Hannibal Enemy of Rome (28 page)

Their conversation instantly came to an end. Hanno could only watch
as Quintus entered his sister’s chamber in turn. Hanno was genuinely fond of Aurelia. Part of him wondered what was going on, but part of him didn’t care. Finally, Carthage was at war with Rome once more.

Somehow, he would be involved in it.

Quintus found Aurelia lying on her bed, huge sobs racking her body. He rushed to kneel by her side. ‘It will be all right,’ he whispered, reaching out to stroke her hair. ‘Flaccus sounds like a good man.’

Her crying redoubled, and Quintus muttered a curse. Mentioning the man’s name was the worst possible thing he could have done. Not knowing what to do, he rubbed Aurelia’s shoulders comfortingly. They stayed in that position without talking for a long time. Finally, Aurelia rolled over. Her cheeks were red and blotchy, and her eyes swollen from weeping. ‘I must look terrible,’ she said.

Quintus gave her a crooked smile. ‘You’re still beautiful,’ he replied.

She stuck out her tongue. ‘Liar.’

‘A bath will help,’ advised Quintus. He put on a jovial face. ‘Won’t it?’

Aurelia could not keep up the pretence. ‘What am I going to do?’ she whispered miserably.

‘It was going to happen sometime,’ said Quintus. ‘Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt? If you really hate him, Father would not make you go ahead with the marriage.’

‘I suppose not,’ Aurelia replied dubiously. She thought for a moment. ‘I know I have to do what Father says. It’s so hard, though, especially when …’ Her voice died away, and new tears filled her eyes.

Quintus raised a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t say it,’ he whispered. ‘You can’t.’ He didn’t want to hear it spoken out loud.

With great effort, Aurelia regained control of her emotions. She nodded resolutely. ‘Better get ready, then. I have to look my best tonight.’

Quintus drew her into a warm embrace. ‘That’s the spirit,’ he whispered. Possessing courage was not an exclusively male quality, he realised. Nor was it confined to the battlefield or the hunt. Aurelia had just shown that she had plenty of it too.

Flaccus arrived mid-afternoon, accompanied by a large party of slaves and soldiers, and was immediately ushered to the best guest room to freshen
up. Apart from his personal slaves, most of Flaccus’ retinue stayed outside, where they were quartered in the farmyard. Hanno was busy in the kitchen and saw little of the proceedings for some time. An hour later, loud voices announced the appearance of Martialis and Gaius. They were greeted jovially by Fabricius, and guided to the banqueting hall off the courtyard where, following tradition, they were first served
mulsum
, a mixture of wine and honey. Elira performed this task, leaving Hanno to wait impatiently in the kitchen. As darkness fell, he walked around the courtyard, lighting the bronze oil lamps that hung from every pillar. At the corner furthest from the tablinum, Hanno sensed movement behind him. He turned, gaining an impression of a handsome man in a toga with thick black hair and a big nose before Flaccus disappeared into the banqueting hall. Quintus and his sister arrived soon after, wearing their best clothes. Hanno had never seen Aurelia wearing make-up before. To his surprise, he liked what he saw.

Finally, the meal was ready, and Hanno could enter the room with the other slaves. He was to remain there for the duration of the meal, serving food, clearing away plates and, most importantly of all, listening to the conversation. He waited attentively behind the left-hand couch, where Fabricius reclined with Martialis and Gaius. As an important guest, Flaccus had been given the central couch, while Atia, Quintus and an impassive Aurelia occupied the right-hand one. In customary fashion, the fourth side of the table had been left open.

Flaccus spent much of his time complimenting Aurelia on her looks and trying to engage her in conversation. His attempts met with little initial success. Finally, when Atia began to glare at her openly, she started to respond. To Hanno, it was obvious that she was being insincere, merely doing what her mother wished. Flaccus did not seem to notice this, or that apart from Fabricius, the others present did not dare to address him. Quintus and Gaius alone cast frequent glances at Flaccus, hoping in vain for news of Carthage. Quaffing large amounts of mulsum and wine, the black-haired politician seemed more and more taken by Aurelia as the night went on.

Over the sweet platters, Flaccus turned to Fabricius. ‘My compliments on your daughter. She is as beautiful as you said. More so, perhaps.’

Fabricius inclined his head gravely. ‘Thank you.’

‘I think we should talk further on this matter in the morning,’ boomed Flaccus. ‘Come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement.’

Fabricius allowed himself a small smile. ‘That would be a great honour.’

Atia murmured her agreement.

‘Excellent.’ Flaccus looked at Hanno. ‘More wine.’

Hanno hurried forward, his face a neutral mask. He wasn’t sure how he felt about what had just been said. Not that it mattered, he reflected bitterly. Here I am a slave. His resentment over his status surged back, stronger than ever, and he dismissed his concern about Aurelia’s possible betrothal. The bonds that tied him to the farm were weakening. If Aurelia married Flaccus, she would go to live in Rome. Quintus was always talking about joining the army. When he left, Hanno would be left friendless and alone. On the spot, he resolved to begin planning his escape.

Quintus had decided that Flaccus seemed quite personable and glanced sidelong at Aurelia. He was delighted to see no sign of distress in her face, and marvelled at her equanimity. Then he noted the slight flush to her cheeks, and her empty glass. Was she drunk? It wouldn’t take much. Aurelia rarely consumed wine. In spite of this, Quintus found his head full of the possibilities that an alliance between the Fabricii and Minucii would create. Aurelia and Flaccus would get used to each other, he told himself. That’s the way most marriages worked. He reached out to touch Aurelia’s hand. She smiled, and he was reassured.

The conversation flitted about for some time, with talk of the weather, the crops and the quality of the games in Capua compared to Rome. No one mentioned the one topic that everyone wanted to know about: what had happened in Carthage?

It was Martialis who eventually broached the subject. As was his wont, he had been drinking large amounts. Draining his cup yet again, he saluted Flaccus. ‘They say that the Carthaginian wines are very drinkable.’

‘They are agreeable enough,’ accepted Flaccus. He pursed his lips. ‘Unlike the people who produce them.’

Martialis was oblivious to Fabricius’ frowns. ‘Will we be seeing such vintages in Italy more often?’ he asked with a wink.

Flaccus dragged his eyes away from Aurelia. ‘Eh?’

‘Tell us what happened in Carthage,’ begged Martialis. ‘We are all dying to know.’

Hanno held his breath, and he could see Quintus doing the same.

Slowly, Flaccus took in the rapt faces around him. His features took on a self-important expression, and he smiled, pompously. ‘Nothing I say is to travel beyond these walls.’

‘Of course not,’ Martialis murmured. ‘You can be assured of our discretion.’

Even Fabricius joined in with the buzz of agreement.

Satisfied, Flaccus began. ‘I was but a minor member of the party, although I like to think my contribution was noted. We were led by the two consuls, Lucius Aemilius Paullus and Marcus Livius Salinator. Our spokesman was the former censor Marcus Fabius Buteo.’ He let the important names sink in. ‘From the start, it seemed that our mission would be successful. The omens were good, and the crossing from Lilybaeum uneventful. We reached Carthage three weeks ago to the day.’

Hanno closed his eyes and imagined the scene. The massive fortifications gleaming in the winter sun. The magnificent temple of Eshmoun dominating the top of Byrsa Hill. The twin harbours full of ships. Home, he thought with a jolt of longing. Will I ever see it again?

Flaccus’ next words brought him back to earth with a jolt. ‘Arrogant sons of whores,’ he growled. He glanced at Atia. ‘My apologies. But the most significant men in Rome had arrived, and who had they sent to meet us? A junior officer of the city guard.’

Martialis’ face went purple with rage, and he nearly choked on a mouthful of wine.

Fabricius was of a calmer disposition. ‘It must have been a mistake, surely,’ he said.

Flaccus scowled. ‘On the contrary. The gesture was quite deliberate. They had made up their minds before we even disembarked from our ships. Instead of being allowed time to wash and recover from the journey, we were escorted straight to the Senate.’

Martialis snorted. ‘Typical bloody guggas. No sense of decorum.’

Aurelia cast Hanno a quick, sympathetic glance.

The Carthaginian was so angry that he dared not look back at her. He
longed to smash the clay jug in his hands over Martialis’ head, but of course he did nothing. Punishment aside, what Flaccus had to say next was of far more importance.

‘And when you got there?’ asked Quintus eagerly.

‘Fabius announced who we were. No one responded. They just stood there looking at us. Waiting, like so many jackals around a corpse. And so Fabius demanded to know if Hannibal’s attack on Saguntum had been carried out with their approval.’ Flaccus paused, breathing heavily. ‘Do you know what they did then?’ A vein pulsed in his forehead. ‘They laughed at us.’

Martialis slammed his beaker on the table. Fabricius spat a curse, while Quintus and Gaius gaped at each other, stunned that anyone would treat the Republic’s most prominent statesmen in such a manner. Atia took the opportunity to mutter something in Aurelia’s ear. Hanno, meanwhile, had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing out loud. Carthage had not lost all of its pride when it lost Sicily and Sardinia to Rome, he reflected proudly.

‘There were some who spoke out against Hannibal,’ Flaccus conceded. ‘The loudest among them was a fat man called Hostus.’

Treacherous bastard! thought Hanno. What I’d give to stick a knife in his belly.

‘But they were shouted down by the vast majority, who disputed the treaty signed by Hasdrubal six years ago and rejected any need to acknowledge Saguntum’s links with Rome. They were shouting and hurling abuse at us,’ growled Flaccus. ‘We took counsel with each other, and decided we had only one option.’

Quintus glanced at Hanno. He had had no idea that the Carthaginians would react with such force. Stunned by what he saw, he looked again. Quintus knew Hanno’s body language well enough to realise that he
had
known. Flaccus’ voice stopped him from dwelling on the matter further.

‘Fabius walked into the middle of the chamber. That shut the guggas up,’ said Flaccus fiercely. ‘Gripping the folds of his toga, he told them that within he held both peace and war. They could have whichever they pleased. At his words, the place descended into chaos. It was impossible even to hear yourself speak.’

‘Did they opt for war?’ demanded Fabricius.

‘No,’ revealed Flaccus. ‘Instead, the presiding suffete told Fabius that he should choose.’

By now everyone in the room, even Elira, was hanging on his every word.

‘Fabius looked at us to confirm that we were of one mind, and then he told the guggas that he let fall war.’ Flaccus barked a short, angry laugh. ‘They’ve got balls, I’ll grant them that. Fabius had hardly finished speaking when practically every single man in the chamber stood up and yelled, “We accept it!”’

Hanno found he could no longer conceal his delight. Picking up two handfuls of dirty plates, he headed for the kitchen. No one except Aurelia noticed him leave. But once outside the door, Hanno’s desire to hear more was so great that he lingered on, eavesdropping.

‘I always hoped that another war with Carthage could be avoided,’ said Fabricius heavily. His jaw hardened. ‘But they leave us no choice. Insulting you and your colleagues, and especially the consuls, in that manner is unforgivable.’

‘Absolutely right,’ thundered Martialis. ‘The curs must be taught an even better lesson than last time.’

Flaccus was pleased by their reactions. ‘Good,’ he muttered. ‘Why don’t you both come with me to Rome? Much needs to be arranged, and we will need men who have fought Carthage before.’

‘It would be my honour,’ replied Fabricius.

‘And mine,’ added Martialis. An embarrassed look crossed his florid face, and he tapped his right leg. ‘Except for this. It’s an old injury, from Sicily. Nowadays, I can barely walk more than a quarter of a mile without stopping for a rest.’

‘You have more than done your duty for Rome,’ said Flaccus reassuringly. ‘I shall just take Fabricius.’

Quintus was on his feet before he knew it. ‘I want to fight too.’

Gaius echoed his cry a heartbeat later.

Flaccus’ smile was patronising. ‘Both quite the dogs of war, aren’t you? But I’m afraid that you’re still too young. This struggle needs to be won fast, and the best men to do that are veterans.’

‘I’m seventeen,’ protested Quintus. ‘So is Gaius.’

Flaccus’ face darkened. ‘Remember whom you are speaking to,’ he snapped.

‘Quintus! Sit down,’ Fabricius ordered. ‘You too, Gaius.’ As the two reluctantly obeyed, he turned to Flaccus. ‘My apologies. They’re eager, that’s all.’