Hannibal Enemy of Rome (43 page)

Hannibal had gone. North, to avoid a battle.

Publius had difficulty concealing his amazement. ‘Who would have thought it?’ he muttered. ‘He is heading for the Alps, and thence to Cisalpine Gaul.’

Fabricius was still astonished too. He knew no one who had even contemplated that Hannibal would pursue such a plan. Stunning in its simplicity, it had taken them all completely unawares. It was lucky chance that had them standing here today. Now Publius faced a hard choice. What was the best thing to do?

The consul immediately convened a meeting of his senior officers on the riverbank. As well as Gnaeus, his legatus, there were twelve tribunes present, six for each regular legion. Following tradition, alternate legions had three senior tribunes, men who had served for more than ten years, while the others had two. The junior tribunes needed only to have seen five years’ service. It was a mark of the times, and of the influence of the Minucii, that Flaccus, who had no military experience, should be accorded even the lower rank of junior tribune. As the patrol leader, Fabricius was also present. He felt distinctly nervous in the presence of so many senior officers.

‘We are faced with four choices, all of them difficult,’ Publius began. ‘To pursue Hannibal and force him to fight, or to withdraw to the coast
and return with the whole army to Cisalpine Gaul. The third option would be merely to send word to the Senate of Hannibal’s intentions, before continuing as charged to Iberia. Or … I could bring the news to Rome myself while Gnaeus takes the legions west.’ He scanned his officers’ faces, waiting for a response.

Fabricius thought that either the second or fourth options were the best, but he certainly wasn’t going to say anything before any of his superiors did. As the silence lengthened, it appeared that none of them were prepared to speak up either. Fabricius fumed. This was one of the most pivotal moments in Roman history, and no one wanted to say the wrong thing. That is, he realised, apart from one. Flaccus was shifting from foot to foot like a man possessed. Fabricius struggled to master his exasperation. Probably all that kept Flaccus’ mouth shut was the desire not to breach military protocol by speaking out of turn, before the five senior tribunes.

Eventually, Publius grew impatient. ‘Come now,’ he said. ‘Let us be frank. You may speak without fear of retribution. I want your honest opinions.’

Gnaeus cleared his throat. ‘In theory, Hannibal should be confronted immediately. However, I wonder if it would be the right thing to do?’

‘We know that his forces outnumber ours by at least two to one, sir,’ added a senior tribune quickly. ‘And if we suffered a setback, or even a defeat, what then? Massilia’s defences aren’t up to withstanding a siege. All of the other legions are occupied on other duties, either in Cisalpine Gaul, or in Sicily with Consul Longus. We have no support to call on.’

Sensible words, thought Fabricius. He was surprised to see Flaccus’ face grow red with indignation.

Another senior tribune, an older man than the rest, stepped into view. ‘Is the enemy’s strength so important, sir?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Our legionaries are the finest soldiers in the world! They are used to winning victories against vastly superior numbers, and have done so against Carthaginian armies in the past. Why should they not do the same against this …
Hannibal
?’ He filled the last word with contempt. ‘I say we follow him, and stamp on the gugga serpent before it slides into Cisalpine Gaul and prepares to bite us in the heel.’

It was difficult to respond to the tribune’s fierce words without seeming unpatriotic, and the first speakers sealed their lips. Even Gnaeus looked unsure. Naturally, Flaccus beamed and nodded in agreement, turning to
his fellow junior tribunes for support. Cupping his chin with one hand, Publius gazed at the nearby fast-flowing water. Everyone waited for his response.

Roman soldiers are indeed without equal, thought Fabricius, but the Carthaginian forces who had left this camp were led by a man who, in less than a year, had conquered large areas of Iberia, passed through the mountains into Gaul and, despite fierce opposition, successfully crossed an enormous river, elephants included. Chasing after Hannibal could prove disastrous.

Publius held his counsel for an age. At length, he looked up. ‘It seems to me that pursuing a larger enemy force into unknown territory would be most unwise. As some have already said, we are alone here apart from our Massiliote allies, who do not number more than a few thousand. We must reconcile ourselves to the fact that the Carthaginians will enter Cisalpine Gaul within the next two months.’ Ignoring the shocked gasps this comment produced, Publius continued, ‘Let us also not forget where Hannibal’s main base is. If his access to that is cut off, his chance of supplies and reinforcements will be greatly reduced. With this in mind, I propose to hand the command of the consular army to my brother, and for him to lead it to Iberia.’ Publius acknowledged Gnaeus’ accepting bow. ‘I myself will return to Italy with all speed. I intend to be waiting for Hannibal when he makes his descent from the Alps. In this way both our problems will have been addressed, the gods willing.’

Publius’ decisive manner was good enough for most of the tribunes, who muttered in agreement. Only the older man and Flaccus seemed unhappy. The former was experienced enough to know when to keep quiet, but the latter was not. Ignoring Fabricius’ warning look, Flaccus started forward. ‘Think again, sir! Hannibal may win many allies among the discontented tribes in Cisalpine Gaul. The next time you meet his army, it could be far bigger.’

Publius’ eyebrows rose at Flaccus’ temerity. ‘Is that so?’ he said icily.

Fabricius was impressed by his future son-in-law’s insight, but it was time to shut up. Angering a consul was not an intelligent thing to do. Again, however, Flaccus ignored his pointed stare.

‘It is, sir! For the honour of Rome, you must follow Hannibal and defeat him. Think of the shame of a foreign enemy, especially a Carthaginian
one, setting his foot on Italian soil.’ Seeing his fellow officers’ horrified expressions, Flaccus faltered. Then he looked for support. Finding none among his compatriots, his gaze finally fell on Fabricius. ‘You agree with me, don’t you?’

Suddenly, Fabricius was the centre of attention. He did not know what to say. Agreeing would make him party to Flaccus’ insult to the consul. Refusing to agree would, in effect, renege on the newly founded alliance between his family and the Minucii. Both choices seemed as bad as the other.

To his intense relief, Publius leaped in. ‘At first I thought you courageous for speaking your mind. Now I see that it was your arrogance. How dare you speak of Rome’s honour when you have never drawn a sword in her defence? The only one here who has not, I might add.’ As Flaccus’ cheeks flushed crimson, Publius continued. ‘Just so you know, I too hate the idea of an enemy on Roman soil. Yet there is no shame in waiting to face an opponent on the best terms possible, and in Cisalpine Gaul we shall have the entire Republic’s resources behind us.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Flaccus muttered. ‘I spoke out of turn.’

Publius did not acknowledge the apology. ‘Next time you place your foot in your mouth, do not try to redeem yourself by asking a junior officer such as Fabricius to disagree with a consul.
That
is a shameful act.’ He stalked off with Gnaeus. The other tribunes fell to talking among themselves. They pointedly ignored Flaccus.

Fortunately, Flaccus’ outrage was so great that he assumed Fabricius was of the same opinion as he. Complaining bitterly about the public humiliation he had just suffered, he accompanied Fabricius back to the legions. For his part, Fabricius was content to remain silent. He had dismissed Atia’s concerns out of hand before, but Flaccus’ rash action revealed monstrous arrogance, but also a worrying lack of awareness. What else was he capable of?

HUNCHING HIS SHOULDERS
against the early-morning chill, Bostar emerged from his tent. He gazed in awe at the towering mountains that reared up before him. The range stretched from north to south above the fertile plain, and occupied the entire eastern horizon. A dense network of pine trees covered the lower slopes, concealing any potential routes of ascent. The sky was clear, but the jagged peaks above were hidden yet by shrouds of grey cloud. Despite this, they were a magnificent sight.

‘Lovely to look at, eh?’

Bostar jumped. Not many of the soldiers were stirring, but it was no surprise that his father was already up. ‘They are incredible, yes.’

‘And we’ve got to cross them.’ Malchus grimaced. ‘Our passage of the River Rhodanus seems trivial now, doesn’t it?’

Bostar’s laugh was a trifle hollow. If anyone had made such a statement a few weeks before, he wouldn’t have believed it. Looking at the harsh slopes above, he knew that his father might well be correct. Expecting more than fifty thousand men, thousands of pack animals and thirty-seven elephants to climb into the realm of gods and demons bordered on genius - or madness. Feeling disloyal for even thinking the latter, Bostar glanced around. He was surprised to see Sapho approaching. After the Rhodanus, the brothers had ostensibly patched up their relationship, but the reconciliation had been little more than a facade for their father’s benefit. The two avoided each other if at all possible. Bostar forced a smile. ‘Sapho.’ Try as he might, he could not help but feel hurt when his brother silently responded with a salute.

‘That’s not necessary, is it?’ Malchus’ tone was sharp.

‘Sorry,’ said Sapho offhandedly. ‘I’m still half asleep.’

‘Yes, it’s not exactly your time of day, is it?’ retorted Bostar acidly. ‘That would be more like midday.’

‘Enough!’ barked Malchus before Sapho could respond. ‘Why can’t you at least be civil to each other? There’s far more at stake here than your stupid feud.’

As always, their father’s outburst silenced the brothers. Unusually, it was Sapho who made the first effort. ‘What were you talking about?’ he asked.

His attempt made Bostar feel obliged to reply. ‘Those.’ He pointed at the mountains.

Sapho’s face soured. ‘Ill fortune awaits us up there. Countless men will be lost, I know it.’ He made the sign against evil.

‘We’ve had such good fortune since the Rhodanus, though,’ protested Bostar. ‘The Romans didn’t pursue us. Then the Cavares gave us gifts of food, shoes and warm clothing. Since we entered their territory, their warriors have kept the Allobroges at bay. Who’s to say that the gods won’t continue to smile on us?’

‘The year’s practically over. Winter will be here soon. It will be a superhuman task.’ An impossible task, thought Sapho dourly. Hell awaits us. He had never liked heights, and the prospect of ascending the Alps - especially in late autumn - filled him with a murmuring dread. Of course he could not admit to that, nor to his resentment of Hannibal for choosing such a difficult route, or for favouring Bostar above him. He jerked his head towards the south. ‘We should have travelled along the coast of Gaul.’

‘That would have meant a pitched battle with the forces our cavalry encountered near the Rhodanus, which was something Hannibal wanted to avoid.’ Despite his robust words, Bostar felt his spirits being dragged down. With the friendly Cavares returning to their homes, and nowhere to go other than up, there was no denying what they had let themselves in for. He was grateful when his father intervened.

‘I want to hear no more talk like that. It’s bad for morale,’ growled Malchus. He had similar concerns, but he wouldn’t admit them to anyone. ‘We must keep faith with Hannibal, as he does with us. His spirits were high last night, weren’t they?’ He glared at his sons.

‘Yes, Father,’ Sapho conceded.

‘He doesn’t
have
to wander around his men’s campfires for half the
night, sharing their poxy rations and listening to their miserable life stories,’ Malchus continued sternly. ‘He doesn’t sleep alongside them, wrapped only in his cloak, for the good of his health! Hannibal does it because he loves his soldiers as if they were his children. The least we can do is to return that love with utmost fealty.’

‘Of course,’ Sapho muttered. ‘You know that my loyalty is beyond question.’

‘And mine,’ added Bostar fervently.

Malchus’ scowl eased. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I know that the next few weeks will be our toughest test yet, but it’s officers such as we who will have to give an example. To lead the men when they falter. We must show no weakness, just a steely resolve to reach the top of whichever pass Hannibal chooses. Don’t forget that from there, we will fall upon Cisalpine Gaul, and after it, Italy, like ravening wolves.’