by Ben Kane
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.
Quintus had been taught the Forum’s layout. ‘There are the shrines of Castor and Pollux, and Saturn,’ he cried as they walked along. ‘And the circular temple of the Vestal Virgins.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Hanno, pointing at a grubby building along the northern side of the Forum.
‘I think it’s the comitium,’ Quintus replied. ‘It’s a temple which was built during the foundation of Rome more than five hundred years before.’ His voice lowered. ‘Inside it is the lapis niger, a stubby pillar of black stone which marks the spot where Romulus, the founder of Rome, ascended to heaven. Beside is the rostra, the speaker’s platform, which is decorated with the prows of captured ships.’ Quintus flushed and fell silent. The most recent additions were from Carthaginian triremes that had been captured in the last war.
Realising, Hanno glowered.
The friends soon discovered that they had arrived just after Publius had entered the Curia, but consoled themselves with the fact that they would be close at hand when he emerged. Huge crowds were already present. The news about Hannibal had spread all over the city by now. Everyone in Rome wanted to know what would happen next. Wild rumours swept from one end of the gathering to the other.
‘Hannibal has a host of more than a hundred and fifty thousand men,’ cried a man with red-rimmed eyes.
‘He has a hundred elephants, and twenty-five thousand Numidian cavalry,’ wailed another.
‘They say that Philip of Macedon has mobilised his army and is about to attack us from the northeast,’ shot back the first man. ‘He’s going to join with the Carthaginians.’
‘So is every tribe in Cisalpine Gaul,’ added a third voice.
Hanno’s anger over the rostra was replaced by delight. If only a fraction of the gossip was true, Rome faced a catastrophe of enormous proportions. He glanced at Quintus, who was staring rigidly at the Curia, pretending to ignore what was being said.
An awkward silence fell.
A hush fell in the Senate as a stocky figure with wavy black hair an
d a ruddy complexion made his way into view. Bushy eyebrows sat over a pair of calculating blue eyes and a prominent nose. The senators around him moved deferentially out of the way. Flaccus gave the man a tiny nod, and Fabricius knew at once who it was. He was Marcus Minucius Rufus, a former consul, and Flaccus’ brother. This was the pre-eminent member of the Minucii clan, and one of the most powerful men in Rome. No doubt he was the person responsible for the letter to Publius.
‘Consul,’ said Marcus, inclining his head in recognition. ‘We thank you for returning to Rome. It is an honour to see you once more.’ With the niceties over, his expression turned hawkish. ‘We were alarmed to hear that your brother was leading your legions to Iberia. This, so that you could return to Italy. We have asked you back to explain your extraordinary about turn, which goes completely against the Senate’s decision made here not six months ago. You and Longus, your co-consul, have supreme command of the Republic’s military forces. That is beyond doubt. Yet neither of you are immune to challenge, should that be necessary.’ Marcus half turned, smiling at the mutters of agreement that were becoming audible. ‘Clearly, I am not the only one to hold such an opinion.’
One of Publius’ eyebrows arched. ‘And what opinion might that be?’ he asked in a silky smooth tone.
Marcus’ reply was urbane. ‘I speak of course, of the power of provocatio.’
Some of the senators hissed with disapproval at this, but others shouted in agreement. Fabricius felt a nerve twitch in his face. He’d never before heard of one of the Republic’s supreme magistrates being threatened with a criminal charge. He shot a glance at Flaccus, but could glean nothing from his face. Why were the Minucii seeking to depose Publius during his consulship? Fabricius wondered. What purpose would it serve?
‘Have you nothing to say?’ Marcus asked, taking a smug look around the room. Like a tide that had just turned, the noise of those who supported him began to grow.
Fabricius glanced at Flaccus again. This time, he saw the same self-satisfied expression as the one adorning Marcus’ face. Then it hit him. Flaccus had believed Publius’ account of the threat posed by Hannibal and, in his letter, told his brother of his concerns. Now Marcus, a previously successful general in his own right, wanted to become consul so that he could claim the glory of defeating the Carthaginians instead of leaving it to Publius. This possibility, no, probability, Fabricius thought angrily, defied belief. All that mattered was defeating an enemy who posed a serious threat to the Republic. Yet to some of these politicians, it was more about making a name for themselves.
Bizarrely, Publius laughed. ‘I find it remarkable’, he said, ‘that I should be accused of exceeding my remit when in fact I have done more than my duty in fulfilling it. My army has been sent to Iberia as ordered; its commander, my brother Gnaeus, has a proven record in the field. Furthermore, upon realising the implications of Hannibal’s march across the Alps, and knowing that my colleague Longus would not have time to react, I returned to Italy with the intention of facing the Carthaginians myself. Immediately. Does that not prove my loyalty to Rome? And what should we think about those who would prevent me from doing my duty?’
In the uproar that followed, Publius and Marcus stared at each other with clear dislike. But Marcus’ response was swift. ‘I take it that you have seen Hannibal’s “enormous” army with your own eyes? Made a realistic estimate of the number of enemy troops?’
‘I have done neither,’ replied Publius in an icy tone.
‘Are you a soothsayer, then?’ Marcus asked, to gales of laughter from his supporters.
‘Nothing like that.’ Publius coolly indicated Fabricius. ‘I have with me the veteran cavalry officer who led the patrol that reconnoitred the Carthaginian camp’s perimeter. He will be happy to answer any questions you may have.’
Marcus regarded Fabricius with thinly disguised contempt. ‘Your name?’
Meeting Marcus’ stare, Fabricius steeled his resolve. Whatever the other’s rank, and however intimidating the scene, he would tell the truth. ‘Gaius Fabricius, sir. Equestrian and landowner near Capua.’
Marcus made a dismissive gesture. ‘Have you much military experience?’
‘I spent nearly ten years in Sicily, fighting the Carthaginians, sir,’ replied Fabricius proudly. He was delighted by the response of some of those watching. Many heads nodded in approval; other senators muttered in each other’s ears.
Marcus pursed his lips. ‘Tell us what you saw, then. Let the Senate decide if it truly poses the threat that Publius would have us believe.’
Taking a deep breath, Fabricius began the tale of his patrol. He did not look at Marcus or anyone else. Instead he kept his gaze fixed on the bronze doors at the far end of the room. It was a good tactic, and he warmed to his topic as he continued. Fabricius spared no detail of the Carthaginian encampment, and was particularly careful to stress the number of enemy cavalry, the River Rhodanus’ immense width and the Herculean effort of ferrying the elephants across it. Finishing, he looked to Publius. The consul gave an approving nod. Flaccus’ expression had soured. Had his prospective son-in-law thought that having to appear before the entire Senate would be too much for him? From the alarmed looks many senators were now giving each other, the opposite was true. Suddenly, Marcus seemed to be on the back foot.
Seizing the initiative, Publius moved to the front of the dais. ‘Fabricius estimated the Carthaginian host to be greater in size than two consular armies. I’m talking about fifty thousand men, of whom at least a quarter are cavalry. Numidians, who bested our troops in Sicily on countless occasions. Do not forget the elephants either. Our combat record against them is less than valiant. We also have to consider the leader of this army. Hannibal Barca, a man who has recently conquered half of Iberia and taken an impregnable city, Saguntum, by storm. A general who is unafraid of leading his soldiers across the Alps in late autumn.’ Publius nodded as many senators recoiled. ‘Many of you know the praetor Lucius Manlius Vulso, as I do. He is an honourable and able leader. But is he capable of beating a force twice the size of his, which also possesses superior numbers of horse, and elephants?’ He looked around. ‘Is he?’
A brief, disbelieving silence cloaked the room. Then, sheer pandemonium broke out. Hundreds of worried voices competed with each other, but no individual would listen to what another was saying. Marcus tried to calm those around him, but his efforts were in vain. Fabricius couldn’t believe it. Here were the men who ruled the Republic, squabbling and shouting like frightened children. He glanced at Publius, who was watching the spectacle, waiting for an opportunity to intervene. Impulsively, Fabricius pulled out his dagger and handed it over. ‘It’s yours, sir,’ he said passionately. ‘Like the sword of every citizen in Italy.’ Publius’ initial surprise was replaced by a wolfish smile. He accepted the blade before muttering an order to his lictores. The hammering of fasces on the floor drew everyone’s attention.
Publius raised the dagger high. ‘I have been handed this by Fabricius, who has broken the law by carrying it into the Curia. Yet he did it only because of his loyalty to the Republic. To show his willingness to shed his blood and, if necessary, to die in the struggle to overcome Hannibal. With determined soldiers like this, I promise you victory over the Carthaginian invaders! Victory!’
As a flock of birds seamlessly alters direction, the senators’ mood changed. Their panic vanished, to be replaced by a frenzy of excitement. Spontaneous cheering broke out, and the atmosphere lightened at once. Publius had won, thought Fabricius delightedly. Nobody but a fool would try and depose the consul now.
A moment later, Flaccus sidled over. ‘Happy?’ he hissed.
Fabricius had had enough. ‘What was I supposed to do? Lie about what I saw?’ he retorted. ‘Hannibal’s army is huge. It’s well armed, and led by a very determined man. We underestimate it at our peril.’
Flaccus’ expression grew softer. ‘Of course, you are right. You spoke well. Convincingly,’ he said. ‘And the danger must be addres
sed fast. Clearly, Publius is still the man to do it. The resolve he has shown here today is admirable.’
Looking at the displeasure twisting Marcus’ face, Fabricius had difficulty in believing Flaccus’ words. He shoved his disquiet away. Such things were no longer of importance.
All that mattered was defeating Hannibal.
Fabricius wasn’t surprised when Publius ordered him to proceed back to the city gate, there to ready his men. They would leave for Cisalpine Gaul within three hours. Flaccus would be with them too. Publius rolled his eyes as he said it. ‘Some things cannot be changed,’ he muttered. Fabricius was relieved to be given his orders. He had seen enough of politics for a lifetime, and was uncertain what to think of Flaccus and his brother. Maybe Atia had been right? he wondered. Deciding to inform her of what had transpired by writing a quick letter before they set off, Fabricius exited the bronze doors and headed across the Forum.
Chapter XVIII: Cisalpine Gaul
THERE WERE ONLY two occasions when the two friends heard something of what was going on inside. The first was when alarmed shouts rang out; the second, which followed directly after, was the sound of loud cheering. Almost at once, news spread through the assembled crowds that the Senate had given Publius its resounding support. Now the consul was to head north with all speed, there to confront Hannibal. Before the pair had time to take the momentous information in, several figures hurried from the Curia. Suddenly, Quintus came to life. He gave Hanno a violent nudge. ‘Look,’ he hissed, taking a step forward. ‘It’s Father!’