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FIGHTING NEPTUNE
38–36 B.C.
However, the most important development by far was the defection of Sextus’ admiral Menodorus, who was in Sardinia. The former pirate was losing confidence in his master’s strategic ability and long-term chances of survival. Menodorus delivered to Octavian Sardinia and Corsica, three legions, and some light-armed troops.
Treaty or no treaty, here was an opportunity to dispose of Sextus. But before he showed his hand, Octavian sought help from Antony, whom he asked to visit Italy for consultations. He sent for an army from Agrippa, who had succeeded Calenus as proconsul in Gaul, commissioned warships at Ravenna, and arranged for other necessities of war to be assembled on the eastern and western coasts of Italy at Brundisium and Puteoli.
Unfortunately, Antony opposed hostilities with Sextus. He turned up at Brundisium on a mutually appointed date in 38 B.C., but to his annoyance found no Octavian. After waiting for a short time, he left, but wrote to his fellow triumvir, strongly counseling against war.
It is not clear what Octavian meant by the snub. The most benign, and not implausible, explanation is that he was detained by his military preparations (perhaps, too, he was not unhappy to delay Antony’s Parthian plans). However, it is rather more probable that Octavian was yielding to an unusual bout of overconfidence. With Menodorus at his side, he was privy to all Sextus’ secrets. On reconsideration, he could do perfectly well without Antony’s advice or assistance.
Octavian’s plan was to defeat Sextus at sea and then ferry troops from Italy to occupy Sicily. He would launch a two-pronged attack. One fleet would sail south from Puteoli; it would be led by Gaius Calvisius Sabinus, once an officer of Julius Caesar and one of a new breed of politicians from the provinces, who in the previous year had been the first-ever non-Latin consul. He was one of the two senators who had sought to protect Caesar on the Ides of March. Calvisius shared the command with Menodorus. The other fleet, for which Octavian appointed himself admiral, would set out from Tarentum and approach Sicily from the east.
In classical times, the sea was a frightening place. Ships were vulnerable to bad weather and sailing was avoided so far as possible during the winter months. Roman war fleets mainly consisted of rowing galleys, many of them triremes and quinqueremes. We do not know exactly how they worked. A trireme either had three banks of oars, or one bank with the oars grouped together in threes with one man per oar. It displaced about 230 tons and was nearly 150 feet long. Quinqueremes probably had one bank of oars with five men pulling each oar. There were up to 150 rowers; they were often non-Romans, though they were not, as in Hollywood films, slaves chained to their oars. Every ship had a captain, or trierarch; a helmsman; and a hortator, or encourager, who set the rowing rate. Under oar, a trireme was capable of bursts of speed—between seven and ten knots.
Warships had brass battering rams on their prows, and the usual tactic was to ram the side of an enemy ship. The Romans tended to fight sea battles as if they were on land. A grappling device was invented, the corvus or crow, which enabled soldiers to board the enemy ship and take it over. If boarding was impractical, it was possible to destroy galleys by using flaming projectiles to set them afire.
Triremes and quinqueremes found it hard to cope with storms. Their high bows made them difficult to hold into the wind. A large rectangular sail midships and one or more small ones were used during ordinary voyages, but square-rigging made it extremely difficult to gain headway against a wind. When waves hit such vessels beam-on (that is, from the side), they became hard to maneuver and were prone to being swamped or capsizing, although, being of fairly light wooden construction, they seldom sank completely.
Sextus learned of the desertion of Menodorus when the enemy fleets were under way. He immediately dispatched the old pirate Menecrates to confront Menodorus with most of his ships, and decided to await Octavian, whom he judged to be the lesser threat, off Messana (today’s Messina) in the narrow straits between Sicily and mainland Italy.
Menecrates found Menodorus and the Roman admiral Calvisius off Cumae on the Campanian coast and had the better of the engagement, although he himself was wounded and died. When dusk fell the two fleets separated, and Sextus’ ships returned to port at Messana without following up their victory.
When news came on the following day of what had taken place at Cumae, Octavian decided to brave the strait and make his way to Calvisius. This was a bad mistake. Sextus dashed out of Messana in large numbers and attacked Octavian’s fleet, which fled toward the Italian shore. Many were driven onto the rocks and set on fire. As night fell Sextus caught sight of Calvisius’ fleet sailing south to the rescue and withdrew to Messana.
Octavian, in danger of his life and not yet aware that Calvisius was close by, scrambled ashore with his attendants, pulled men out of the water, and took refuge with them in the mountains. They lit bonfires to alert those still afloat to their existence and whereabouts. However, the warship crews were too busy putting their boats to rights and trying to make good the waterlogged wrecks to come to their aid. The survivors spent the night without food or any other necessities. Octavian did not sleep, but went about the various groups and did his best to keep their spirits up.
By great good fortune, the XIIIth Legion happened to be marching through the mountains by night (presumably making all speed to Rhegium, a port opposite Messana, in anticipation of the planned invasion of Sicily). Its commander learned of the disaster at sea and, guessing that the fires in the hills denoted survivors, led his force in their direction.
Octavian and his men were in a poor way. They were given food, and a makeshift tent was pitched for the exhausted triumvir. With typical self-discipline, he sent messengers in all directions to announce that he was alive and still in charge. Having learned, too, of Calvisius’ arrival with his fleet, he now allowed himself to snatch some sleep. It had been a terrible twenty-four hours, as he was reminded all too graphically when he awoke. Appian describes the scene: “At daybreak, as he looked out over the sea, his gaze was met by ships that had been set on fire, ships that were still half-ablaze or half-burned, and ships that had been smashed.”
As if that were not enough, a gale came up in the afternoon, one of the fiercest in living memory, whipping a vicious swell with a strong current in the narrow seas. Sextus was safely inside the harbor of Messana; Menodorus, with an experienced eye for the unpredictable Mediterranean weather, sailed out to sea, where he rode out the storm; but Octavian’s surviving ships were blown against the craggy coast and pounded against the rocks and one another. Night fell, but there was no letup in the wind until morning. More than half of the fleet was sunk, and most of the rest was badly damaged.
Another dark night of traveling through mountains ensued—and, surely, a dark night of the soul, too; for this was the worst crisis of Octavian’s career. His humiliating double defeat at sea not only signaled the ruin of his hopes to eliminate Sextus Pompeius but might well set off conspiracies against him in Rome.
Methodically, Octavian took the necessary steps to reduce this risk. Orders were sent to all his supporters and military commanders to watch out for trouble. Detachments of infantry were posted along the coastline to deter an invasion by Sextus. Men were left behind to salvage and repair his galleys.