by Ben Kane
‘What has happened?’ asked Atia.
Instead of answering, Fabricius raised his glass. ‘A toast,’ he said. ‘That the gods, and our ancestors, continue to smile on our family.’
Atia’s face tightened a fraction, but she joined in the salutation.
Quintus was less ruled by decorum than his mother, and jumped in the moment his father had swallowed. ‘Tell us why you’ve returned!’
‘Saguntum has fallen,’ Fabricius replied flatly.
Blood rushed through Hanno’s ears, and he was acutely aware of Quintus spinning to regard him. Carefully, he wiped a drop of wine from the jug’s lip with a cloth. Inside, every fibre of his being was rejoicing. Hannibal! his mind shouted. Hannibal!
Quintus’ gaze shot back to his father. ‘When?’
‘A week ago. Apparently, they spared virtually no one. Men, women, children. The few who survived were taken as slaves.’
Atia’s lips tightened. ‘Absolute savages.’
Hanno found Aurelia staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. It’s not as if your people don’t do exactly the same thing when they sack a city, he thought furiously. Of course he could say nothing, so he turned his face away.
In contrast to his sister, Quintus looked angry. ‘It was bad enough that the Senate did nothing to help one of our allies for the last eight months. Surely they’ll act now?’
‘They will,’ Fabricius replied. ‘In fact, they already have.’
The following silence echoed louder than a trumpet call.
‘An embassy has been sent to Carthage, its mission to demand that Hannibal and his senior officers be handed over immediately to face justice for their heinous actions.’
Hanno squeezed the cloth so hard that it dripped wine on to the mosaic between his feet.
No one noticed. Not that Hanno would have cared. How dare they? his mind screamed. Bastard Romans!
‘They will hardly do that,’ said Atia.
‘Of course not,’ Fabricius answered, unaware of Hanno’s silent but fervent agreement. ‘No doubt Hannibal has his enemies, but the Carthaginians are a proud race. They will want redress for the humiliations we subjected them to after the war in Sicily. This grants them that opportunity.’
Quintus hesitated for a moment. ‘You’re talking about war?’
Fabricius nodded. ‘I think that’s what it will come to, yes. There are those in the Senate who disagree with me, but I think they underestimate Hannibal. A man who has achieved what he has in a few short years would not have embarked on the siege of Saguntum without it being part of a larger plan. Hannibal wanted a war with Rome all along.’
How right you are, thought Hanno exultantly.
Quintus was also jubilant. ‘Gaius and I can join the cavalry!’
Fabricius’ obvious pride was tempered by Atia’s reticence. Even she could not hide the sadness that flashed across her eyes. Her composure returned quickly. ‘You will make a fine soldier.’
Quintus blew out his chest with satisfaction. ‘I must tell Gaius. Can I go to Capua?’
Fabricius gave an approving nod. ‘Go on. You’ll need to hurry. It’s not long until dark.’
‘I’ll come back tomorrow.’ With a grateful smile, Quintus was gone.
Looking after him, Atia sighed. ‘And the other matter?’
‘There is some good news.’ Seeing Aurelia’s instant interest, Fabricius clammed up. ‘I’ll tell you later.’
Aurelia’s face fell. ‘Everything is so unfair,’ she cried, and hurried off to her room.
Atia touched Fabricius’ arm to still his rebuke. ‘Let her go. It must be hard for her.’
Hanno was oblivious to the family drama. Suddenly, his desire to escape, to reach Iberia and join his countrymen in their conflict, was overwhelming. It was what he had dreamed of for so long! Yet his debt to Quintus loomed large in his mind too. Had it been repaid by what he’d done at the shepherd’s hut or not? Hanno wasn’t sure. Then there was Suniaton. How could he even entertain leaving without trying to find his best friend? Hanno was grateful when he heard Julius’ voice calling him. The conflicting emotions in his head were threatening to tear him apart.
Time went by, and Hanno was still working in the kitchen. Although an answer regarding his obligation to Quintus evaded him yet, he could not bring himself to abandon the farm without some attempt to find Suniaton. How the quest would be achieved, Hanno had no idea. Apart from him, who knew, or even cared, where Suniaton was now? The unanswerable dilemma kept him awake at night, and even distracted him from his usual lustful thoughts about Elira. Tired and irritable, he paid little attention one day when Julius announced an exhaustive menu that Atia had ordered for the following evening. ‘Apparently, she and the master are expecting an important visitor,’ said Julius pompously. ‘Caius Minucius Flaccus.’
‘Who in the name of Hades is that?’ asked one of the cooks.
Julius gave him a disapproving look. ‘He’s a senior figure in the Minucii clan, and the brother of a former consul.’
‘He’ll be an arrogant prick then,’ muttered the cook.
Julius ignored the titters this produced. ‘He’s also a member of the embassy that has just returned from Carthage,’ he declared as if the matter were of some importance to him.
Hanno’s stomach turned over. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
Julius’ lips pursed. ‘That’s what I heard the mistress saying,’ he snapped. ‘Now get on with your work.’
Hanno’s heart was thudding off his ribs like that of a caged bird as he went out to the storage sheds. Would Fabricius’ visitor speak of what he’d seen? Hanno begged the gods that he would. Passing the entrance to the heated bathroom, he saw Quintus stripping off. Well for him, thought Hanno sourly. He hadn’t had a hot bath since leaving Carthage.
Blithely unaware of Hanno’s feelings, Quintus’ excitement was rising by the moment. Wanting to look his best that evening, he bathed, before enjoying a massage by a slave. Sleepily imagining how Flaccus might recount everything that had gone on in Carthage, he was barely aware of Fabricius entering the room.
‘This visit is very important, you know.’
Quintus opened his eyes. ‘Yes, Father. And we will play our part in the war, if it comes.’
Fabricius half smiled. ‘That goes without saying. When Rome calls, we answer.’ Clasping his hands behind his back, he walked up and down in silence.
The feel of the strigil on his skin began to irritate Quintus, and he gestured at the slave to stop. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s about Aurelia,’ Fabricius answered.
‘You’ve arranged to marry her off, then,’ he said, shooting his father a bitter glance.
‘It’s not definite yet,’ said Fabricius. ‘But Flaccus liked what he heard of Aurelia when I visited him in the capital some time ago. Now he wants to see her beauty for himself.’
Quintus scowled at his naivete. Why else would a high-ranking politician pay a social visit to equestrians as lowly as they?
‘Come now,’ said Fabricius sternly. ‘You knew this would happen one day. It’s for the good of the family. Flaccus is not that old, and his clan is powerful and well connected. With the support of the Minucii, the Fabricii could go far.’ He stared at Quintus. ‘In Rome, I mean. You understand what I’m saying?’
Quintus sighed. ‘Does Aurelia know yet?’
‘No.’ It was Fabricius’ turn to look troubled. ‘I thought I would speak to you first.’
‘Make me part of it?’
‘Don’t take that line with me. You would also benefit,’ snapped his father.
Excitement flared in Quintus’ breast, and he hated himself for it. He’d seen Aurelia mooning over Hanno. An impossible infatuation for her, but one he’d done nothing to end. And now this. ‘What made you decide on Flaccus?’
‘I’ve been trying to organise something for the last two years,’ Fabricius replied. ‘Searching for the right man for our family, and for Aurelia. It’s a tricky business, but
I think Flaccus could be the one. He was going to be passing close to here anyway upon his return from Carthage. All I did was to make sure that an invitation was waiting for him when he landed.’
Quintus was surprised by his father’s cunning. No doubt his mother had had a hand in it, he thought. ‘How old is he?’
‘Thirty-five or so,’ said Fabricius. ‘That’s a lot better than some of the old goats who wanted to meet her. I hope she appreciates that.’ He paused. ‘One last thing.’
Quintus looked up.
‘Don’t ask any questions about what happened in Carthage,’ his father warned. ‘It is still a matter of state secrecy. If Flaccus chooses to fill us in on some of the details, so be it. If he does not, it’s none of our business to ask.’ With that, he was gone.
Quintus lay back on the warm stone slab, but all his enjoyment was gone. He would go to Aurelia the moment his father had finished speaking with her. What he would say, Quintus had no idea. His mood dark, he got dressed. The best place to watch Aurelia’s doorway unobtrusively was from a corner of the tablinum. Quintus made his way to the large reception room. He hadn’t been there long when Hanno entered, carrying a tray of crockery.
Seeing Quintus, Hanno smiled. ‘Looking forward to this evening?’ I am, he thought with glee.
‘Not really,’ Quintus replied dourly.
Hanno raised his eyebrows. ‘Why not? You don’t receive many visitors.’
Quintus was surprised to find that his excitement about what Flaccus might say was muted by his friendship with Hanno. ‘It’s hard to explain,’ he replied awkwardly.
At that moment, Fabricius strode from Aurelia’s room, banging the door behind him. His jaw was set with anger.
Their conversation instantly came to an end. Hanno could only watch as Quintus entered his sister’s chamber in turn. Hanno was genuinely fond of Aurelia. Part of him wondered what was going on, but part of him didn’t care. Finally, Carthage was at war with Rome once more.
Somehow, he would be involved in it.
Quintus found Aurelia lying on her bed, huge sobs racking her body. He rushed to kneel by her side. ‘It will be all right,’ he whispered, reaching out to stroke her hair. ‘Flaccus sounds like a good man.’
Her crying redoubled, and Quintus muttered a curse. Mentioning the man’s name was the worst possible thing he could have done. Not knowing what to do, he rubbed Aurelia’s shoulders comfortingly. They stayed in that position without talking for a long time. Finally, Aurelia rolled over. Her cheeks were red and blotchy, and her eyes swollen from weeping. ‘I must look terrible,’ she said.
Quintus gave her a crooked smile. ‘You’re still beautiful,’ he replied.
She stuck out her tongue. ‘Liar.’
‘A bath will help,’ advised Quintus. He put on a jovial face. ‘Won’t it?’
Aurelia could not keep up the pretence. ‘What am I going to do?’ she whispered miserably.
‘It was going to happen sometime,’ said Quintus. ‘Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt? If you really hate him, Father would not make you go ahead with the marriage.’
‘I suppose not,’ Aurelia replied dubiously. She thought for a moment. ‘I know I have to do what Father says. It’s so hard, though, especially when …’ Her voice died away, and new tears filled her eyes.
Quintus raised a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t say it,’ he whispered. ‘You can’t.’ He didn’t want to hear it spoken out loud.
With great effort, Aurelia regained control of her emotions. She nodded resolutely. ‘Better get ready, then. I have to look my best tonight.’
Quintus drew her into a warm embrace. ‘That’s the spirit,’ he whispered. Possessing courage was not an exclusively male quality, he realised. Nor was it confined to the battlefield or the hunt. Aurelia had just shown that she had plenty of it too.
Flaccus arrived mid-afternoon, accompanied by a large party of slaves and soldiers, and was immediately ushered to the best guest room to freshen up. Apart from his personal slaves, most of Flaccus’ retinue stayed outside, where they were quartered in the farmyard. Hanno was busy in the kitchen and saw little of the proceedings for some time. An hour later, loud voices announced the appearance of Martialis and Gaius. They were greeted jovially by Fabricius, and guided to the banqueting hall off the courtyard where, following tradition, they were first served mulsum, a mixture of wine and honey. Elira performed this task, leaving Hanno to wait impatiently in the kitchen. As darkness fell, he walked around the courtyard, lighting the bronze oil lamps that hung from every pillar. At the corner furthest from the tablinum, Hanno sensed movement behind him. He turned, gaining an impression of a handsome man in a toga with thick black hair and a big nose before Flaccus disappeared into the banqueting hall. Quintus and his sister arrived soon after, wearing their best clothes. Hanno had never seen Aurelia wearing make-up before. To his surprise, he liked what he saw.
Finally, the meal was ready, and Hanno could enter the room with the other slaves. He was to remain there for the duration of the meal, serving food, clearing away plates and, most importantly of all, listening to the conversation. He waited attentively behind the left-hand couch, where Fabricius reclined with Martialis and Gaius. As an important guest, Flaccus had been given the central couch, while Atia, Quintus and an impassive Aurelia occupied the right-hand one. In customary fashion, the fourth side of the table had been left open.
Flaccus spent much of his time complimenting Aurelia on her looks and trying to engage her in conversation. His attempts met with little initial success. Finally, when Atia began to glare at her openly, she started to respond. To Hanno, it was obvious that she was being insincere, merely doing what her mother wished. Flaccus did not seem to notice this, or that apart from Fabricius, the others present did not dare to address him. Quintus and Gaius alone cast frequent glances at Flaccus, hoping in vain for news of Carthage. Quaffing large amounts of mulsum and wine, the black-haired politician seemed more and more taken by Aurelia as the night went on.
Over the sweet platters, Flaccus turned to Fabricius. ‘My compliments on your daughter. She is as beautiful as you said. More so, perhaps.’
Fabricius inclined his head gravely. ‘Thank you.’
‘I think we should talk further on this matter in the morning,’ boomed Flaccus. ‘Come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement.’
Fabricius allowed himself a small smile. ‘That would be a great honour.’
Atia murmured her agreement.
‘Excellent.’ Flaccus looked at Hanno. ‘More wine.’
Hanno hurried forward, his face a neutral mask. He wasn’t sure how he felt about what had just been said. Not that it mattered, he reflected bitterly. Here I am a slave. His resentment over his status surged back, stronger than ever, and he dismissed his concern about Aurelia’s possible betrothal. The bonds that tied him to the farm were weakening. If Aurelia married Flaccus, she would go to live in Rome. Quintus was always talking about joining the army. When he left, Hanno would be left friendless and alone. On the spot, he resolved to begin planning his escape.
Quintus had decided that Flaccus seemed quite personable and glanced sidelong at Aurelia. He was delighted to see no sign of distress in her face, and marvelled at her equanimity. Then he noted the slight flush to her cheeks, and her empty glass. Was she drunk? It wouldn’t take much. Aurelia rarely consumed wine. In spite of this, Quintus found his head full of the possibilities that an alliance between the Fabricii and Minucii would create. Aurelia and Flaccus would get used to each other, he told himself. That’s the way most marriages worked. He reached out to touch Aurelia’s hand. She smiled, and he was reassured.
The conversation flitted about for some time, with talk of the weather, the crops and the quality of the games in Capua compared to Rome. No one mentioned the one topic that everyone wanted to know about: what had happened in Carthage?
It was Martialis who eventually broached the subject. As was his wont, he had been drinking large a
mounts. Draining his cup yet again, he saluted Flaccus. ‘They say that the Carthaginian wines are very drinkable.’
‘They are agreeable enough,’ accepted Flaccus. He pursed his lips. ‘Unlike the people who produce them.’
Martialis was oblivious to Fabricius’ frowns. ‘Will we be seeing such vintages in Italy more often?’ he asked with a wink.
Flaccus dragged his eyes away from Aurelia. ‘Eh?’
‘Tell us what happened in Carthage,’ begged Martialis. ‘We are all dying to know.’
Hanno held his breath, and he could see Quintus doing the same.
Slowly, Flaccus took in the rapt faces around him. His features took on a self-important expression, and he smiled, pompously. ‘Nothing I say is to travel beyond these walls.’
‘Of course not,’ Martialis murmured. ‘You can be assured of our discretion.’
Even Fabricius joined in with the buzz of agreement.
Satisfied, Flaccus began. ‘I was but a minor member of the party, although I like to think my contribution was noted. We were led by the two consuls, Lucius Aemilius Paullus and Marcus Livius Salinator. Our spokesman was the former censor Marcus Fabius Buteo.’ He let the important names sink in. ‘From the start, it seemed that our mission would be successful. The omens were good, and the crossing from Lilybaeum uneventful. We reached Carthage three weeks ago to the day.’
Hanno closed his eyes and imagined the scene. The massive fortifications gleaming in the winter sun. The magnificent temple of Eshmoun dominating the top of Byrsa Hill. The twin harbours full of ships. Home, he thought with a jolt of longing. Will I ever see it again?
Flaccus’ next words brought him back to earth with a jolt. ‘Arrogant sons of whores,’ he growled. He glanced at Atia. ‘My apologies. But the most significant men in Rome had arrived, and who had they sent to meet us? A junior officer of the city guard.’
Martialis’ face went purple with rage, and he nearly choked on a mouthful of wine.
Fabricius was of a calmer disposition. ‘It must have been a mistake, surely,’ he said.
Flaccus scowled. ‘On the contrary. The gesture was quite deliberate. They had made up their minds before we even disembarked from our ships. Instead of being allowed time to wash and recover from the journey, we were escorted straight to the Senate.’