by Ben Kane
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.’
Martialis snorted. ‘Typical bloody guggas. No sense of decorum.’
Aurelia cast Hanno a quick, sympathetic glance.
The Carthaginian was so angry that he dared not look back at her. He longed to smash the clay jug in his hands over Martialis’ head, but of course he did nothing. Punishment aside, what Flaccus had to say next was of far more importance.
‘And when you got there?’ asked Quintus eagerly.
‘Fabius announced who we were. No one responded. They just stood there looking at us. Waiting, like so many jackals around a corpse. And so Fabius demanded to know if Hannibal’s attack on Saguntum had been carried out with their approval.’ Flaccus paused, breathing heavily. ‘Do you know what they did then?’ A vein pulsed in his forehead. ‘They laughed at us.’
Martialis slammed his beaker on the table. Fabricius spat a curse, while Quintus and Gaius gaped at each other, stunned that anyone would treat the Republic’s most prominent statesmen in such a manner. Atia took the opportunity to mutter something in Aurelia’s ear. Hanno, meanwhile, had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing out loud. Carthage had not lost all of its pride when it lost Sicily and Sardinia to Rome, he reflected proudly.
‘There were some who spoke out against Hannibal,’ Flaccus conceded. ‘The loudest among them was a fat man called Hostus.’
Treacherous bastard! thought Hanno. What I’d give to stick a knife in his belly.
‘But they were shouted down by the vast majority, who disputed the treaty signed by Hasdrubal six years ago and rejected any need to acknowledge Saguntum’s links with Rome. They were shouting and hurling abuse at us,’ growled Flaccus. ‘We took counsel with each other, and decided we had only one option.’
Quintus glanced at Hanno. He had had no idea that the Carthaginians would react with such force. Stunned by what he saw, he looked again. Quintus knew Hanno’s body language well enough to realise that he had known. Flaccus’ voice stopped him from dwelling on the matter further.
‘Fabius walked into the middle of the chamber. That shut the guggas up,’ said Flaccus fiercely. ‘Gripping the folds of his toga, he told them that within he held both peace and war. They could have whichever they pleased. At his words, the place descended into chaos. It was impossible even to hear yourself speak.’
‘Did they opt for war?’ demanded Fabricius.
‘No,’ revealed Flaccus. ‘Instead, the presiding suffete told Fabius that he should choose.’
By now everyone in the room, even Elira, was hanging on his every word.
‘Fabius looked at us to confirm that we were of one mind, and then he told the guggas that he let fall war.’ Flaccus barked a short, angry laugh. ‘They’ve got balls, I’ll grant them that. Fabius had hardly finished speaking when practically every single man in the chamber stood up and yelled, “We accept it!”’
Hanno found he could no longer conceal his delight. Picking up two handfuls of dirty plates, he headed for the kitchen. No one except Aurelia noticed him leave. But once outside the door, Hanno’s desire to hear more was so great that he lingered on, eavesdropping.
‘I always hoped that another war with Carthage could be avoided,’ said Fabricius heavily. His jaw hardened. ‘But they leave us no choice. Insulting you and your colleagues, and especially the consuls, in that manner is unforgivable.’
‘Absolutely right,’ thundered Martialis. ‘The curs must be taught an even better lesson than last time.’
Flaccus was pleased by their reactions. ‘Good,’ he muttered. ‘Why don’t you both come with me to Rome? Much needs to be arranged, and we will need men who have fought Carthage before.’
‘It would be my honour,’ replied Fabricius.
‘And mine,’ added Martialis. An embarrassed look crossed his florid face, and he tapped his right leg. ‘Except for this. It’s an old injury, from Sicily. Nowadays, I can barely walk more than a quarter of a mile without stopping for a rest.’
‘You have more than done your duty for Rome,’ said Flaccus reassuringly. ‘I shall just take Fabricius.’
Quintus was on his feet before he knew it. ‘I want to fight too.’
Gaius echoed his cry a heartbeat later.
Flaccus’ smile was patronising. ‘Both quite the dogs of war, aren’t you? But I’m afraid that you’re still too young. This struggle needs to be won fast, and the best men to do that are veterans.’
‘I’m seventeen,’ protested Quintus. ‘So is Gaius.’
Flaccus’ face darkened. ‘Remember whom you are speaking to,’ he snapped.
‘Quintus! Sit down,’ Fabricius ordered. ‘You too, Gaius.’ As the two reluctantly obeyed, he turned to Flaccus. ‘My apologies. They’re eager, that’s all.’
‘It’s of no matter. Their time will come,’ Flaccus replied smoothly, shooting Quintus a look of venom. It was gone so fast that no one else noticed. Quintus wondered if he’d been mistaken, but a moment later he saw something else. Aurelia made her excuses and retired for the night. Flaccus watched her retreating back as a serpent might look at a mouse. Quintus blinked, trying to clear his head, which was fuzzy from wine. When he looked again, Flaccus’ expression was benevolent. I must have been imagining it, he concluded. Quintus was then disappointed to see the three older men gather in a huddle and begin muttering in low voices. Atia jerked her head at him in a clear sign of dismissal. Frustrated, Quintus beckoned Gaius outside to the courtyard.
Their appearance startled Hanno. Having hidden from Aurelia, he was only just emerging from behind an ornamental statue. Looking guilty, he scuttled off to the kitchen.
Gaius frowned. ‘What in Hades is he up to?’
Later, Quintus was not sure whether it was because of the wine he’d drunk or his anger at the treatment of the Roman embassy. Either way, he wanted to lash out at someone. ‘Who cares?’ he snapped. ‘He’s a gugga. Let him go.’ Quintus regretted the words the instant they left his mouth. He made to walk after Hanno, but Gaius, who was laughing, dragged him over to a stone bench by the fountain. ‘Let’s talk,’ his friend muttered drunkenly.
Quintus dared not pull away. The darkness concealed his stricken face.
His shoulders stiff with repressed fury, Hanno did not look back. It was ten more steps to the kitchen, where he clattered the dishes angrily into the sink. So much for friendship with a Roman, he thought, bitterness coursing through his veins. He knew that Aurelia was sympathetic towards him, but he could not be sure of anyone else. Especially Quintus. The anger he’d heard in all the nobles’ voices at Flaccus’ revelation was natural, yet it changed Hanno’s situation completely. In principle, he was now an enemy. His own delight at the matter would have to be buried so deeply that no one could see it. In the close confines of the house, Hanno knew how difficult this would prove. He exhaled slowly. An important decision had just been made for him. He should run away. Soon. But to Carthage or Iberia? And was there any chance of finding Suniaton before he left?
Chapter X: Betrayal
THE NEXT MORNING Quintus had another hangover, and his memories of Flaccus’ facial expressions were hazy. Enough disquiet remained in his mind, however, for him to seek out his father. He found Fabricius closeted in his office with Flaccus. The pair were busily drawing up Aurelia’s betrothal papers, and looked irritated by the distraction. Fabricius brushed off Quintus’ muttered request for a word. Seeing his son’s disappointment, he relented slightly. ‘Tell me later,’ he said.
Glumly, Quintus shut the door. He had other things on his mind too. He had insulted Hanno cruelly and he wa
s ashamed. The Carthaginian’s status meant that Quintus could treat him in any way he chose, but of course that was not the point. He saved my life. We are friends now, thought Quintus. I owe him an apology. Yet his quest to resolve this problem proved as frustrating as his attempt to speak with his father. He found Hanno easily enough, but the Carthaginian pretended not to hear Quintus’ voice when he called, and avoided all attempts to make eye contact. Quintus didn’t want to make a scene, and there was so much going on that he could not even find a quiet corner to explain. Fabricius’ decision to accompany Flaccus to Rome and thence to war meant that the place was a flurry of activity. Every household slave was occupied in one way or another. Clothes, furniture and blankets had to be packed, armour polished and weapons sharpened.
Quintus went miserably in search of Aurelia. He wasn’t sure whether he should mention anything about Flaccus. All he had to go on were two fleeting glimpses, observed while under the influence of too much wine. He decided to see what frame of mind Aurelia was in before saying a word. If she was still feeling positive about the marriage, he would say nothing. The last thing Quintus wanted to do was upset his sister’s fragile acceptance of her lot.
To his surprise, Aurelia was in excellent humour. ‘He is so handsome,’ she gushed. ‘And not that old either. I think we will be very happy.’
Burying his doubts, Quintus nodded and smiled.
‘He strikes me as being quite arrogant, but what man of his position isn’t? His loyalty to Rome is beyond doubt, and that is all that matters.’ Aurelia’s face grew troubled. ‘I felt so sorry for Hanno last night. The horrible names they were calling his people were so unnecessary. Have you spoken with him?’
Quintus looked away. ‘No.’
Aurelia reacted with typical female intuition. ‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing,’ Quintus replied. ‘I have a hangover, that’s all.’
She bent to catch his eye. ‘Did you argue with Hanno?’
‘No,’ he answered. ‘Yes. I don’t know.’
Aurelia raised her eyebrows, and Quintus knew that she would not leave it alone until he told her. ‘When I left with Gaius, it looked like Hanno had been eavesdropping outside the door,’ he said.
‘Is that surprising? We were talking about a war between his people and ours,’ Aurelia observed tartly. ‘What does it matter anyway? He was there in the room when Flaccus told us the most important part of his story.’
‘I know,’ Quintus muttered. ‘It seemed suspicious, though. Gaius wanted to challenge him, but I told him not to bother. That Hanno was just a gugga.’
Aurelia’s hand rose to her mouth. ‘Quintus! How could you?’
Quintus hung his head. ‘I wanted to say sorry straightaway … but Gaius wanted to talk,’ he finished lamely. ‘I couldn’t walk off and leave him.’
‘I hope you’ve apologised this morning,’ Aurelia said sternly.
Quintus could not get over Aurelia’s level of self-assurance. It was as if her betrothal had added five years to her age. ‘I’ve tried,’ he answered. ‘But there’s too much going on to get a quiet moment alone with him.’
Aurelia pursed her lips. ‘Father is leaving in a few hours. There will be plenty of time after that.’
Finally, Quintus met her gaze. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’
He had cause to rethink his opinion of Flaccus later that morning. With the betrothal agreement signed, the black-haired politician suddenly started to make much of his new brother-in-law-to-be. ‘No doubt this war with Carthage will be over quickly – maybe even before you’ve completed your military training,’ he declared, throwing an arm around Quintus’ shoulders. ‘Never fear. There will be other conflicts for you to win glory in. The Gauls on our northern borders are forever causing trouble. So too are the Illyrians. Philip of Macedon cannot be trusted either. A brave young officer like you could go far indeed. Perhaps even make tribune.’
Quintus grinned from ear to ear. While the Fabricii were of equestrian rank, their status was not so high that it was likely he’d reach the tribuneship. Under the patronage of someone really powerful, however, the process would be much more straightforward. Flaccus’ words did much to soothe Quintus’ disappointment at not accompanying his father. ‘I look forward to serving Rome,’ he said proudly. ‘Wherever it may send me.’
Flaccus clapped him on the back. ‘That’s the attitude.’ Seeing Aurelia, he pushed Quintus away. ‘Let me talk with my betrothed before I go. It’s a long time until June.’
Delighted by the prospect of a glittering military career, Quintus put down Flaccus’ powerful shove as nothing more than the excitement of a prospective bridegroom. Aurelia was turning into a beautiful young woman. Who wouldn’t want to marry her? Leaving Flaccus alone, Quintus went in search of his father.
‘Aurelia!’ called Flaccus, entering the courtyard.
Aurelia, who had been wondering what married life would be like, jumped. She made a stiff little bow. ‘Flaccus.’
‘Walk with me.’ He made an inviting gesture.
Twin points of colour rose in Aurelia’s cheeks. ‘I’m not sure Mother would approve …’
‘What do you take me for?’ Flaccus’ tone was mildly shocked. ‘I would never presume to take you outside the villa without a chaperone. I meant a stroll here in the courtyard, where everyone can see us.’
‘Naturally,’ Aurelia replied, flustered. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘The fault is all mine for not explaining,’ he said with a reassuring smile. ‘I merely thought that, with us to be wed, it would be good for us to spend a little time together. War is coming, and soon occasions such as this will be impossible.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She hurried to his side.
Flaccus drank her in. ‘Bacchus can make the most crab-faced crone look appealing, and the gods know I drank enough of his juice to think that last night. But your beauty is even more evident in the light of the sun,’ he said. ‘That is a rare quality.’
Unused to such compliments, Aurelia blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
They strolled around the perimeter of the courtyard. Awkward with the silence, Aurelia began pointing out the plants and trees that occupied much of the space. There were lemon, almond and fig trees, and vines snaking across a wooden latticework that formed an artificial shaded corridor. ‘This is such a bad time of year to see it,’ she said. ‘During the summer, the place is so beautiful. By the Vinalia Rustica, you can barely move for the fruit.’
‘I’m sure it’s spectacular, but I didn’t come here to talk about grapes.’ Seeing her embarrassment increase, Flaccus continued, ‘Tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?’
Anxious, Aurelia wondered what he’d want to hear. ‘I enjoy speaking Greek. And I’m better at algebra and geometry than Quintus.’
The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Are you indeed? That’s wonderful. An educated girl, then.’
She flushed again. ‘I suppose.’
‘You’d probably give me a run for my money. Mathematics was never my favourite subject.’
Aurelia’s confidence grew a little. ‘What about philosophy?’
He looked down his long nose at her. ‘The concepts of pietas and officium were being taught to me before I’d even been weaned. My father made sure that serving Rome means everything to me and my brother. We had to be schooled too, of course. Before we had any military experience, he sent us to study at the Stoic school in Athens. I didn’t enjoy my time there much, however. All they did was sit around and talk in stuffy debating chambers. It reminds me a little of the Senate.’ Flaccus’ face brightened. ‘Soon, though, I might be granted a senior position in one of the legions. I’m sure that will be more to my style.’
Aurelia found his enthusiasm endearing. It reminded her of Quintus, which made her think of what he might achieve once she had married into such an important family. ‘Your brother has already served as consul, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Flaccus replied proudly. ‘He crushed the Boii four years ago.’
Aurelia had never heard of the Boii, but she wasn’t going to admit it. ‘I’ve heard Father mention that campaign,’ she said knowledgeably. ‘It was a fine victory.’
‘May the gods grant that I achieve the same level of success one day,’ Flaccus said fervently. His gaze went distant for a moment before returning to Aurelia. ‘Not to say I don’t like ordinary pleasures like watching chariot races, or going riding, and hunting.’
‘So do I,’ Aurelia said without thinking.
He smiled indulgently. ‘The racing in Rome is the best in Italy. I’ll take you to see it as often as you wish.’
Aurelia felt slightly annoyed. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
There was a small frown. ‘I don’t understand.’
Her courage wavered for a moment. Then she thought naïvely, If he’s to be my husband, we should tell each other everything. ‘I love riding too.’
Flaccus’ frown grew. ‘You mean watching your father or Quintus as they train their horses?’
‘No. I can ride.’ She was delighted by his astonishment.
It was Flaccus’ turn to be irritated. ‘How? Who taught you?’ he demanded.
‘Quintus. He says I’m a natural.’
‘Your brother taught you how to ride?’
Pinned by his direct stare, Aurelia’s confidence began to seep away. ‘Yes,’ she muttered. ‘I made him.’
Flaccus barked a short laugh. ‘You made him? Fabricius mentioned none of this when he was singing your praises.’
Aurelia looked down. I should have kept my mouth shut, she thought. Lifting her head, she found Flaccus scrutinising her. She shifted uneasily beneath his gaze.
‘Do you fight also?’
Aurelia’s mouth opened at his unexpected tack.