Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

A hush fell in the Senate as a stocky figure with wavy black hair and a ruddy complexion made his way into view. Bushy eyebrows sat over a pair of calculating blue eyes and a prominent nose. The senators around him moved deferentially out of the way. Flaccus gave the man a tiny nod, and Fabricius knew at once who it was. He was Marcus Minucius Rufus, a former consul, and Flaccus’ brother. This was the pre-eminent member of the Minucii clan, and one of the most powerful men in Rome. No doubt he was the person responsible for the letter to Publius.

‘Consul,’ said Marcus, inclining his head in recognition. ‘We thank you for returning to Rome. It is an honour to see you once more.’ With the niceties over, his expression turned hawkish. ‘We were alarmed to hear that your brother was leading your legions to Iberia. This, so that you could return to Italy. We have asked you back to explain your extraordinary about turn, which goes completely against the Senate’s decision made here not six months ago. You and Longus, your co-consul, have supreme command of the Republic’s military forces. That is beyond doubt. Yet neither of you are immune to challenge, should that be necessary.’ Marcus half turned, smiling at the mutters of agreement that were becoming audible. ‘Clearly, I am not the only one to hold such an opinion.’

One of Publius’ eyebrows arched. ‘And what opinion might that be?’ he asked in a silky smooth tone.

Marcus’ reply was urbane. ‘I speak of course, of the power of provocatio.’

Some of the senators hissed with disapproval at this, but others shouted in agreement. Fabricius felt a nerve twitch in his face. He’d never before heard of one of the Republic’s supreme magistrates being threatened with a criminal charge. He shot a glance at Flaccus, but could glean nothing from his face. Why were the Minucii seeking to depose Publius during his consulship? Fabricius wondered. What purpose would it serve?

‘Have you nothing to say?’ Marcus asked, taking a smug look around the room. Like a tide that had just turned, the noise of those who supported him began to grow.

Fabricius glanced at Flaccus again. This time, he saw the same self-satisfied expression as the one adorning Marcus’ face. Then it hit him. Flaccus had believed Publius’ account of the threat posed by Hannibal and, in his letter, told his brother of his concerns. Now Marcus, a previously successful general in his own right, wanted to become consul so that he could claim the glory of defeating the Carthaginians instead of leaving it to Publius. This possibility, no, probability, Fabricius thought angrily, defied belief. All that mattered was defeating an enemy who posed a serious threat to the Republic. Yet to some of these politicians, it was more about making a name for themselves.

Bizarrely, Publius laughed. ‘I find it remarkable’, he said, ‘that I should be accused of exceeding my remit when in fact I have done more than my duty in fulfilling it. My army has been sent to Iberia as ordered; its commander, my brother Gnaeus, has a proven record in the field. Furthermore, upon realising the implications of Hannibal’s march across the Alps, and knowing that my colleague Longus would not have time to react, I returned to Italy with the intention of facing the Carthaginians myself. Immediately. Does that not prove my loyalty to Rome? And what should we think about those who would prevent me from doing my duty?’

In the uproar that followed, Publius and Marcus stared at each other with clear dislike. But Marcus’ response was swift. ‘I take it that you have seen Hannibal’s “enormous” army with your own eyes? Made a realistic estimate of the number of enemy troops?’

‘I have done neither,’ replied Publius in an icy tone.

‘Are you a soothsayer, then?’ Marcus asked, to gales of laughter from his supporters.

‘Nothing like that.’ Publius coolly indicated Fabricius. ‘I have with me the veteran cavalry officer who led the patrol that reconnoitred the Carthaginian camp’s perimeter. He will be happy to answer any questions you may have.’

Marcus regarded Fabricius with thinly disguised contempt. ‘Your name?’

Meeting Marcus’ stare, Fabricius steeled his resolve. Whatever the other’s rank, and however intimidating the scene, he would tell the truth. ‘Gaius Fabricius, sir. Equestrian and landowner near Capua.’

Marcus made a dismissive gesture. ‘Have you much military experience?’

‘I spent nearly ten years in Sicily, fighting the Carthaginians, sir,’ replied Fabricius proudly. He was delighted by the response of some of those watching. Many heads nodded in approval; other senators muttered in each other’s ears.

Marcus pursed his lips. ‘Tell us what you saw, then. Let the Senate decide if it truly poses the threat that Publius would have us believe.’