Chapter 3

The First Clash with Rome

Early Skirmishes

As it happened, the right man was on hand to deal with the Cappadocian situation. This was Lucius Cornelius Sulla, propraetor of Rome, who was already on his way to Asia Minor to have a go at sorting out the perennial pirate problem in Cilicia. Sulla was from an ancient family of Roman aristocrats which had fallen on hard times. At first Sulla had shown little sign of wanting to change the family fortune, having spent his youth as a hard-drinking wastrel with a taste for the uninhibited life of the theatre folk with whom he often caroused. Yet, once he received a large inheritance from a wealthy mistress, Sulla suddenly reconsidered his place in the world and embarked on a political career. Serving with the army (as did almost every Roman with political aspirations), Sulla played a key role in ending the war with Jugurtha in Africa. He was charged with extracting the renegade king from the court of Bocchus of Mauritania, where Jugurtha had taken refuge. For a while it was touch and go whether Sulla would be handed over to Jugurtha or the other way around, but Sulla’s diplomacy and the implicit backing of the Roman legions carried the day.

Sulla’s success was not received with total enthusiasm by his envious commander, the glory-hungry Marius. When Rome turned to cope with the threat of the German invasion, Sulla found himself so firmly sidelined by Marius that he abandoned his former commander, and served with considerable distinction under another general. The Asian command on which Sulla was now embarked was partly his reward for his earlier conduct.

The senate’s changed orders instructed Sulla to restore Ariobarzanes to his throne, but gave him no additional resources with which to do this. In fact, apart from a legion fruitlessly toiling away against the pirates in Cilicia, Rome had only a minimal military presence in Asia Minor at this time. Roman diplomacy was based on the principle, universally understood after a century of hard lessons taught to a variety of Mediterranean states, that if Rome did have to get to the point of sending a major military force, diplomatic relations would only be resumed once the legions were encamped in the capital of the offending kingdom – and normally after installing the successor of the ruler who had caused the problem in the first place.

As a means of projecting military power at minimal cost this was highly effective, but it meant that in low-intensity warfare, Roman commanders were often left to make bricks without straw; having to enforce the will of Rome without troops to do the job. This was the situation in which Sulla found himself. Most of the troops he eventually assembled into a small army were supporters of Ariobarzanes, Bithynian levies and auxiliaries from Pergamum. Meanwhile, Mithridates had seconded Archelaus, one of his most competent generals, to the assistance of Gordias.

At least once, this got Sulla into considerable difficulty. Struggling to get to grips with unfamiliar terrain, the ‘Roman’ force suddenly found itself in a weak position, facing a large number of enemies who knew the land intimately. Sulla resorted to a trick he was to use again in later years. He asked for a truce and negotiations. With the enemy relaxed, he quietly pulled his troops back to safer ground. Thereafter Sulla’s biographer, Plutarch, assures us that Sulla hit his stride and with ‘considerable slaughter of Cappadocians, and even more of their Armenian allies’ restored Ariobarzanes and expelled Gordias. Interestingly, Plutarch explicitly tells us that although the operation was ostensibly against the Armenian occupation of Cappadocia, the real objective of the senate was to check the growing power of Mithridates.¹ His immediate objective achieved, Sulla – with Ariobarzanes in tow - proceeded to the banks of the Euphrates, where he established Rome’s first formal diplomatic ties with the Parthian empire.

Meanwhile, back in Bithynia, Nicomedes III had died. It was too much to expect his successor, Nicomedes IV, to lose interest in Cappadocia as he had married a niece of Mithridates (a daughter whom Mithridates’ older sister had managed to conceive by Ariarathes VI before Mithridates had him assassinated). In fact, it is highly probable that Nicomedes IV contributed to the Pontic disappointment in Cappadocia by lending troops to support Sulla, and if we are to believe the later charges laid against Mithridates by Nicomedes, the Pontic king reciprocated by sending an assassin to deal with Nicomedes in the same way as his father-in-law had been disposed of. The assassin failed.

Yet every change of monarch in a Hellenistic kingdom created disappointed supporters of failed candidates, and adherents of the old regime displaced by those of the new. The same situation was true of Bithynia, where the biggest loser after the death of Nicomedes III was Socrates, bastard brother of the king, who had become so indispensable during the last years of Nicomedes’ rule as to have been virtually a co-monarch. Displaced by Nicomedes IV, Socrates appealed to Rome for support, but was turned down by the senate. Instead he found a ready backer in Mithridates. In purely nominal deference to Rome, the Pontic king stood ostentatiously clear of the action as Socrates mysteriously acquired money and a Pontic army, thinly disguised as ‘mercenaries’, which swept him to power. Unable to resist the overwhelming force which Socrates had at his disposal, Nicomedes fled to the Romans. The Romans offered political support, loans of money (at interest), but at that point still had nothing like the military muscle in the region to match Pontus.

The Road to War

In the years approaching 90 BC, Mithridates appears to have become steadily more assertive and aggressive. His confrontations with Rome now took place behind ever more threadbare proxies, and he made almost no attempt to disguise his motivation. Given that Rome was considerably less than popular in the Greek East, this attitude of near-outright defiance gained Mithridates ever-increasing support from the cities and peoples of the region, as numerous pro-Pontic inscriptions and dedications attest.² The Romans noted with concern that Pontus was levying large numbers of troops and also actively recruiting allies from among the Sarmatian and Thracian tribes. Meanwhile, a large-scale ship-building programme had given Pontus naval supremacy in the Black Sea, and potentially much further afield. It was unlikely that Armenia, a steadfast Pontic ally, was targeted for conquest. Further east was also unlikely and Pontus had expanded as far as was sensible to the north and northeast.

There seemed little doubt, therefore, that the intended recipients of this military build-up were Rome and her allies in Asia Minor, and it came at the worst possible time for Rome. It was not just Rome’s possessions in the East which suffered from Roman arrogance and corruption. Even Rome’s allies in Italy had felt the force of senatorial misgovernment. The anger of the allies was all the fiercer because the Italians lived in close proximity to Roman citizens who enjoyed considerable legal protection from abuse of power by Roman officials. Furthermore, these same Roman citizens had the vote with which to punish those who offended them, and election to high office was fervently sought by the Roman elite. Yet the obvious solution to tensions in Italy – Roman citizenship for the Italians – was blocked by self-interested parties in Rome. When the Roman who had done most to support their cause was murdered, Italian fury boiled over. At the end of 91 BC, the Italian cities banded together and went to war. It was, in fact, the opposite of a war of independence. If they could not become Romans, then the Italians would destroy Rome. Since the Italians had fought alongside the Roman legions and had the same discipline, weapons and tactics, the danger to Rome was in many ways even greater than the near-mortal peril of the German invasion. Mithridates took the opportunity to once more boot Ariobarzanes out of Cappadocia and re-install his own son, but with their backs to the wall, the Romans hardly noticed.

So extreme was the danger that the Romans did something almost unthinkable for that iron-willed nation. They gave way. It was conceded that the Italians had emphatically made their point, and any city that stopped fighting against the Romans could have the citizenship. This was classic Roman divide and rule tactics, which split those fighting for the citizenship from those, like the Samnites, who would settle for nothing less than turning Rome into smoking cinders.

By the end of 90 BC, their enemies were far from crushed, but the Romans could see light at the end of the tunnel. Foreign policy specialists turned their attention back to Asia Minor, and were far from impressed by the conduct of Mithridates. It is probable that Mithridates himself was feeling some embarrassment. He probably had not expected the Romans to recover as swiftly as they had, nor had he expected the recovery to be so complete. An Italy divided into hostile camps, preferably with an uneasy peace between them, would have meant that neither side could commit the kind of resources needed to separate Mithridates from his new acquisitions.

As it was, Mithridates could just about cover himself in the shreds of a legal defence. Armenian generals had once again led the Cappadocian invasion, and Socrates had no formal ties with Pontus. True, Paphlagonia had probably been occupied by Pontic forces again, but with so minor a kingdom, surely a modest bribe disguised as a ‘fine’ might cover any inconvenience? Especially if Pontus withdrew, apologised, and promised never to do it again?

Mithridates was about to find out. The Romans sent a commission to sort out matters in Asia Minor, and the man leading the commission was Manius Aquillius. At first sight, Aquillius would have been a welcome choice for Mithridates. This was not the first Manius Aquillius to grace the shores of Asia Minor, for the father of the present commissioner, the consul of 129 BC, had left on friendly terms with the father of Mithridates. Aquillius senior had been sent to finish off the war against Aristonicus which had followed the transfer of Pergamum to Roman control. Mithridates V had contributed to the Roman war effort as an ally, and had paid in solid cash for the award of Phrygia which he received for his efforts.

Sadly, despite his military achievements, the road-building and his constitutional efforts on behalf of the Pergamese, this ungrateful people had protested about Aquillius senior’s corruption so bitterly that he was hauled before the courts in Rome. Fortunately, the courts were no less corrupt than Aquillius himself and he got off, despite widespread acknowledgement that the charges against him were totally accurate. The bad news for Pontus was that, as a result of the scandal, the settlement of Phrygia was never ratified by the senate, despite Pontic protestations that the place had been fairly brought and paid for.

Now the son was on his way and showing signs of the same refreshing venality which had made his father so congenial to do business with. Aquillius minor had been consul in 101 BC, and had crushed a slave revolt in Sicily soon afterwards. He had helped himself to the spoils of victory so liberally that he was prosecuted for it, but, like his father, had been found innocent despite some convincing evidence to the contrary. So far, from the Pontic point of view, so good. Rome could not possibly want a war in Asia Minor with Italy so unsettled, and the man who was coming out to settle matters seemed to be someone with whom Mithridates could do business.

Manius Aquillius was not the only player with whom Mithridates had to contend. There was also Cassius in Pergamum, a competent administrator and, unusually for a Roman, almost honest. There was a further Roman official called Oppius, who seems to have been appointed as a result of the incipient crisis with Pontus. This allowed one official to concentrate upon the military situation, particularly in Cappadocia, whilst the other got on with the manifold administrative responsibilities of provincial government. Also with Aquillius were two other commissioners, though these were apparently so lacking in influence that History has neglected to make proper note of their names.

What is not known, but is of vast significance, is what briefing Aquillius had received from the senate. That he was instructed to restore Ariobarzanes and Nicomedes IV is beyond question, but had he also received instructions that the wings of Mithridates were to be clipped? Was the intention simply to restore the kings that Mithridates had usurped, or was it intended that there should also be some form of demonstration that the Romans took a very dim view of the attempt to kick them whilst they were down?³

It was also interesting that Manius was very much a creature of Marius. He had served under Marius in the German war, and it was primarily the influence of Marius that had saved him from being convicted for corruption. Marius had not had a good war during the Italian revolt. Feeling that his efforts were unappreciated after a few mediocre wins against the enemy, Marius had virtually withdrawn from the fray, bitterly indignant at the plaudits being heaped on the achievements of Sulla. Could Marius, even at this early stage, have been looking at a war in Asia to redeem his reputation?

Whatever their motivation, the commissioners took a solidly uncompromising line with Mithridates. Nicomedes IV and Ariobarzanes were to be restored, immediately and without quibbling, and Pontus was to get out of Phrygia forthwith. The Romans had never stripped Pontus of the title of ‘friend and ally of Rome’, and now, in a neat diplomatic twist, they ordered their ‘friend’ to provide the troops to make these expulsions possible. It was a moment of acute political tension, and Mithridates was the first to blink. With surly reluctance, and prodded by troops the Romans had raised from Galatia and among the Phrygians, he withdrew his puppets from Cappadocia and his army from Phrygia. Socrates was assassinated, which meant that Nicomedes IV became king by default, without Mithridates needing to back down in Bithynia.

Once more Rome had enforced its will in Asia Minor. But Aquillius wanted more than this. Time and again Mithridates had defied Rome through his proxies. He was due a measure of his own medicine, and a dose which, not coincidentally, would prove highly profitable to Aquillius and his colleagues.⁴

Ariobarzanes and Nicomedes were ordered to mount plundering raids on Pontus. Ariobarzanes, already a hardened survivor of regional geopolitics, excused himself from the enterprise, probably informing his Roman sponsors that there were easier ways to commit suicide. Nicomedes had no such option. He was deeply in debt to the Romans who had bailed him out financially whilst he was in exile, and his closer proximity to the Roman province made it possible for his assistance to be requested more forcefully. Accordingly, late in 90 BC, Bithynian forces made an armed incursion into Pontus, plundering maritime Paphlagonia almost as far as Amisus. Nor was economic warfare neglected, as the Hellespont was closed to Pontic shipping.

Though the Pontic army was more than capable of wiping out the invaders, Mithridates held back whilst he tried to establish exactly what was happening. He sent an ambassador called Pelopidas to the Romans, and played the same card that Aquillius had earlier. As Rome’s ‘friend and ally’, Mithridates claimed the protection of the Romans, and the return of the spoils looted from his territory. If the Romans were not prepared to intervene, then Mithridates would be content also with that, so long as they stood aside whilst he and Nicomedes fought it out, king to king. Much as it embarrassed Aquillius and the Romans to acknowledge it, Mithridates had a valid point. In their own defence, the Bithynians pointed out that Mithridates had hardly acted in good faith in the past, and that his vast army was hardly compatible with peaceful intentions. Pelopidas countered that what Mithridates had done in the past he had answered for, and his intentions were open to discussion. What was not in dispute was that Pontus had been blatantly wronged, and reparations were due.

The diplomatic solution would have been for Nicomedes to pay an insultingly small sum in damages, and for the delegates to discreetly make it plain that further misbehaviour by Pontus would see more harassment indirectly sponsored by Rome. But Aquillius seems to have felt doing even that amounted to a concession which would cause Rome to lose face in Asia Minor. Consequently, Pelopidas was fobbed off with a vague statement that ‘Rome wished no harm to come to either the king of Bithynia or the king of Pontus’.⁵ In other words, Mithridates was to take his punishment, and part of that punishment was the humiliation of his kingdom before the peoples and cities of Asia Minor. The Romans seem not to have realized, or not to have cared, that their actions put them publicly in the wrong. Mithridatic propaganda could now argue that the Romans were starting a war out of pure greed for plunder, and argue their case so convincingly that even Roman historians such as Appian were inclined to agree.

The next move lay with Mithridates. He did not declare war on Bithynia, which would have been tantamount to declaring war on Rome. Instead he reoccupied Cappadocia, and blandly informed the Romans that if they would sort out Nicomedes, he would reciprocate by helping them with their troubles in Italy – a none-too-subtle hint that Rome hardly needed to add to its current problems by starting a major war in Asia Minor. From the point of view of Aquillius the question did not arise – by reoccupying Cappadocia in defiance of Roman orders, Pontus had effectively declared war.

At the very least, Mithridates must have been aware that it was probable that Aquillius would react in this way. So why did he decide to challenge what was already the most formidable military power the world had ever known? To answer this question, we must consider the Rome of 89 BC, not what Rome was to become. What Mithridates saw was a state which had grown like a weed across the Mediterranean basin, and which now, like a weed which has outgrown its strength, was toppling under its own weight. Besides the heavy weather that Rome had made against Jugurtha, Rome was also struggling in Spain where the natives were busily handing out painful lessons in guerrilla warfare. Mithridates could always hope that peoples such as the Germanic tribes would make another assault across the Alps, and in any case, Rome was heartily loathed in Greece, Asia Minor, and, as the natives were even now making clear, in Italy. A series of oracular ‘visions’ were circulating in the East at this time, prophesying the fall of Rome. There could be no doubt that many of the cities of the Greek West were waiting only for leadership before they threw their weight behind making these visions a reality. Mithridates could convince himself and his allies that he was the new Alexander, and as Alexander had pushed aside the vast, yet decadent and corrupt Persian empire, so the cleansing fury of Pontus would light a fire which would annihilate Roman power east of the Adriatic Sea, and after that, who knows? As events were to show, this was a flawed yet far from unrealistic vision.

On the other side of the coin, if Rome was so vulnerable, why choose 90 BC as the time to take on so well-prepared and competent an enemy? Even aside from the Italian war, which was still in full swing, Aquillius must have known that Rome was already over-committed in Spain, whilst in Africa, northern Italy and Macedonia the legions were urgently needed to hold down Rome’s bad-tempered and rebellious subjects. It was because he knew this weakness that Mithridates had been prepared to push as hard as he had, and this was why, when the Romans challenged him, he was quite prepared to show that he was not bluffing.

The origin for the first war with Mithridates almost certainly lies in Rome’s deep preoccupation with the still intensely dangerous war in Italy. Because of this they allowed a dispute about the restoration of two petty kings in Asia Minor to escalate to a full-blown war without their considering the consequences of each step their representatives were taking. It is repeatedly alleged that Rome’s men on the ground in Asia Minor did not consult the senate before they committed their nation to war, but Rome certainly had plenty of time to reign in her representatives during the long build-up before the actual campaigning kicked off.⁶ Greed may have played a part, for Pontus was very wealthy, but arrogance is at least as likely. It is certain that, despite comprehensive Bithynian warnings, the strength of Pontus was underestimated. Aquillius might have considered this a matter well within his competence to handle, and perhaps the senate took him at his word. Certainly there would have been considerable irritation with Mithridates in Rome. In Asia Minor, the will of Rome had repeatedly been defied. Therefore, those defying Rome would pay. After all, they were only Asiatics.

The legions were unavailable, but Sulla had coped well enough in Cappadocia with only native levies. Therefore it appears that the Roman commanders in Asia Minor decided that what they needed was more, much more, of the same. Out of a sense of sheer self-preservation, Nicomedes contributed as many troops as he could raise. The Galatians also contributed a good number, both because they were still furious with the Pontic occupation of part of their territory, and because it was out of the question that a major regional war should leave them sitting on the sidelines. However, such was the nature of Galatian politics that the very act of declaring against Pontus by one part of Galatia brought another section of that bellicose nation within the Pontic camp. Likewise, Cappadocia contributed all the troops that Ariobarzanes could raise, but matching levies were raised by the supporters of Gordias and Mithridates. It is highly probable (the chronology at this point is confused) that both sides started the year 89 BC by gathering their resources - further proof that neither side had really expected matters to come to such a pass so soon. Mithridates was probably best placed to get the war under way, but he was playing a long game, being keenly aware that (as his predecessor Pharnarces had discovered) he could not win a major regional war without allies in other states. Therefore he had to be seen as defending against aggression, however tempting it must have been to get his defending in first whilst his enemies were not fully prepared.

The Battle of Amnias

Asia Minor at this time was still very wealthy, and able to support armies of considerable magnitude. Whilst we have very precise figures from the ancient sources, these are by no means consistent. Exactly how many men were actually present must always be a matter of speculation. Appian reckons that the Romans mustered 120,000 men between them. Cassius put himself on the border of Bithynia and Galatia, whilst Aquillius moved into the most dangerous position, ready to intercept and defeat Mithridates along his line of march if, as expected, he took the initiative and invaded Bithynia. Oppius meanwhile was in Cappadocia positioning himself for an attack on the Pontic underbelly, perhaps considering a strike up the valley of the Iris at the Pontic capital of Amaseia.

Nicomedes was aiming for the same destination as Oppius, but by a different route. He had taken 50,000 foot and 6,000 cavalry, and was making his way up the valley of the River Amnias, through the highlands of Paphlagonia. From there, once over the Halys, a good road led through the fertile olive groves of the Pontic heartland, past Lake Stiphane (modern Ladik Gyul), and then there was a gentle descent to the Iris river valley. Here, all going well, Nicomedes would unite with Oppius, and the pair would swoop on Amaseia (possibly detouring slightly en route to plunder Sinope) and claim victory. Such, at least, seems to have been the plan. As Wellington was later to observe, it is a rare plan that survives contact with the enemy, and Mithridates was following a different agenda entirely.

His army was mustering at Chiliokomon, between the Iris and the Amnias. This army was supposedly between 150,000 and a quarter of a million strong, though it is quite likely that the Roman historians greatly magnified the numbers so as to make their subsequent performance look better. For generals, Mithridates had chosen two brothers, Neoptolemus and Archelaus, whilst Arcathias, the son of one of Mithridates’ concubines, was in charge of 10,000 horse from Armenia.⁷ When news reached the Pontic camp that Nicomedes was on the move, Arcathias was sent to determine whether this was a full-scale invasion or a feint. Neoptolemus and Archelaus accompanied him with light infantry and some chariots, but the overall impression is of a reconnaissance in force rather than a full-scale counter-invasion.

The Pontic chariots – Mithridates is said to have had six hundred of these – were something of a throwback. As a platform for missile troops the chariot had over the centuries been replaced by horsemen, both because selective breeding had made horses steadily larger and more easily able to bear riders in combat, and because there were few areas in Asia Minor that lent themselves readily to chariot warfare. Yet Mithridates had chosen not merely chariots, but scythed chariots – heavy chariots with huge curved blades affixed to the wheels. These chariots could be devastating against enemies inexperienced with coping with them, assuming that somewhere suitable could be found for their deployment.

Such a place was the wide flat plain bordering the River Amnias, into which Nicomedes obligingly led his army, confident that his greatly-superior numbers and more heavily-armoured infantry would force the enemy to give ground. To avoid that very eventuality, the Pontic generals sent a force ahead to seize a rocky outcrop between the two armies which would make an excellent defensive bastion. Nicomedes anticipated the move and deployed his own forces so rapidly that the Pontic advance force was in danger of being enveloped. Neoptolemus advanced to their rescue, with the cavalry of Arcathius keeping the enemy off his flanks. Meanwhile, Archelaus and his highly-mobile light infantry scooted around the edge of the enemy army to distract them with a flank attack should the need arise, as it probably would, given the greater strength and numbers of the Bithynians. Accordingly, once the Pontic centre started to crumble under the mauling its troops were receiving, Archelaus launched his attack to distract the enemy, whilst Neoptolemus’ men fell back and reorganized themselves.

Having established that Pontus had superiority in cavalry, Arcathius looped back to try to get behind the enemy lines, which were in some disarray after fighting on two different fronts. It was time for the scythed chariots. These, as Appian relates

were driven at high speed into the Bithynian ranks. Some men were sliced in two within an eyeblink, others were practically shredded. The army of Nicomedes saw men in two halves, yet still alive and breathing, others sliced to pieces, their mangled organs still hanging from the scythes. They had by no means lost the battle, yet the sight was so hideous that they were overcome with confusion, and fear disordered their ranks.⁸

The Pontic troops pressed their advantage. Archelaus and Neoptolemus returned to the attack, each from a different angle. This was disconcerting enough for the Bithynian phalangites, since the entire principle of the phalanx was that the entire army should fight pointing in the same direction. But the problem became immeasurably worse when Arcathius turned up again and hit them in the rear with his cavalry. Though now at a disadvantage, the Bithynians fought on grimly. Yet in the back of their minds there must have been the knowledge that if this was only the advance guard of the Pontic army, the Bithynians were surely doomed once the main Pontic force turned up, as it might do at any minute. Eventually, with his men dying in large numbers, and the battle turning steadily in favour of his enemies, Nicomedes decided that it was time to cut his losses, leave his army to its fate, and get himself off the plain whilst he still had the chance.

The departure of their king was the signal for the Bithynian army to call it a day. Fighting to the death was not a local tradition, and dying for one’s king became less appealing when that same king was a rapidly diminishing dot heading for safety on the horizon.

Battle of the River Amnias

Phase I

Phase II

Phase III

Phase IV

For Pontus this was a highly rewarding battle in every sense. It was certainly won through the skill of the commanders who had used the mobility of their troops to maximum advantage, and had played the trump card of the scythe chariots at the best possible moment. Yet this would not have been possible without the discipline of soldiers who could manoeuvre quickly in discrete units, and retain their formation in the face of enemies who were more numerous and better-equipped. Almost certainly, the experience gained in fighting Scythians was now paying dividends - this was the performance of a veteran army, confident in its ability and that of its commanders, even against uncomfortable odds. Not only was Pontic morale greatly boosted (since a major enemy army had been knocked out without even engaging the main Pontic force) but Pontic coffers received a commensurate boost, as Nicomedes’ camp was captured and his war-chest along with it.

Mithridates made the most of the propaganda value of his victory, explaining to the remnants of the Bithynian army now in his power that his quarrel was with Rome rather than themselves. He not only allowed anyone who wanted to go home to do so, but even gave each funds and provisions for the journey. But not everyone would have wanted to go home. The loyalty of Nicomedes’ mercenaries was to Nicomedes’ pay-chest, and if that was under Pontic control, then so were the mercenaries. Consequently, it is probable that the manpower of the Pontic forces actually increased despite the casualties incurred in the battle.

The campaign in Asia Minor

The Romans may have been disconcerted by the defeat of Nicomedes, but hardly surprised. Their deployment along the major lines of communication into Pontus suggests that they were ready to pile into Pontus if things went well, and to stop Mithridates from getting out if things went badly. What threw this plan out of kilter was that things turned out worse than the Roman worst-case scenario. What Rome had to face was not a Pontic army limping from a bruising encounter with Bithynia’s finest, but a Pontic army roaring over the passes with sky-high morale, eager for the next confrontation. Evidence of this, and of the demoralization of their enemies, is apparent from the next engagement, when 100 Sarmatian horse came across eight times their number of Bithynian cavalry, and promptly attacked. Those Bithynians who were not killed or scattered were taken as prisoners to Mithridates, who, as before, freed them and sent them to their homes.

At the time the Pontic army was moving to Mount Scoroba, on the border between Bithynia and Pontus, which meant that Mithridates now had Aquillius squarely in his sights. The Roman was fully aware of this, and of the fact that the forces at his disposal were inadequate under these new circumstances. He had by now been joined by Nicomedes, who would have briefed him comprehensively on the gravity of the military situation. Accordingly, Aquillius decided that it was no longer possible to stop Mithridates at the fortress of Protopachium, as he had intended. Instead he ordered Nicomedes to join Cassius, and pulled his own troops back toward the River Sangarius.⁹

It is not known whether he intended to defend the river crossing or retreat to Pergamum, but the question became irrelevant as the Pontic army caught up with him on the way and forced him to give battle. As Aquillius had feared, his smaller army was overwhelmed, and some 10,000 foot and 4000 cavalry were lost to the enemy. Along with a substantial amount of prestige (this was a Roman general who was defeated, after all) came another financial windfall, as Mithridates helped himself to the booty of another enemy camp and its pay-chest. Aquillius personally escaped to Pergamum, perhaps making a mental note of the defects in Rome’s original deployment. By scattering the Roman and allied forces about the periphery of western Pontus, they had allowed Mithridates, who had the advantage of internal lines of communication, to move swiftly to defeat each of their armies individually. Though in total the Roman and allied armies had outnumbered Mithridates, his army was larger than any one of theirs – and it was certainly larger even than the armies left to Cassius and Oppius combined.

Quite possibly the army of Oppius did the same arithmetic. When we last heard of him, Oppius was master of an army of 40,000 men. He next appears in the historical record with a small band of cavalry and some mercenaries, and with these he was rather optimistically trying to hold the town of Laodocia on the River Lycus. What happened to his army is unknown. It is possible, but unlikely, that there had been another major battle in which Oppius was defeated, or more probably, those who had signed up for a quick and easy looting expedition into Pontus deserted as soon as they discovered that this war was going to be no such thing. This left the Roman forces looking even thinner, which caused the realists to carefully reconsider their options and depart, until finally the only soldiers remaining were those with personal loyalty to Oppius, or mercenaries determined to take their wages until the last moment that it was safe to do so.

In recent years, new evidence has come to light of Oppius’ frantic troop-raising activity whilst he was in Laodocia. This is in the form of a letter from Oppius to a Greek city (Aphrodisias), thanking them for raising auxiliary troops, a letter which the Greeks carefully committed to stone in case they needed to prove their good intentions to the Romans later.¹⁰ Sadly, it appears that these and other troops unaccountably failed to turn up.

To defeat Oppius, Mithridates merely needed to send an envoy. When promised that if they handed over the Roman commander they would receive the same beneficent terms as the numerous Greek cities which had already surrendered, the Laodocians jumped at the offer. Thenceforth, the retinue of Mithridates included one captured Roman magistrate, convincing proof for doubters of the power of Pontus and the vulnerability of Rome.

And then there was one. Cassius was in Phrygia, but uneasily aware that Pontus was now fully in control of Bithynia, and that Mithridates, once he had reorganized that kingdom, would turn his attention to the last bastion of Roman resistance. Desperately trying to recoup lost numbers, Cassius recruited or press-ganged as much of the local population as he could persuade to carry a spear; but, probably when he received news of the capture of Oppius and the loss of his army, he disbanded his rag-tag force of artisans and yokels in disgust and pulled back to Apameia. Mithridates followed at his leisure, folding Phrygia into his expanding empire, and pointedly staying at the same inn as that in which Alexander the Great had lodged on his journey eastward. Like Phrygia, Apameia surrendered without a fight, and Cassius, who had received substantial help and funding from the wealthy citizens of the town, hurried off to find shelter further west, eventually ending up in Rhodes.¹¹

With the loss of Rome’s last effective field army in Asia Minor, the trickle of defections to Pontus became a flood as cities and provinces hastened to ingratiate themselves with the region’s new master. Mithridates had already shown what he could do for his new friends by landing a large sum of cash on Apameia to help them rebuild after earthquake damage. It occurred to one and all that handing over Aquillius would endear whoever did so to Mithridates. The Roman commissioner was trying to get to Rhodes, the nearest point which had unambiguously declared for Rome, but the distance was too great, and the countryside too hostile. Aquillius was captured and added to Mithridates’ collection of captured Roman officials. By some reports Mithridates also captured Cassius at Apameia and thus briefly had the full set, though he released Cassius on the grounds that he had no quarrel with the man. Certainly Oppius was later released, and allowed to avail himself of the famous medical facilities on the island of Cos whilst he recovered from the shock of his ordeal (though Cos, too, later fell to Mithridates).

For Aquillius there was no relief. Mithridates needed a scapegoat, and he really was very disappointed in Aquillius and the uncompromising stand he had taken at the start of their relationship. The unfortunate commissioner was paraded through each town that Mithridates visited, often tied backwards on the back of a donkey; his humiliation symbolizing that of the power he represented. Aquillius’ suffering reached a dramatic end at Pergamum, where Mithridates had him killed with molten gold poured down his throat.¹²This brutally-effective propaganda gesture showed all Asia Minor both Mithridates’ contempt of Roman money-grubbing ways and the fact that Mithridates had no intention of negotiating with Rome once he had made his point, for everyone knew that the senate would not readily forgive such mistreatment of one of its own.

As 89 BC drew to a close, Mithridates could look back on a year well spent. Pontus and his lands across the Black Sea were secure, Cappadocia was finally and unambiguously his, and his flanks to the south and east were secured by the bulwark of Armenia. Bithynia and Pergamum were now as much the possessions of Pontus as Pergamum had once been of Rome. Once deprived of their land base, the small Roman squadron of ships blocking the Hellespont had been easily pushed aside, and commerce was flowing through the Black Sea ports again. Yet more to the point, the large Pontic navy of some three hundred decked ships now guarded the seaboard of Asia Minor, and there was no friendly ally to provide the Romans with the kind of bridgehead which they had been given for the campaign of Magnesia against the Seleucids.

The nearest Rome had to an ally was Rhodes in the southwest, and resistance to Pontus increased the nearer one came to that island. Some cities of Caria held out – some surrendering after a prolonged siege, others maintaining their resistance through the whole of the war. Some cities, such as Magnesia-ad-Sipylum, put up more than a token resistance (Archelaus was wounded there). However, many others were like Ephesus, where the citizens helped the Romans as long as they could, providing many with safe passage to Rhodes, but, when the Pontic army turned up, they opened the gates and outdid themselves in finding ingenious ways of demonstrating how fervently anti-Roman they had been all along. Mithridates gave the loyalty of his new allies a further boost by proclaiming a five-year amnesty from tribute. Perhaps he was feeling particularly benevolent as he was a husband again, having married Monima, a pretty girl who caught his eye at Stratonice, a recalcitrant town which he personally brought to heel on the way back from Ionia (Ionia was the general term for the historically-Greek western seaboard.)

Having won and secured Asia Minor, Mithridates waited with some confidence for the Roman counter-strike. Having undoubtedly studied Roman history, Mithridates knew that the Roman response to the loss of a medium-sized army in one year was to gather forces, elect a commander, and return the next year with a considerably larger army. Rather to his surprise, this did not happen.