Scipio's End

by Martin Tessmer

  Two weeks later, the Centuriate Assembly gathers at the Campus Martius. Each clan of one hundred citizens casts a majority vote for two consuls. As dusk approaches, Consul Glabrio looks at the piles of pebbles cast for each candidate, their marks face down to avoid detection. He points to the two largest piles. “This one, and that one,” he says. An attending praetor plucks a pebble from each pile and shows him the mark on each of them. Glabrio reads the marks and nods.

  He rises from his chair and faces the election officials, his mouth a line of resentment. “Gaius Laelius and Lucius Cornelius Scipio are the new consuls of Rome,” he intones. As the crowd cheers and hisses, Glabrio hastens down the steps, intent on retreating to his country villa before he returns to Greece.

  Lucius Scipio is consul, he thinks. Gods help us all if he contests with Antiochus and Hannibal.

  EPHESUS, 190 BCE. “You have to make your move,” Hannibal urges. “The Romans are completing their consular elections early. They will send an army to Greece as soon as possible.”

  “Do we really need a war with Rome?” says Seleucus, Antiochus’ son. “We can make peace with them, and keep our gains in Thrace and Pergamum.”

  Hannibal shakes his head. “We cannot can make peace with Rome. If we just sit here, soon we will have to fight the Romans in Asia. Then you will be fighting for your own kingdom.”[cxlvii]

  “Maybe the Romans are be tired of war,” Antiochus replies. “They have fought Carthage and Macedonia, with scarcely a year’s respite. Their main man Scipio, he advocates alliances rather than conquests.”

  “He advocates alliances over those he conquers,” Hannibal says, “but that is only because he knows Rome is not strong enough to rule far-flung dominions by simple force of arms.”

  Hannibal walks to Antiochus and grips the top of his forearm. “Listen to me! The Romans aim at having an empire all over the world. Unless you thwart them, they will come here and take your kingdom!”[cxlviii]

  Antiochus places his bejeweled hand over Hannibal’s. “I doubted you once, when I listened to Thoas. I swore then I would never do it again.” He glances at his son. “I will keep my promise to you. We will prepare for war. I will send a call for my allies to meet me in Phyrgia.”

  “No, Father!” Seleucus blurts. “You’re risking everything! These new consuls, they are friend and brother to Scipio himself! What if he comes here with one of them, leading their army?”

  Antiochus arches his eyebrows. “I have Hannibal, the one general that can outwit him. And I have my own way to tame Scipio’s aggression.”

  “How?” asks Hannibal. “Have you gotten the Egyptians to join forces with us?”

  Antiochus laughs. “I am a king, not a god! No, the Egyptians still hate me—this is something better. Something Admiral Polyxenidas brought me from his raid on the Italia coast.” He turns to an attendant standing near a side door. “Bring him in.”

  The attendant disappears inside. Minutes later, two guards march into the throne room, leading an auburn-haired boy in the navy blue tunic of the Roman marines. The young man’s shoulder-length hair is unkempt and his clothes spotted with blood, yet he stares unblinking into Antiochus’ eyes.

  Antiochus grins with delight. “Men, let me introduce you to Publius Scipio the Younger, son of Scipio Africanus.”[cxlix]

  MANSE OF GAIUS LAELIUS, ROME, 190 BCE. “You look magnificent,” Scipio remarks good-naturedly. He rests his hands on Laelius’ shoulders, gazing into his freshly oiled face.

  Laelius raises the hem of his new toga, smiling as he looks at its wide purple border. “Look at that the size of that stripe! Everyone will know I’m a consul.” He gapes wonderingly at Scipio. Tears well in his eyes. “I’m really a consul!”

  “You are, and it is richly deserved,” Scipio says, wiping the corners of his eyes. “You have come far from the back streets of Ostia. I am so proud of you.”

  “I came with your help. So much of your help.” He grasps Scipio’s face in both hands and kisses him deeply. “I love you, Brother.”

  Laelius draws back from Scipio, giving him a friendly shove. “Come on, Prima wants to say hello before you run back to your house.”

  “Just for a moment,” Scipio replies. “We have a Senate meeting in a few hours.”

  The two childhood friends enter the palm-lined atrium of Laelius’ new town house. Prima is over by the fishpond, scattering bread crumbs to the swarming carp. She crouches down and spreads her arms, her back to Scipio and Laelius.

  “Who is that sneaking up behind me?” she barks. “Is it a couple of politicians? Someone fetch me my sword!” She turns and smiles broadly at them, her green eyes fixed on Scipio.

  “Well, there’s the old puppet-master!” She hurries over and kisses Scipio lingeringly upon his cheek. “Gratitude for all you have done for us. Our house is yours, now and forever.”

  “That is welcome news. After all the time I’ve spent on this election, Amelia has threatened to throw me out!” Scipio glances at the linen patch above the décolletage of Prima’s flowing indigo gown. “Is that some new form of adornment?”

  She wrinkles her nose. “A parting gift from that pig Novus, before I stuck it to him.” She sighs. “And a reminder that I am not as quick as I used to be.”

  “That’s right, “Laelius says, “you should quit the ring.” He winks at Scipio. “Maybe I should take her with me to Greece. She can be part of my personal bodyguard!”

  “You still want Greece, eh? Why not the assignment to North Italia? The Boii and Insubres have been quiet. It would be an uneventful time. You’d likely get a nice fat praetorship after you were done there.”

  Laelius flings up his arms. “That is the crux of it—nothing’s going to happen there! If I go to Greece and defeat Antiochus, my name will be written in history. Me, the orphan from the docks—I’d be rich and famous!” His smile vanishes. “Besides, do you truly want Lucius to lead our men against the Syrian hordes?”

  “Well, not by himself. I could join him.”

  “But you could join me, if I went,” Laelius says. “We’d be unstoppable. Just like we were in Iberia and Africa.”

  “My husband’s mind is set on it,” Prima says. “He still thinks he has to prove himself. As if he wasn’t the best man in Rome already!”

  Laelius shakes his head. “It’s just that I’m the best choice. If Lucius gets the Italia province, he will be tasked with repopulating the Placentia and Cremona garrisons.[cl] That is safer than leading our army against Antiochus’ trained killers. Safer for him, and for our legions!”

  “He is my brother, Laelius. I promised Mother I would help him make his way, and I fear he cannot do it on his own. This is his best chance for permanent fame and fortune.” And then I am shed of him.

  “What about me,” Laelius snaps. “What about Rome? Would you sacrifice us for an oath to a dead person?”

  “You, I am not worried about. Besides, the point is moot. You know you will draw lots. Fortuna will decide who goes to Greece.”

  Laelius shakes his head. “Not this time. This is too important to trust to luck. I think we should let the Senate decide this.” His eyes grow cold. “They will understand the wisdom of my words.”

  “I see you will not be shaken on this,” Scipio declares. He walks toward the vestibulum. “I won’t oppose your recommendation, Laelius, but I will not advocate for it. I have to give Lucius a chance. It’s the honorable thing to do.”

  Laelius turns his back. “You are thinking more about your precious honor than you are about Rome,” he says over his shoulder. “Is that so very honorable? You had best hope the Senate listens to me. It would be best for all of us.”

  Scipio bites his bottom lip. “You may be right. I can only hope Fate makes the decision for me.” Scipio walks out the front door and takes his mount’s bridle from a house slave. He trots down the wide Via Sacra to the Scipio domus. He enters the atrium and finds it empty.

  “Lucius? Amelia?” he says, his eyes searching
the hallways. “Where is everyone?”

  Amelia’s voice rings out from the garden. “We are out here!” Scipio walks into the sun-washed garden room. And enters a celebration.

  Lucius stands in front of the lush red roses that fill the center gardens, wearing his new consular toga. Amelia stands next to him, garbed in a ivory-colored gown. Cornelia stands next to her mother, holding a spray of pink oleanders that matches her dress. A tray of moon cakes and wine goblets rests on a marble pedestal next to a beaming Lucius. He waves his crystal chalice, beckoning Scipio inside.

  “Come, Brother. Drink to my new office!” Lucius’ slender fingers wrap around Scipio’s wrist. He pulls him into the center of the garden.

  Scipio forces a smile to his face. “I would be honored, Consul Lucius.”

  Lucius grins mischievously. “I am a consul! Now my younger brother won’t be the only Scipio that Rome is talking about!”

  The thought comes unbidden to Scipio: But what will they be saying? Scipio grabs a chalice of watered wine, and Amelia follows suit. She raises her shining goblet.

  “To the new consul of Rome, General Lucius Cornelius Scipio!”

  Lucius raises his goblet. “To the finest brother a man could have.” His eyes meet Scipio’s. “A man who has given me much, and asked for so little in return.”

  Scipio drains his vessel. He claps his hands together, rubbing them energetically. “Well, now, should we go? You should not be late for your own swearing-in ceremony. It would anger the gods.”

  Lucius smiles tightly. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you! You’d think I was the younger brother!” He pops a moon cake into his mouth. “You think Fortuna will gift me with Greece?” he says. “I could put old Philip in his place, and run the rest of Antiochus’ men back to Syria!”

  “The bulk of Antiochus’ force is still in Syria,” Scipio replies. “I fear you’d have to go farther than that. He needs to be eliminated as a permanent threat.[cli] You’d need to cross into Asia.”

  “Well, if that is what it takes, I’ll do it,” Lucius blithely replies. His eyes narrow. “And I’ll do it by myself.”

  “As you say, Brother,” Scipio replies. Gods helps us if that is true.

  Two hours later, Laelius and Lucius stand in the center of the Senate floor. Cyprian reads the oath of office from a weathered goatskin scroll, his reedy voice echoing through the chamber. Two hundred and eighty senators stand silent, listening to Laelius and Lucius repeat the Senate Leader’s words.

  Tiberius Gracchus concludes the ceremony by offering a prayer to the gods, beseeching them to bless the new consuls with wisdom and safety. Lucius and Laelius walk to each side of Cyprian. They take their seats on their freshly carved four-legged stools, each one topped with a thick purple pad.

  “I call this first meeting of the new year to order,” Cyprian declares. “We begin with the allotment of provinces to our new consuls.”

  Laelius tugs at the Leader’s yellowed toga. “I have a suggestion,” he murmurs.

  “What?” the elderly Cyprian barks. “Speak up! You have something to say, stand up and say it!” The senators grin at one another—Cyprian’s deafness has been an object of humor for years.

  Laelius stands up and takes a deep breath. “I think the province allotments are too important to be left to chance. I propose that the Senate decide who should go to Italia and Greece.”[clii]

  Scattered “yays” and “nays” welcome Laelius’ suggestion, followed by dozens of arguments. The Senate Elder pounds his oak staff on the floor, and the senators quiet.

  “This is very unconventional,” Cyprian says, “but not without historical precedent. What say you, Lucius Scipio?”

  Lucius gapes at the Senate Elder. “Uh, may I consult with my brother?”[cliii] he says.

  The Leader points his staff to an empty side of the floor. “Talk there, beneath Jupiter’s statue.” Scipio rises from his front row seat and joins Lucius.

  “What should I do?” Lucius blurts. “Will they give me a fair chance to get Greece? You have many enemies. What will Flaccus and Cato say?”

  “Trust in the Senate vote,”[cliv] Scipio says, squeezing his brother’s shoulder. “I know what will get you Greece.” Gods help me.

  Lucius walks back and stands to the right of Cyprian, who is sitting in his throne-like oak chair. “I agree with Gaius Laelius’ proposition,” Lucius says. “Let the Senate decide.”

  For the next hour, the ruling fathers listen to a score of senators testify for Laelius or Lucius, each presenting arguments why their favorite should be given the Greece assignment. Flaccus and Cato sit in the second row, avidly following the debate.

  “I don’t know whom I would prefer,” Flaccus says. “Laelius is a born warrior and leader, so he gives Rome the best chance for victory. But Scipio’s brother gives us the best chance of Latin Party electoral victories for years, after Antiochus humiliates him.”

  “You would endanger Rome for a political victory?” Cato growls.

  “Psh! We have Glabrio, and Flamininus. They would drive the Syrians into the sea.”

  “After thousands die at the Syrians’ hands,” Cato snipes.

  Scipio weighs to the senators’ testimonies. They are leaning toward Laelius, he decides. If they vote for him, there’s nothing I can do about it. I did the best I could.

  Then the thought occurs to him, one that has lurked in the back of his mind. You know what you can do. Have you kept your promise if you don’t do it?

  With a heavy sigh, Scipio rises from his seat in the front row. He steps out onto the chamber floor. The senate quiets, waiting for Rome’s greatest general to speak.

  “Honored peers, I trust you will select the consul for Greece that is most likely to defeat King Antiochus. It is certainly a formidable task.” He glances at Laelius and then at Lucius. They look expectantly at him. He swallows.

  “If you decide that Greece will be my brother’s province, I will accompany him as his subordinate.”[clv]

  The senate erupts into applause. Laelius stares at Scipio, his face changing from shock to anger. Lucius nods glumly, his face mirroring his resentment.

  “Here now, let’s have order,” Cyprian shrills, futilely pounding his staff.

  Flaccus’ mind races, mulling the consequences of Scipio’s words. Scipio would likely prevent his brother from failing. But if Scipio leaves, I will be free of his persecutions for at least a year.

  He rises from his seat, sweeping his hand across his colleagues. “I must admit,” Flaccus shouts, quieting the din from his colleagues, “I am intrigued at who would provide the more powerful support: the help given to Antiochus by the vanquished Hannibal, or that given to our consul and his legions by Hannibal’s conqueror, Scipio Africanus!”[clvi] The senators murmur excitedly among themselves, recounting the battle between the two military geniuses.

  Flaccus resumes his seat. There! I bet they’ll like nothing better than a rematch between those two.

  Cato leans toward Flaccus. “You chose Rome’s welfare over your personal enmity for Scipio. That is most commendable.”

  “Gratitude,” Flaccus replies. He smiles. Ah, Cato! Your honor blinds you to intrigue. Such is your weakness.

  Hearing Flaccus’ words, Scipio frowns with dismay. Why is that wretch supporting me? Regardless, I had best capitalize on it. He rises from his seat and steps out to again face the senators, bowing low.

  “Whoever we send is not there just to drive Antiochus from Greece. That merely allows him to regroup his forces across the channel, only a day’s sail from Greece. No, we must break his power.”

  He faces Lucius and Laelius. “We must drive Antiochus from western Asia, back over the towering Taurus mountains. That means we must face the beast in his lair, and cross the Hellespont into Syria!”[clvii]

  Scores of senators flap their togas and snap their fingers, while a few hoot their disapproval.

  Cato springs from his seat. “Have a care, Scipio Africanus! When Rome
moves from Greece to Asia, we move from republic to empire, extending our reach beyond our grasp.” He bares his calloused palms at the senators. “We are a nation of farmers, simple men of the earth. Do we really want to become a nation of conquerors?”

  “I would hope not,” interjects Scipio. “But we need garrisons in Pergamum and Syria—we need a protective zone in Asia, to prevent Syrian incursions into Greece—and Rome.”[clviii]

  He shakes his head at his peers. “Believe me, the last thing I want is a Roman Empire!”

  The Senate Elder pounds his staff. “Enough debate! It is time for a vote. Those who support Lucius Cornelius Scipio taking the Greece province, stand up.”

  Laelius watches the senators rise in groups of two and three, his heart thumping with excitement. A minute later, his head slumps to his chin.

  The Leader glances at the standing senators. “The vote is almost unanimous.[clix] Lucius Scipio is assigned the province of Greece. Gaius Laelius takes the province of North Italia.”

  Scipio stares entreatingly at Laelius. He avoids Scipio’s gaze, his face a stone. Scipio looks at his brother, who is nervously kneading the sleeve of his toga. Now that he’s got it, he’s afraid to have it. What have I done?

  The meeting moves on to the next topic, whether to formally forgive the Aetolians for siding with Antiochus. After deciding not to decide, the Senate adjourns for the day. Laelius strides for the open doors of the Curia Hostilia. Scipio hastens after him. He grasps Laelius by the elbow.

  Laelius spins about and faces him. “Can you just leave me alone for a while? Can you just get the fuck away from me?”

  “You must understand,” Scipio says. “I am bound by chains of obligation. I tried to do the best I could for the both of you.”

  “You are bound by your determination to seem more virtuous than the rest of us, regardless of consequences,” Laelius spits. “You are just another Cato, fighting for a different cause.”

  Laelius stalks down the Senate steps, embracing several of his supporters. The senators pat him on the back, smiling encouragingly as they walk to the Forum grounds.