The Death of Marcellus

by Dan Armstrong

  The lead man rode a beautiful black mare with ornate silver trappings. He introduced himself as Blattius, one of Salapia’s city council members. He was Marcellus’ age, bald and bearded, and carried himself with strength and dignity. Marcellus, always accompanied by his twelve lictors when on the move, granted him an audience in the shade of a tree while the column of soldiers marched past. Furius Purpurio, commander of the Eighteenth legion, joined them.

  “What brings you here?” asked Marcellus.

  “There’s a growing rift in the populace concerning the presence of the Carthaginian garrison that controls our city. I, for one, would like to reestablish our allegiance to Rome. I am here in person, instead of a messenger, as proof of the soundness and sincerity of what I offer.”

  Marcellus nodded that he understood.

  “My political adversary, who controls the city council, a man by the name of Dasius,” continued Blattius, “has long been beholden to Hannibal. I approached him two months ago about the changing mood in Salapia. He became furious and sent a message to Hannibal saying there was a plot brewing to evict the Carthaginian garrison. Hannibal requested that we meet with him.”

  “Where was that?” asked Marcellus.

  “Far south, Bruttium.”

  “What happened?”

  “While I stood outside Hannibal’s headquarters, knowing my life might be on the line, I pleaded with Dasius to change his story and help me open communication with Rome. He vehemently refused, and when we were finally in Hannibal’s presence, Dasius told him that I had just asked him again to change sides. Instead of immediately putting me in shackles, Hannibal threw us both out, saying no man would have the audacity to make such a proposal within the walls of his camp.”

  Marcellus turned to his legate Purpurio.

  Purpurio was a rough looking man with a thick black stubble of hair on his head and face. Like Marcellus, he was a plebeian. “The story seems farfetched,” he said, “but I’d like to hear this man out. Recapturing Salapia cannot be undervalued.”

  Marcellus nodded and Blattius continued. “The experience at Hannibal’s camp had a negative impact on Dasius, but not so much to change his position right away. I continued to work on him and others in the city council after we got back to Salapia. As of last week, I have enough support to turn the city. Dasius is part of it. The only remaining obstacle is the Carthaginian garrison. That’s why I’m here now. If I knew I had your support, General, I could arrange for your access to the city.”

  “How do I know you are who you say you are? How can I know this isn’t a trap?”

  Blattius removed a large gold signet ring from his right hand and offered it to Marcellus. “Make an impression of this insignia. It’s the seal of the city of Salapia, given only to its council members. Have your men check it. It will prove who I am.”

  Marcellus ordered one of his lictors to fetch me.

  “I understand your skepticism, General,” said Blattius. “I can offer no guarantees. Nothing has been arranged as yet. I simply need to know if you can trust me enough to work with me. Once we are done here, I will return to Salapia. I can send a messenger back to you with a plan sealed by this ring.”

  “Take one of my soldiers with you. He will disguise himself as your slave. He will bring the message back.”

  “That’s not necessary, General. It only adds complication.”

  “But it adds security for me.”

  I arrived with the lictor and my wax pad. Marcellus handed me the ring and asked me to make an impression. It was a warm day. After just a few moments in the direct sunlight, the wax was soft enough to make a clear imprint of the ring.

  Marcellus returned the ring to Blattius. “Anything written must have this seal and be delivered by the man I send with you.”

  “The seal should be good enough, General. I risked my life to come here today.”

  “You came here risking one life. Your own. Should I enter your city and it’s a trap, I risk many thousand. Take my man. It’s the only way I will do this.”

  Blattius relented. “Fine. Time is of the essence. Summon your man.”

  Marcellus called for one of his most trusted centurions, Gaius Tubero. Marcellus gave him instructions, and shortly afterward, Tubero, dressed as a slave, rode off with Blattius and his men. When Marcellus returned to the head of the column, his orders were to continue south on Via Latina.

  The siege of a well-fortified city with a fair-sized garrison was costly in both time and men. More often than not a city was taken with the help of someone on the inside. After the loss of Capua, Hannibal’s grip on other cities in the Samnium region had begun to loosen. Marcellus might have been intent on hunting down Hannibal, but he knew that taking Salapia and any other cities in the region would put added pressure on the Carthaginian. Although Marcellus had shown little trust in Blattius during their meeting, he proceeded afterward as though Salapia had become our most immediate target.

  CHAPTER 27

  We continued south on Via Latina the next four days. Late in the afternoon of the fourth day we made camp outside Capua. That evening Statorius came to our tent and ordered me to accompany him to headquarters. Headquarters was the largest tent in the camp, located in the center of officers’ row on Via Principalis.

  Two centurions stood guard at the entrance to the tent. One led me into the tent. Marcellus stood in the center of the tent addressing five of his officers. He acknowledged the centurion with his eyes when we entered. I stood off to one side to wait for my orders.

  The tent was furnished and carpeted like the interior of a house. Eight oil lamps on bronze stands provided light. A divan and two chairs were arranged around a table on one side of the tent. A larger table was situated on the opposite side.

  Standing in a half-circle before Marcellus were Asellus, the two legates, Titus Pollio and Furius Purpurio, and the two prefects for the allied forces, Pacuvius Calavius and Papus Laetorius. All wore white tunics with a gladius hanging at their hip. Although they were all Roman officers, only Asellus had served under Marcellus before. Purpurio was the oldest man in the group. At forty-three, he was still fifteen years Marcellus’ junior. Along with Asellus, Purpurio was one of the officers Marcellus had requested for this campaign. His reputation was for discipline and courage.

  “For the first time in six years,” said Marcellus, catching the eyes of all five men, “we have the freedom to go after Hannibal in any way we want. If there’s an opportunity to take Salapia, we will, but ultimately our purpose this summer is to seek out Hannibal and destroy his army. We can’t do that without knowing where he is. All we know right now is that he’s in southern Italy. That’s not good enough.”

  Marcellus led the five officers over to the larger table. He motioned to me to join them. A map of the Italian peninsula from the Po Valley to Bruttium lay unrolled on the table.

  “This Greek scribe, Timon Leonidas,” said Marcellus, “is from the second cohort in the Eighteenth. He was an apprentice to Archimedes of Syracuse and has shown unusual talent as a mapmaker.” I bowed my head at his words. It was curious that he always referred to me as an apprentice to Archimedes, not his slave.

  “This map is very rough,” said Marcellus. “All of our maps are. They are nearly useless. This scribe can help us with that. While we march south, he will have the opportunity to view several areas on this map firsthand. This will allow him to revise and improve the map. Be aware that this is his task and help him in any way you can. I am convinced that an accurate map will be of immeasurable value to this campaign.

  “I have instructed him to mark the exact positions of all the major cities, chart the known travel routes and calculate their lengths in miles, designate the highest peaks, and map every waterway, forest, and ravine no matter how small. Expect to see him working in this tent whenever it’s standing.”

  Marcellus had a reputation as a strict, unflinching officer. Only Asellus knew him as a friend. The four commanders, all generals, had just met
him. They seemed tense and somewhat intimidated.

  Purpurio ventured a question. “We have always had maps, Consul. Why should we expect this scribe to do any better?”

  “I’ll let him answer that.”

  I was half the age of any man in the tent. Only in the last month had I begun to shave. It seemed presumptuous for me to speak at all. My voice cracked when I spoke my first words. “This map is not a true representation of the land,” I said, motioning to the map on the table. “Some distances are foreshortened; others are extended. Measurements taken from this map are deceptive at best. As we march south, I can redraw this map and make it accurate enough to translate distances, perhaps even estimate the marching speed of not only our army but also of Hannibal’s.”

  Marcellus had spoken to Asellus about this many times already. The cavalry captain was watching the other men’s faces as much as I was. They looked skeptical, uncertain how a better map might help.

  Marcellus saw the same thing. “A better map won’t defeat Hannibal, but it will help us learn how his army moves and give us insights into his tactical methods. We have already seen that his greatest asset is his ability to move quickly, especially at night. He’s like the leviathan we see in the oceans. One moment it breaks the surface, the next it dives out of sight, only to surface again in some unexpected location. That can’t happen with Hannibal.” He tapped the map with his forefinger. “If we want Hannibal this summer, half the task is knowing where he is. An accurate map will help us with that.”

  The centurion who had led me into the tent suddenly opened the flap from the outside. “Consul, sir, Gaius Tubero.”

  The centurion who had accompanied Blattius to Salapia entered the tent. He wore a beige tunic, rough wool pants, and no cap—a slave’s attire. “Permission to report, sir.” Everyone present knew where he had been and that his report would determine our next move.

  Marcellus came forward from behind the table. “Permission granted.”

  “Blattius is who he said he is, Consul. I was with him the entire time I was gone. All that keeps Salapia from coming over to Rome is a garrison of five hundred Numidians. They are cavalry, sir, hardly practiced in the defense of a city.”

  Marcellus nodded.

  “Blattius will have two of the city’s gates opened for us on a day of your choosing. There will be resistance, but the numbers are so highly in our favor, I cannot see us failing.” He handed Marcellus a note, folded and sealed with a wax impression of Blattius’ signet ring. “The details are here. I will take your answer back to Salapia as soon as requested.”

  Everyone in the tent knew this was a great stroke of fortune. Salapia was of immeasurable value to Rome. Marcellus dismissed Tubero and told him to return at daybreak.

  CHAPTER 28

  We broke camp at sunrise the next day and marched south on Via Latina before turning east to Salapia. Our progress slowed considerably as we crossed the Apennines, the ridge of mountains that runs down the center of the Italian peninsula. After five days of hard marching, we set up camp three miles west of Salapia.

  A small contingent slipped out of the city to visit our camp the night of our arrival. Blattius and Dasius were the spokesmen. They told Marcellus that the entire city council and a vast majority of the populace were in favor of casting out the Carthaginians.

  “Just before dawn tomorrow morning,” said Blattius, “the two gates on the north side of the city will be left open for your men. The Carthaginian garrison is unaware of your arrival. You’ll take them by complete surprise.”

  After the men from Salapia had left the camp, and Marcellus had reviewed his plans for the next day with his officers, I remained in the tent to work on the map. Marcellus alternately paced and watched my progress.

  About the time I was ready to call it a night, one of the guards stuck his head in the tent. “Consul, the augur Varus Nasica requests your audience.”

  An augur traveled with every army to perform the sacrifices and take the auspices. One tent in the camp was set aside as the auguraculum, a sacred place where the augur and his two accompanying priests kept the cage of chickens, the sacrificial knives, and other religious totems.

  Marcellus muttered something, then said, “Send him in.”

  A short, thin man in a white, hooded robe slipped into the tent. His head was shaved and his eyes over-sized. His physique was so different from most Latin men, I wondered if he might not be Etruscan. He shot a hot glance at me, then addressed Marcellus, who was standing beside the divan on the far side of the tent. “Consul, can you send this scribe away? I would like a word with you in private.”

  “He’s busy. Say what you will.”

  The man’s face darkened. I ducked my head back into my work as the augur approached the map table to see what it was that was so important.

  “Get on with it, man,” demanded Marcellus.

  Varus looked up from the map. “Word has reached me that we are investing Salapia tomorrow.” He said this as though he were disturbed he had not gotten word directly from Marcellus. “A sacrifice is necessary before every battle, Consul, and this will be our first military action of the campaign. I thought it wise to confer with you regarding the timing. I understand you expect to leave camp before daybreak.”

  “Maybe we should perform the rituals now to get them out of the way.”

  The augur stiffened. “These matters are not something to ‘get out of the way,’ Consul. I suggest you come to the auguraculum prior to leaving camp in the morning. I don’t believe you’d care to enter into any kind of combat without an offering to Mars.”

  “That’s fine,” Marcellus said sharply.

  Varus nodded. “Thank you, sir. I think that’s wise. A sacrifice this evening would be improper and would likely put Mars out of sorts.”

  “Yes, of course,” replied Marcellus with barely concealed sarcasm.

  Varus turned to leave.

  Marcellus stopped him short. “Just a moment, Augur.”

  Varus cast a black look over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  “You’ll be with this army all summer. You have never served under my command. Perhaps you and I should get a few things straight before we go any further.”

  I raised my head.

  “Go ahead,” said Varus.

  Marcellus came across the tent, up close to Varus, imposing his physical presence on the smaller man. “We’re chasing Hannibal. That is our primary objective. Nothing is more important to the future of Rome than the destruction of his army.”

  Varus nodded his agreement.

  “Our success will depend heavily on timing,” continued Marcellus. “Quick, decisive action will be critical. Our location, the lay of land, these are all factors I will consider prior to engaging him.”

  “I understand that.”

  “When the time is right,” continued Marcellus, “we will act. There can be no delay, no postponement. The gravity of our mission won’t allow it. Your job will be assuring my men that Mars is with us—always.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying, sir.”

  “I think you do. I don’t want the gods to get in the way of strategic necessity. When you perform the rituals, regardless of what you think you see in some animal’s entrails or the actions of chickens, I want your clear support of everything I say or do.”

  Varus’ huge eyes practically screamed, but he said nothing.

  “I’m glad you agree,” said Marcellus.

  Varus huffed and puffed. “I was told this would be a difficult campaign, Consul, not because we were chasing Hannibal, but because of you. I was specifically asked to report any irregularities to the pontifex maximus.”

  “Out here, I am the imperium.” Marcellus reached around the man to lift the tent flap. “I’ll come by the auguraculum early tomorrow morning. Be ready. We have a big day.”

  The augur cast a sour look at me, then left.

  CHAPTER 29

  I have no idea what went on between Varus an
d Marcellus the next morning. Apparently Mars had been appeased and had given his approval. The Eighteenth legion and the legion from Fregellae assembled in marching formation outside our camp before daybreak. Marcellus led them to within half a mile of Salapia then halted. Despite Blattius’ assurances, Marcellus remained cautious. After a scouting party verified that the two gates were open, he sent three thousand men into the city. He stayed behind with the remaining seven thousand.

  The unit that Hannibal had garrisoned in Salapia was only five hundred in number, but it contained some of his most able men from his Numidian cavalry. These dark-skinned men from the African coast were considered the most skilled horsemen in the world. They rode small horses with rope halters and no saddles. They wore no armor, and rarely carried more than a shield and a quiver of darts. But their ability to ride fast and with agility, making quick turns or reversing direction, allowed them to attack like angry hornets diving in and out at slow moving formations of infantry. Salapia, however, was not an open field and the Numidians were not on horseback. Though greatly outnumbered, they fought to the end. Only fifty were taken alive. By midafternoon the city was ours.

  For Hannibal, the loss of five hundred Numidian cavalry was nearly as great as the fall of Salapia. For Rome, regaining an eastern seaport, especially with Tarentum under Carthaginian control, marked a solid start to the summer.

  Two more cities with allegiance to Carthage, Marmoreae and Meles, were within three days march of Salapia. Our most recent reports said Hannibal was still in Bruttium. Marcellus installed a garrison of five hundred men in Salapia and decided to confront these other cities before continuing south.

  Though both cities had substantial garrisons and compromised city councils, neither one could withstand our overwhelming numbers. Three thousand of Hannibal’s soldiers were killed or taken prisoner. Two hundred and forty bushels of wheat and one hundred and ten bushels of barley were removed from the two granaries and added to our train.