He was certain that there was no real rush about getting back to Italy. The defeat on the Arnus was a setback from which Rome would need time to recover. Hamilcar was not going to attack soon. He had several months yet to continue his march, and by the time he returned to Rome there would have been new elections, new consuls presiding over the Senate. He did not have to please men who would be out of office soon. Thinking of this he opened the letter from his father.
My son: I hope this finds you well and victorious. Our enemies in the Senate, most of them old family diehards, wish you ill. They are jealous of your magnificient accomplishments in the East. Stay your course and pay them no heed. You will return in glory to Rome and you will be the idol of the people. I have been working all year to see that you will have a sympathetic new family consul in office when you return. I have called in all my political debts to win support for Gains Hermanicus. He is not militarily ambitious, so he is quite content to spend the next year sitting in a curule chair instead of in the field. More importantly, he is a firm supporter of our family.
I am all but assured of a proconsular command of one of the armies being readied for the African campaign. My colleague, Scipio the elder, will have another. I foresee trouble with so many proconsuls in the field at once, but there is little help for it with a war this vast. Speaking of which, many here resent your using the title "proconsul." It is true that you have what amounts to a proconsular command, but since you have not held the requisite offices, there are those who whisper that you have dictatorial ambitions. When you return, I urge you to make a show of modesty and say that you assumed the title only to encourage the proper awe in foreigners.
Do not hurry at the behest of our rivals, but do not delay too long, either. Return covered with honors and take your place in the Senate. Long Live Rome and the family Norbanus.
Nothing much of interest there, he thought. Just what he already knew. Dictatorial ambitions, eh? He decided he liked the sound of that.
He went back to pondering what to do about this fleet that wanted to whisk him away to Italy before he completed his planned journey. As he thought, the first animals of the baggage train entered the town. It had grown so vast that it followed his legions at some distance. The bulk of it would have to encamp outside the small town. He would have to scour the countryside for more pack beasts and wagons to transport, his takings.
He had been wondering how he was going to get all of this loot to Italy, but now it seemed that he had sea transport on the way. This presented him with a new possibility. He had greatly enjoyed commanding his own army. Now it might be just as pleasurable to have his own navy.
A month later they were on the coast of Lycia, having made a profitable march along the coast of Pamphylia. The Pamphylians were a half-Asiatic, barbarous people who had much finer cities than the Cilicians, but had the same penchant for piracy. To make the situation even better, they had the temerity to try to stop the legions from crossing their territory. They mounted aggressive attacks against the marching columns, and this gave Norbanus the perfect excuse to acquire those cities for his own. In most places he installed petty chieftains as the new rulers and they pledged themselves as his personal clients.
From Pamphylia they passed into Lycia. This proved to be an extremely rugged land, composed of the many spurs of Mount Taurus that fanned out to the sea, where many of them formed high, wave-splashed promontories. It was impossible to hug the coast, so they had to make their way through one mountain pass after another, and progress was slow. They were further slowed by the immense baggage train, but the soldiers never complained when a wagon broke down and they had to put their shoulders to the wheels. They knew it was their own wealth they were transporting.
At the mouth of the Xanthus near the Lycian town of Myra, they found the Roman fleet in the harbor.
"That's quite a sight," Lentulus Niger said with some understatement as they crested a pass in the hills to the east of the little bay. The harbor was full of galleys and transports, all of them bright with new paint, their prows, masts and sails sporting Roman eagles. On the narrow, rocky beach spare sails had been employed to make marquees. Most of the ships' crews appeared to be ashore, relaxing, tending fires or dickering with locals for livestock and produce.
"Let's go down and have a few words with them," Norbanus said. They nudged their horses into a walk and descended the hillside. Behind them came the standard bearers, and then the rest of the army. Down below someone shouted and pointed upward. A huge cheer rang out from the men below when they saw the standards and the dusty men coming down toward them.
Norbanus and his party rode into the shore camp amid the cheers and congratulations. They saw a sprinkling of Greeks, but most of the men in blue tunics were clearly native Italians. There were marines among them, wearing bronze helmets and armed with sword and spear, but without body armor. Norbanus rode up to the largest marquee and a man emerged dressed in splendid armor and grinning broadly.
"Greetings, Titus Norbanus!" he called. "Your feat is the talk of all Italy."
Norbanus took the man's hand. "Decimus Arrunteius; isn't it? Haven't seen you since Noricum. In the Senate now, eh?" He dismounted, as did his officers. He remembered the family as soldierly but poor. They could rarely afford to have more than one man in the Senate in any generation. That could work well for him.
"Enrolled last year. Now I'm duumvir of the Brundisium fleet. Come inside out of this sun." Duumvir was the old Roman title for "admiral," revived for the new era.
They followed him into the shade of the spread sail. Long tables had been erected and they sat on benches. Arrunteius told them of the latest doings in Italy, and the much-traveled officers told him and the other Roman naval commanders of their adventures in the East.
When the wine had flowed sufficiently, Norbanus said: "Duumvir, eh? Of course, I'm sure it's an honor to have so much responsibility so young, but with your family's long military reputation, I'd have thought you'd be given an army command." In the old days, the navy had always been considered an inferior service, no matter how crucial it might be.
"Oh, you know how it is," Arrunteius said. "The good commands always go to the old families, no matter how distinguished anyone else might be. With everybody clamoring for officer's commissions these days, you're lucky to get any kind of appointment. I have friends qualified to lead cohorts who've taken appointments as centurions just to get in on the fighting. And I can't complain that it isn't interesting, whipping a fleet into shape. You've never had fun until you've tried to bludgeon a pack of Italians into being sailors. Especially if you've never been to sea yourself."
Under the bluff words Norbanus heard the edge of resentment. This was something with which he was familiar. It was something he could use.
"So you've been given the task of ferrying me and my men back to Italy, eh?" he said, reminding Arrunteius that he had not been given the task of battle with the Carthaginian fleet.
"Well, yes. I believe we've carrying capacity enough for your whole force. There'll be crowding, of course, but that can't be helped."