Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Fabricius had grown used to the other’s patronising manner, but still found it irritating. ‘You weren’t there. The Boii and Insubres are no pushover,’ he growled. ‘Don’t you remember Telamon? We did well to end it so swiftly. Hundreds of our soldiers were slain, and many more were injured.’

Flaccus flushed. ‘I apologise. I did not mean to belittle your efforts, or those of the men who died.’

‘Good,’ Fabricius replied, placated. ‘It doesn’t take away from the fact that we should have been in Iberia three months ago!’

Flaccus made a conciliatory gesture. ‘At least we’re in Massilia now. Soon the Saguntines will be avenged.’

‘A bit late, isn’t it?’ demanded Fabricius sourly. The Senate’s refusal to act had meant leaving the Saguntines to their fate, which had not sat well with his conscience. It still didn’t.

‘Come now,’ entreated Flaccus. ‘We’ve just been through all that.’

‘I know,’ Fabricius replied heatedly. ‘But an ally of Rome should never be treated as Saguntum was.’

Flaccus’ voice grew soft. ‘You know that I agree with you. Did I not speak repeatedly in the Senate about the dishonour of abandoning the city?’

‘You did.’ Yet you probably knew that your words would make little difference, thought Fabricius. It had sounded good, however, and showed a pleasingly combative side to his prospective son-in-law’s character.

‘Thank all the gods that we’re serving under Publius rather than Tiberius Sempronius Longus,’ said Flaccus. ‘We shall see action far sooner than they will. Last I heard, Longus’ fleet wasn’t going to be ready for another month.’

‘How frustrating.’

‘Whereas we can set sail the moment that the fleet’s supplies of food and water have been renewed.’ Flaccus rattled the hilt of his ornamental sword.

‘Let’s not forget to hear what information the local intelligence has gathered,’ warned Fabricius. ‘Nothing has been heard of Hannibal for several months.’

‘That’s because he’s sitting on his hairy gugga arse in Iberia, drinking local wine and waiting for us to arrive!’ Flaccus sneered.

‘Maybe he is,’ said Fabricius with a smile, ‘but being forewarned is to be forearmed.’

He had no idea that, within the next few hours, his words would be proven true.

Hannibal was no longer in Iberia.

According to the exhausted Massiliote messengers who rode in on lathered mounts, he was probably no more than a day’s march away.

Flaccus and the other senior officers received an immediate summons to attend Publius in his headquarters, a sprawling tent at the centre of one of the legions’ temporary forts. Fabricius was pleased and surprised to receive a similar order less than an hour later. As he arrived, Fabricius saw Flaccus standing outside with the other high-ranking officers, including Gnaeus, Publius’ elder brother, a former consul who was also his legatus, or second-in-command. Fabricius saluted, and nodded at Flaccus. To his surprise, his future son-in-law barely acknowledged the gesture. Indeed, his face wore such a thunderous expression that Fabricius wondered what had gone on in the moments prior. He had no time to find out. Recognising Fabricius, the officer in charge of the sentries ushered him inside at once.

They found Publius talking animatedly with a young Massiliote soldier over a table on which a crudely drawn map had been laid out. Both men were wearing Hellenistic bronze cuirasses, layered pteryges, which protected the groin and the tops of the thighs, and bronze greaves. Yet there was no question, even to the untrained eye, who was in charge. The Massiliote’s armour was well made, but, with its magnificent depiction of Hercules’ face, Publius’ positively exuded quality and wealth. The same could be said of his ornate plumed Attic helmet, which sat on a nearby stool. Although the Massiliote towered over the grey-haired consul, Publius’ confidence more than made up for the difference in height. Fabricius had come to know his commander a little, and liked him. Publius’ calm presence and direct manner were popular with everyone, from the rank and file to the military tribunes. Gnaeus, his brother, was no different.

Publius looked up. ‘Ah, Fabricius! Thank you for coming.’

Fabricius saluted. ‘How can I be of service, sir?’

‘First meet the commander of the unit that brought us the dramatic news. Fabricius, this is Clearchus. Clearchus, meet Fabricius, of whom I have spoken.’

The two exchanged courteous nods.

‘Obviously, you have heard about Hannibal’s whereabouts,’ Publius enquired archly. ‘You’d have to be deaf not to.’

Fabricius grinned. The news had been shouted from the rooftops. ‘They say that he and his army have crossed the Rhodanus, sir, and are camped on the eastern shore.’

‘Indeed.’ Publius regarded the Massiliote. ‘Clearchus?’

‘Since word came that Hannibal had crossed into Gaul, we have been patrolling deep inland, using small, highly mobile cavalry units. One such sighted the Carthaginians about two weeks ago, and shadowed them to the river’s western bank. It’s a long day’s ride from here.’