Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

‘I think we should talk further on this matter in the morning,’ boomed Flaccus. ‘Come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement.’

Fabricius allowed himself a small smile. ‘That would be a great honour.’

Atia murmured her agreement.

‘Excellent.’ Flaccus looked at Hanno. ‘More wine.’

Hanno hurried forward, his face a neutral mask. He wasn’t sure how he felt about what had just been said. Not that it mattered, he reflected bitterly. Here I am a slave. His resentment over his status surged back, stronger than ever, and he dismissed his concern about Aurelia’s possible betrothal. The bonds that tied him to the farm were weakening. If Aurelia married Flaccus, she would go to live in Rome. Quintus was always talking about joining the army. When he left, Hanno would be left friendless and alone. On the spot, he resolved to begin planning his escape.

Quintus had decided that Flaccus seemed quite personable and glanced sidelong at Aurelia. He was delighted to see no sign of distress in her face, and marvelled at her equanimity. Then he noted the slight flush to her cheeks, and her empty glass. Was she drunk? It wouldn’t take much. Aurelia rarely consumed wine. In spite of this, Quintus found his head full of the possibilities that an alliance between the Fabricii and Minucii would create. Aurelia and Flaccus would get used to each other, he told himself. That’s the way most marriages worked. He reached out to touch Aurelia’s hand. She smiled, and he was reassured.

The conversation flitted about for some time, with talk of the weather, the crops and the quality of the games in Capua compared to Rome. No one mentioned the one topic that everyone wanted to know about: what had happened in Carthage?

It was Martialis who eventually broached the subject. As was his wont, he had been drinking large amounts. Draining his cup yet again, he saluted Flaccus. ‘They say that the Carthaginian wines are very drinkable.’

‘They are agreeable enough,’ accepted Flaccus. He pursed his lips. ‘Unlike the people who produce them.’

Martialis was oblivious to Fabricius’ frowns. ‘Will we be seeing such vintages in Italy more often?’ he asked with a wink.

Flaccus dragged his eyes away from Aurelia. ‘Eh?’

‘Tell us what happened in Carthage,’ begged Martialis. ‘We are all dying to know.’

Hanno held his breath, and he could see Quintus doing the same.

Slowly, Flaccus took in the rapt faces around him. His features took on a self-important expression, and he smiled, pompously. ‘Nothing I say is to travel beyond these walls.’

‘Of course not,’ Martialis murmured. ‘You can be assured of our discretion.’

Even Fabricius joined in with the buzz of agreement.

Satisfied, Flaccus began. ‘I was but a minor member of the party, although I like to think my contribution was noted. We were led by the two consuls, Lucius Aemilius Paullus and Marcus Livius Salinator. Our spokesman was the former censor Marcus Fabius Buteo.’ He let the important names sink in. ‘From the start, it seemed that our mission would be successful. The omens were good, and the crossing from Lilybaeum uneventful. We reached Carthage three weeks ago to the day.’

Hanno closed his eyes and imagined the scene. The massive fortifications gleaming in the winter sun. The magnificent temple of Eshmoun dominating the top of Byrsa Hill. The twin harbours full of ships. Home, he thought with a jolt of longing. Will I ever see it again?

Flaccus’ next words brought him back to earth with a jolt. ‘Arrogant sons of whores,’ he growled. He glanced at Atia. ‘My apologies. But the most significant men in Rome had arrived, and who had they sent to meet us? A junior officer of the city guard.’

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.’