“There was a Carthaginian with them, a man called Carthalo who presumed to speak to us about peace,” Fabius growled. “I made sure he was not allowed to enter the city.”
“What of the nobles?” Numerius asked.
Fabius growled in disgust and his troubled face grew darker.
“The mother of one of these nobles came here this morning,” he said, “She begged me to save her son. She begged me to have the state pay for his ransom and that of his colleagues.”
“That would not be wise,” Numerius shook his head.
“Oh,” an inquisitive look appeared in Fabius’s eyes. “Many senators feel just the opposite. Indeed the whole city seems to be clamouring for the state to pay for their release. Why do you think differently?”
“It’s a sign of weakness,” Numerius replied. “These nobles have allowed themselves to be captured. They do not deserve to speak to the Senate as equals or demand anything from us.”
“Even if it means that they will have to ride back to Hannibal to face death?”
“Yes,” Numerius nodded.
There was a long pause as Fabius examined Numerius. Then he grunted.
“I agree with you,” Fabius said. “That is what we must do but I fear that when it comes to a vote, the issue will be too close to too many hearts and that the wrong decision will be made. These nobles have families, important and wealthy people, they are using all their influence to help their kinsmen and if they succeed what message will that send to our soldiers. If you are rich you will be freed but if you are poor you will be forgotten. Morale will collapse. It must not happen. We must win that vote, Numerius.”
“We will win it,” Numerius said gripping his walking stick.
Fabius grumbled to himself. Then he gently patted Numerius on his shoulder. “The dictator has called the Senate to meet later today to decide the matter. He and a few others agree with me, but we are a minority and the gods know what sort of trouble Metellus may cause us. Come I wish to show you something,” Fabius said gently taking Numerius by the arm and leading him towards the dining room.
***
The dining room was a square space five or six yards in length and around its edges were several couches and tables. Fabius strode purposefully towards the furthest corner. Puzzled Numerius looked on as the old man bent down and kicked away the carpet that covered the floor.
“I discovered it only after I had bought this house last year,” Fabius said placing his hands on his hips. Set within the smooth stone floor was a trap door with an iron handle.
“The previous owner was killed at Trebia and I never met the son who sold the house but it seems they liked their secrets,” Fabius continued. “Here, you are younger than me, come and pull it up.”
Numerius bent down and gripped the iron handle. The trap door came away much easier than he had expected. It swung up right on two iron hinges and Numerius peered down into the dark hole below. Steps had been cut into the rock and led away into the darkness.
“Where does it lead to?” he asked.
Fabius was busy lighting an oil lamp. “Follow me,” he said as the lamp began to glow. Carefully the old man placed his feet on the stone steps and began to descend holding the lamp out before him. Numerius followed close behind. In the flickering light he could see that the stairs were just wide enough to allow one man to go up or down. Numerius placed his hands on the cool sharp rocky walls in order to steady himself. The stairwell was steep and seemed to twist away into the earth. Down and down they went for what seemed like a minute before he became aware that Fabius’ lamp had stopped moving.
“Here we are,” the old man said stepping out into a flat open space. He fumbled around on the wall for something and found it. A few moments later another oil lamp began to glow. Fabius repeated the process with another lamp on the opposite side and soon the flickering light filled the whole space. Numerius saw that he was standing in a large chamber, nine or ten yards in length and five or six across. Against the far wall someone had stacked a pile of old and dusty couches but apart from that the chamber was empty. He could smell the faint odour of raw sewage coming from somewhere. He looked up and saw that the chamber was cavernous, rising two or three yards above him to a rough ceiling of red volcanic rock. The rock turned the light from the lamps red, giving the whole chamber a hellish feel.
“Looks like it’s the gateway to the underworld,” Numerius muttered.
“You could say that,” Fabius replied as he walked to one side of the chamber and checked something in the wall. Numerius saw what he had missed on his first inspection. There was another doorway into the chamber.
He took a step forwards to get a closer view. Fabius was checking the iron handle on a small stout looking wooden door.
“More secrets,” Numerius muttered.
“Yes, it leads to the Cloaca Maxima. That’s why you can smell the shit,”Fabius said.
Numerius grunted in surprise. The Cloaca Maxima was one of Rome’s greatest yet little known achievements. A vast man made underground sewage system that had helped to drain the marshy valleys between the hills of Rome. The Cloaca was already four hundred years old. It was an underground world where very few would venture.
“Gods, what were these people thinking when they built this place,” he exclaimed.
“Have a look at this,” Fabius said raising his oil lamp above his head.
Numerius moved closer to the wall and in the flickering light he saw the drawings etched into the rock. The artist who had created them had to have been an amateur for the drawings were crude. In one a man with a giant phallus was screwing a woman. In another there was a scene from an orgy and in another two women were going at it with each other. Fabius moved the lamp along the wall and Numerius saw that there were hundreds of drawings. He stopped beside a scene of a man riding in a chariot drawn by two panthers. The artist had done a better job here as if the drawing had been more important than the rest.
“It’s Bacchus, the god of wine,” Numerius exclaimed.
“Yes,” Fabius replied with obvious distaste, “and this was the chamber where his followers would come to celebrate and revel in his name.”
Numerius understood now. The cult of Bacchus was new to Rome but already it was viewed by many as a dangerous eastern sect that was undermining the traditional values of the Roman people. He glanced around the chamber trying to imagine the orgies and illicit sex, drinking and debauchery that would have occurred here in the name of Bacchus, the great liberator. Women of all social ranks were rumoured to come to such parties and to allow themselves to be taken care of by slaves. Nothing it seemed was taboo. It was well known that only women could be full members of the cult but slaves were known to have taken part too and in some circles it was rumoured that plots against the state were being devised by them. That was why the followers of the cult had to meet in secret. That was why they had dug a secret entrance from the sewers into this house.
“Can you imagine it,” Fabius snorted, “Women being in control. It goes against the natural order of things. What will these women demand from us next, a say in government? It cannot be tolerated. The only people who have the right to lead Rome are those men who can trace their ancestry back to the founding of the city.”
Fabius turned on Numerius and his face looked alarmed.
“This here,” he pointed at the walls, “is what will become of us if we don’t show that we are worthy to lead our city. If we made peace with Hannibal we will have lost our authority to govern and the natural order of things will be overthrown.” He sighed,
“And then Rome will just become another inward looking, pleasure seeking town soon to be forgotten by history. That is not what our forefathers had in mind for us.”
Numerius was still staring at the drawings on the wall. “Maybe it is so,” he said at last, “but the women that I have known and love are strong minded creatures who share our love for our city.” He glanced at Fabius. “I would not object to arming our
women with swords and shields, if it was thought necessary and Hannibal was threatening to take Rome. Our women have more to lose than just their lives if they were captured.”
Fabius gave Numerius a long quizzical look and then shook his head.
“I am sorry. You must miss Claudia your wife. I mourn for her too.” He paused. “But you do have some strange thoughts in that head of yours,” he said with a mocking smile, “and once they called me dim witted.”
Chapter Eleven – In the interest of unity and the Republic
Rome was tense and nervous. It showed in the worried faces of the people and the lack of conversation in the street. Numerius could sense the mood as Fabius and he made there way on foot to the Senate house. The wailing of women in mourning was a continuous reminder of the great and terrible disaster that had struck the city. Yet there were signs too that the measures agreed upon by the Senate, just a few days ago, were being put into action. The city seemed calmer after the initial wild panic. There were no women on the streets and every man they came across was armed even though their equipment was often pathetic. In an alley a line of men and boys were queuing patiently to sign up to a newly forming Legion. One of the Dictator’s enrolment officers stood up from his seat and saluted as they passed by.
Fabius had decided to take the long way to the Senate House saying that he wished to gain a feel for the mood of the city. So they had turned south west and taken the street that passed by the Lupercal cave where Romulus and Remus were supposed to have been suckled by the She wolf. The cave where this was supposed to have happened had been turned into a shrine and all were admitted for a small fee. The street had continued past the fine aristocratic houses and the temple of Jupiter Victorious until it ended in a steep flight of stairs that led down to the valley floor below and the Capena gate just beyond. At the top of the stairs Fabius had paused.
“What do you think of our morale?” he muttered.
Numerius glanced in the direction of the Janiculum, across the Tiber to the west, hoping perhaps to catch a glimpse of his house.
“They have obeyed the law which is a good sign yet that doesn’t stop them from worrying about the future,” he said slowly. “These new troops we have seen, there are too many old men and boys. These soldiers are no match for Hannibal but perhaps they are enough to defend the walls. That’s the best we can expect from them.”
“Their morale Numerius?” Fabius pressed his question.
“They need some kind of re-assurance. A runaway horse would cause them to panic and bolt,” Numerius shrugged.
Fabius glanced around them. Then without another word he began to descend the steps.
At the bottom of the stairs they entered the Appian Way, a wide street that followed the valley north eastwards between the Palatine and the Caelian hill.
From the valley floor the Palatine’s steep cliffs of sheer rock looked formidable and lofty but the view was partially distorted by the newly built Insulae that had been erected against the cliffs, their ground floors occupied by shops and craftsmen. The Appian Way was busier than the Palatine and there was a continuous movement of carts, farm animals and people coming in from the Capena gate and the two old men had to watch out that they kept to the pavement. Traffic accidents were common as was the danger of being splattered by someone else’s shit, emptied from a window in one of the apartment buildings above. They hurried along receiving the occasional inquisitive glance from the locals. As they approached the junction with the Sacred Way they were forced to slow their pace as the traffic began to grow congested.
Up ahead, beyond the intersection, in the street leading to the Esquiline hill a property developer had been busy raising two new Insulae. Work on the apartment buildings however seemed to have come to a halt and the wooden scaffolding and piles of building materials looked lost without their labourers. It was just as well Numerius thought as he glanced at the half finished three storey buildings. The men were needed in the army now.
They turned left into the Sacred Way and entered the forum.
***
The bad news hit them as soon as Fabius and Numerius entered the Senate house. Syracuse, the great Greek city in Sicily and an old Roman ally was being ravaged by a Carthaginian fleet. Cisalpine Gaul was in open revolt. The tribes of the Atellani and the Hirpini had just gone over to the enemy and there were unconfirmed reports that the former Greek cities of Tarentum, Crotona and Locri were wavering in their alliance to Rome. Fabius was at once besieged by anxious senators imploring him with various demands and inquiries and he was escorted to his seat on the front bench as Numerius faded into the ranks of onlookers hovering around the doorway. There was a growing sense of tension and outside in the open space of the Comitium a great crowd was gathering.
The dictator, Marcus Junius Pera who had only been appointed a few days earlier called the house to order. He had, he declared, this morning learned of the arrival of the ten noblemen taken prisoner at Cannae and had decided to allow them to plead their case before the Senate. The great hall fell silent as the nobles were called forth. They came threading their way through the crowd of onlookers in a single file, many of them bearded and still wearing their military uniforms. Their leader strode straight for the speakers platform as if he had done this many times before.
Numerius had become conscious of the size of the crowd that was gathering behind him in the open space of the comitium and in the forum. The pressure of so many bodies was pushing him forwards onto the floor of the Senate and he struggled to keep his balance.
The leader of the prisoners began telling the Senate of how he and his fellows had not idly fallen into captivity, but had done all they could in a heroic last stand, which had finally been cut short through lack of water and the utter hopelessness of their situation. They had done no worse than the men who had fled to Canusium or who had died on the field. The speaker had gone on to argue that Rome had ransomed their prisoners before and that if they did so again they would find many thousands of eager, battle trained veterans who would be able to swell her armies. When the speaker finished a great cry of support rose up from the people gathered outside. Numerius glanced round and saw many in the crowd were stretching out their arms towards the prisoners and crying out to the senators to give them back their children and their relations.
Numerius watched as Fabius bent forwards to consult the senator beside him. They spoke briefly and then both men nodded. It was clear from their calls and posturing that most senators were of the opinion that the prisoner’s ransom should be paid and Numerius’ throat had gone dry in trepidation as he watched Fabius’ colleague stand up and walk towards the speaker’s platform. Whatever the man had to say, his words would have to be powerful enough to sway the house and the people gathered outside. The senator, a man called Torquatus; a hard and mean looking character wasted no time. He tore into the prisoners claims that they had acted with as much honour as the men who had managed to escape or who had died at Cannae. He had proof he shouted angrily from men who were there that the nobles who were before the Senate today had retired on their camp and had wasted every chance to escape throughout the night that had followed. Others had urged them to escape and some six hundred men had indeed managed to slip away through the Carthaginian lines. However these Senators; loved and honoured as they may be, had chosen not to do so and in that way they had badly served their country for if they had escaped there would have been no need for a ransom and their arms would once again be at the disposal of the state. No Senators, Torquatus had cried, these men do not deserve our pity or our ransom or our respect. When he had offered to produce witnesses the Senate had finally fallen silent. It had been gutsy speech, made against the overwhelming feeling of the house but when it was over Numerius felt strangely relieved. At least someone had spoken up for honour.
Soon after the dictator had called for a vote and the atmosphere in the great hall had reached a fever pitch of tension for never before had the Senators been asked to consider
a vote upon which the lives of so many of their fellow senators now depended. The vote had duly been taken. It had been close but with the tiniest of margins the ransom had been refused and the captured Senators ordered at once to return to Hannibal. On hearing the result the crowd outside the Senate house had broken out into a great cry of distress. So great was the noise that contrary to protocol the dictator had ordered the doors to the Senate house to be closed. Inside the house angry scenes had erupted with senators trading insults with each other and others seemingly ready for violence and it was only with difficulty that the dictator had managed to restore order.
Fabius was next to rise to his feet to address the issue of the Carthaginian envoy who had proposed peace talks. The house quietened down as the old man shuffled to the speaker’s platform. In his mild and quiet voice he reminded the house that Rome had seen great disasters before and that none not even the great loss of Cannae could compare to the days when Brennus and his Barbarian hordes had sacked Rome a 170 years before. And yet after each defeat Rome and its people had managed to return stronger and more determined than ever and so it would be this time Fabius declared, but only, he warned, if the fathers of the people managed to stay united and firm in their purpose. There would be no more talk of peace he said. The city was still safe, there was no sign that Hannibal was marching on Rome and all the time, day and night, Rome was regrouping and forming new armies. The vast resources of Italy were still at her command and the Latin allies remained steadfast in their ancient loyalty to Rome. And even if most of southern Italy defected to Hannibal he was confident that Rome would endure even this terrible blow, for without victory he declared, there could be no survival. He ended his speech with a plea to all those gathered in the house to ask themselves what their fathers would have done and what their children would think of them if they now surrendered Rome’s destiny.
The Shield of Rome Page 9
