“I ask at this time that you put aside your grievances for the good of the city and Roman lands. I call on the Master of Debate to hear the responses.”
The consul sat down, wiping his brow nervously, obviously relieved to be able to pass the meeting to another. The Master of Debate had held his post for a number of years, his experience giving him a detachment that served to cool the hottest tempers. He waited patiently for quiet before choosing his first speaker.
“Pompey?”
“Thank you. Senators, I ask to be given command of the legions sent against these rebels. My record speaks for me as qualification and I urge you to vote quickly. Every soldier of Rome within a hundred miles has been called back to the city. Within a week, we should have an army of six legions to send against the slaves, joining with the two at Ariminum when we reach it. If we delay, this slave army will grow further until it may be impossible to stop. Remember that they outnumber us, Senators, even in our own homes. Grant me the command and I will destroy them in the name of the Senate.”
Pompey sat down to scattered cheers and stamping of feet. He did not respond to the noise, his gaze fixed on the figure of Cato, who had risen slowly, his face flushed.
“Cato to speak,” the Master of Debate confirmed.
“Pompey's record is indeed a fine one,” Cato began, smiling at the stone-faced senator across the benches. “I agree with him that a force must be assembled and sent to strike quickly before the fire of the rebellion burns the north. However, there are other choices for men to command the force we send, others who bear the rank of general and have experience in fighting for Rome. It strikes me that a man who puts himself forward may not be suitable for such a role. Better we appoint a general who is acceptable to all of us for this difficult task. I confess Pompey's eagerness makes me uneasy given our recent city history, and instead I suggest the command is handed to Lepidus, fresh returned from Greece.” He sat down in silence before a babble of angry shouts and conversation broke out, with both factions abusing the other.
“Be silent, gentlemen. You do not serve Rome with your spite,” the Master of Debate said across them, bringing a restless stillness back to the benches. He looked around at the seated senators and nodded to Julius, who had risen at the end of Cato's speech.
“I was a witness to the caution of Lepidus against Mithridates. He was late to engage and had barely moved beyond his landing place when I came upon him to hand over the body of the Greek king. I have seen too many such compromises in this Senate. Lepidus is a poor choice, when we need to move quickly and crush the rebellion before it grows out of control. We must put aside our grievances and factions to grant the command to the one who will achieve most and fastest. That is Pompey.”
The Master of Debate nodded his agreement, dropping his usually impartial stance, but was then compelled to recognize Cato as the man stood again.
“I am concerned that the threat against us is being used as a blind for ambition, Senators. Lepidus will never endanger us when the battles are over, but Pompey may well have his eyes on a future even as we discuss this choice. My vote will be for Lepidus.” The man lowered himself carefully back into his seat, glaring at Julius for a moment.
“Are there any other candidates? If so, let them rise, or we will go directly to a vote.” The Master of Debate waited, his gaze sweeping the rows.
Crassus stood stiffly, ignoring the surprise of Cato's supporters. He received the nod to speak and crossed his hands behind his back, like a tutor addressing his wards.
“Senators, I fear that politics will bring us to the wrong choice for the city. I do not know who would win a vote between Pompey and Lepidus as commanders, but if it is Lepidus, that could only lead to disaster. I put myself forward as a third candidate to prevent the waste of lives that would surely result from any command by Lepidus. Though I have devoted myself to business in recent years, I too rest on my previous record with the legions, for your approval.”
Once again, the noise of conversation broke out all over the Senate hall as Crassus sat. Pompey was amazed at the revelation from his friend and tried to catch his eye without success as Crassus looked away from him. As the noise died, Pompey stood, his hands tightening into fists unconsciously.
“I withdraw my name from consideration in favor of Crassus,” he said bitterly.
“Then we will move to a vote without further delay. Rise for your choice, gentlemen,” the Master of Debate replied, as surprised as anyone by the turn of events. He waited a few moments more for the senators to make up their minds, then began to call the names.
“Lepidus!”
Julius craned his neck with everyone else still seated to judge the numbers, then breathed out in satisfaction. There were not enough to carry the vote.
“Crassus!” the Master of Debate intoned, smiling to himself.
Julius stood with Pompey and the others who had judged the choice correct. The Master of Debate nodded to the consul, who stood and gripped the rostrum before him.
“Crassus is appointed general of the north armies assembling and is ordered to take the field against the rebellion and destroy it utterly,” the consul said.
Crassus stood to thank the senators.
“I will do my utmost to preserve our lands and the city, gentlemen. As soon as the legions are brought together in the Campus Martius, I will move against the rebels.”
He paused for a moment and smiled slyly.
“I will keep the legates in place under me, but I must have a second-in-command should I fall. I name Gnaeus Pompey as that second.”
Curses and cheers broke out all over, with the calls for quiet from the Master of Debate ignored. Julius laughed at the stroke and Crassus inclined his head toward him in acknowledgment, clearly enjoying himself.
“Keep silence!” the Master of Debate bellowed above them, finally losing his temper. The babble subsided under his glare, but slowly.
“We should move on to the details, Senators,” the consul said, shuffling through his papers. “Our runners report that the slaves are well armed after Mutina, having outfitted themselves with legionary supplies and armor. One of our people claims to have seen the gladiators training the slaves in sword and spear work, mimicking our formations on the field. After Mutina, they should not be underestimated.” The consul licked his fingers nervously as he scanned the sheaf of parchments in front of him.
“Do they have officers?” Pompey called out.
The consul nodded as he read. “It seems they have a structure based on our own legions in every way. I have the original message from the owner of the barracks where the gladiators escaped. It's here, somewhere.”
The senators waited patiently as the consul found the paper he was looking for.
“Yes, there were seventy of them and all the guards were killed. The barracks slaves went with them, though whether they were willing or forced, the man does not know. He claims to have barely escaped with his own life. It seems these gladiators form the officer class of the army.”
“Who leads this rabble of gladiators?” Pompey demanded, uncaring that his tone went some way to confirm the fiction of Crassus's leadership.
The consul searched through the papers again, and licked his fingers more than once to separate them.
“Yes, I have it. They are led by a gladiator named Spartacus, a Thracian. He began it and the rest followed him. There is nothing more, but I will pass anything further to Crassus as the reports come in.”
“With your permission, gentlemen, I would like to leave with my second to prepare for the march ahead of us,” Crassus said.
As he turned, he tapped his hand on Julius's shoulder. “I want Primigenia with me when we go, Julius,” he said quietly.