CHAPTER 49
The army came back from Leontini two days after the murder of the royal family. The populace was troubled and tense. The influx of fifteen thousand soldiers, many of them mercenaries, only added to the turmoil left in the wake of the brutal coup. Fearful of further unrest, the city council decided to hold an election to fill the two council positions left vacant by the deaths of Adranodorus and Themistos. Once that was done they would return to the business of running the city.
Archimedes sent me to the courier with a letter to Diocles the day of the election. I had copied the letter, so I knew it described our experiment with the focusing mirrors. The physical application had matched the geometric ideal, and Archimedes had been greatly pleased.
When I reached the agora, the seven city council magistrates had assembled at the Altar of Concord to prepare for the election. Although the royal family was gone, the administrators and staff that worked at the palace remained, now receiving direction from the city council instead of the king. I took the letter to the palace courier. He said to expect delays.
I lingered on the palace stairs as I was leaving to watch the crowd gather for the election. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and the turnout was large, but the crowd had a rowdy feel to it and was full of soldiers, many just back from Leontini, many of them drunk.
Polyaenus, the magistrate who calmed the mob when Adranodorus had locked himself and the royal family on the island, stood at the base of the Altar of Concord and addressed the gathering. I could barely make out his words because of the noisy crowd, now overflowing the forum and filling up Achradina from the west wall to the palace stairs.
Polyaenus began with words to quiet the crowd. Then he described the election process. The city council needed two new magistrates. They would be chosen one at a time. There would be a nomination and that nominee would be given an up or down vote by those in attendance. If it wasn’t a clear majority by voice, a ballot would be taken. The council would convene as soon as the new magistrates were chosen.
“The heirs of Hiero are all dead,” Polyaenus declared with a grim finality. “The city now belongs to the people. Syracuse will have a working democracy just as Hiero always wanted. The nine-man city council will be the center piece. It will provide leadership and stability. Vote wisely today.”
The crowd became louder and more unruly as Polyaenus spoke. He called out for quiet several times and with increasing frustration. Gradually the rumbling of the crowd dropped to a murmur. Polyaenus asked for the first nomination. There was a hesitant silence. Then someone at the edge of the crowd shouted out the name Epicydes.
I assumed this had to be another Epicydes, not the brother of Hippocrates. I tried to work myself around the back of the crowd so I could see better. Polyaenus appeared not to have heard the nomination and repeated his call. Someone on the other side of the crowd yelled out Epicydes’ name again. Polyaenus still didn’t acknowledge the nomination. Another voice called out Epicydes. Several others repeated the call, all of them soldiers. It built into a chant, repeating the name Epicydes. By this time I had no doubt which Epicydes they were chanting for. Even from where I stood, I could tell Polyaenus was reluctant to acknowledge the nomination. The chant grew louder.
Fearing he might lose control of the crowd, Polyaenus turned to the other magistrates for help. Even the military officers on the council were confounded. The process was underway. The crowd could not be turned away. Most of them were soldiers supporting the nominee. To stop the election now might provoke a riot. What could they do? Polyaenus accepted the nomination. He made a call for an up or down vote on Epicydes to determine if a ballot was necessary. Well more than the majority voiced support. There was almost no dissent. Epicydes—of all people—was given a seat on the city council.
The magistrates knew that something was afoot. By plan, and by bribery—in many cases just the promise of a drink afterward, Hippocrates and Epicydes were responsible for the composition of the crowd. The brothers had been working on the local soldiers, the mercenaries, and the rabble of the town since their return to Syracuse two weeks earlier, filling them with wine and talking up the war. Now they were using this same group to manipulate the election.
Polyaenus hesitantly called for a second nomination. On cue a voice from the crowd called out for Hippocrates. This was exactly the way Hannibal had taught his agents to work—start at the top, use a lot of money, say whatever you like, and target the working class—talk of liberty, democracy, and self-government—talk of breaking away from Rome’s bridle. A few free rounds of drinks and a good orator could swing a crowd like a sail in a stiff wind.
A second voice, then a third called for Hippocrates. Polyaenus again had little or no choice. The presence of the soldiers, plus all those who just wanted someone to buy them a drink, overwhelmed the others who were there, even causing many to leave.
By now it was clear to everyone what was happening. But with the smell of blood still fresh from the recent murders, and the threat of violence thick in the air, Polyaenus continued as though willed from without.
I had heard enough. I decided to go back to the island before something worse happened. Moving through the crowd I saw Moira standing beside her grandfather. She wasn’t far away. I couldn’t resist getting closer.
I was within a few feet of Moira when I heard Polyaenus call for an up or down vote on Hippocrates. The crowd shouted out solid affirmation of the Carthaginian. At the height of the craziness, I touched Moira on the shoulder from behind. She turned around, stifled a gasp and burst into a smile. I put a finger to my lips. She smiled wider.
Due to the noise of the crowd, she had to lean close to me and speak into my ear. “Did you find the park?”
“Yes,” I said into her ear, “but I didn’t see the man.”
“I’ll go with you next time,” she assured me just as her grandfather took hold of her hand to leave. He wanted to get out of the crowd as much as I had. He turned and saw me. “Who’s this?” he demanded.
“The boy who regularly buys figs from us, Grandfather,” Moira replied as if it were nothing. “You know him. He’s my friend.”
The old man frowned. “You do not make friends with slaves.”
His words struck me like a punch in the stomach.
Moira saw it in my eyes.
“Be off,” he said to me, then pulled Moira away.
And I was off—as fast as my feet could go, hoping the wind would dry the tears before they showed on my cheeks.
At the last instant, before breaking free of the mob, I looked over my shoulder at the same time Moira chose to look back at me. She blew me a kiss. It landed on my cheek like a real kiss, leaving me momentarily free of heartache.
As I walked away, I could hear Hippocrates speaking to the crowd, talking of his childhood in Syracuse, saying that he considered Sicily his homeland and that the only goal he and his brother sought was freedom from tyranny.
The city council met immediately after the election. Hippocrates and his brother were the only decidedly pro-Carthaginian voices on the nine-man council. Despite the brothers’ presence and their clear support from a dangerous portion of the populace, the other magistrates knew they had the numbers to control any decision the council might make. Similarly, Hippocrates and Epicydes were smart enough to know it wasn’t the right time to press their agenda. With no resistance from the brothers, the council decided to send an envoy to Appius Claudius in Lilybaeum, asking for a ten-day truce and an opportunity to reopen negotiations for a long-term alliance with Rome.
CHAPTER 50
Although the outcome of the election left me dumbfounded, it was of no interest to the kitchen staff. None of them knew who Hippocrates or Epicydes were or even cared. I knew and I cared, but I had two other issues on my mind.
One was blown on the wind from the tips of Moira’s fingers. I wanted her intimacy in ways I had never considered before. The other was Moira’s grandfather. Because I was a slave, he didn’t
want me associating with his granddaughter.
Hektor must have sensed my turmoil the moment I entered the kitchen. He let it go while we prepared the food, but after the meal was served, he pushed me off to one side of the kitchen and leaned up close to me so that our faces were no more than a foot apart. “It’s that girl, isn’t it?”
I bit back the anger that welled up in me.
Hektor saw right through it. “You’re thinking you might like to do a little diddling, aren’t you?” he grinned, drawing up closer. The smell of garlic and stale wine sweating out of him nearly made me gag. “Anything you might like to know?”
I backed up two steps, thinking he should mind his own business. Then, in spite of myself, I said, “Yes.”
His eyes went wide.
“I am a slave. She is not.”
Hektor’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t what he was expecting. He took a deep breath, then paused like he was thinking. Finally he smiled and nodded his head. “It doesn’t mean anything. Not at your age, Timon. The only piece you’re going to get is out in the woods or in an alley. It’s got to be secret no matter who or where. Right? So class doesn’t mean anything. Get her off somewhere, away from everything else, where all that matters is you and her. Then just do it.” He gave me a wide toothy smile and exhausted his so-thick-you-could-cut-it-with-a-knife breath into my face.
This wasn’t what I was expecting either, but there was something in his advice that made sense. All options weren’t off the table. I imagined Moira and I going into the tunnels beneath the city again—where all that mattered were she and I.
“Anything else?” Hektor leered into my daydream as if he could see it all.
“No,” I said, then quickly said, “yes,” before he could turn away.
Hektor grinned like a wolf. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was listening, then turned back to me. “Whisper in her ear. That’s where I always begin,” he said straight-faced, beginning a step by step description of the basics of human fornication. It was way more than I wanted to know, but proved to me how little I did know.
“And what about babies?” I asked.
“That’s her problem,” he said, turning away from me to retrieve his cup.
I thought of Eurydice’s pregnancy and little Gelo.
Hektor took a swallow of wine. “They know their rhythms. It’s up to them to get it right.”
CHAPTER 51
To the Roman Senate the situation in Syracuse was secondary to what was happening at home. Hannibal had been riding roughshod across the Italian peninsula for four years. He had yet to be defeated on the battlefield, and the Roman military was still employing tactical defense with protection of Rome its top priority.
I could only know such things as rumors back then, but later, during my years in Rome, and in the service of Marcellus, I would learn more of the story and the fear that gripped the Roman people.
The 295th year of the Roman Republic opened with the election of the two consuls who would share military leadership for the next year. One of the current consuls, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus, presided over the election and its voting body, the Century Assembly. He began the process by requesting nominations from the thirty-five tribes that made up the Republic. The Aniensis tribe was called on to make the first two nominations. Their junior century announced the names of Titus Otacilius and Marcus Aemilius Regillus. Quintus Fabius Maximus, the same man who had been elected dictator in the second year of the war, and who was arguably both the most respected and the most disparaged man in Rome, immediately stood and asked for the floor.
As grim and serious as he always was, the seventy-year-old Fabius surveyed the faces of the men in the assembly like an angry father before his children. “Were these ordinary times, I would be mistaken if I tried in any way to dampen the enthusiasm with which you offer your nominations. But these are not ordinary times. We are in a war that is tasking our every resource. We are under attack by one of the most clever adversaries Rome has ever encountered. The slightest mistake in the field has invariably resulted in huge losses.
“These are not ordinary times, gentlemen,” Fabius continued with increased intensity. “We are not looking for ordinary leaders. When you put your heads together and determine your recommendations to the Century Assembly, do so with the same sense of responsibility you take onto the battlefield. Ask yourself, are the men we nominate equal to the task of confronting a general as shrewd as Hannibal?”
Fabius went on to review the careers of Titus Otacilius and Marcus Aemilius Regillus, neither of which was particularly remarkable. He then asked the assembly if these two men were equal in military acumen to Hannibal. The response was silence.
Fabius answered it. “Citizens of Rome, this is my advice to you. Imagine that you are prepared to enter battle and must choose the two men who you would want to lead you into battle. That is the way you should choose your two consuls today. Imagine men to whom your sons will be proud to swear their oath and under whose protection you will be proud to say they serve. Lake Trasimene and Cannae are bitter memories for Rome now. Let those memories serve as warnings to prevent similar disasters in the future.”
Fabius then asked the junior century to consider this advice and to make two more nominations. Titus Otacilius, on the far side of the assembly, stepped forward in a fit of rage and shouted out in the most coarse manner that Fabius was an ambitious old man who simply wanted another consulship for himself. Fabius made no effort to respond to Otacilius’ accusation and again asked the Aniensis tribe for their nominations.
The junior century said the tribe had reconsidered. The new nominees were Quintus Fabius Maximus and Marcus Marcellus Claudius. The Century Assembly then voted unanimously to accept these two men. Although Otacilius continued with his rabid criticism, the assembly believed they had just chosen the two Romans most qualified to lead. It would be Fabius’ fourth consulship. Though an older man, he was chosen for his intelligence and his calm in the face of danger. It would be Marcellus’ third consulship. He was fifty-three. He was chosen for his reputation as a soldier and his capacity to lead men on the field of battle. Several of the older members of the Roman Senate proclaimed them the most exceptional pair of consuls ever elected, referring to Marcellus and Fabius as the sword and the buckler.
On the day the two men took office, the Senate decided that Fabius would be given command of military activity on the Italian peninsula and charged with the protection of Rome. Marcellus would be sent to Sicily to confront Carthaginian forces there.
Marcellus was not in Rome at the time of the elections. He was with his two legions in Campania, having just frustrated Hannibal’s second attempt to take control of Nola. But Marcellus was ill with a lingering fever. Two more months passed before he marched west to Messana at the easternmost point of Sicily to take command of a fleet of seventy quinqueremes that had been under expedited construction in Ostia.
Appius Claudius, on the west side of Sicily in Lilybaeum, sent a five-man contingent to Messana to update Marcellus on affairs in Sicily. The report focused on Syracuse. Appius had paid close attention to the events that had occurred since Hiero’s death. When Hieronymus had taken the throne, he understood that the new king was but a boy and highly unpredictable. He knew there were others in the background pulling the strings, and that was why Syracuse’s long-time alliance with Rome had been severed. When Hieronymus was assassinated and the royal family murdered, Appius felt the tide had turned. The pro-Carthaginian faction had been removed and wiser heads were now in control. He told Marcellus that he had just accepted a ten-day truce from Syracuse’s city council and that he had sent one hundred warships there to monitor the situation. The process of repairing foreign relations had begun.
Marcellus passed this information on to the Senate in Rome, saying that he would negotiate a long-term agreement with Syracuse.
CHAPTER 52
Marcellus was under the impression that the troubles in Syracuse had come to an en
d. With Hippocrates and Epicydes now acting magistrates on the city council, nothing could have been further from the truth. Four days into the ten-day truce, a fleet of Carthaginian warships landed on the south side of Cape Pachynum. A day earlier the one hundred Roman warships sent by Appius Claudius had anchored at the north end of Trogyli Harbor. Once this became public knowledge, fear of war gripped the city. One of the leading citizens, a man by the name of Apollonides who was not a city council member, went to the base of the Altar of Concord and summed up the situation before a large gathering.
Apollonides was a clear and capable speaker, representing no particular political side. I was not present, but his words were repeated around the city over the next few days. He spoke with common sense and without excessive passion. He explained how Syracuse had become a pawn in the larger theater of the war. Whether the populace liked it or not, they were caught in the middle and had to choose a side. He said that he favored neither, but added that Hieronymus’ diplomatic insults and his attack on Leontini had not been forgotten in Rome. Should they not renew the alliance with Rome, Syracuse would be facing the prospect of war. That was not the case with Carthage, he said. Hannibal had his hands full on the peninsula. Should Syracuse cancel their current alliance with Carthage, war was not on the table. This was a significant point. The greatest leader in Syracuse’s history had died a year earlier. The city-state was in the early stages of building a democracy. It could not afford to be at war with Rome or anyone else. Reason suggested Syracuse should renew its relationship with Rome.
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