched jaw said it all. He knew there was a real danger that Lucullus would destroy both Mithridates and Tigranes, leaving no enemies in the East to capture and plunder. There would be nothing left but Parthia, which had given us no cause for belligerence. Besides, the Parthians fought as mounted archers, and it was doubtful that even a master tactician like Pompey could overcome them without terrible losses. We Romans excel in infantry and siege tactics, not in the lightning, will-o’-the-wisp campaigning of the steppe warriors.
“Of the legality of General Lucullus’s proposed penetration of Armenia”—a nice bit of phrasing, I thought—"I shall refrain from speaking. I shall not hold this office when he marches. For now, I decree a day of public rejoicing, with sacrifices of gratitude to all the gods of the state. All further public business is forbidden for this day. Let us address the people.”
With a cheer, we made our way outside. I found myself jostling Sergius Catilina and could not resist a jab. “Not bad for a man whose statue was destroyed by lightning, eh?”
He shrugged. “The story’s not yet over. Plenty can happen between now and March. If you ask me, some piddling guerrilla campaign isn’t much cause for rejoicing.”
It was one of Rome’s besetting evils that, in order to petition the Senate to celebrate a triumph, a general had to have a smashing, spectacular victory that accomplished three things: end the war, extend the boundaries of Roman territory and carpet the ground with several thousand dead foreigners. Along with desire for loot and political power, the lust of our generals to celebrate a triumph got us into far too many unjust wars.
Outside, the scene was incredibly transformed. The jabbering mob we had pushed through was gone, replaced by as orderly an assembly as one could ask for. The lictors and heralds had gotten the populace to form up in the ancient manner, by tribes. In front, facing the Rostra, were the neatly ranked members of the Centuriate Assembly, the Plebeian Council and the Equestrian Order. Before all stood the tribunes of the people. I was gratified to see that the members of these assemblies had rushed home to don their best togas for the occasion. All stood in perfect order, ready to receive news of victory or disaster with dignitas, as befitted citizens. Moments like that made one proud to be a Roman.
The Consuls, Censors and praetors mounted the Rostra and stood beneath the bronze beaks of enemy ships. In utter silence, Pompey stepped forward. Beside him was the chief of the heralds, a man with the most amazingly loud voice I ever heard. At intervals through the crowd stood other members of the guild, ready to relay his words to those yet farther back. Pompey began to speak, and the herald amplified his words, and the citizenry learned of the events in the East.
Great shouts of joy went up at the conclusion of the address. Mithridates had slaughtered Roman citizens and allies all over Asia, and was probably the most hated man in the Roman world. It is characteristic of people to concentrate all their fears and hatreds on a single man, preferably a foreigner. These people were in far more danger from their own generals and politicians, but that would never occur to them. At any rate, everyone felt that it was all up for Mithridates. Pompey said nothing publicly about Lucullus’s intention to invade Armenia, merely that he would demand the surrender of Mithridates from Tigranes.
In honor of the occasion, Pompey decreed an extra distribution of grain and wine, and a day of races to take place in one week. Even louder cheers greeted this, and the assembly began to break up as the people went off to the temples to observe the sacrifices. Quite aside from their genuine love of ritual and gratitude to the gods for a Roman victory, there would be plenty of meat for everybody that night as the carcasses of the sacrificial animals were cut up and distributed.
As the crowd around me began to thin, I caught sight of the young tribune, Carbo. He was alone now, his brief moment of glory past, when he had the sole attention of the most powerful deliberative body the world had ever known. He looked lonely standing there, and I had already determined to make his acquaintance, so I walked over to him.
“Tribune Carbo,” I said, “my congratulations on your safe return. I am Decius Metellus, of the Commission of Twenty-Six.”
“The praetor’s son?” He took my hand. “I thank you. I was just about to go to the Temple of Neptune, to give thanks for my safe sea voyage.”
“That can wait,” I assured him. “All the temples will be jammed with people today. You can go in the morning. Will you be staying with your family while you are here?”