Scipio nods. “They would turn Rome into a military society, a second Sparta.” He sits down on one of the garden’s marble benches, his hands clasped between his legs. “They think the most powerful nation is the greatest one. Same old mistake.”
“Just like Flaccus thinks the richest would be the greatest,” adds Amelia. “At cost to our arts and culture.”
Scipio’s fist slaps his palm. “We can’t have another candidate who turns to the Latins. It will take us on a pathway we cannot escape! I have to know our candidates will be loyal to us, and to the party.” He looks expectantly at Amelia. “Lucius would do that. He’ll do whatever I tell him.”
Amelia sits next to him. She drapes her arm about his shoulders. “Really? Lucius?”
Scipio shrugs. “It is not so far-fetched. If Glabrio repels Antiochus, Lucius would return as a war hero. It may be his best and only time to become consul. And I promised—“
“Yes I know, you promised your mother you would protect him,” Amelia interjects. “I swear to Juno, sometimes I wish you were less allied to your promises!”
“My mother knew he would need help to make his way in life, and I am here now to help him.” He squeezes her hand. “My war wounds still tax me, now more than ever. Who knows where I will be ten years from now?”
Amelia leans over and firmly kisses his cheek. She draws back and smiles. “You’ll probably be in India then, winning another momentous battle to save Rome!”
He chuckles. “I hope you are right about me being here. But India? It is too cursed hot!” Scipio raises his head, his chin set. “Support my folly, Beloved. Together we can get Lucius elected.”
Amelia says nothing. She rises abruptly and grasps her bronze garden shears, nipping off a crocus’ deep purple blooms. “Who will run as the plebian candidate?” she says, turning the bloom in her hands.
“Laelius.”
Amelia points the shears at his head. “Laelius? Again? It’s only been two years.”
“He is honest, intelligent, and immensely popular with the people. He just lacks the, uh, determination that’s needed to win.”
Amelia inhales the crocus’ peppery scent. She smirks. “You mean the determination to do what must be done, regardless of honor. You sound like Flaccus.”
Scipio smirks. “I have learned much from coping with Flaccus’ political depredations. Someone must do the dishonorable to get an honorable man elected. And that will be my task.”
Amelia hands him the crocus. “Have caution that you do not endanger those who love you, Publius Cornelius Scipio. That would be the greatest dishonor of all.”
CHALCIS. “You are sure of this?” Hannibal asks, his voice heavy with dismay.
Nicator nods slowly, his silver mask flashing in the angular throne room sunlight. “Two of my spies confirmed it,” he says in a muffled voice. “Neither knew the other was there at Linnaeum, and they came back with the same story.”
“So Glabrio is leading a consular army toward Chalcis,” Hannibal says. “That means he has at least twenty thousand foot soldiers, and most of them are probably veterans. And cavalry.”
“That snake Philip will likely join him,” mutters Nicator.
“If only we had that snake on our side,” Hannibal says. “We’d better notify Antiochus. We have to get out of here before they lay siege to us.”
“We could march to Thrace, and hole up in the Lysimachia garrison,” Nicator says, his mind on finding Thrax. “Its walls are thick and high.”
Hannibal shakes his head. “It would not protect us if Philip is with them. He is a master at undermining walls.”
“So what can we do? Run home to Syria and stick our heads in the sand? Give up all that we have gained?”
Hannibal stands silent, thinking. He points a finger into the air. “Not necessarily,” he says. “There is one place. A place where a handful can hold off an army. Come on, we had best rouse Antiochus.”
The two commanders tramp up the winding staircase centered in the palace’s throne room. They march down the rug-lined hallway and halt at the doors to the king’s bedchamber, guarded by two enormous Syrians.
“We need to see the king,” Hannibal declares.
The lead sentry raises himself to his full six-and-a-half-foot height. “He is not to be disturbed under any circumstances,” he declares. His bass voice booms through the hallway.
“This is an affront!” Hannibal barks. “Do you know who we are?”
The sentry stares into space, his face blank.
Nicator grasps Hannibal’s forearm and pulls him back. “They know very well who we are,” he says. “And they know who I am. Let me take care of this.”
He pulls out his curved sword and fronts the scowling guards. “Must I force my way in there?” he says, his bloodshot eyes glaring out from his mask. “I will take you both down before you can raise your swords.”
The two guards glance at once another. An unspoken agreement passes between them. They step to the side.
“You are wise men,” Nicator says. The Syrian captain pushes open the doors and steps inside.
Antiochus’ snores emerge from an oak canopied bed the size of small room, its green sheets pooled at his feet. His bride Clea lies naked beside him, her limp arm curved across his wine-spattered chest. The smell of opium hangs heavy in the air.
Nicator steps to the bed, his eyes riveted upon Clea’s globed buttocks. “My King,” he says.
Antiochus raises his head. He blinks blearily at the intruders. “What are you doing here? I gave orders not to be disturbed.”
You have not been disturbed for over two months, Hannibal fumes, doing naught but feasting and fucking.[cxi] “The Romans are coming. Twenty thousand men are heading toward you.”
“What?” The king scrambles from the bed, his eyes alert with panic. He pitches the silk sheet over his bride and stands naked in front of Hannibal and Nicator, his limp manhood dangling beneath his gray-streaked stomach. “This can’t be happening! We have only eight thousand men here. The rest are in the garrisons up north!”
Antiochus pulls his black tunic off the floor and slips it over his head. “Nicator, send messengers to those five Aetolian chiefs that promised us troops. Tell them to meet me in Lamia day after tomorrow. We have to prepare for battle.”
“As you command,” Nicator replies. He stalks from the room. Clea sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “What is happening, Husband?” she murmurs. Hannibal averts his eye from her nude torso—but not before he feels a stirring inside himself. Baal take me, no wonder he has dallied in bed all these months!
“Rest yourself, Wife. We men have plans to make.” Antiochus beckons to Hannibal. “Come on, let’s find out where they are.”
The chamber door closes behind Antiochus. Clea leaps from the stained and rumpled covers. She walks to the arched opening that leads to the attendants’ chambers.
“Gwenn, do you hear me? Prepare the bathing tub! I have to go into town and see some friends.” Young, handsome friends.
Hannibal and Antiochus stride to the back of the palace anteroom and enter the king’s war room. The chamber’s twelve-foot table is covered with an elaborately drawn terrain map of northern Greece and Macedonia. The two lean over the map, studying the terrain around Chalcis.
“How many men will the Aetolians provide?” Hannibal asks.
“Thoas said the chiefs could recruit twenty thousand men to my cause.” That would give us enough to stop the Romans.”
“Are you certain? General Glabrio will likely have Philip with him. He may bring ten thousand Macedonians to the fray. And forgive me for what I say, King, but your men have grown soft these recent months. They do not don armor when on duty, and show up late for their watches.[cxii] They are not ready to face the Romans.”
Antiochus’ face flushes with embarrassed anger. “I don’t know whether to thank you for your honesty or kill you for your impertinence,” he says.
“I only speak the truth, as one
general to another.” Hannibal calmly replies. “Deal with it as you see fit.”
The king sighs. “If I don’t have enough men to fight them, what other recourse do I have?”
“What about bringing in your armies from Syria?”
Antiochus shakes his head. “Menippus sent me a message. The main body of troops were sent to Tadmar, to quell a native rebellion.” He shakes his head. “The fool should have asked me before he did that. I would have held some back for situations such as this.”
A short, sun-browned man enters the chamber, clad in worn wool pants and tunic. “You summoned me, King?”
“Come in, Abraxis. You reported that the Roman army is heading this way? How far away are they?”
The scout begins to count on his fingers. “Well, they were at Antigonia a few days ago. I’d say they are five, six days’ march from here.”
“Were the Macedonians with them?”
Abraxis looks at the floor. “Philip was with Baebius’ cohort. Those two have taken a dozen of your Thessaly garrisons.”[cxiii]
“The gods shit on me again!” mutters Antiochus. He points toward the door. “Go on, get back out there. I want a daily report on Glabrio and Philip.” Abraxis trots from the war room.
The Syrian king slumps in his chair. He glances sideways at Hannibal, who silently watches him. “I know, I know. I brought this upon myself. I just didn’t think they would come over when winter was still upon the land.”
“Spring comes early to warriors who want to fight,” Hannibal says. “We had best hope that Thoas is true to his word, and his chieftains have a host of soldiers for us.”
Two days later, Antiochus and Hannibal sit in the weapons blockhouse of the Lamia garrison, facing five Aetolian chieftains.
“Where is Thoas? He should be at this meeting,” Antiochus says to Bemus, the senior chieftain.
The red-bearded old warrior averts his eyes. “He had to deal with an assault from Corinth and Aegium,” he replies. “Apparently the Achean League has cast their dice with Rome.”
Hannibal studies the chieftain’s stiff posture and averted gaze. He’s lying about Thoas. But to what end?
“That is most disappointing,” Antiochus says. “But we will succeed without him. How many men did you all bring with you?”
The chieftains study their hands. A stocky, bearded man nudges Bemus with his elbow. Bemus takes a deep breath. “We came here alone, King Antiochus. We do not have any soldiers for you.”[cxiv]
“What?!” Antiochus flies from his seat, his eyes boring into the chieftains. “You don’t have any troops out there? The Romans are coming!”
Hannibal smiles bitterly. I told you the Aetolians cannot be trusted. But you had to listen to Thoas’ rosy promises.
“We have to protect our own cities,” Bemus says. “The Macedonians are besieging Elyrissa, and we could be next. We simply cannot spare any men.”
Antiochus gapes at the Aetolians. “You brought no one?” he splutters, still not believing what he hears. “Not even one cursed phalanx?” The room is silent.
“Get out, all of you!” Antiochus splutters. “I will deal with you later. When I do, you will wish it were the Macedonians who were at your gates! Get out!” The Aetolians rise from their seats and slowly file out. None glance back at the angry king.
When the door closes behind the last of the Aetolians, Hannibal turns to Antiochus. “They are lying. They have the men, but they fear the Romans more than they fear you,” Hannibal says. “They think your Tiny Army cannot possibly defeat Glabrio’s and Philip’s men.
The king raises his eyes to the heavens. “I feel like the world has abandoned me. [cxv] Thoas lured me to Greece with promises of countless allies, and he doesn’t even show up.” He nods toward Hannibal. “You were right about not trusting them. We should have pursued the Macedonians more strongly. You have been like a prophet to me, yet I shunted you from my counsel.”
Antiochus grasps Hannibal’s shoulder. “I will regret that for the rest of my life. But regret does not solve our problem. How can we defend ourselves against the Romans?”
“Once you recall your garrison troops, we will have ten thousand men. They will have twenty or thirty thousand. We have to use the terrain as our ally. Fight in a place that restricts their numbers.
“Is there such a place near us? We only have a few days.”
“It is three day’s march south of Chalcis, a narrow passage buttressed by the mountains and the sea. A place where three hundred held off a hundred thousand. That is where we make our stand.”
Recognition dawns in Antiochus’ eyes. “You speak of the legend of the Three Hundred Spartans?”
“Yes, the Pass of Thermopylae. We can use that spot to repel the Roman forces. We cannot defeat them, but we can prevent them from defeating us.” Hannibal rises and extends his hand to Antiochus.
“Come, King, we have no time to lose. We march to Thermopylae, to make the legend anew.”
PELLA, MACEDONIA. “Who’s side are we on?” asks Boban, King Philip’s portly minister of war. “Are we on Rome’s or Syria’s?”
“My alliance with Rome’s provincial governor has been very productive,” Philip says. “Marcus Baebius and I have taken back a dozen of Antiochus’ cities and towns.[cxvi] And Baebius has returned them to me, as per our agreement. It would be foolish to break off now.”
“Hmph! They have given back only part of what they took from you five years ago.”
Philip grimaces. “You think I am not aware of that? But I do not have the forces to overthrow them.” He rubs his chin. “Now, if I did join forces with Antiochus, we’d have well over a hundred thousand men.”
“Not really. He has what they call a ‘Tiny Army’ over here. Barely ten thousand men.”
Philip grimaces. “Still, he does have Hannibal with him. That man could win a battle with a herd of sheep.” He rubs his eyes and gapes at the ceiling. “Aaagh! Sometimes I just hate being a ruler!”
The minister stands silent, accustomed to Philip’s outbursts. He is like water—he will find the path of least resistance.
Philip peeks out between his fingers. He pulls his hands down and smiles. “Why do we have to decide about it right now? We can wait to see how their fight plays out at Thermopylae. Then we ally ourselves with the winner!”
“But you have an agreement to fight with consul Glabrio. You made it with that praetor Baebius, did you not?”
Philip waves his hand. “Psh, Baebius and I have done most of the hard work for Glabrio. He has a clear path to Thermopylae.[cxvii] Why waste any more of my men on fighting the Romans’ battles? It won’t get me any more of my original possessions.”
“But your agreement with Baebius,” says the minister. “He will expect—“
Philip bends over, grasping his stomach. “Oooh, I don’t feel so good!” He glances mischievously at his minister. “I may have a touch of cholera.[cxviii] I don’t think I can lead my men to Thermopylae!”
With you, gonorrhea is more likely, Boban thinks. “Illness! A brilliant way out! I will prepare a letter of apology and send it to Glabrio.”
“Do that immediately.” Philip lays back in his throne, smiling to himself. “And bring me a pitcher of red wine for my…malady.”
“I hasten to fulfill your desires,” the minister replies, with the barest hint of sarcasm. “I will send several scouts to observe the battle at Thermopylae. Perhaps their information will help you decide who we should join.”
“Excellent idea, but I already know one thing for sure. Hannibal is very clever. He will have a surprise or two for the Romans.” He grins. “That is, if Antiochus does not get in his way.”
THERMOPYLAE PASS, 191 BCE. “Move our six elephants over to the right, by the swamplands,” Antiochus tells Menippus. “Line them up facing the mouth of the pass, so they can charge the Romans at a moment’s notice.”
“That is a worthy idea,” Hannibal says. “Though Glabrio has fifteen of Scipio’s African elepha
nts, their horses may not be used to the size and smell of your Indian beasts.”
Antiochus nods. “I had not thought of that. All the more reason to keep them near the front lines.” He points to the mouth of the pass. “See where my men are digging a trench? I’m going to put in an eight-foot palisade behind it, with staked ends. We’ll pile the trench earth inside the wall for our phalangites to stand upon. That will be our first line of defense.”
“Put in a second barricade behind that one, where the pass begins to narrow,” Hannibal says. “That will slow any Romans who manage to get that far.”
“I already have it planned,” Antiochus replies. You are not the only military genius, Carthaginian. “I’ll have the men put a rock wall on the left side of the ramparts, near the side of the hill. That will keep the Romans from sneaking around our flanks.”
“Best we put a rock wall behind the barricade,” Hannibal tells Antiochus. “If the Romans get past the elephants, like they did at Zama, your right flank will be unprotected. This way you can send your light infantry to man that back wall, and mount an adequate defense.” He turns his horse toward the inside of the pass. “Come with me, I’ll show you where we can build it.”
Hannibal, Antiochus, and Menippus walk their horses a hundred yards farther into the narrowing pass. Hannibal stops his mount at a pathway section flanked by pinnacles on one side and swamp on the other.
“The trail is only sixty paces wide here. Put up a thick, waist-high wall here and station the rest of our troops behind it. They can be the last line of defense. The Romans cannot get over this wall without breaking up their precious formations.”
“You keep talking as if we were going to be beaten back, and have to retreat.” Antiochus mutters.
“With Scipio’s veterans here, that is a distinct possibility. Besides, I think it is wise to prepare for every eventuality. We can use this treacherous terrain as our ally. Just like Leonidas the Spartan did, two hundred years ago.”
Antiochus pinches his nose, pondering Hannibal’s strategy. He turns to Menippus. “See it done.”
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