The Death of Marcellus

by Dan Armstrong

  I wasn’t sure what he meant. It didn’t seem Laevinus understood either, but Marcellus nodded. “I share my command with Laevinus. Marcus commands one thousand of my men, and my scribe is privy to everything I do.”

  “Then I suggest we take this moment to air our views on pursuing the war.” Fabius looked around to see if anyone was in earshot. “Marcellus, you and I have argued different paths for seven years now. Perhaps we should find some common ground prior to discussing war strategy before the entire Senate. Opportunities to ease differences are greater in smaller company.”

  Marcus looked off. He was not impressed with this man who proved to be much more personable than I had expected.

  “The matter of the lots, which it seems you were discussing,” said Fabius, “was troubling to me also.”

  Marcus suddenly turned his head.

  Fabius went on. “It seems to me that Laevinus, just back from Greece with success as a general—and as a statesman—works well with Greeks. He might be a better fit for Sicily then Marcellus. Despite your handling the situation quite well today, Marcellus, sending you back to Sicily seems like a mistake to me.”

  Laevinus lifted his head as in thought. I saw Marcus’ eyes dart to his father’s.

  Fabius continued, pleasant, reasoned, and with clear purpose. “No Roman general, Laevinus, has given Hannibal more trouble on the battlefield than Marcellus. It’s true, we have yet to win a clear victory against the Carthaginian, but Marcellus had reasonable success and gained invaluable experience defending Nola from his advances several years ago. Laevinus, you have never confronted the man. It’s something to consider.” He paused as though giving both men a moment to think. “It’s the law that the lots determine the commands, but we have seen changes of command between like-minded consuls many times in our history.

  “When the Senate convenes next week, I will recommend that our first order of business is keeping Hannibal in the south and that the second is recapturing cities that have gone over to Hannibal—Tarentum being at the top of the list.

  “Could Marcellus tie Hannibal up in Apulia, it would give us a chance to retake some of these cities.” Fabius faced Laevinus. “I’m not saying Sicily is a lesser province, Laevinus, but you have experience with the navy that Marcellus does not. The securing of Sicily and any Carthaginian held seaport on the island is critical to breaking Hannibal’s line of supply.”

  I understood enough of the war by now to see that Fabius spoke with sense. I didn’t feel any push of ego from the elder statesman and sensed something of the same nobility in him that I admired in Marcellus.

  “Laevinus, what do you think?” Fabius asked. “I don’t demean your capacity as a general. I simply want to see each man’s talents and experience used to the best advantage. Would you consider switching commands?”

  The manner in which Fabius made this proposal impressed me. I realized that for all the bad I had heard about the man he was more than an ideologue. He was thinking the war out as a whole, not battle by battle. His strategy, though plodding, was the most reasonable way to wage war against a general as gifted as Hannibal. Marcellus’ strength was combat, resolute and aggressive. Fabius’ strength was the grand view. Together, these men, in my opinion, held the key to defeating Hannibal.

  “You speak sense to me, Fabius,” said Laevinus. “I have doubted you before, but not today.” He turned to his co-consul. “Marcellus, you are my senior. I am entering my second consulship. You have been elected to the position four times. The choice is yours.”

  Marcus’ eyes turned to mine. He had also noticed something more in this man he despised, and, like myself, was impressed by the gracious Laevinus.

  Marcellus had listened to the entire conversation giving away nothing that he felt or thought. “I think Fabius is correct in his assessment. I accept your offer, Laevinus. I choose to command my legions in Italy.”

  Fabius allowed the slightest smile. “When this comes up in the Senate, we must run through this script again.” He looked at Laevinus. “For reasons of politics, I would like the proposition to come from you. I will propose our war strategy just as I did now, but you suggest the command change. Marcellus should offer some resistance.” He glanced at Marcellus. “A little show for those who might not be convinced.”

  Marcellus nodded. “Only one thing matters, Fabius, that Hannibal is destroyed.”

  Fabius reviewed the agreement with both men, then went on his way. Laevinus remained. “Was that simply him acting on his own? Or did you talk to him about this?”

  “Nothing was said to me,” replied Marcellus. “The man is to be respected. He plays games that I could never imagine. Some say he is our Hannibal.”

  Laevinus chuckled at the suggestion. “Maybe so. I think he got this one right.” He clasped Marcellus’ hand and shoulder. “One advantage to being in Sicily is that I’m not so available to sudden calls back to Rome. For that alone, I’m glad we’ve traded commands.” He laughed, then walked away.

  Marcellus smiled for the first time all day. “You didn’t expect that, did you, Marcus?”

  Marcus shook his head, stunned. “Is that how it is? All prearranged? By Fabius?”

  “So it seems, son. It’s like Publius said many months ago, Fabius still maintains his power as dictator. He just wields that power in a way that makes others think they’re making the decisions themselves. Did you see that just now? Laevinus made the call, not Fabius.”

  CHAPTER 22

  We had the evening meal that night at the residence in Rome. Publius and Claudia joined us. Laelia prepared duck and roasted vegetables. Portia performed the required offerings to the penates, and the six of us spread out around a table filled with food and drink.

  Marcellus was not much for small talk or stories. If he was going to engage in conversation, it had to be for a purpose—meaning discussion of the war or work on the farm. On this night, however, Marcellus was in unusually good spirits. After successfully navigating a series of political obstacles, he had achieved his objective. No one called it a party, but the mood in the triclinium that night was celebratory as we passed the serving trays around the table. For a change, Marcellus had more than one cup of mulsum. Portia indulged in a half cup and I had a second. Publius and Marcus drank with their usual flourish.

  “Publius, how many men have been elected to the position of consul four times?” asked Marcus, after the food had been removed from the table and only the bowl of mulsum remained.

  “In the history of our people, many men. More than I can name. In the last eighty years, however, the position has been more roundly shared. Only Fabius had been elected to consul four times.” He lifted his cup. “Until your father.”

  “But didn’t Marcellus lose a consulship because of a lightning strike?” asked Portia. “Does that count?”

  “Why not?” grinned Marcellus, openly enjoying himself. “You know the story, and so does Marcus, but I doubt our Greek tutor does.”

  “No, sir, I don’t.”

  “Publius, you’re the historian. Do the honors.”

  Publius, well into his cups, didn’t hesitate. “Six years ago, a man by the name of Lucius Postumius Albinus was elected to the consulship. He left Rome with two legions and orders to put pressure on the Insubres in the Po Valley that Hannibal was recruiting as mercenaries. The march north took his army down a road that was lined with tall trees. The Gauls saw them coming and cut partially through a number of the trees, then hid behind them. When the Romans were fully extended down the road in files of four, the barbarians pushed the trees down, then showered the disarrayed soldiers with arrows and spears. The army was destroyed, and Postumius killed. When news of this reached Rome, Marcellus was elected as his replacement. But in the moments after the voting, a bolt of lightning lit the sky north of Mars Field. It was considered a bad omen and the vote was taken again with Marcellus’ name removed.”

  “I made the mistake that day of showing my disdain for such superstitions,” laugh
ed Marcellus. “It was the beginning of my falling out with the priesthood, and the year I removed myself from the College of Augurs.”

  “Dear husband, it seems you have forgotten how it was that you received your first consulship. Wasn’t it the result of the augurs intervening twice—because of what you call superstitions?”

  “I thought it was nonsense then as I do now. In all elections, I would prefer the choice be made on the merits of the man, not happenstance.”

  Portia’s respect for the gods was the most obvious point of contention between Marcellus and herself. She made certain that the rituals of home life were performed correctly. She abided by the religious holidays, and as I had witnessed, was currently exploring the cult of Isis. “For a man who has been graced by the gods as thoroughly as you,” she replied coolly, “your disrespect is unbecoming.”

  Marcellus acted as though he hadn’t heard her and took a deep swallow of the sweet mulsum.

  Portia looked to Marcus, who felt much the same way as she did, then to me. The tension showed in her eyes. “The first time Marcellus was elected to the consulship, Timon, it was on the third round of balloting. After the first round, there was a report that three moons had been seen in the night sky over Ariminum. The College of Augurs called for a second ballot. When the second pair of consuls performed the sacrifice at the Temple of Jupiter, one consul’s toga, which he’d used to cover his head, slipped to his shoulders as he prepared to read the entrails. The augurs immediately called for a third ballot. That was when Marcellus was chosen. I would say the gods had known all along who was the right man for the position. Marcellus’ first act as a consul was to put down a barbarian insurgency with the most glorious act of his career—the killing of Britomartus.” She glanced at her husband. “Marcellus simply can’t accept that the gods have blessed him.”

  Marcellus took another swig of mulsum and changed the subject. “There’s something in Publius’ story of Postumius that’s worth further discussion. The felling of the trees by the barbarians was ingenious, but, some say, without honor. I’ve heard the same said of Hannibal’s methods. For him, it seems, anything is honorable that brings victory.”

  Portia got up and left the table. Marcus watched his mother stride out of the room. Claudia got up and followed her.

  Marcellus leaned in toward the table, grinning, staring at Marcus to get his attention. “Hannibal never goes into battle without some advantage. Men hidden in ambush. The direction of the wind. The position of the sun. Every detail is considered. Just trailing him has proven dangerous. He’s as likely to march all night as peel back into the hills and descend on you as he did at Lake Trasimene. If we Romans are to survive, we must learn to think like this man and adopt some of his tactics—honorable or not. What are your thoughts, Marcus?”

  Marcus faced his father. “If there are gods, Father, then war must be honorable; without them, it’s merely meaningless carnage. Hannibal is a godless barbarian. He cares not one whit for honor.”

  Marcellus tilted his head toward Publius, a pretender to faith, then thoughtfully gazed at his son across the table. “Then do Hannibal’s actions absolve our generals of the need for honor?”

  “That’s for each general to determine for himself.”

  “And if you were in command?”

  “I believe in the gods. Honor would be my way.”

  “Do you recall what happened at Casilinum just after Fabius had been declared dictator? The order was not to engage Hannibal. This stood throughout the summer, and Hannibal, perhaps bored, perhaps frustrated, headed south to the richest harvest in Italy. Fabius guessed that Hannibal’s route would take him through the Falernian valley, thick with cattle and ripe wheat. Instead of stepping in to protect the farmland from the devastation of a huge foraging army, Fabius let him pillage, but he also placed his men at both ends of the valley, trapping Hannibal within.

  “Rather than risking a march through either defile, Hannibal marched his army into the center of the valley and challenged Fabius to fight right there. Fabius declined, preferring to patiently wait for Hannibal to try leaving the valley. It was genius for sure. He’d ensnared the entire Carthaginian army. Was it honorable to forfeit the farmland for a trap?”

  Publius laughed at the question. “Yes, of course, if it led to the destruction of Hannibal’s army.”

  “Agreed. Circumstance can change the meaning of honor—gods or not.” Marcellus sat back and grinned at his son who seemed distracted. “At the time, I gave Hannibal no chance of escaping. Many felt Fabius was about to prove that he was Rome’s greatest general.” Marcellus’ sense of destiny was something he downplayed in public, but alone with his family, he would let this facade down and speak in historic terms. “Have you heard this story, Marcus?” he asked. “Do you know what happened?”

  “You’ve told me five times, Father.”

  “How about you, Publius?”

  “I know the story well.”

  “For Timon then,” said Marcellus, his broad, hard face smirking with drink and good spirit, despite his son’s resistance. “Hannibal had gathered up two thousand head of cattle to take south with him. Knowing he was trapped and needing a diversion, he tied bundles of dried branches and grass to the horns of several hundred of these cattle. He waited until the darkest hour of the night and had his men put fire to these bundles of sticks, making torches of the cattle’s horns. His light infantry drove the cattle up into the forested hills on the east side of the valley. It must have been a marvelous sight. The Roman soldiers guarding the south end of the valley thought Hannibal was trying to make a midnight escape through the woods—as no doubt he might have.

  “Hannibal stood in wait with his entire train ready. As soon as the Romans left their position to pursue the cattle, his light infantry took possession of the defile. Hannibal then proceeded to march at double time out of the valley.

  “By the time the morning mist had cleared, and Fabius took inventory, Hannibal was well on his way to Beneventum unmolested.” Marcellus shook his head thinking about it. “There are so many ways a plan like that could go wrong. But that’s Hannibal. No risk is too great.” He nodded to impress the point. “And he’s lucky. Was that dishonorable, Marcus?”

  “It was deception,” said Marcus, clearly tired of his father’s game.

  “It was, but it also saved his army. That is honorable. This war demands a new standard. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “And that Hannibal is quite clever,” added Publius.

  “It’s what we’ll be up against in the coming months,” said Marcellus. “An enemy so adept at ruses and artifices you never quite know if you are taking on his army or taking his bait.”

  “Your point is made, Father. But it’s late. I must retire.”

  Marcellus nodded as though none of the undercurrents at the table had been there at all.

  Publius got up as Marcus did. “Congratulations, Marcellus, you have your command.”

  “Congratulations to you also, Publius. Without your help it would never have happened.”

  After the two men had walked out, Marcellus looked at me. “Timon, could Archimedes’ science help us? Could we build a machine to defeat Hannibal? Or design a maneuver to trap him? Is there some magic in geometry that can help us win this war?”

  I immediately thought of the lenses, then hesitated.

  “Well, Timon? Nothing?” pressed Marcellus, grinning at me, clearly feeling the drink.

  “I’m sure his catapults would be useful against any enemy, sir, but I don’t know the science to engineer them.”

  Marcus refilled my cup. I took a sip though I’d had enough.

  “What about the map of Rome you’ve been drawing?” he asked. “Marcus says it’s remarkably accurate. Could you create an equally accurate map of Italy while traveling with the army? The maps we have rarely represent what we actually see on the ground.”

  “I think I could, yes. I’ve learned a lot while mapping Rome.”

&nb
sp; “Could we chart the movement of Hannibal’s army? Could we trace its path through the course of an entire summer?”

  “Yes, I believe so. I’ll have to teach myself more than I know now, but it’s possible.”

  “Then be ready, Timon,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Your science may yet become one of our most valuable assets.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Marcellus had achieved his first goal, the consulship and command of an army in Italy, but the drawback to the consular position was that it came with responsibilities other than waging war. After the Senate agreed on the military strategy proposed earlier by Fabius, two issues came before the Senate in the week following the drawing of the lots.

  The first was the ongoing shortage of wheat. Wheat grew well enough in Italy, but Sicily had long been Rome’s breadbasket. With Hannibal’s army marching up and down the Italian peninsula, much of the wheat in Italy had been lost to Carthaginian foraging. This increased the importance of the crop in Sicily.

  Unfortunately, the Sicilian farms had also suffered because of the war. Even after the fall of Syracuse, the Carthaginians had an army stationed in Agrigentum. The cavalry officer Muttines of Hippacra, who had been trained by Hannibal and now served under the Carthaginian general Hanno, had spent much of the past year harassing Sicilian wheat farmers, greatly diminishing their yield. Out of desperation, the Senate decided to send an envoy to Alexandria to arrange for the purchase of wheat from Egypt. This involved a longer shipping route and higher prices, which only served to complicate the second issue.

  Eight years of war had emptied the Roman treasury. The spoils from Syracuse had done little more than pay for the past year’s military expenses. Now the Senate was scrambling for money to pay its soldiers. Due to the recent expansion of the navy, there was also a shortage of oarsmen and money to pay them. The Senate had issued an edict earlier in the year requiring all private citizens, based on their census rating, to provide oarsmen to the state, including money for their pay and thirty days of rations.