Zama

by Dan Armstrong

  She took my hand, then knelt down drawing me with her, so that we huddled close together on our knees. “During the time that I was gone,” she whispered, “I learned what I had hoped to. And I need you to deliver a message.”

  “To Ennius in the Community of Miracles?”

  “No. To Claudius Nero, the recently elected Roman consul.”

  “How can you know that?” It was the first of May. The elections had taken place six weeks earlier. “I haven’t heard anything here in Croton about the election.”

  “Hannibal knew right away. I heard him talking about it with his brother. The other consul is an older man named Marcus Livius. He’ll be stationed in the north to contain Hasdrubal when he arrives. Nero’s coming south with two legions as we speak. Hannibal said that Nero was one of the commanders under Marcellus. Did you know him?”

  “He’s not a very pleasant man, but I know him and he knows me.”

  “He’s planning to join up with another Roman general and two more legions somewhere in Apulia, specifically to confront Hannibal.”

  “What’s your message?”

  My mother took another glance around. “I know when Hasdrubal will arrive in Italy and what route he will take to join Hannibal. I give you this information with the same confidentiality you requested regarding your spyglass. Tell Nero, and no one else—and say nothing to Nero of your source.” She narrowed her eyes to emphasize this final point.

  I nodded.

  “Last winter Hannibal sent Hasdrubal the best maps of Italy he could acquire. Through a series of letters, they agreed on a location to meet and the route Hasdrubal should take to get there. He is due to arrive in northern Italy very soon. Once he descends from the Alps and gathers more mercenaries, he will follow the Po River from Placentia to the coastal branch of Via Flaminia, then head south along the Adriatic coast to meet Hannibal in Apulia.”

  I knew the region from my own mapping. “That’s the most obvious route. The Romans will be ready for that.”

  “Which, of course, Hannibal also knows. So in the days following Hasdrubal’s arrival, Hasdrubal will send a team of messengers to south Italy, supposedly seeking Hannibal. They will let themselves be captured by the Romans, and they will reluctantly reveal the sealed message they were instructed to deliver to Hannibal. The message will describe a completely different route south for Hasdrubal, a much riskier one that takes Via Flaminia across the Apennines into Umbria toward Rome, as though the two brothers intend to advance together on the city walls. It will be a deliberate falsehood to draw the Roman’s attention to Umbria and to facilitate Hasdrubal’s taking the faster and easier coastal route south.”

  My mother’s knowledge surprised me, not just her message, but her understanding of the war. “So you want me to go to Nero and tell him that when these messengers are caught, the note they have is part of a ruse and should be ignored, and that Hasdrubal will be traveling down the coast on Via Flaminia.”

  “That’s right. The message is a trick.” My mother looked around, and we both stood. “You should leave tomorrow. The sooner Nero knows the better.”

  We climbed from the roof and retired for the night. Despite my objections, my mother had gone about her work and discovered something of value. Right or wrong, it didn’t stop me from worrying about her.

  CHAPTER 11

  My mother and I ate oat porridge and sipped a cup of kykeon together shortly before daybreak the next morning. Neither Ava nor Lucretia were up yet. The plan was that I would give the message to Nero and return to Croton. I might be gone as long as a month. Should Hannibal request my mother’s presence in Metapontum, she would go, meaning she may or may not be in Croton when I returned. Before leaving I embraced my mother a little too long. Both of us knew the dangers both she and I would face. She began to cry, and then so did I.

  I packed up Balius and rode out of Croton just after sunrise. The trip from Croton to Apulia afforded two routes. I could take Via Latina north to Calatia—at least a week of travel—then turn south by southeast down the Appian Way to Apulia, another five days—depending on the weather. Or I could go north on Via Latina for four days, then cut directly east across the low hills of southern Italy to Apulia, only four days, but of much rougher travel. I knew the area from my campaigns with Marcellus. I had mapped all of it over a period of three years. I could still see the maps in my head, every road and ravine in Apulia and Lucania. I decided to take the faster but more difficult route.

  The coming of spring and the season of war unleashed waves of refugees up and down the peninsula. The anticipated four days on Via Latina stretched out to five with the heavy traffic—carts, livestock, and whole villages of people on foot hoping to find a well-fortified city for refuge. Food was in short supply for this army of travelers, but an early spring had brought forage for Balius, and I soon detoured off the paved road into the hills of Lucania.

  Two days later, while crossing a piece of open farmland, I noticed some commotion on the horizon. I took out the spyglass and quickly deciphered the cloud of dust as a raiding party of Numidians headed my way. I was surprised they were this far north, but because of the advantage of the spyglass, I managed to avoid them by slipping off into the hills.

  Fortunately the weather was better than what I had experienced in January. I bedded down in the forest and did my best to stay out of sight from anyone, often scanning the distance with the spyglass to be as careful as possible. Half a day from Venusia, I woke up in the morning surrounded by a turma of Roman cavalry. When I was prodded from my blankets by the tip of a javelin, I saw that one of the men held Balius’ reins.

  “What are you doing out here?” demanded the decurion who led the thirty-man contingent.

  I warily stood up, realizing immediately that without some quick talking I was likely to lose Balius, and if I said the wrong thing, perhaps my life as well. “I’m looking for the Roman camp in Apulia.” The troops in this region were very likely the same two legions that Marcellus had commanded a year ago. I took that chance. “I’m hoping to find the Eighteenth legion.”

  “And why would that be?” continued the decurion, clearly suspicious.

  Knowing I couldn’t mention the message I had for Claudius Nero, I lied. “I spent the last three years as a scribe for the Eighteenth. I want to sign up for another campaign.”

  “We’re from the Eighteenth,” snapped the decurion, who then turned to his men. “Do any of you recognize this man?” The decurion touched my chest with his lance. “I don’t.”

  No rider spoke up for me. The man holding Balius’ reins summed it up. “I think we have more need for this Greek’s horse than another scribe.”

  Several of the soldiers laughed. This inspired a crude comment from the back of the group and more laughter. The decurion jabbed me with his lance, not so hard to puncture my skin, but with enough force to cause me to fall backward on my rear. This got them laughing even more. I wasn’t certain where this was headed. I tried to stand, but the decurion jabbed me again, causing me to fall back to the ground.

  “Not so fast, Greek. How do we know you’re not a spy, scouting our position for the Carthaginians? Convince me otherwise.”

  “Do you know a veteran soldier known as Pulcher? He’s a sub-centurion in the second maniple of first cohort of the Eighteenth.”

  The riders exchanged looks, clearly recognizing the name. The decurion lifted his lance. “How do you know this man?”

  “I was in his tent unit,” I said, finally getting a chance to regain my feet. “Take me to your camp. He’ll speak up for me.”

  The decurion thought about this a moment. “I’m not convinced, but we’ll take you back to camp anyway. Expect the worst if no one knows you.”

  They tied my hands behind my back and hefted me up on Balius. Another rider held the reins and led Balius and me all the way to their camp. We arrived in the middle of the afternoon. One of the riders took Balius to the corral at the back of the camp. The decurion and two of his tu
rma escorted me, my hands still bound, into the camp and down Via Principalis. The decurion put out a call for Pulcher while I stood outside headquarters deciphering the standards before each row of tents. I noticed that both the Eighteenth and Twentieth legions were in the camp. I couldn’t help but wonder if Marcus would be there as well. That would certainly make all of this a lot easier.

  Before Pulcher arrived to verify who I was, Claudius Nero, wearing the purple cape of his consulship, came out of the headquarters’ tent accompanied by two of his commanders. I decided not to wait for Pulcher and called out to Nero. “Consul! Can I have a word with you?”

  The decurion slapped me for shouting out, but Nero heard me and abruptly turned to see who had spoken. He didn’t recognize me right away. Being bound and guarded by two soldiers didn’t help matters. He was not a pleasant man, and he glared at me. “Who is this prisoner who dares address me? Ten lashes for impudence,” he snarled.

  “Please, Consul, I’m the mapmaker from your campaign last summer. You recommended me to Publius Scipio.”

  “The Greek!” I heard Pulcher call out as he strode up Via Principalis toward headquarters.

  Nero, who had started to walk away, suddenly stopped and stared at me. “Timon Leonidas?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why are you here and bound? What’s going on?”

  The decurion spoke up. “We found this man half a day’s ride from here. He told us he was looking for our camp. He wants to enlist.”

  “You want to enlist? I would have thought you would be in the north with Marcus Claudius.”

  “No, sir. I have been in Croton. And if possible, I would like a word with you?”

  “Say what you will. Make it quick.”

  “In private, sir. It must be that way.”

  Always impatient and in a hurry, Nero looked around at the other men. “There’s no time now. Come back this evening.” He turned to the decurion. “Untie this man,” he ordered, then continued on his way flanked by his commanders.

  When the bonds had been removed, Pulcher approached me. “So, Greek, you’ve come to enlist? I didn’t expect to see you without your friend Marcus.”

  “Things change, sir. I’ve been with my family in Croton.”

  “Need something to eat? Come with me. The unit is putting together a meal right now.”

  I followed Pulcher to his tent. I saw Decius first, sitting with three soldiers I didn’t recognize. He scowled as I walked up. “Where’d you find this useless Greek?”

  “In front of headquarters, talking to the consul—for who knows what reason.”

  Troglius emerged from the tent. The huge, awkward man, who I had considered my closest friend among my tent mates, bowed his head as though he thought I might not remember him.

  “Troglius, how are you? I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

  Troglius peeked up at me, shy and reticent as always, then allowed a weak grin.

  “Oh, isn’t this cute.” Decius shook his head. “Troglius can actually smile.”

  The unit shared their wheat gruel and flat bread with me. I hadn’t eaten all day and wolfed the food down. I spoke briefly with Troglius, but he had never been much for conversation. I still enjoyed seeing him and I’m sure the feeling was mutual.

  After the meal I went out to the corral to look for Balius. I walked around the edge of the enclosure and called his name several times. I was relieved when he appeared out of the mass of horses and wandered over to me. Much like Troglius, he was glad to see me but didn’t have much to say.

  At dusk I went to headquarters. Two centurions stood on either side of the tent’s entrance. I told them my name and said that I was there to see the consul. The men looked at each other, then one reluctantly stuck his head into the tent to announce me. I heard Nero shout back, “Tell him to wait.”

  Long after nightfall, three officers emerged from headquarters. A short while later, another officer came out of the tent. After a bit more time passed, I asked one of the centurions to announce me again.

  “He’ll call for you when he wants to see you.”

  “He could have forgotten.”

  “Someone like you?” The soldier laughed and nudged the other guard in the ribs. “Think the consul could have forgotten about this skinny lad?”

  Their laughter was cut short by Nero’s voice. “Send the Greek in.”

  I slipped into the tent uncertain how to present my mother’s message. The tent was luxuriously furnished. Persian carpets covered the floor. Eight individual oil lamps perched on ornate bronze stands provided light. A couch and several chairs were arranged around a small dining table. Glittering swords and shields hung from the tent posts. Nero stood at a table looking over some documents. He wore a white tunic trimmed in purple and girdled with a wide leather belt. His gladius hung at his hip. “This better be important,” he said without looking up.

  I approached the table. He was looking at maps that I had drawn during my campaigns with Marcellus. When he continued to study the maps, I realized that I had to earn what attention he gave me. I got right to the point.

  “I have information on Hasdrubal’s route south.”

  Nero was a large, square, muscular man—a patrician born to privilege who had trained for war since childhood. He was known for his arrogance, brusque manners, and capacity to kill in battle. I had seen him in action when he was one of Marcellus’ prefects. The memory only added to his physical intimidation. His eyes lifted at the mention of Hasdrubal’s name. “Go on.”

  “In the coming weeks, you will intercept a message coming from the north. It will be from Hasdrubal. Though the message will appear to be written for Hannibal, it will be meant for you.”

  Nero’s head came all the way up. He was handsome in a rough way. His facial muscles accentuated his mouth and cheeks.

  “The message will say that Hasdrubal will take the west branch of Via Flaminia across Umbria.”

  “Towards Rome.”

  I nodded. “Suggesting that the two brothers will join in an attack on the city—something certain to create a strong reaction in the Senate—like concentrating Roman forces outside Rome. But it will be a trick, designed to allow Hasdrubal to proceed upon a completely different prearranged route.”

  Nero stared at me, thinking over what I had said. “Where did you get this information?”

  “I can’t say.”

  He tilted his head. “Then why should I believe you?”

  “Because I have no reason to mislead you.”

  “What route will Hasdrubal take, if not the one described in the message?”

  “Instead of taking the west branch of Via Flaminia, he’ll take the east branch that follows the coast to Apulia.”

  “The fastest route.”

  “Yes, and thus the reason for the ruse. Hannibal is never one to use the obvious or the easiest way of doing things. But in this case he wants to. The intercepted message is designed to throw you off.”

  Nero walked away from the map table and paced across the tent, stood a moment in silence, then recrossed the tent. “I need to know where you got this information. If I’m to act on it, it can’t be wrong. And I just don’t see how you could possibly know this.”

  I thought of my mother’s safety. “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t reveal my source.”

  Nero looked at me as though he might beat it out of me. “What’s this of wanting to enlist?”

  “Something I told your decurion so he would bring me to your camp. I don’t want to enlist. I wanted to talk to you in private. Now that I’ve given you the message, I plan to go back to Croton.”

  “Croton?” Nero frowned. “That’s Bruttian controlled.”

  “Yes, but my family is still there.”

  Nero didn’t seem to understand. “When will this message arrive?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Nero went back to the map, clearly perplexed. “Hasdrubal is in north Italy right now. He’s besieging Placentia. I thin
k he’s wasting his time. Is there any reason he hasn’t already come south?”

  “I can’t say. Perhaps the message will be sent just before he leaves to join his brother, but these are not things I really know.”

  Nero came up close to me. “Who’s your source?”

  I looked him in the eye. “A spy in Hannibal’s camp. I have promised not to reveal his name for fear of giving him away.”

  “Tell me something more.”

  “Do you recognize the name Quintus Ennius?”

  He lifted his head in thought, then turned away, striding across the tent and back again, frustrated by my demand for secrecy, but also captivated by what I was saying. “Are you willing to stay with this army until the message is intercepted?”

  It was his way of testing me. I would be something short of a hostage. I reluctantly agreed.

  “This message will have to arrive soon if Hannibal intends to meet with his brother this summer. It can’t be more than a few weeks. You can work on these maps while you’re here. I will pay you as a scribe, but you won’t be enlisted for the entire campaign—just until your information is verified.”

  “Fair enough.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Shortly after I settled into the Roman camp with my old tent unit, the Roman general Gaius Hostilius arrived with two more legions and word that Hannibal had been seen near Grumentum, about fifty miles south of Venusia. Nero now had four legions containing forty thousand men at his command. He didn’t hesitate. We broke camp the next day and headed south.

  Nero understood that Hannibal was not likely to accept battle, but he wanted to keep him in the south, as far away from his brother as possible. The best way to do this was to stay between Hannibal and all routes north or, if possible, keep him in sight.