“He secured this house for her and issued an order to the garrison commander that she’s to be treated with utmost care. I live here with her. And there’s another slave, a young woman, Ava, who was a gift from Hannibal. She’s with your mother now.”
“He’s given her back our house. That’s some gift. And she goes to him whenever he demands? Lucretia, that bastard still owns her!”
Lucretia gave me a sad look. “I know it must seem strange to you, but trust your mother.”
“Trust her? I want her entirely free from that Carthaginian ogre.”
“But that’s not what she wants. You’ll have to talk to her.” Lucretia looked around as though someone might be listening. She lowered her voice. “She still hopes to pass information on to the Romans.”
“I know that must seem noble to her, and gives her the satisfaction that she’s avenging Father’s murder, but it seems too extreme and too dangerous to me.”
“Then you can tell her that. She told me if you arrive while she’s gone to take you to her.”
“To Metapontum? What’s she going to do, introduce me to Hannibal?” I said derisively.
“Yes, that’s exactly what she plans to do.”
CHAPTER 7
Lucretia made the travel arrangements the next day with the garrison commander. Three days later we set out for Metapontum in a two-wheel carriage, accompanied by a Carthaginian officer on horseback and ten soldiers on foot. It didn’t exactly feel like we were free, but the word was that we were guests of Hannibal and that we should be treated as such. It all seemed impossible at the time, but I was about to see my mother and that was all that mattered.
We followed the coastline all the way to Metapontum. It rained the first two days of the six-day trip. We camped at night. The soldiers set up three large tents—one for the officer, one for the soldiers, and one that I shared with Lucretia. The dear woman had said almost nothing about my mother during our time in Croton, but once we began the trip, she wouldn’t even mention her name, leaving me with absolutely no idea what to expect in Metapontum. As far as I knew I would end up in a prison cell.
The morning of the sixth day a squadron of Numidian cavalry, perhaps sixty riders, swarmed out of the forest alongside the road and quickly surrounded us. Hannibal always gave his Numidians free rein in the winter, allowing them to forage and plunder on their own. They were known for their brutality and their insatiable appetite for women. The way they rode up and flashed around us on their horses suggested the worst, but the officer in charge of our little party called out to them in what I imagined to be the Numidian language. The captain of the squadron of cavalry promptly acknowledged the officer, and after a short exchange with him, signaled to his charges to reassemble in formation. There had been reports of small bands of thieves in the area. The Numidians would escort us the rest of the way to Metapontum.
We reached Metapontum late that afternoon. Like Croton, or almost any city of size, it was surrounded by a formidable stone wall designed to repel an army. With the Numidian captain in the lead, the gates opened at our approach and we were soon within the city.
I had never been to Metapontum, but my father had spoken about it many times. Like Croton, Metapontum was a Greek colony, older than either Rome or Syracuse. Legend said it had been founded by the man who built the wooden horse during the siege of Troy. Now it was a wealthy city of greater standing than Croton, known for the quality of the surrounding farmland and its plentiful wheat harvest. Pythagoras had fled to Tarentum and then to Metapontum when his school in Croton came under attack. According to my father, Pythagoras was revered in Metapontum, and after his death, his home was turned into a temple to Demeter.
Metapontum was also the first large city to go over to Hannibal after the battle of Cannae. It had one of the largest granaries in Italy, and in recent years had become Hannibal’s sanctuary when he wasn’t on a campaign.
Our escort took us to a large villa on the south side of the city. Ten armed guards stood on duty out front. The officer who had arranged for our trip dismounted and spoke briefly to the lead guard.
“This is where Hannibal stays,” whispered Lucretia. “The soldiers here are members of his Sacred Band and act as his bodyguards. Be wary of them. Also be aware that Hannibal will not be what you expect. He’s a rough one, to be sure, but he’s also a clever man with a subtle intellect. Be on your toes. He can be quite charming.”
The lead guard told us to get out of the carriage. He searched us both. I had lost my dagger to the deserters a week earlier and carried no other weapon.
This same guard then led us into the villa. Despite being in an enemy city, and expecting to meet the man responsible for the war, I was excited by the prospect of seeing my mother—though I didn’t really know when that would happen.
With my heart pounding, we were taken through the atrium to the back of the villa. It was larger and more luxuriously furnished than Sempronia’s. Paintings hung on the walls. Greek sculptures were situated throughout the atrium. Black figure vases from Athens stood on the tables or sat in the corners filled with fresh flowers. Ornaments of gold and silver seemed to be everywhere I looked.
The peristyle, really a huge ornamental garden with fruit trees and exotic plants, was tiled with large squares of pink granite and enclosed by a colonnade with an arch that led to a stairway. We followed the guard up the stairs to an elevated patio that looked out on the city’s wharf and a stunning panoramic view of the ocean. My mother was seated on a stone bench beside the balustrade that circuited the patio. She stood immediately on seeing me and rushed across the porch with her arms outstretched. Both of us burst into tears of joy and relief as we embraced. I squeezed her up close to me as if she would suddenly vanish if I let her go. I told her in a whisper how much I had missed her and had worried about her.
After a moment we held each other at arm’s length. She appeared more beautiful than I remembered. She leaned into me and kissed me on the cheek. “Timon, I was afraid I’d never see you again. If I were to have no other wish in my life, the one I wanted most has just been granted.” She touched my face to feel the stubble on my cheek, then looked into my eyes. “You’re a young man now. And judging from your eyes, just as intelligent as your father.”
“I spent three years as a slave, Mother. But I was lucky. My master was Archimedes of Syracuse.” She knew his name. “He taught me so much my knowledge of geometry nearly equals Father’s now.”
We embraced again. When we finally did release each other, Hannibal was leaning on the balustrade, looking out at the turquoise sea and a clear winter sky. He wore a plush, collarless black robe, embroidered in red at the cuffs, hem, and neckline. The full beard he had worn when I saw him in Apulia had been trimmed close, with the hair above his upper lip shaved clean in the traditional Carthaginian style. The guard who had brought us had left, but four more of the Sacred Guard stood at intervals around the patio.
Hannibal faced us, and with a smile, addressed my mother in perfect Greek. “So Arathia, this is your son, Timon. I can see the joy his presence brings you. I expect that I will hear it in your voice when you play for me this evening.” His voice was deep, but soft and thoughtful. He tipped his head in my direction, peering at me with his one good eye. A black patch covered the other. “Did I hear you say your master was Archimedes?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, bowing my head. “I was his slave for three years.”
I had seen Hannibal’s face through the lenses twice, outside Numistro during my first campaign with Marcellus, and during the third campaign, when I had used them to find my mother. His black hair showed more gray, and the lines in his face had sharpened, etched deep around his eyes and in parallel furrows across his brow. Even with the patch over his right eye, there was a mournful sentiment in his left that brightened when he smiled as he did now.
“Were you in Syracuse during the Roman siege?” he asked coming closer. Physically, he was a younger, taller version of Marcellus. The th
ickness of his body, the width of his hips and chest, suggested tremendous power. He was clearly a formidable man with a sword and buckler.
“I was part of the plunder, sir, and taken to Rome. Only recently have I bought my freedom. That’s why I’m here now. I came to buy my mother’s freedom. Unfortunately the silver I carried was stolen from me on the road, but the knowledge I accumulated with Archimedes is more valuable than silver or gold. I can tell you things that no one else knows. Perhaps we can make a trade.”
Hannibal grinned and nodded his head. “So what might you tell me—in exchange for your mother?” As he said this, an older man, who I judged to be Greek, came up the stairs from the garden onto the patio, followed by a Bruttian girl carrying my mother’s Lyre. This was Ava, the slave Hannibal had given my mother as a second attendant.
Hannibal smiled as the man approached us. “Here’s the man you must impress with your knowledge, Timon. He’s the scholar, not me. Sosylus,” he said, “meet Timon, son of Arathia and student of Archimedes. He says he can tell you something you don’t know and is worth his mother in trade.”
The bald, white-bearded Sosylus appraised me with skepticism. “Archimedes? What might he know that I don’t?”
“That the Earth is round and is moving. Even now as we stand here, it’s spinning and circling the sun.”
Sosylus gave me a wry grin. “Aristarchus wrote such a thing. He put it in a book which I have read. Many are aware of his work.”
“But is that true? Is the Earth moving, Sosylus?” asked Hannibal intrigued by what I had said. “I have no sense of that. All is still.”
“It is written by a wise man, General, but I don’t know if it’s true or if it can be proven,” said Sosylus. “It’s merely one man’s speculation.”
“Archimedes said it could be proven, sir, with the Babylonian’s records of the stars. And there is no doubt that the Earth is round. You can see it for yourself if you look closely enough.”
“How’s that?” asked Sosylus, taken aback by my confidence.
“Watch any ship that leaves the harbor. Look closely as it reaches the horizon. You will see that the ship disappears from bottom to top, as though it’s following the curvature of a sphere.”
Hannibal nodded. “I appreciate, Timon, that I have not heard this theory of the heavens. It all sounds quite fantastic.” He smiled warmly. “But I am a solider, not a philosopher. Can’t you tell me something more concrete with such a treasure as your mother in the balance?”
I lifted the leather pouch from beneath my tunic. If the motion of the planets wasn’t good enough, then perhaps a demonstration with the lenses would be. I pried open the pouch and for the second time prepared to reveal what I had promised to keep secret. It was not something I had planned to do, but I was caught up in the moment, and freeing my mother from Hannibal’s leash meant everything to me. I took out the two lenses. “With these,” I held them out to both Hannibal and Sosylus, “I can see farther than any man by ten.” I pointed to a ship along the wharf below. “Do you see that merchant ship? And the crates stacked on its deck? Can you tell me what they contain?”
Hannibal looked to Sosylus, who shook his head. “It’s too far away. I have no idea what’s in those crates.”
I held the lenses up, one in each hand. “With these, I can tell you.”
Hannibal laughed as though he thought I might be clever, but not profound.
I held the bead to my right eye and the magnifying lens out in front of me with my left arm fully extended. With some effort I focused the lenses on the deck of the ship. “I can see that the boxes are marked with Greek lettering”—though it was backwards and upside down—“which says they are a shipment of wine—from Corinth.”
From the looks on both men’s faces, they clearly doubted that I could even see that there were markings on the boxes, much less read them. Hannibal traded a look with my mother, even she seemed skeptical. Hannibal laughed as though it were a parlor game. “How do we know what you’re saying is true?”
“See for yourself.”
I handed the lenses to Hannibal, then step by step, instructed him how to use them, also telling him what he saw would be upside down. He made a good effort, but it was difficult, and after several tries, he handed them to his scholar. “Upside down or not, I see nothing but haze, Timon. Perhaps my one eye is not so good. Sosylus might do better.”
Sosylus was nearly as old as Archimedes had been and probably with eyesight just as bad. He tried the lenses, but gave up quickly. “Everything I see is blurred. These are nothing but pieces of glass.” He handed them back to me, shaking his head.
I knew it would be impossible to convince them of the lenses’ value if they couldn’t actually see through them. I thought of my last months with Archimedes. He had never been able to make them work. Determined to make some kind of breakthrough with Hannibal, I demonstrated the magnifying glass alone. I showed Hannibal the back of his hand, which of course impressed him. Then I used the lens to coax some smoke from a pile of dry leaves.
Again Hannibal found this curious, but Sosylus frowned. “This is nothing new. I have known of the burning glass since my childhood.”
Hannibal smiled easily, clearly enjoying my efforts. “These are cute trinkets, Timon, and fascinating, but what of those stories I heard coming from Syracuse at the time of the siege? Hippocrates reported of fantastically accurate catapults and ballista. He mentioned something about an array of mirrors that could concentrate sunlight into fire. What of those things? Can you tell me anything about them? Do you have enough knowledge to instruct my engineers how to build such weapons?”
“I can’t, sir,” I said fully distressed. “I know what you’re referring to, but I don’t have that knowledge. The design of those weapons is difficult, and as far as I know, something only Archimedes could do.”
“What a shame. But it doesn’t matter.” Hannibal’s eye lit with deep pleasure. “I couldn’t trade your mother for those things even if you had them with you.” He looked over at her lovingly. “Especially since I don’t own her and she is already free to go at any time.”
“But she must come when you call.”
“Only if she wishes.”
I’m sure my mouth fell open.
Hannibal laughed. My mother smiled at me, clearly happy that I was there.
“Your mother is a treasure, Timon. At least to me. Her singing is the one pleasure I allow myself. Her voice soothes me in the evening and allows me to sleep. Her songs are better than drink, better than whoring. I pay her for her time. I’ve made sure that she can return to her home in Croton, and that she’s protected whenever she’s there. Even if I were so greedy to think such a treasure could be mine, I would want to share her with everyone I knew.” The look he gave my mother made me shudder. “You are fortunate to have such a woman as your mother. And I see her in you. You have her courage and intelligence.”
While I had tried to impress Hannibal, several other men and women had assembled on the patio. Slaves brought out a table and filled it with food—bowls of fruit, loaves of bread, a plate of grilled tuna, stacks of lamb chops, five kinds of cheese, snails dressed with cumin, flamingo tongues in honey, and several amphorae of wine. My moment to speak to Hannibal, it seemed, had passed as more important people settled in around him, lying on couches, passing food and drink.
My mother sat beside Hannibal. Ava, a skinny girl who I guessed to be no more than thirteen, stood behind her. I sat next to Lucretia at the far end of the table and had no real chance to talk to my mother. She seemed distant and focused on things other than my arrival. I noticed that Hannibal didn’t drink, though most of his guests did. As the men talked, I recognized the names Carthalo and Maharbal, both cavalry commanders. And Mago, Hannibal’s youngest brother. The women, it seemed, were there as ornaments, hired to add to the festivities.
Midway through the meal, as the sun was going down and wisps of clouds began appearing in the west, Hannibal asked my mother to
play for the group. As much as I loved her singing, all I wanted was a chance to be alone with her, to learn more about what was going on and her relationship with Hannibal. I hadn’t seen him touch her or take the slightest liberty with her, but I knew too little of what confidence games my mother might be playing or what she might have already told him about me. As things were, I just wasn’t sure what to say or think.
But all of these concerns melted away once my mother began to play and sing. Her eyes swung to me often as she sang one after another of my favorites poems. It was as the woman in the Community of Miracles had said, my mother had the kind of voice that caused all around her to stop and listen. And only the setting sun, blushing the undersides of the clouds lavender and tangerine, could match the loveliness of her songs.
After my mother had stopped singing, and the meal wound down with the onset of darkness, Hannibal left with his brother and several other men, including Carthalo and Maharbal. I took the opportunity to sit beside my mother. She put a finger to my lips, then motioned to Lucretia and Ava that it was time to leave. The four of us went down to the garden and back through the house to my mother’s chambers off the second floor of the atrium.
As we walked, my mother leaned up close to me and whispered, “I’m sorry, Timon, until we return to Croton, measure every word you say.”
When we reached her chambers, which were quite luxurious and included several rooms, Lucretia suggested that she and Ava get some bedding. We would all be staying there that night.
My mother and I went into her bedchamber and sat on the bed. She embraced me again, her tears now flowing freely. “After all that has happened, Timon, it seems impossible that we’re finally together again.”
“The war has made a mess of everything, Mother. I have been fortunate, but have also seen too much tragedy.” I hung my head thinking of Marcellus and Archimedes, then looking up, I lowered my voice. “Tell me what’s going on here? When can we go back to Croton?”
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