Hannibal paused to gauge the reaction. The crowd was silent and stared at him expectantly.
“Even as I speak, my countryman, the great general Hanno is assembling an army to bring to these shores. This magnificent army will soon be here to sweep away the Romans.”
“A Carthaginian army is coming…” some in the crowd began telling one another and people began looking over their shoulders as if the army might be marching up behind them.
“When are they coming?” someone shouted.
“It may already be at sea,” Hannibal said, becoming more and more satisfied with the response and gaining confidence. “It may already be in Heraclea Minoa; it may even now be marching toward the city. But, believe me when I say that it is coming — and coming soon. It will dwarf the Roman army and no enemy force can stand against it.”
Governor Pelitas stepped forward. “It is true,” he told the people. “I have seen the reports of this army. It will be the largest ever to set foot in Sicily and it is coming here to defeat the Romans.”
The crowd, encouraged by the words of their governor, let out a spontaneous cheer. Pelitas stood with his arm upraised, showing his placid face to all the people. Hannibal caught a glimpse of Boodes, smiling at the edge of the crowd.
“This small force in your city today,” Hannibal said, gesturing toward Boodes’ command, “are here to keep Acragas free, but only until Hanno arrives with his great army. Then we sweep the land clean!” Hannibal cried, the full force of his voice filling the crowded square amid a rising chorus of cheers. “Then we kick the Romans back to Italy where they belong!”
The crowd erupted in a roar of approval. Hannibal stood with his hand upraised, taking in the applause. Governor Pelitas gazed out over the crowd, his firm square jaw thrust forward, the picture of strength and resolve. Hannibal gave him a sidelong glance, noticing Pelitas’ enthusiasm for the roar of the crowd.
Still waving, Hannibal leaned in close to Pelitas’ ear. “I’m holding you responsible for the conduct of your people, Pelitas,” he said, adding, “as I believe is just.”
Hannibal could just barely make out his nodding as Pelitas continued basking in the adulation.
Back inside, Pelitas was delighted. “Superbly done!” he cried. “You have won the city.”
“Today the city is mine,” Hannibal agreed. “But don’t be fooled—the siege will be long and difficult. I will need you with me, Governor.”
Pelitas closed his eyes happily and gave a little bow.
“Magnificent, General!” Boodes called out from the base of the stairway. Hannibal looked down at the unimpressive little man and saw Boodes smiling up at him. Throughout the preceding months, Boodes had proven himself an intelligent and resourceful leader, but even his full armor failed to bring the soldier out in him. His movements were stiff and arthritic and he lacked a military bearing. Hannibal noticed that he looked less formidable up close than he had from a distance among his guard and staff at the edge of the crowd. In the end, he looked like what he was — an aging career politician.
“This city is calm. Well done, General,” Hannibal said. Boodes dipped his head in appreciation. “And now it is also resolute,” Hannibal added. “Ready for the rigors ahead, I think.”
“Acragas is yours, General.”
“Yes,” Hannibal said, satisfied. “Boodes, as soon as the crowd clears, take those bodies down.”
“But, General, we should leave them hanging as an example.”
“Take them down,” Hannibal repeated. “We don’t need them as I thought. The people have learned the lesson.” Hannibal was about to move on when he paused. “Oh, and, uh, Boodes…”
“General?”
“Only two agitators, Boodes? I would have thought you might have been more thorough.”
“Those two, yes,” Boodes began. “And there is one more, who awaits you in chains, as you will see in my report.”
“One more in chains?”
“Yes, sir. Three, then, all told. I had to rely on the word of Celts to track down even these,” he admitted. “And one of them was already dead.”
“What is that you say?”
“One of the agitators was dead when I found him. Did you not notice his bloody shirt?”
“Are you telling me you crucified a dead man?”
“I thought two hanging in the square would make a better example than one,” Boodes explained with great sincerity.
Hannibal Gisgo clapped his general on the back and barked out a laugh. For a moment, he could not stop. He could not remember the last time he had laughed so hard.
Hannibal’s good humor vanished when he read the message from — the general had to consult the document again — from the consul named Lucius Postumius Megellus.
“He takes me for a fool!” Hannibal fumed. “This—this politician of Rome…” Hannibal spat the phrase, throwing the parchment to the floor. “This Megellus takes me for an absolute fool!”
General Hamilcar motioned toward the wadded parchment and a young attendant quickly retrieved it from the floor. General Hamilcar took it from the boy.
“He takes us all for fools,” Hamilcar said, smoothing the document and quickly scanning the text.
“He thinks I am just going to hand this city over to Rome as easily as Hanno gave them Messana? Is that what he thinks? What sort of insult is this? If my efforts had been honored, there would be no Roman army here to threaten us at all! It was I who gave Carthage Messana. It was I who kept Hiero out when all he had to do was walk in and occupy the place. Oh, what a mess that would have been!”
Hannibal spoke of the time two years ago before the Romans had crossed the strait. Hiero of Syracuse had defeated Messana in a battle near the river Longanus. Nothing stood between him and the city. Urgently sailing from his base at Lipara, Hannibal had arrived even before the dead had been removed from the battlefield. It had been crucial to keep Syracuse, then Carthage’s ally, out of Messana. This, Hannibal had done by speaking to Hiero bluntly.
“Once you occupy Messana,” Hannibal had said in Hiero’s command tent, “the city will doubtlessly appeal to Rome for help. Perhaps they have already done so. I must tell you that if this comes to pass, Carthage will not intervene on either side.”
“Will not intervene?” Hiero was stunned. “You will not stand by your ally?”
“I do not need to tell you that Syracuse cannot stand alone against Rome,” Hannibal said simply.
Even though Hannibal could see Hiero fuming inside, he had no choice but to consider the Carthaginian’s words carefully.
“It is almost the end of the campaigning season,” Hannibal went on seizing his advantage. “You can return to Syracuse now, the hero of the Battle of the Longanus. You will ride through the streets in a gleaming chariot, a king’s crown on your head. Imagine it! On the other hand, occupy Messana and you return to your people in disgrace, the bitch of Rome.”
For Hannibal, even after two years, the memory of the futility of his efforts at Messana still bore the sting of a fresh wound. He had handed Carthage Messana on a platter only to have Hanno give it up with hardly a whimper. Not only had Hannibal forestalled a potentially messy entanglement with Hiero, he had — or would have, had Hanno even a shred of courage — prevented Rome from setting foot on Sicilian soil. All due to his singular action on the battlefield along the Longanus that late afternoon nearly two years ago, he had won for Carthage all of Sicily, maintained the tenuous alliance with Syracuse, and averted the war with Rome.
Only to have it all fecklessly thrown away. General Hanno, the Council’s golden boy in Carthage, had occupied the city as planned but had then allowed himself to be duped into leaving it, allowing the Romans their foothold in Sicily. He had then fought a disgraceful rearguard skirmish whereupon Hannibal had been obliged to evacuate the silly fellow by sea.
Now, it all came flooding back to him and put him in a blind rage.
“This Megellus thinks I am just going to walk out of here an
d lay my arms at his feet?”
“Maybe he thinks Hanno is in command here, general. Surely he would not suspect you of such weakness.”
Hamilcar held the crumpled and torn parchment out to Hannibal who took it and held it up to catch the light that streamed in through the tall windows that lined one wall.
“He offers us our freedom to leave the city unharmed.” Hannibal snorted a laugh. “We’re being offered our freedom, General,” he said to Hamilcar. Hamilcar shook his head hopelessly.
Hannibal suddenly turned to his interpreter. “This boy does not speak our language?”
“He does,” the interpreter said. “But he is excitable and cannot be prevented from babbling in his own. It is most irritating.”
“Well, ask the captive if anyone has seen this parchment.”
The Numidian youth, the one called Gervas, stood between two guards, his hands chained to his waist. Heavy manacles secured his ankles. When the interpreter had asked Hannibal’s question, a stream of words gushed from Gervas’ mouth.
“He says no,” the interpreter said. “He says that when he—”
Hannibal held up a hand, cutting him off. Even after the interpreter fell silent, Gervas continued to talk rapidly, the words spilling incoherently from his lips.
“Silence him!” Hannibal shouted. One of the guards struck Gervas in the teeth with his fist and Gervas fell to the floor in a heap, his chains jangling wildly against the marble tile. The guard kicked him repeatedly in the ribs as Gervas crouched on his knees, his nose brushing the floor. A solid stream of blood poured from his mouth and made a thick pool below his face.
“He says the barbarians were responsible for the insurrection, sir,” the interpreter said coolly when the beating had ceased. “Presumably, he means the Celts—”
“I am not asking for the spy’s opinion,” Hannibal said. “This Megellus has underestimated his spy just as he underestimates us — but not by much. All this talk of “no mercy” and “freedom to leave”… This was meant for the people, was it not? This note was meant to be spilled carelessly from the lips of an excitable boy, was it not? Only he found a loyal courier, didn’t he? What did he promise you, Numidian?”
Still on his knees, Gervas lifted his head to look at Hannibal. His mouth was smeared with blood. It looked like there were wide black gaps between his teeth, but that was just where the blood oozed between them. He began speaking, but less enthusiastically this time.
“He says the message was meant for your eyes only, General. For Hannibal Gisgo. So Megellus obviously knows you are in command here,” the interpreter added as an aside. “He claims that the Romans offered him nothing. However, I don’t believe him.” This last the interpreter added in a lowered voice as he alternated between Gervas’ words and his own comments. “He says the Roman commander expects him back to give him your reply. Bold little son of a whore, I’d say.”
“My reply?” Hannibal asked. He looked down at Gervas and saw the hopeful look in the young traitor’s eyes. He felt nothing but contempt for the lad. He crumpled the parchment into a ball in his fist. “My reply,” he said with just the hint of smile beginning to play over his lips. “Oh, yes, the Roman will soon have my reply.”
Chapter 5
“May I remind you, Consul, that we are in the territory of the enemy now,” tribune Laberius said.
Consul Megellus could see the walls of Acragas in the distance, a mile away. Behind him, the army was busy digging the perimeter entrenchment for the camp. They were within sight of the Temple of Asklepios well outside the defensive walls along the River Hypsas. Vitulus’ army was on the opposite side of the city, covering the road to Heraclea Minoa, the likely approach of any relieving force. Soon, the two armies would unite in their encirclement of the city.
“The enemy is ours already,” Megellus said. “Our young Numidian messenger has certainly delivered my terms by now. The fact that this ground before the city is undefended tells me the message has been received.”
“Yes, Consul,” Laberius said. But Megellus could see that he was uneasy.
“What is it, Tribune?”
“I’m sorry to differ with you, Consul…” Laberius allowed his voice to trail off.
“Speak your mind, Tribune,” Megellus demanded.
“Very well, Consul. I believe that our covering force is too weak given our proximity to the city.”
“Go on…”
“We have sent our foragers out in haste. They are almost completely unprotected. A sally from the city could have disastrous results.”
The army continued to stream into the camp. The lack of opposition had made the men buoyant as rumors spread of the Carthaginian’s imminent surrender. Plunder would come easily. Although Megellus had put out a small defensive screen while the camp was being prepared, no one expected an attack of any sort. Foragers lit out for the fields as if on a lark.
“But there will be no sally,” Megellus said. “The ground around the city is completely undefended. It has been ceded to us. Vitulus marched to the western side of the city uncontested. This shows the weakness of the Carthaginian garrison, a force which I now believe we have over-estimated.”
“I agree,” Laberius said, with obvious relief. “If the enemy had any strength, our advance would have been contested.”
“The Carthaginian commander is the same Hannibal Gisgo who declined to destroy the transport fleet of Claudius Caudex in the strait two years ago. He is a cautious man and I believe he will be looking for an honorable way out of his predicament.”
“The Carthaginian is certainly a coward, Consul. But I will remind you that two years ago in the strait, war was not a certainty.”
“The Carthaginian will wait for our encirclement to be completed,” Megellus insisted. “Then after a few days, a week, maybe a month — whatever he feels constitutes an honorable resistance — he will surrender the city. I feel this to be true. In the meantime, we will have thrown up a second wall facing outward to defend against any possible relief attempt. Our allies on the island will keep us well stocked with food at Herbesos — even now, livestock and grain pours in from all the surrounding cities. We have reason for optimism, Tribune. Hannibal Gisgo, as cowardly and cautious as he may be, is no fool. Why languish and starve inside the city when the outcome is inevitable?”
“The outcome is indeed inevitable,” Laberius said. “But I think our foragers are vulnerable and our covering force weak.”
“Pyrrhus was first over the wall at Eryx,” Juba said in a light tone, knowing the men of his troop were nervous.
“Where is Eryx?” Tabat asked.
“You live your life in almost complete ignorance,” Juba marveled. “Eryx is in western Sicily — where we’ll end up if we lose Acragas.”
Juba and his troop of Numidian light cavalry sat their horses just inside the Gela gate. The rest of the Numidians were there as well, over two hundred horse in all, lined up eight-abreast to cover the entire expanse of the gate opening. Juba’s troop waited in the middle of the mass of horsemen, and Juba half-turned on his mount to converse with the troopers in the rear rank.
He had felt exhilarated since he first heard they were going to attack. Of his troop, only he and Gauda had fought in battle before — in Libya, where Carthage was constantly fighting to expand its territory. For the others, this would be their first exposure to battle and Juba wanted to calm their nerves with stories of Pyrrhus, though he knew the subject bored them. Because of their inexperience, he was glad now that he had attacked the foragers on their last patrol, even if it had cost them Gervas. At least the men now had some familiarity with battle and would know what to expect once the gates opened.
“Pyrrhus was first over the wall,” Juba continued. Gauda sat right beside him, but Juba looked past him to speak to the other, younger, troopers. “But I don’t believe it. I believe it is just a story.”
“But why do you not believe it?” Gauda asked. “Surely you don’t doubt this heroic deed.”
Gauda was smiling wickedly and Juba knew that he was both intrigued and amused by his doubt. But Juba had given the matter much thought, and he truly did not believe the story, as regretful as that was. Even some of the younger troopers, Tabat and Hannon in particular, perked up to hear his response, intrigued that Juba would disbelieve some heroic deed of Pyrrhus.
“I don’t believe it because the first over is always killed,” Juba said. “And Pyrrhus was not killed.”
“But in battle, rewards are given to the first over a wall,” Gauda said. “The first over must not always get killed, or why give awards?”
“The easiest rewards to give are those that never have to be paid,” Juba said. “Plus, Pyrrhus was a king. Have you ever known a king to be first over a wall? Even Masinissa hangs back.”
“Maybe it was so unusual to see a great man come first over the wall that the defenders thought he was bewitched, or possessed by some god,” Gauda said, “and they ran from him in fear.”
“That is a possibility,” Juba said thoughtfully, a smile spreading over his face. “That is a distinct possibility.”
Hannon and Tabat and the rest of the troop smiled and nodded to one another when they saw Juba’s growing satisfaction.
“What would you think if you saw Masinissa in his colorful robe leading a charge?” Gauda asked.
“I would be fearful,” Juba said happily. “It is just as you say.”
Satisfied, he turned away, but then turned back quickly, remembering his point. “But that doesn’t mean any of you should attempt any heroics today.” He looked directly at Hannon and Tabat. Not that he thought they sought glory, but they were young and foolish. “Don’t forget that the Roman infantry have javelins, so approach them warily. No one goes off by himself. Stay together—”
Gauda cut him off. “Don’t worry, Juba,” he said. “They will fight like lions. Won’t you?”
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