We reached Grumentum in three days. Hannibal was camped unusually close to the walls of the city. We set camp a mile away. Hannibal offered battle the next two days, but Nero didn’t answer. This general, who had once been so critical of Marcellus, was now being as cautious as his former commander. The only action occurred between foraging parties and the small squadrons of Numidian cavalry that rode up to the walls of our camp daily to taunt us. During this time, Nero made a thorough assessment of the ground. Well before dawn of the third day, he sent two thousand men to hide behind a rise east of the city. When Hannibal’s troops lined up for battle that morning, Nero answered.
Many of Hannibal’s troops were hastily raised levies from Bruttium. They’d had little if any training and no experience. They assembled slowly and their lines were muddled. Nero didn’t wait, he sent his cavalry directly into their confusion, causing more disturbance in the rest of Hannibal’s formation. Nero then ordered his first line forward.
The beginning of the battle was all about the Carthaginian army regaining order amid our advance. Hannibal rode furiously back and forth behind the line, bringing some semblance of discipline to his ranks one unit at a time. Just as it seemed that Hannibal had gotten control of his men, Nero signaled for the two thousand troops hidden on Hannibal’s left flank to attack. Hannibal had used similar tactics against the Romans many times earlier in the war. He sensed the difficulty of the situation immediately and called for a retreat. Only the proximity of the Carthaginian camp prevented a rout.
Hannibal had been outmaneuvered by Nero, but he did not lose that many men. Knowing his most important task was joining with his brother, he slipped away from Grumentum quietly that night, leaving a few Numidians behind to man the walls and light the morning campfires so that it appeared his army was still there.
Nero was fooled. Not until late afternoon did our scouts venture up to the walls and discover that Hannibal was gone. Nero was furious. We had lost a whole day, but with forced marching, unlike anything I had ever experienced with Marcellus, we caught Hannibal four days later camped near Canusium. Three weeks had passed since I had arrived in camp.
The situation in Canusium was similar to that in Grumentum and began as a standoff. Hannibal was well camped, but there were forty thousand men in front of him. His troops numbered thirty thousand, but they contained the least experienced collection of soldiers he had ever had. The entire future of the war hung on his making contact with his brother. After the experience in Grumentum, he was in no mood to fight it out with Nero.
Three days into the standoff, a trio of soldiers arrived at our camp on horseback with a message from Tarentum. Two Numidians and four Gauls had been captured outside the city. They had just ridden the length of Italy looking for Hannibal and had accidently gone to Tarentum instead of Metapontum. When they were searched, a message written to Hannibal was found on one of the Numidians. It was signed by Hasdrubal. The trio of soldiers had brought Nero the original piece of writing and a translation from Punic into Latin. Nero read the translation once, dismissed the messengers, and called for me.
He was alone when I entered headquarters. He was pacing back and forth and suddenly stopped. “The message from Hasdrubal has been intercepted.” He handed me the translation. “Is this real or is it a ruse? The direction of the war depends on it.”
Nero returned to his pacing as I quickly read the message. Hasdrubal would leave his position outside Placentia in one week. He would cross the Apennines on the west branch of Via Flaminia and meet Hannibal in Umbria east of Rome. Exactly what my mother had told me. “It’s a ruse, sir,” I said. “I couldn’t have known about this ahead of time, if it wasn’t. That’s the only way to interpret it. I also don’t believe Hasdrubal will wait two more weeks. I believe this message is a signal that he’s already left or soon will.”
Nero eyed me from across the tent, thinking about what I had said. He strode up close to me. He was twice my size. His entire presence was physical, but he had been educated by Rome’s best tutors and he had a good mind. “I think you’re right,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about this every day since you first mentioned it, wondering if it could be true and what I would do if it were. Your horse is in the corral. You’re free to go.”
“What are you plans, sir?”
He shook his head. “Why would I tell a man who is going back behind enemy lines? Why would I tell a spy?”
CHAPTER 13
Claudius Nero took a chance and accepted my interpretation of the message. Hasdrubal was not headed to Rome. He was going to take the fastest and easiest route to meet his brother, down the coastal branch of Via Flaminia. In a strategic move that only Rome’s ten years of war with Hannibal allowed him to conceive, Nero immediately assembled his best six thousand foot and best one thousand horse and left camp in the middle of the night, headed north to help the other consul, Marcus Livius, stop Hasdrubal. Hostilius and the rest of the troops remained in the camp outside Canusium, carrying on business as though nothing had changed, and hoping that Hannibal would not notice that Nero had left. The Roman military mind was evolving, and at this stage of the war, Claudius Nero and his friend Publius Scipio were the preeminent examples.
Nero and his seven thousand men made one of the most famous marches in all of military history, traversing the Italian peninsula from Canusium to Sena, some two hundred and fifty miles, in seven days. He sent messengers ahead on horseback to inform both the Senate and Livius what he was doing. Along the way, Latin villagers gave his army food, water, and extra horses to ease the strain of the march.
By this time Livius had already positioned himself in Sena with thirty thousand soldiers on the coastal branch of Via Flaminia blocking Hasdrubal’s march south. The two armies, Hasdrubal’s swollen to forty thousand with recently recruited Gallic mercenaries, were camped half a mile apart south of the Metaurus River. Livius had declined battle with Hasdrubal twice already, concerned about the enemy’s greater numbers. Nero’s arrival would make the numbers nearly equal, but the quality of Nero’s contingent would give the Romans a sure advantage—the reason for the march from the beginning.
Hoping to prevent Hasdrubal from noticing the influx of new troops, Nero arrived at night. His soldiers shared tents with Livius’ men rather then setting up a second camp. When the Roman lines formed the next morning, Hasdrubal answered, thinking he outnumbered his adversary. Early on in the fray, however, he realized that Rome’s second consul was on the battlefield with what he assumed was an additional legion. Thinking this meant Hannibal had suffered a major setback in the south, he fought the battle defensively through the rest of the day, barely holding his own before retreating to camp. He evacuated his camp that night, hoping to get away from what he understood to be a superior force.
Hasdrubal’s retreat took him north to the Metaurus River, which he hoped to follow to the east branch of Via Flaminia. Unfortunately his army got dispersed that night in the unfamiliar territory. When the Romans caught up with him the next afternoon, he struggled to get his troops into any kind of battle formation at all. The battle went badly from the start. Hasdrubal did all that he could to inspire his over-matched troops, but by the end of the day, Hasdrubal was dead and the entire Carthaginian army was either destroyed, taken prisoner, or lost in the surrounding forest.
Immediately following the victory, Nero assembled his men, and again marching night and day, returned to Canusium—this time is six days. Although he was gone two weeks, Hannibal never noticed that the consul had left or knew that the battle in the north had taken place.
The day following his return, Nero, who had taken the head from Hasdrubal’s corpse as a victory trophy, ordered a turma of cavalry to ride up to the walls of Hannibal’s camp and throw the head over the ramparts. A Carthaginian soldier recovered the head and brought it to Hannibal. Although he hadn’t seen his brother in ten years, he recognized the head immediately and knew what it meant. The momentum of the war had turned against him. His chances
of bringing Rome to her knees were all but nil.
CHAPTER 14
I had returned to Croton by the time Hasdrubal’s head sailed into Hannibal’s camp. I learned about it in the Croton forum several weeks later. Nero’s mad dash north had changed the course of the war, and he had acted on the information I had gotten from my mother.
When I told her the news, I also apologized for doubting that she could make a difference, but added that I didn’t want her to continue seeing Hannibal. “Rome seems certain to win the war now. I think it’s time for you to stop.”
“Don’t you think that might cause Hannibal to wonder if I cut off my visits so soon after Hasdrubal’s defeat?” Although we were in the atrium, she glanced around as though someone could be listening. “But perhaps you’re right. I should begin letting go of Hannibal. I could be free of him by the end of the winter.”
“That could mean several more visits.”
“And the least possible suspicion.” She put her finger to her lips. “Timon, please, keep your voice down. Croton is not the city it used to be. The less said about this the better, even in our own house.”
Six weeks after Hasdrubal’s defeat, Hannibal retired to the security of Metapontum. Shortly afterward, he called for my mother. I begged her not to go, telling her she was taking unneeded risk, but she went anyway. Ava traveled with her. Lucretia stayed in Croton with me.
While my mother was gone, I continued to advance my mapmaking skills and to work on the narrative about my time in Syracuse. I tended to stay at home. Occasionally I made trips to the agora, either going to the market or listening to the speakers in the forum, hoping to gather information about the war and events in Rome.
During one of my trips to the agora, I saw the man who had murdered my father for a second time. I began to look for him in the crowds. On several occasions I followed him, learning where he lived and the drinking establishments he frequented. I had no plan, but I was intent on revenge of some sort.
One afternoon, as I walked home from the forum, I deliberately chose a route that would take me past the man’s favorite tavern. When I was still a short distance from the establishment, I saw him stumble out of the building and teeter down the street. I decided to follow him.
He was a large man, as tall as I was, but heavier and older, your typical thug. His path took him in the direction of his home. I sped up my pace, closing in on him, knowing we only had a little ways to go before reaching his apartment.
Buried in the folds of my toga was a dagger that I had bought to replace the one I had lost to the deserters. When he entered a narrow alley and I was just a few steps behind him, I slid my hand over the dagger’s handle. He wavered drunkenly through the alley, twice using the side of a building to keep himself upright. My chance for revenge could not have been better, but I could not draw the knife. I suddenly stopped and watched him stumble out the far end of the alley. I was no murderer. I had killed a man in self-defense after the battle of Numistro, but even that had felt wrong when it shouldn’t have.
I wandered back to the house, cursing my weakness.
CHAPTER 15
Two weeks later my mother returned to Croton with Ava. Lucretia made a big dinner the first night they were back, grilling a tuna she had bought at the market and filling out the meal with lentil stew, a loaf of rye bread, and a bowl of mulberries for dessert. Afterward my mother got out her lyre and sang for us. The music transported me back to my childhood and happier times.
“You know,” she said to me when the session was over and Ava and Lucretia had retired to their rooms, “there’s quite a difference between playing for money and playing for my family.”
“You mean playing for Hannibal and playing for your family?”
“Even more so for Hannibal, but I also played for money when I was in Rome. It allowed me to buy my freedom, but it always seemed to demean the music when I was paid. Remember how your father spoke of it as something sacred.”
“Oh, yes, Plato would have considered your singing for money the ultimate adulteration of the music of the spheres.”
My mother nodded and smiled, having heard the sentiment many times from my father.
“I never believed that, Mother. How could something so elevated and beautiful be wrong?”
“It does seem silly,” she said, looking lovingly at her lyre, the same one my father had given her years ago, though the polished tortoise shell body had acquired a few nicks and bruises along the way.
“Mother, will you go back to Metapontum again?”
She lowered her eyes then looked up at me. “Maybe another time or two.”
“Is that necessary? Isn’t there some chance he might begin to suspect you?”
“I sensed nothing of that when I was there, Timon. I appreciate that you worry about me, but I’m proud of what I did and what it led to.”
“But isn’t that enough?”
“Perhaps. Hannibal does seem to understand that he will never take Rome. But he has no immediate plans to leave Italy. He feels that he’s been mistreated by his own people and has little reason to return to his homeland.”
Ava entered the room. “Arathia, would you like me to turn down your bed?”
“Yes, please, Ava. I’ll be right there.”
After Ava left, I turned to my mother and in a soft voice asked, “How much does Ava know?”
“Nothing, and I’m trying to keep it that way. She’s young and may talk more than would be advised. Lucretia knows everything, but don’t say a word to Ava.”
“I have no intention of saying anything to anyone. Let’s not mention it again.”
“Yes, let’s not,” she said standing. “And please understand if I must make a few more trips to see Hannibal,” she leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, “it’s only to make my break from him less suspicious.”
CHAPTER 16
My mother became ill in the weeks following her return. At first she suffered from stomach cramps and nausea. She struggled to keep her food down, and as a result had no energy. She began to stay in bed late into the morning and retire earlier and earlier in the evening. Ava and Lucretia did their best to take care of her. They made soups and provided her with warm compresses, but little seemed to help.
When a message came from Hannibal asking her to come to Metapontum, she was in no condition to travel and had to say no. One of the garrison commanders came to our house a week later, most likely on orders from Hannibal. She had grown so weak and thin it was all she could do to get out of bed to talk to the man. The seriousness of her condition was obvious. He made no effort to change her mind about going to Metapontum.
At the time, I almost considered the illness a blessing. I didn’t want her to see Hannibal again, but I had also seen many sick and invalid during the last few years. I recalled those who had died when the plague struck Syracuse in the second year of the siege. I remembered soldiers dying in my tent when I traveled with the Eighteenth and Twentieth legions. I began to worry that my mother would not recover. The one Greek doctor we had known in Croton had evacuated at the time of the Bruttian’s takeover. I knew nowhere else to turn.
Two weeks passed and another request came from Hannibal asking my mother to come to Metapontum. When she declined for a second time, Hannibal sent a doctor from Metapontum to our home. He had no answer for my mother’s illness. Her symptoms suggested nothing he could recognize. He left us with a collection of herbs and strict instructions for their use. Ava and Lucretia followed the doctor’s orders, and my mother seemed to get slightly better. She played the lyre and sang one night. She sang with such delicacy and beauty, I thought it was a sign of her recovery.
My mother made steady progress for a week or so, but then fell back into a state of delirium that was worse than before. Lucretia woke me one night, long before dawn, and anxiously hurried me into my mother’s bedroom. A single oil lamp provided the only light. My mother had grown so thin she was barely a wrinkle beneath her covers. I knelt down by
her head and stroked her forehead which had become damp with fever.
She turned her head to face me and reached out with her hand to hold mine. A weak smile graced her face as she gazed into my eyes. “Timon, I fear I will not last much longer. I feel so fortunate to have found you after our separation. I never thought I would. Now I’ve had nearly a year with you. My life has been good, but this last year has meant more to me than any other.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I could only choke out that I felt the same way. She let go of my hand and ran her fingers through my hair and stroked my cheek. “I don’t know if you remember, son, but long ago I asked your father to place a lyre string in an urn with my ashes should I die before him. He’s been dead now nearly ten years, so to you I make this same request.”
I took her hand in mine and pressed it to my cheek, then nodded. I remembered the request. Oh, how I remembered it—recalling the falsehoods I had been told by Paculla Annia during my time in Rome.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” she continued, her voice barely audible for her weakness, “take the strings from the lyre your father gave me and put them all in my urn. I would so love to continue playing music in the underworld.”
Lucretia and I stayed with her through the night. In the morning my mother felt well enough to sit up. Ava brought her a bowl of wheat porridge. She took a few spoonfuls from Lucretia, but refused any more.
After Ava had returned to the kitchen, I took a spoonful of the honey sweetened porridge for myself.
“What is it?” asked Lucretia when I seemed to puzzle over the taste.
“This is sweet, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste. Try it. See what you think?”
Lucretia tried a taste and immediately frowned. She took the bowl of porridge back to the kitchen and spoke with Ava. When she returned, she was visibly disturbed.
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