Quintus Sertorius: The Forgotten General Who Defied Rome  by A. D. Hamilton

A rebel fighting against the most powerful empire in the world. A one-eyed general defeating all armies sent against him, uniting disparate tribes and exiles, followed everywhere by a pure-white fawn. A man who survived a battlefield massacre by swimming across a river in full armour, who lived among barbarian tribes for years as a spy, and who humbled the greatest names of his era. It sounds like the purest Hollywood fiction, but the life of Quintus Sertorius defies such a notion. Living during one of the most tumultuous periods in the history of the Roman Empire, his name often gets lost among tales of Marius, Sulla, Pompey, and Caesar. One of Rome’s greatest forgotten generals, for a time he was one of her deadliest enemies. Born in 126 B.C. in the provincial town of Nursia, Sertorius arrived in Rome as a teenager. His doting mother sent him there, having schooled him in the ways of words and laws, like all noble boys in the Roman Republic. His father died when Sertorius was young, leaving him as the head of his aristocratic family. The Sertorii clan occupied a societal rung below the uppermost class of senators, and upward mobility for men in the Republic meant achieving success in the law courts and on the battlefield. Unfortunately for Sertorius, his lawyerly skills left a lot to be desired. Cicero’s testimony glimpses his future as a commander of military men, singling out Sertorius among all his contemporaries as “completely coarse and rustic” in both manner and speech. Stymied by his inability to handle clauses and subsections, Sertorius turned to a career in the military. His status as an aristocrat no doubt bought him a position in the Roman cavalry, comprised of men capable of affording the care of the horse he rode and the armour he wore. There he mingled with the best, brightest, and most ambitious of his peers, all staking their place on the cursus honorum, the Roman political pathway to high office. Few of those fresh-faced young nobles survived into full adulthood, and fewer still made a name for themselves in the histories. At the Battle of Arausio in 105 B.C., the 19-year-old Sertorius witnessed one of Rome’s most disastrous defeats. A combined force of Cimbri and Teutons scattered 80,000 legionaries, killing nearly all of them as they attempted to flee across the Rhone in southern France. Sertorius, hounded by enemies and floating on an upturned shield, escaped. The exploits of this up-and-coming soldier earned the attention of Gaius Marius, a Roman statesman and consul assigned by the Republic to deal with the victorious tribes now marauding around Rome’s borders. Marius selected Sertorius, who seems to have picked up the Celtic language, to follow these tribes and report on their movements. It’s unknown if Sertorius fought in the two following battles, in which Marius soundly defeated the Teutons and Ambrones, and then the Cimbri. He appears again in Hispania Ulterior (modern-day Andalusia) as a petty officer and military tribune to the region’s governor Titus Didius. Posted to the border town of Castulo, he found its garrison undisciplined and drunken, hated by the native townspeople. Despite instilling a modicum of stability, Sertorius failed to stop the rot. The locals, outraged at their treatment, invited their neighbours to oust their shared Roman foes, opening the gates as the attackers approached. A desperate fight followed, with many surprised legionaries killed in the homes they had appropriated, though Sertorius escaped with a handful of men. Desperate to take back the initiative, he led the forces available to him back to Castulo. Covering all exits of the town he led his forces inside to slaughter the celebrating Iberians. For his actions at Castulo, Sertorius was awarded the Grass Crown – one of Rome’s highest accolades, reserved only for those who have turned the tide of battle and saved their fellow citizen’s lives to boot. All of this reflected very well indeed on Gaius Marius, a man who – coming from a poor background – understood the value of a dashing political outsider. He took the young commander deeper into his confidence, helping Sertorius gain the title of quaestor just as the devastating Social War broke out in 90 B.C. Sertorius no doubt fought under the command of his aging patron, helping Marius to victories over the Marsi in Northern Italy using men he had recruited during a stint of governorship over Cisalpine Gaul. Sallust records that his deeds were many, but lost to history due to a lack of recording from contemporary historians. Plutarch rather casually records Sertorius losing an eye during this time to an unspecified wound. A wounded war hero, Sertorius knew how to play up to the crowds once the battles were won. He wore his scars proudly, judging them as evidence of his loyalty to Rome, and ones he could wear at all times to do so. The popularity proved to be a double-edged sword, however. Sertorius ran to be Tribune of the Plebs, yet saw his ambitions thwarted by Lucius Cornelius Sulla, Marius’ great rival and a powerful member of the Roman elite who soon gained the rank of consul. Spurned by Sulla, Sertorius had no qualms about turning against the man as soon as the consul left to campaign overseas. He joined the populares faction in the Senate, who faced off against their optimate rivals for control of Rome in the absence of the dictator. He aided Lucius Cinna – a populares figurehead – with recruits and leadership, becoming a key figure in Cinna taking control of the capital, though he strongly advised against an offer of allyship to an exiled Gaius Marius. The Marius-Cinna forces devastated Rome, murdering their enemies and detractors, and pillaging all wealth from the lucky few to escape the death penalty. Marius’ army of freed slaves and gladiators camped within the Forum itself, little more than a mob. Yet before long the aged Marius had died, managing to ratify his seventh consulship before doing so. Sertorius wasted little time in cleaning house. He ordered the arrest and execution of the slave army and chastised Cinna into moderating the orgy of property theft and murder. Sulla returned from his tie abroad and the Roman Republic promptly fell back into civil war. Scipio Asiaticus, grandson of the Scipio who defeated the Seluecids at Magnesia, marched out to fight for the populares. He arrived too late to stop his colleague from a disastrous defeat at Sulla’s hands, and, probably intimidated, sat down to talk with the man. Sertorius advised against this, and when ignored took matters into his own hands and captured a nearby town. Scipio, embarrassed, handed back the town and the prisoners taken by Sertorius to Sulla. Frustrated, and having then watched Scipio submit meekly to Sulla once more, Sertorius withdrew to northern Italy to raise more men. The populares chose to make Marius’ son the new consul, and again Sertorius’ warnings were ignored. This was becoming something of a theme, as Plutarch points out: “The Marian cause was lost by the cowardice of generals and treachery. There was no reason why Sertorius needed stay and suffer the inferior judgement of men with superior position.”

Crossing the Pyrenees he ran into a tribe of mountain people who demanded tribute for passage. Despite his troops' pleas, Sertorius gave in, saying if money bought anything precious, it was time. After bullying out the former governor, Sertorius solidified his presence by lowering taxes on local people, and by sending an army north to prevent any Sulla forces from following him. Unfortunately, the Sullans broke through, and the Spanish tribes refused to aid their new governor. Sertorius decided on discretion and fled with a few thousand of his men to Mauritania in North Africa. There he was driven off again, only to be rescued by pirates. Yet Sulla’s commander Annius Luscus caught wind and sent a fleet after Sertorius, routing the pirates towards Tingis in Morocco. There Sertorius turned on them and the local tyrant, rallying the locals to defeat both. While away from Italy, Sertorius collected both news and exiles into his service. They told of how Sulla had listed our man as one of the first to be killed in a new list of proscriptions. There would be no safe return to Rome for Sertorius. Yet his successes had won him support in Hispania, particularly from the western tribe of Lusitanians, who invited Sertorius to lead them. Before his acceptance, Sertorius learned of the death of his beloved mother. Plutarch states he “almost died” from despair, refusing to speak or leave his tent for a week. Yet destiny called, and Sertorius recovered to sail back to Hispania. Defeating the minor Roman leaders in Southern Spain, he began to rally the tribs to his cause. His nobility, charisma, and skill in battle (plus the lack of a second eye) led the people to declare him the second coming of Hannibal. Sertorius began to rack up victories. Sullan generals Fufidius, Thorius, Calvinus and Manlius all failed to stop him. One of the dictator’s most able generals, Metellus Pius arrived to quell the rebellion. Sertorius mockingly referred to him as “that old woman” and ran tactical rings around the poor Metellus, using skirmish and guerilla warfare to wear down his troops. An apocryphal story gives us an example of Sertorius’ skills as a leader. As a lesson to his tribal allies, he ordered two horses brought forward – one a strong stallion and one a weakened mare. He then asked an old man to pluck at single hairs from the stallion’s tail, and a strong warrior to pull on the weak mare’s tail all at once. When the old man had no trouble, Sertorius explained that strong armies can be attacked and defeated piece by piece, not by trying to win a single decisive battle. His legend grew when a subordinate found a newborn white fawn separated from its mother. Sertorius took the animal and trained it to follow him. This impressed and awed the tribespeople, and so he declared the fawn a sign from Diana, the hunter, and that through it he spoke to the goddess one-on-one. When a particular ploy succeeded, he would praise the fawn for predicting it. By 76 B.C. Sertorius' reputation was such that when the Senate decreed both consuls of that year would march against him, the two men outright refused. In their stead went Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus: Pompey the Great. The man who would face down Julius Caesar in just a few decades and who had swept away all opponents with his private armies. Raising 30,000 troops, the young, dashing general arrived in Hispania to much fanfare. Sertorius had also received some reinforcements from Marian leftovers, including Marcus Perperna Vento, a man with an aristocratic backing which masked his relative incompetence as a commander. Deriding Pompey as “sulla’s pupil” in need of “a cane and a whip”. He sent Perperna to hold off Pompey while he dealt with rebellions from tribes seeking to take advantage of the new general’s arrival. His instructions to his various legates were clear and precise: do not engage in battle. Pompey outmanoeuvred Sertorius’ officers, marching past them and into the Spanish interior. Sertorius rushed to block him, and the two met at Lauron. Sertorius harried and harassed Pompey’s forces, appearing behind them, killing foragers, ambushing relief forces, and keeping Pompey stuck in place. He then left, leaving Sulla’s pupil licking his wounds. In the meantime, Sertorius had built a form of coalition among his tribespeople. He created a 300-member senate and started a school system for the children of tribal leaders. His bodyguard included Hispanic warriors, and he gave gifts lavishly to local leaders. Despite this, his goal was always to return to Rome and retake it for the populares. Perhaps that could have happened, but Sertorius’ trust in his subordinates started to be his undoing. Perperna lost to Pompey at Valentia, and another Sertorian officer - Hirtuleius - was defeated by Metellus just days after Sertorius had left him in charge. Sertorius judged Pompey the more dangerous, and so sent a chastened Perperna to face Metellus while he squared up the boy commander. While fighting to a stalemate, he heard Perpenna had lost again, meaning Metellus would soon be at his rear and forcing a withdrawal. Sertorius continued his strategy of skirmish warfare, leading Metellus and Pompey around Hispania, chasing shadows. Yet when the former threatened a town held by tribal allies, he had to act. Saguntum would be Sertorius’ last pitched battle. Sertorius defeated Pompey on one flank, yet Perperna once again lost to Metellus on the other. The result was a strategic victory for the Sullans, and the loss of the majority of Sertorius heavy Roman infantry. Despite this success, Pompey wrote to the Senate demanding more men and supplies, fearful that Sertorius would eventually drive them from the peninsula. With their fresh troops, Pompey and Metellus chased Sertorius around Spain, grinding his forces down through attritional warfare. Sertorius’ calm demeanour began to crack. He took to drink, and began to lash out at allies, killing hostages and burning towns of those who turned on him. Metellus saw his moment and offered a reward to any Roman who killed the rebel general. Perperna, overshadowed by his commander and disenchanted with the way the war was going, seized on the chance. His followers oppressed the locals to drum up rebellions, stretching resources even thinner. Then, after a minor victory, they invited Sertorius to a celebratory feast. The dancing and cavorting entertainment was designed to catch their commander unawares as he joined the revelry. Instead, a despondent Sertorius turned from the show. Frustrated, Perperna gave a signal and his men rushed their leader, stabbing him to death. The Sertorian War ended almost instantly. Spanish allies sued for peace or dispersed into their villages. Perperna discovered he had been named as Sertorius’ successor, and saw his reputation fall further into disgrace as a murderer and ungrateful subordinate. The troops revolted, and Perperna was crushed by a remorseless Pompey. The boy general constructed an enormous monument to his victory, omitting any mention of the man he had defeated. Metellus, too, lobbied the Senate to record the war as a foreign, rather than civil, affair. And so Sertorius’ name was scrubbed from memory as best these two men could manage to burnish their reputations. Plutarch writes of Sertorius in his Parallel Lives, depicting him as a tragic figure. A man forced by his allegiance to a dying cause to fight on, no matter the odds. A charismatic leader brought low by the winding nature of fate, fighting relentlessly and effectively against destiny and brought low not in glorious battle but by the jealousy of men who failed to match him. Despite his achievements matching some of the greatest generals of the Roman Republic period, his status as a rebel, and the lack of sources we have from his time – let alone from people who knew the man – has condemned Sertorius to a sort of half-fame, reserved only for those passionate about the period. His life, as mentioned, is almost tailor-made for Hollywood. But perhaps in this case the reality is more grandiose than cameras and directors could conjure.