Hannibal Enemy of Rome (50 page)

‘Hanno is innocent of any crime towards your family,’ Aurelia hissed. ‘The war in Sicily took place before he had even been born!’

‘Let me deal with this,’ said her mother sharply. ‘Were you seeking revenge the first time that you attacked the Carthaginian?’

‘Yes, mistress.’

‘I understand. While it doesn’t excuse your actions, it explains them.’ Atia’s expression hardened. ‘Did you lie about finding the knife and purse among the slave’s belongings?’

‘No, mistress! As the gods are my witness, I told the truth,’ said the Sicilian earnestly.

Liar, thought Aurelia furiously, but she dared say nothing. Her mother was nodding in approval. A moment later, her worries materialised.

‘Agesandros is right,’ Atia declared. ‘Things will be hard enough in the months to come. Let us all make a new start.’ She stared expectantly at Aurelia. Agesandros’ expression was milder, but mirrored hers.

‘Very well,’ Aurelia whispered, feeling more isolated than ever.

HAVING FOUND A
cheap bed for the night, the two friends hit the nearest tavern. Drinking seemed the adult thing to do, but of course there was a darker reason behind it: their thoughts about the outcome of the war. Both felt more awkward than they had since falling out during Flaccus’ visit. Aurelia was not there to mediate, so wine would have to do. Their tactic worked to some extent, and they chatted idly while eyeing the prostitutes who were working the room for customers.

It didn’t take long before the wine began to affect them both. Neither were used to drinking much. Fortunately, they grew merry rather than morose, and the evening became quite enjoyable. Encouraged by a hooting Hanno, Quintus even relaxed enough to take one of the whores on to his lap and fondle her bare breasts. He might have gone further, but then something happened that took all their attention away from wine and women. Important news didn’t take long to spread through cities and towns. People simply carried the word on foot, from shops to taverns, and market places to houses. Naturally, the accuracy of such gossip could not always be relied upon, but that did not mean there wasn’t some truth to it.

‘Hannibal is leading his army over the Alps!’ cried a voice from outside the inn. ‘When he falls upon Italy, we shall be murdered in our beds!’

As all conversation ceased, the two friends stared at each other, wide eyed. ‘Did you know about this?’ Quintus hissed.

‘I had no idea,’ Hanno replied truthfully. ‘Why else would I have agreed to travel with you to Iberia?’

A moment later, a middle-aged man with a red face and double chin entered. His grubby tunic and calloused hands pointed towards him being a shopkeeper of some kind. He smiled self-importantly at the barrage of questions that greeted him. ‘I have seen Publius the consul with my own
eyes, not an hour since,’ he announced. ‘He has returned from Massilia with this terrible news.’

‘What else did you hear?’ shouted a voice. ‘Tell us!’

A roar of agreement went up from the other patrons.

The shopkeeper licked his lips. ‘Running through the streets is thirsty work. A cup of wine would wet my throat nicely.’

Hurriedly, the landlord filled a beaker to the brim. Scurrying over, he pressed it into the newcomer’s hand.

He took a deep swallow and smacked his lips with satisfaction. ‘Tasty.’

‘Tell us!’ Quintus cried.

The shopkeeper smiled again at his temporary power. ‘After landing at Massilia for supplies, Publius heard word that Hannibal might be in the area. He sent out a patrol, which stumbled upon the entire Carthaginian army.’ He paused, letting the shocked cries of his audience fill the air, and draining his cup. The innkeeper refilled it at once. The man raised a hand. Instantly, silence fell. ‘When he heard, Publius led his army north with all speed, his aim to force the enemy into battle. But when they arrived, Hannibal had gone. Vanished. His only intention can be to cross the mountains and enter Cisalpine Gaul. Before invading Italy.’

Wails of terror met his final remark. The room descended into chaos as everyone screamed to be heard. Some customers even ran away, back to their houses. Quintus’ face bore an expression of total shock, while Hanno struggled to control his exhilaration. Who else could be so daring, other than Hannibal? He wondered if his father had known about this tactically brilliant plan, and said nothing? At one stroke, his priorities had been changed utterly.

Quintus had realised the same thing. ‘I suppose you’ll be leaving now,’ he said accusingly. ‘Why travel to Iberia now? Just head to Cisalpine Gaul.’

Feeling guilty for even entertaining the idea, Hanno flushed. ‘This changes nothing,’ he replied. ‘We are going to Iberia to find your father.’

Quintus looked Hanno in the eyes, and saw that he meant it. He hung his head. ‘I’m sorry for doubting your honour,’ he muttered. ‘It’s shocking to hear news like this.’

Their conversation was interrupted again. ‘Do you not want to know why the consul has returned?’ bellowed the messenger, who was already on his fourth cup of wine. He waited as the room grew quiet once more.
‘Publius has been recalled by the Senate because he sent his army on to Iberia rather than pursuing Hannibal. They say that the Minucii want him replaced with one of their own. Tomorrow, he will attend the Curia to explain his actions.’

All thoughts of leaving Rome at dawn vanished from the pair’s heads. What did it matter if they delayed their departure for a few hours to witness this drama unfold?

Whatever Publius’ reception in the Senate might be, he was still one of the Republic’s two consuls. At the walled gate that signalled the end of the Via Ostiensis, the road from Ostia, a fine litter borne by six strapping slaves awaited his arrival. He, Flaccus and Fabricius clambered aboard. A dozen lictores bearing fasces preceded the litter into the city. As soldiers under arms, Fabricius’ thirty cavalrymen had to remain outside but this did not delay the party’s progress. The lictores’ mere presence, wearing their magnificent red campaign cloaks rather than just their usual togas, and with the addition of axes to their fasces, was enough to clear the streets. All citizens, apart from Vestal Virgins or married women, were obliged to stand aside, or face the consequences. Only the strongest and tallest men were picked to join the lictores, and they had been taught to use their fasces at the slightest opportunity. If ordered to do so, they could even act as executioners.

Fabricius had been to Rome several times, and always enjoyed the spectacle provided by the capital. The lictores’ presence ensured that he gained the best possible impression of the city. People pushed inside the shops and into the alleyways to get out of the way. It was all a far cry from Capua, and even further from Fabricius’ farm, and yet it felt very similar. He tried to ignore the feeling of homesickness that followed. Their rapid progress to the Forum Romanum ensured that he had no time to wallow in the emotion.

As they entered the Forum, Fabricius’ eyes were drawn to the Curia, the home of the Senate. Unremarkable apart from its great bronze doors, it was nonetheless the focal point of the Republic. He picked out the Graecostasis, the area just outside, where foreign embassies had to wait until they were called in. Today, accompanying one of the two most important men in the land, there was no such delay. The lictores swept up to the
entrance, scattering the crowd of senators’ sons who were hovering outside, listening to the debates within. Publius alighted right before the portals; so too did Flaccus and Fabricius. All three were clad in their finest togas. Naturally, Publius wore the grandest, a shining white woollen garment with a purple border.

Before leaving, Fabricius had secreted a dagger in the folds of his toga. After months on campaign, he felt naked without a weapon, and had scooped it up without even thinking. Yet it was a risky move: the lictores alone were allowed to bear arms within the Curia. Now, Fabricius cursed his impulsive decision. There was no way of getting rid of the dagger, though. He would have to carry it inside and hope for the best. His heart began to pound. Publius had asked him to be present because he was the only Roman officer to have seen Hannibal’s army. His testimony was vital for Publius’ defence. ‘I’m relying on you,’ the consul had said. ‘I know you won’t let me down. Just tell them what you saw at the Carthaginian camp.’ Fabricius had promised to do so. He sneaked a glance at Flaccus, who looked rather pleased with himself. Confusion filled Fabricius. What role would he play in the drama to come?

The most senior lictor spoke with the guards before entering to announce Publius’ arrival. A hush fell inside. Upon the man’s return, the twelve lictores re-formed in six columns of two. With a measured tread, they led the way into the Senate. Fabricius followed Publius and Flaccus. He had to stop himself from staring like an excited boy. He’d never entered the seat of the Republic’s democracy. Light flooded in through long, narrow windows set high in the walls. Running the length of the rectangular room, three low steps were lined by marble benches. Rank upon rank of standing toga-clad senators filled this space. To a man, their gaze was locked on Publius and his companions. Struggling to control his awe, Fabricius kept his eyes averted from the senators. At the end of the chamber, he saw a dais upon which sat two finely carved rosewood chairs. These, the most important positions, were for the consuls.

The lictores reached the platform and fanned out to either side, leaving a space for Publius to assume his seat. Flaccus and Fabricius remained at floor level. As Publius sat down, the lictores smacked the butts of their fasces off the mosaic. The clashing sound echoed off the walls and died away.

There was a long pause.

Glancing sideways, Fabricius saw a tiny, satisfied smile flicker across the consul’s lips. It was obviously up to Publius to begin proceedings, and, in a pointed reminder of his rank, he was making the men who had recalled him to Rome wait. On and on the silence went. Soon Fabricius could see senators muttering angrily to one another. None dared to speak, however.

Finally, Publius opened his mouth. ‘As I speak, the greatest threat to Rome since the barbarian Brennus approaches us through the Alps.’ He let his shocking words sink in. ‘Yet instead of letting me fulfil my duty, that of defending the Republic, you would have me return to explain my actions. Well, I am here.’ Publius extended his arms, as if to welcome interrogation, and fell silent.

A deluge of questions followed. Practically half the senators present tried to speak at the same time. Many of their queries involved Brennus, the Gaulish chieftain who had led his fearsome warriors to the Capitoline Hill itself, and sacked Rome. In the process, he had left a weeping sore deep in the Roman psyche, a source of eternal shame. Fabricius did not know if Hannibal was truly that dangerous, but merely by mentioning Brennus, Publius had scored the first points. Before the Minucii could make a single accusation, the Senate’s attention had been neatly diverted to something far more primeval.

Publius wasn’t finished. Lifting a hand, he waited for quiet. ‘I want to know why I was summoned here. Only then will I tell you anything of Hannibal and the enormous Carthaginian army which follows him.’

Cries and protests filled the air, but Publius simply folded his arms and sat back on his chair.

Second round to Publius, thought Fabricius. His respect for the consul was growing by the moment.

Both young men were up late the next morning. A brief visit to the public baths helped to ease their pounding heads. Fortunately, both also had the wits to drink copious amounts of water. Relieving themselves was not an issue: all they had to do was dart up one of the many alleyways that contained dung heaps. Breakfasting on bread and cheese, they made their way to the Forum Romanum. Naturally enough, conversation was limited until they reached their destination.

Quintus soaked up the sight of the long, rectangular space. ‘It used to
be a marsh, but now it’s the largest open area within the city walls. This is the heart of the Republic,’ he said proudly. ‘The centre of religious, ceremonial and commercial life. People come here to socialise, to watch court cases or gladiator fights, and to hear important public announcements.’

‘It has a lot in common with the Agora,’ said Hanno politely. Although it’s not half as big, he thought.

Hundreds of shops lined the Forum’s perimeter. They ranged from ordinary butchers, fishmongers and bakers to the grander premises of lawyers, scribes and moneylenders. Crowds of people thronged the whole area.