035 - Crassus and Pompey

Hello, and welcome to the History of Rome, episode 35, Crassus and Pompey. In 78 BC, Lucius Cornelius Sulla died, believing that he had put the Republic back on track. Since the end of the Third Punic War 80 years previously, Roman politics had skewed more and more towards populist demagogues, blatant corruption, and a flouting of traditional virtue. Sulla, in his role as dictator, had gutted the power of the tribunes and put the Senate firmly back in control of state affairs. It is ironic that the supposed savior of republicanism had so completely eschewed democratic principles and the rule of law, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, Sulla could always fall back on one of the first offenses a child ever learns to justify all of his extra-legal activities. Marius started it.

But as I said at the end of last week's episode, no amount of constitutional reformation could divert the gaze of ambitious men from the facts of Sulla's life and the power he had won through brute force alone. Whatever had bound the leaders of Rome to the traditional republican governing apparatus and its built-in limits on absolute power had been shattered. The Gracchi had struck the first blow when they successfully introduced violence into the political arena. Marius hammered the point home when he brazenly stood for consulship after consulship, while Sulla himself landed the killing stroke when he had himself appointed dictator for life. The era of noble adherence to the rule of law was dead. The era of the naked power grab was at hand. Whatever great work Sulla accomplished in his life, saving the republic was certainly not among them.

Indeed, the generation that would kill the republic grew up in the shadow of Sulla's dictatorship, and the ringleaders of its demise were some of Sulla's leading supporters. Two of those supporters, Marcus Licinius Crassus and Gnaeus Pompeius, would eventually forge an uneasy alliance with an up-and-coming populare general named Julius Caesar to form the first triumvirate, the vehicle through which the republic met its demise.

Marcus Licinius Crassus was born in 115 B.C., making him thirty-three years old during the Battle of the Colleen Gate, and the eldest of the three triumvirs. Crassus was the youngest of three boys, born into a well-bred Publian family, and was descended from Publius Licinius Crassus, who, in addition to serving as Pontifex Maximus for nearly twenty years during the Second Punic War, also held the distinction of being Scipio Africanus' co-consul in the year 205 B.C., as the great general made his preparations to win that long war once and for all. Their father had been consul in 97 B.C., governor of southern Spain from 97 to 93 B.C., and censor in 89. The Crassus family was wealthy and well-respected, but eventually ran afoul of the Marians during the upheavals of the mid-80s B.C. Though they had supported Marius in the past, they attempted to hew a more neutral line in the struggle between the old general and his younger rival, and were marked for purging. One of Crassus' brothers had already been killed in the Social War, but his father and remaining brother were caught up in the purges and were either murdered or committed suicide.

Eventually Marcus escaped to carry on the family name, fleeing to Spain in 87 B.C. In Spain, Crassus was able to hook up with clients his father had established while governor, and laid low while Senna controlled Rome. It went without saying that when news of Sulla's return from the East reached him, Crassus immediately declared his support and left Spain, intent on helping Sulla drive the Marians out of Rome. He raised a small force and arrived in Italy around the same time as Metellus Pius had arrived with his army from Africa. Crassus fought alongside Metellus until they all merged into Sulla's army prior to the Battle of the Colleen Gate.

And it was in that battle that Marcus Licinius Crassus became a man in his own right and was no longer seen as simply his father's son. With Sulla leading the left side of the line, he gave Crassus command of the right. And as it turned out, Sulla found himself evenly matched and unable to break through the Samnite line. But Crassus routed his opposition and was able to wheel in and trap the remaining Samnites, winning for Sulla not just the battle, but complete control of Rome. He expected to be amply rewarded and praised for his early support and critical role in Sulla's victory. But in the first chapter of what turned out to be the defining story of his life, Crassus was overshadowed by the younger and more charismatic Pompey.

Though mildly embittered by his perceived snubbing, Crassus had far more important things to worry about than why young Pompey had been granted a triumph, despite having never held a single office in the Cursus Honorum. I mean, he had never even been a questor, let alone a praetor, which was supposedly the minimum rank required for a triumph. And besides, he was what, twenty-five? He couldn't stand for a praetorship even if he wanted to. But like I say, I don't care. I'm fine with it. I'm happy for him. Hooray for Pompey. Pompey the Great. Yeah, sure, Crassus didn't care at all.

But instead of dwelling on Pompey, there would be plenty of time for that later, Crassus focused on rebuilding the family fortune which had been expropriated by the Marians after his father's death. In this pursuit, Crassus showed both above-board shrewd financial acumen as well as a penchant for ruthless, below-the-belt profiteering. He gleefully entered the chaotic economic mess that arose from the sullen reign of terror. Having been a victim of the Marian purges, Crassus had little sympathy for the men who had killed his father and brother. Crassus was first in line to buy up whatever the proscribed left behind when they either fled the city or were murdered. And on at least one occasion, he added a name to the list simply because he coveted the holdings of an otherwise politically neutral rival.

During Sulla's reign, Crassus bought and sold his way to the top of Rome's financial food chain. And after the dictator's death, he invested his profits in the slave trade and silver mines where he doubled and then quadrupled his money. Eventually he would become Rome's richest man and largest landowner. He never lost his lust for wealth nor his cunning skill at acquiring it. For example, at the time, Rome had no formal firefighting service. So when Crassus learned through his citywide network of clients and informants that a building was on fire, he would arrive on the scene with hundreds of slaves in tow. With the house burning in front of them, Crassus would offer to put the fire out if the distraught owner agreed to sell the property. In these circumstances, Crassus was able, of course, to extract a ridiculously low price, at which point the slaves would indeed quell the blaze. Sometimes though, the owner would refuse to sell, in which case Crassus would leave with his firefighters, allowing the house to be engulfed in flames. But these were the rare cases. Usually the owner sold, Crassus bought, and his private empire grew by another block.

At the height of his power, Crassus is estimated to have been worth between $170 and $180 billion in 2008 dollars. To put that in perspective, the richest man in the world today is Warren Buffet, who is estimated to have a personal financial net worth of around $66 billion US. To say that Crassus was absolutely filthy-stinking rich is an understatement. But he always carried with him something of an inferiority complex. In Roman culture, wealth may have been looked upon with envy, but rarely with respect or admiration. Respect and admiration were reserved for military heroes.

His exploits during the Battle of the Colling Gate were always looked at sideways, as they came during a civil war, and were achieved at the expense of fellow Roman citizens. If Crassus wanted to join the pantheon of great Romans, he would have to do better, to win new territory for Rome, or defend the empire from a dangerous foreign threat. Crassus spent his entire life looking for an opportunity to lead an army in the field, and a great victory for Rome, a triumph for himself, and the respect he felt he deserved. Eventually this obsession would lead to his death in Syria, where he was killed still trying to find what he was looking for.

On the battlefield, Crassus was simply unable to match the exploits of his contemporary rival and nominal ally, Pompey, who, much to Crassus's eternal bitterness, seemed to live a perpetually charmed life. From Crassus's perspective, no one got better press for doing less than Pompey, but there was nothing that he could do about it. So Crassus went through life known as Crassus Divus, or Crassus the Rich, whereas Pompey went through life known as Pompey Magnus, or Pompey the Great. And though the latter's nickname was originally thrown around as a sarcastic dig by his elders, Pompey eventually promoted the name as a literal title, and the people of Rome embraced it as such, much to Crassus's eternal dismay.

Pompey was born in 106 B.C., making him nine years younger than Crassus, and only twenty-four years old when Sulla I controlled Rome. He was the son of the not-so-beloved Gnaeus Pompeius Strabo, or Pompey the Cross-eyed. Pompey Strabo was the first in his family to achieve senatorial status, and distinguished himself during the Social War, leading the victorious Roman armies in the north as consul in 89 B.C. However, when you emerge from a war with the nickname The Butcher of Anything, you know that your tactics have been a bit… harsh. So when Pompey Strabo, a.k.a. The Butcher of Ascolum, died in 87 B.C. of the plague, his body was dragged through the streets by a joyously disrespectful mob. Not exactly the funeral procession one hopes for.

But the sins of the father do not seem to have rubbed off on the son, and when Sulla returned from the east, Pompey raised three legions from the ranks of his father's veterans. The young man had served with them since his first campaign at the age of seventeen, so his father's soldiers loved and trusted the boy who had grown up in the barracks as one of their own. After helping pacify northern Italy, Pompey was next given the task of ensuring the loyalty of Sicily, which was still teeming with Marians. As I've mentioned numerous times, Sicily was the breadbasket of Rome, and controlling it was essential to controlling the empire. As long as Rome remained fed, the people were generally content to allow themselves to be led by whoever wanted the job. But if those grain shipments ever stopped, anarchy, as they say, was only three missed meals away. If the Marians controlled Sicily, they could wreak havoc on Sulla's attempt to consolidate power.

Pompey threw himself into the task with a ruthlessness that reminded some of his father. He tracked down Papirius Carbo, the consul who had fled from Etruria at the end of the civil war, and had him executed. When the people of Sicily complained that some of Pompey's methods were perhaps illegal, he dismissed them with a remark that revealed not only his personal philosophy, but the growing sentiment of ambitious military men everywhere. Won't you stop citing laws to us who have swords by our sides? And remember, a generation later, this was the man who defended the Republic against Caesar. Clearly, the rule of law was not long for this particular world.

Having subdued Sicily, Pompey sailed next for Africa, where he defeated the scattered remnants of Sulla's enemies. For this last act, Pompey decided that he deserved a triumph. Where he got the idea that he deserved one is a mystery for the ages. Not only was he not old enough, he had not yet reached the minimum office required, praetor, to be considered for this greatest military honor, and in fact, had not even served in any public office at all. Finally, it had been a long-standing tradition that a triumph could not be approved if the battle or battles in question were against fellow Romans, which is, of course, what Pompey's African campaign was all about.

It is from this impetuousness that Sulla hung the sarcastic title of Magnus on Pompey. Ah, yes, Pompey the Great wants a triumph. Let's all bow before Pompey the Great. But Pompey was undeterred. He refused to disband his army until his request was granted. Sulla, partly to appease his wife and stepdaughter, who had married Pompey the year before, and partly out of a genuine fear of what Pompey may be capable of, approved the triumph. But Pompey would have to wait. First, Sulla held his own triumph, marching through the city to great fanfare and with much splendor. Next, Metellus Pius was granted his triumph, and the senior general marched through in similar splendor but with slightly less fanfare. By the time Pompey's triumph rolled around, the city showed little enthusiasm for the event. What, another triumph? Boring! Sulla hoped he had put young Pompey in his place. But Sulla died before he realized that nothing would ever put Pompey in his place.

It was not long after Sulla's death that the first in a long line of would-be despots arose in his wake. A consul named Lepidus decided after his term was complete that he was not ready to give up the reins of power, and gathered an army in northern Italy to support his bid for a second term. Lepidus himself arrived in Rome with a great train of supporters, claiming that he controlled the land between the Po River and the Alps, and that his second consulship had better be approved, or else. The Senate had already sent Metellus Pius to Spain, where the last great Marian general, Quintus Sertorius, continued to hold out. So they sent young Pompey north to quell the brewing insurrection. It did not take long to scatter Lepidus's supposed army, and send word to the city that it had nothing to fear. Lepidus, who fancied himself the next Sulla, was forced to flee from the city, never to return.

After ending this threat from Lepidus, Pompey issued a demand to the Senate that was even more insane than his request for a triumph. He wrote that he wanted to be sent to Spain as proconsul, with full imperium. Again, Pompey had never served in office a day in his life, and was yet fifteen years away from being eligible for a consulship, let alone a proconsulship, which was reserved for men who had already, you know, served as consul. Pompey knew it was brash, but he also knew as well as the Senate did, the situation on the ground in Spain. Metellus Pius, as great a general as he was, had been thus far unable to gain ground on the rogue Quintus Sertorius. It was clear that Pius needed help, and that Pompey was heads and shoulders better than anyone else Rome could possibly send as a reinforcement. With great reluctance, they approved Pompey's request, and made him proconsul of Spain in 276 B.C., at the tender age of thirty. Crassus was, of course, appalled.

Pompey remained in Spain for the next five years, engaged in a parallel, rather than combined war effort, alongside Metellus. Neither general had any wish to share the glory, should one of them actually succeed in defeating the rebellious Sertorius, though neither had much to worry about, as the Marian general ran circles around them both. Pompey began to tire of the cat-and-mouse game in Spain, and instead began to covet a command in the east, where Mithridates was once again making trouble for Rome. But extracting himself from Spain would not be so easy, after the fuss he had made to get there in the first place. Besides, he had rivals back home that desired the eastern command for themselves, and were doing everything in their power to make sure Pompey remained in Iberia, chasing his tail.

The fortune smiled on Pompey once again, and in 71 B.C., Sertorius was assassinated by an ambitious lieutenant, who then took command of the rogue army for himself. But this lieutenant was not half the commander Sertorius had been, and in his first encounter with Pompey was defeated easily. Just like that, Pompey had liberated Spain. After lucking into this victory, Pompey took his army back to Italy just in time to luck into some more glory, scooping up for himself a good deal of undeserved credit for ending the slave revolt that had erupted in his absence. And of course, the credit he scooped up came at the expense of Crassus, who had done the yeoman's work in defeating the slave army led by a certain Thracian gladiator.

Next week, we'll cover this famous slave revolt, led of course by Spartacus, who at one point stood at the head of 120,000 men and won multiple victories against the pride of the Roman legions. In the aftermath of the revolt, Pompey and Crassus would forge an uneasy alliance while some 5,000 captured slaves were crucified up and down the Appian Way, a lesson to those who would follow in Spartacus' footsteps.

Finally, I would like to add that I've made a few changes behind the scenes here at the History of Rome. I've abandoned Blogger, which turned out to be the cause behind all the early episodes not showing up on iTunes, to a new blog at thehistoryofrome.typepad.com. Don't even get me started on what's wrong with WordPress. Also, at the prodding of some generous listeners, I've added a PayPal donation button to the new site. I never expected to gain anything financially from the History of Rome, but a few of you out there have expressed an interest in sending a few appreciative dollars my way for the effort. And so, if you find yourself so inclined, there it is. Any amount you choose, Visa and MasterCard accepted, minus whatever the leg breakers at PayPal take as their cut.

Thanks to all of you out there who have stuck with the show, and see you next week. For Spartacus.