Cincinnatus And The Aequians
In the old days of Rome, not far from the time when Coriolanus yielded
up his revenge at his mother's entreaty, the Roman state possessed a
citizen as patriotic as Coriolanus was proud, and who did as much good
as the other did evil to his native land. This citizen, Lucius Quinctius
by name, was usually called Cincinnatus, or the "crisp-haired," from the
fact that he let his hair grow long, and curled and crisped it so
carefully as to gain as much fame for his hair as for his wisdom and
valor.
Cincinnatus was the simplest and least ambitious of men. He cared
nothing for wealth, and had no craving for city life, but dwelt on his
small farm beyond the Tiber, which he worked with his own hands,
content, so his crops grew well, to let the lovers of power and wealth
pursue their own devices within the city walls. But he was soon to be
drawn from the plough to the sword.
While Cincinnatus was busy ploughing his land, Rome kept at its old work
of ploughing the nations. War at this time broke out with the AEquians, a
neighboring people; but for this war the AEquians were to blame. They had
plundered the lands of some of the allies of Rome, and when deputies
were sent to complain of this wrong, Gracchus, their chief, received
them with insulting mockery.
He was sitting in his tent, which was pitched in the shade of a great
evergreen oak, when the deputies arrived.
"I am busy with other matters," he answered them; "I cannot hear you;
you had better tell your message to the oak yonder."
"Yes," said one of the deputies, "let this sacred oak hear, and let all
the gods hear also, how treacherously you have broken the peace. They
shall hear it now, and shall soon avenge it; for you have scorned alike
the laws of the gods and of men."
The deputies returned to Rome, and reported how they had been insulted.
The senate at once declared war, and an army was sent towards Algidus,
where the enemy lay. But Gracchus, who was a skilled soldier, cunningly
pretended to be afraid of the Romans, and retreated before them, drawing
them gradually into a narrow valley, on each side of which rose high,
steep, and barren hills.
When he had lured them fairly into this trap, he sent a force to close
up the entrance of the valley. The Romans suddenly found that they had
been entrapped into a cul-de-sac, with impassable hills in front and
on each side, and a strong body of AEquians guarding the entrance to the
ravine. There was neither grass for the horses nor food for the men.
Gracchus held not only the entrance, but the hill-tops all round, so
that escape in any direction was impossible. But before the road in the
rear was quite closed up five horsemen had managed to break out; and
these rode with all speed to Rome, where they told the senate of the
imminent danger of the consul and his army.
These tidings threw the senate into dismay. What was to be done? The
other consul was with his army in the country of the Sabines. He was at
once sent for, and hastened with all speed to Rome. Here a consultation
took place, which ended in the leading senators saying, "There is only
one man who can deliver us. We must make Lucius Quinctius Master of the
People." Master of the People meant in Rome what we now mean by
Dictator,--that is, a man above the law, an autocrat supreme. What
service this unambitious tiller of the ground had previously done for
Rome to make him worthy of this distinction we are not told, but it is
evident that he was looked upon as the man of highest wisdom and
soldiership in Rome.
Caius Nautius, the consul, appointed Cincinnatus to this high office, as
he alone was privileged to do, and then hastened back to his army. Early
the next morning deputies from the senate sought the farm of the new
dictator, to apprise him of the honor conferred on him. Early as it was,
Cincinnatus was already at work in his fields. He was without his toga,
or cloak, and vigorously digging in the ground with his spade, never
dreaming that he, a simple husbandman, had been chosen to save a state.
"We bring you a message from the senate," said the deputies. "You must
put on your cloak to receive it with the fitting respect."
"Has evil befallen the state?" asked the farmer, as he bade his wife to
bring him his cloak. When he had put it on he returned to the deputies.
"Hail to you, Lucius Quinctius!" they now said. "The senate has declared
you Master of the People, and have sent us to call you to the city; for
the consul and the army in the country of the AEquians are in imminent
danger."
Without further words, Cincinnatus accompanied them to the boat in which
they had crossed the Tiber, and was rowed in it to the city. As he left
the boat he was met by a deputation consisting of his three sons, his
kinsmen and friends, and many of the senators of Rome. They received him
with the highest honor, and led him in great state to his city
residence, the twenty-four lictors walking before him, with their rods
and axes, while a great multitude of the people crowded round with
shouts of welcome. The presence of the lictors signified that this plain
farmer had been invested with all the power of the former kings.
The new dictator quickly proved himself worthy of the trust that had
been placed in him. He chose at once as his Master of the Horse Lucius
Tarquinius, a brave man, of noble descent, but so poor that he had been
forced to serve among the foot-soldiers instead of the horse. Then the
two entered the Forum, where orders were given that all booths should be
closed and all lawsuits stopped. All men were forbidden to look after
their own affairs while a Roman army lay in peril of destruction.
Orders were next given that every man old enough to go to battle should
appear before sunset with his arms and with five days' food in the
Field of Mars, and should bring with him twelve stakes. These they were
to cut where they chose, without hinderance from any person. While the
soldiers occupied themselves in cutting these stakes, the women and
older men dressed their food. Such haste was made, under the energetic
orders of the dictator, that an army was ready, equipped as commanded,
in the Field of Mars before the sun had set. The march was at once
begun, and was continued with such rapidity that by midnight the
vicinity of Algidus was reached. On the enemy being perceived, a halt
was called.
Cincinnatus now rode forward and inspected the camp of the enemy, so far
as it could be seen by night. He then ordered the soldiers to throw down
their baggage, and to keep only their arms and stakes. Marching
stealthily forward, they now extended their lines until they had
completely surrounded the hostile camp. Then, upon a given signal, a
simultaneous shout was raised, and each soldier began to dig a ditch
where he stood and to plant his stakes in the ground.
The shout rang like a thunder-clap through the camp of the AEquians,
waking them suddenly and filling them with dismay. It also reached the
ears of the Romans who lay in the valley, and inspired them with hope,
for they recognized the Roman war-cry. They raised their own
battle-shout in response, and, seizing their arms, sallied out and made
a fierce attack upon the foe, fighting so desperately that the AEquians
were prevented from interrupting the work of the outer army. All the
remainder of the night the battle went on, and when day broke the
AEquians found that a ditch and a palisade of stakes had been made around
their entire camp.
This work accomplished, Cincinnatus ordered his men to attack the foe,
and thus aid their entrapped countrymen. The AEquians, finding themselves
between two armies, and as closely walled in as the Romans in the valley
had before been, fell into a panic of hopelessness, threw down their
arms, and begged their foes for mercy. Cincinnatus now signalled for the
fighting to cease, and, meeting those who came to ask on what terms he
would spare their lives, said,--
"Give me Gracchus and your other chiefs bound. As for you, you can have
your lives on one condition. I will set two spears upright in the
ground, and put a third spear across, and every man of you, giving up
your arms and your cloaks, shall pass under this yoke, and may then go
away free."
To go under the yoke was accounted the greatest dishonor to a soldier.
But the AEquians had no alternative and were obliged to submit. They
delivered up to the Romans their king and their chiefs, left their camp
with all its spoil to the foe, and passed without cloaks or arms under
the crossed spears, their heads bowed with shame. They then went home,
leaving their chiefs as Roman prisoners. Thus was Gracchus punished for
his pride.
In less than a day's time Cincinnatus had saved a Roman army and
humiliated the AEquian foe. As for the battle-spoils, he distributed them
among his own men, giving none to the consul's army, and degraded the
consul, making him his under-officer. He then marched the two armies
back to Rome, which he reached that same evening, and where he was
received with as much astonishment as joy. The rescued army were too
full of thankfulness at their escape to feel chagrin at their loss of
spoil, and voted to give Cincinnatus a golden crown, calling him their
protector and father.
The senate decreed that Cincinnatus should enter the city in triumph. He
rode in his chariot through the gates, Gracchus and the chiefs of the
AEquians being led in fetters before him. In front of all the standards
were borne, while in the rear marched the soldiers, laden with their
spoil. At the door of every house tables were set, with meat and drink
for the soldiers, while the people, singing and rejoicing, danced with
joy as they followed the conqueror's chariot, and all Rome was given up
to feasting and merry-making.
As for Cincinnatus, he laid down his power and returned to his farm,
glad to have rescued a Roman army, but caring nothing for the pomp and
authority he might have gained. And for all we know, he lived and died
thereafter a simple tiller of the ground.