Africa Proconsularis

Quintus Caecilius Metellus Pius immediately departed his province at the turn of the year, following news that the African tribes of Numidia had risen up to proclaim some troublesome son of Jugurtha as king. With Scipio with him as the appointed Quaestor, Metellus arrived in Utica with little pomp or fanfare, accompanied only by whatever companions and slaves he could scramble together on short notice. Immediately, he set about getting the province into order. Holding courts, resolving disputes, and getting into contact with his father's old clients among the Punic and Latin cities in the Proconsulate. Soon, he had managed to put his considerable resources towards levying a private army in defence of the province from among the Roman citizens or Italic colonists living there. It was vital he acted quickly, before the entire kingdom was swallowed up by Jugurtha's bastard, and so he did not want to sit on his hands even as he waited for the men to be properly armed and trained for war.

So, he sent missives out to Hiempsal, Rome's client king in Numidia, and the tribes that were still loyal to him. They were to reassure the King that Roma had the situation in hand, and asked for whatever of their famous cavalry they could spare so that the Romans could match the forces of this pseudo-Jugurtha. Reinforcing Rome's presence in the region would be a top priority, as the ever ambitious Bocchus, though ostensibly a Roman ally, was always preening and pruning for a chance to expand the borders of his kingdom at the expense of his neighbours. Pius would thus be forced to keep an even hand on things even though he was currently without an army to prosecute any kind of conflict. For now, he would remain in Utica waiting on word from Rome's allies, impatient and frustrated with this current predicament.

"Hm. Elephants. An extraordinary waste of time, Silus. I think not."

Harrumphed Metellus, waving away the advice of one of his well bred but ill educated junior officers. Sergius Silus had the misfortune of being the subordinate on the end of the Pro-Praetor's wroth today, having been among those taken to Africa as a favour to the family, long time impoverished clients of the Metellans despite their patrician status. They were in the governor's manse in Utica, with several local notables of the Italic communities here, discussing idly the prospect of the upcoming campaign.

"Just ask Scipio here. Elephants are a one trick animal, so to speak. Expensive and hard to control. It was difficult enough getting them to perform in a fake battle, let alone a real one. A loud noise turns them right around, let alone a sharpened spear."

Pius had a cup of wine in one hand and was gesturing expressively with the other. In this heat, he had been forced to forego the toga for a more comfortable tunic.

"Those Numidian horsemen though, are damned useful. I have never seen men look more natural in the saddle."

The Roman spoke with rare admiration for a barbarian people, borne from his experience fighting with and against them in the war against Jugurtha.

"And even with this war going on, we must make sure the province still ticks over. The Publicani are complaining in my ear one moment and whispering honey the next. Then there is the grain shipments to oversee. If Numidians ravage us anymore we shall have nothing to send to Rome."

Clearly, Castor had provided him a detailed run down of all the problems facing them in private. The slave watched on, hiding his amusement as the Pro-Praetor vented to his officers.

"So, the last thing I need is bloody elephants. Ride your elephants to Hades, and ask Hannibal how well they served him beyond a decent meal in the winter."

Pius would, over the next few days, make the rounds of those cities that still remained faithful in the African province. The first and most momentous of these stops would be the Colonia Iunonia. Founded by Gaius Graccus some two decades ago, it was solely notable due to the site of its founding: right on top of the ancient site of Carthage, foremost enemy of Rome.

"Here lies the corpse of mighty Carthage, made Roman. I wonder what Old Cato would say now."

Pius announced to his entourage on their approach, with his characteristic flair for the dramatic. Many believed the colony cursed, marked by poor omens and bad auspices. It did not help that it was associated so closely with Gracchus, a man still hated by much of the aristocracy. It was a shame, because none could deny that the site of Carthage was a natural one for a peaceful and prosperous city, with a fine harbour and an easily defensible location. It was from here that the Latin colonists had come to fill out the legions, but due to the efforts of various senators the population of the city had faintly dwindled, with many Romans encouraged to return home. It was public land, in the hands of the Roman people, a piece of home away from home.

"What say you, Scipio and Rufus? Would you have echoed the old Censor, or wept as Aemilianus did when the old city came crashing down?"

Metellus turned to his entourage with a look of severe thoughtfulness etched into his features.


oznerol Royal Joker

Now with the legions at his side, Pius sends out scouts to follow and harass the Numidian army. The Romans set out from their base at Carthage, once again sending missives out to the King Hiempsal for aid, and march towards the majority of the tribal army to drive them out of the province.

Pius moves to engage the rebels in battle. The Numidian auxilia are sent ahead with 30 romans and Mugillanus to scout forwards while the legions march under Pius and Scipio.

"Good of you to join us, Tribune."

The venomous sarcasm was audible to Naso as he rode up to join the throng of armoured officers trotting in the midst of the roman line. Pius was riding at their head, clearly market out by the finely polished bronze muscle cuirass, red plumed helmet, and flowing general's cloak. The best that money could buy on the market, and staunchly Roman in manner in defiance of the foreign elements conspiring against them. Fortunately for Naso, they had paused for a few hours at midday, when the sun reached its apex, as the heat became too unbearable for the men or their general. It had given ample time for the tardy Tribune to make up ground. The lad was ushered to the front of the column to ride alongside the general.

"You're old Naso's son, are you not?"

Pius squinted, shielding his eyes from glare with one hand as he looked the lad over. Metellus was approaching middle age, Consular age, but was not there yet. The wrinkles and grey hair had not yet begun to mark him in full force. With age came experience, or so the old Roman adage went.

"Your father is a timely man who knows his responsibilities. Which is why it surprises me, by Jupiter, that his son is so damned late."

The Metellan patriarch wore a scowl that would make a stormcloud wither. 

Pius grunted in response to the given excuse. He had little choice save to take the skinny young man at his word.

"So, you say Neptune saw fit to give me another nose. I thought two was enough."

Metellus drily remarked, in reference to Scipio's own cognomen, Nasica. It drew a few chuckled from the more sycophantic of the junior officers.

"Very well, boy. What skills are these? Where have you served?"

The lad's boasting, serious or not, had piqued the commander's curiosity on the boring march to wherever these tribals were holed up.