The Death of Marcellus

by Dan Armstrong

  Troglius and Gnaeus returned to pulling out pikes. Seppius continued with his contempt. “The man’s a coward.”

  Pulcher cut off the conversation. “It doesn’t matter what any of us think. We have no choice but to trust the consul. Now get back to work.”

  CHAPTER 44

  The chase resumed. Hannibal zigzagged his way south through Apulia to Calabria. Twice more in the next three weeks he stopped to camp and forage. Both times we scoured the area for traps. The first time we found no traps and offered battle. Hannibal refused and slipped off the next night.

  The second time, two ravines ran the length of the huge grassy pasture between our camps. Marcellus immediately ruled out combat. “This location too clearly fits the methods of the general across the way,” he said that night. “There are too many opportunities for deception.”

  “And everywhere to ride,” added Asellus. “The Numidian horse would be difficult to contain.”

  “Even if he offers battle tomorrow, we won’t answer?” Purpurio struggled every time Marcellus dictated this kind of restraint.

  “That’s right, General,” replied Marcellus.

  “You test the limits of our men, Consul. They’ve been stood up too many times. They want Hannibal more than ever right now. Don’t waste this passion in our men. The ground doesn’t matter one way or the other when our men are this eager for combat.”

  The allied commanders said nothing. Marcellus’ mind was set. Purpurio’s was not.

  “You’re beginning to sound like Fabius, sir. You’re too willing to delay when we have the man right here, right now.”

  Lentulus, with us less than a month, was also starting to get edgy. Like all the young generals, he sought glory. “I agree, Consul. There’s a reason Hannibal’s not fighting. We may not know what it is, but it can’t all be strategy. His men must also be getting restless. Let’s at least set formation to give it a chance.”

  Marcellus wanted his commanders to express their thoughts. He needed to know what they were thinking and what their men were thinking, but he felt no need to justify his decisions to anyone. “We will not offer battle tomorrow. If Hannibal does, we’ll talk about it again tomorrow night. As I’ve already said, this ground is too much to his liking and not enough to mine.”

  The next morning Hannibal did offer battle. Marcellus stuck to his word. Only the scouts left camp. Four didn’t come back. One reported that the ravines were hiding close to a thousand light infantry on what would have been our right flank. Another saw three hundred horse hidden on the left. Marcellus had been right again.

  The following morning Hannibal was gone.

  CHAPTER 45

  With Hannibal traveling by night and us marching by day, we continued south toward the boot heel of Italy. As we set up camp at the end of the fourth day, a trio of Roman soldiers coming from the north on horseback requested an audience with Marcellus. Soon afterward I was relieved of my duties and told to bring my wax pad to a location just outside the perimeter of the camp where Marcellus stood with Purpurio, Lentulus, and the dismounted riders.

  One of the riders, a soldier by the name of Helvius, was speaking to Marcellus as I walked up to the group of six. “We have come directly from Rome, Consul,” I heard him say. “We have a message from the Senate with updates from the other provinces.”

  “Go ahead,” said Marcellus, giving a nod to me to take notes.

  “The Senate received a report from Laevinus in Sicily. The Carthaginian cavalry officer Muttines, who had been raiding farms throughout Sicily, has changed sides. Apparently a conflict between Muttines and the Carthaginian general Hanno led Muttines to betray Agrigentum to Laevinus. Hanno has returned to Africa. The fall of Agrigentum has led to the betrayal of ten other Carthaginian controlled cities in Sicily. Several others have gone over peacefully. Laevinus projects the war in Sicily will be over by the end of the summer.”

  Marcellus took this information with little reaction.

  Helvius continued. “Word has come from Spain that Cornelius Scipio has besieged and taken Cartagena.”

  Marcellus tilted his head. This was extremely good news and equally surprising. “Scipio?” he said. “He’s only twenty-five years old.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is there more?”

  “A few weeks back, Marcus Livius Macatus, the commander of the garrison in Tarentum, learned that several thousand Tarentines and Carthaginian soldiers had left the city and spread out in the countryside to forage for the coming winter. Livius slipped out of the citadel at night with a contingent of his best men and methodically wiped out one foraging party after another before anyone knew he’d left the city. He returned with considerable grain reserves. It’s given new life to the standoff at Tarentum.”

  Tarentum was only four days march from where we were. Marcellus turned to Purpurio and Lentulus, acknowledging this could impact Hannibal’s movements.

  “Is that it?” asked Marcellus. “All good news?”

  “No, sir. After Laevinus secured Sicily, he sent Valerius Messalla to Africa with fifty ships to raid the coast and determine Carthage’s reaction to the fall of Agrigentum and Cartagena.” Helvius glanced at the men he had ridden with, then back to Marcellus. “Messalla had unexpected luck in a raid outside Utica. He captured several high ranking officers and brought them back to Laevinus in Sicily. Laevinus questioned the men under extreme pressure. He learned that Carthage has assembled five thousand Numidian cavalry and five thousand Libyan foot soldiers to send to Hannibal’s brother Hasdrubal in Spain—with orders to come to Italy to join Hannibal as soon as possible.”

  Marcellus looked down at the ground.

  “Will they come by sea?” asked Purpurio.

  “It’s not known,” said Helvius, “but many in the Senate believe with Tarentum still tied up, they will have to go the northern route through the Alps.”

  “Meaning not until next spring,” replied Marcellus.

  “Most likely,” said Helvius.

  “Anything else?” asked Marcellus.

  “This news has the entire Senate on edge, sir. They are asking both you and Laevinus to return to Rome as soon as possible.”

  This request struck Marcellus even harder than the news that Hannibal’s brother was coming to Italy.

  “Laevinus will have to do,” said Marcellus. “I finally have Hannibal on the run. Tell the Senate I’m not going anywhere. With Hasdrubal likely to arrive next spring, there’s no time like the present to take on Hannibal.”

  CHAPTER 46

  We didn’t set camp opposite Hannibal again that summer. That game was over. The recent setback in Tarentum had changed Hannibal’s priorities. With Salapia lost and his alliance with King Philip uncertain but still on the table, Tarentum had become the most important marker on the map for the Carthaginian field marshal. He weaved his way south through the valleys of Lucania to Tarentum, foraging for grain the entire way, then sealed himself inside the city, with Marcus Livius and his garrison of Roman soldiers still holding out in its citadel. We marched north to Venusia to set camp for the winter.

  Meanwhile, more issues in Rome demanded consular attention. Both consuls were busy in their provinces, but one of them needed to return to Rome to appoint a dictator to preside over the elections later that winter. Marcellus had no interest in going back to Rome, but Laevinus had just heard rumors that Carthage was assembling another large fleet to send to Sicily. He felt it was imperative for him to remain in Syracuse. Marcellus was much closer to Rome. Out of duty Marcellus accepted the bothersome chore.

  The night before Marcellus left for Rome he called a meeting with Purpurio, Lentulus, and Asellus. Marcus was there, as was the tribune Gaius Flavus.

  It was mid-December and raining. Four braziers burned in the corners of the headquarters’ tent. All the officers wore wool cloaks over their tunics. Marcellus stood beside the map of Italy and reviewed the positions of the other Roman armies. The path of Hannibal’s army through the summer,
which I had traced onto the map, curled and twisted from Herdonea through Apulia and south to Lucania, ending in Tarentum.

  “I will return as soon as possible,” said Marcellus. “Judging from Hannibal’s actions during the summer and his early retreat to Tarentum, I believe he’ll stay on the defensive until his brother arrives from Spain. That may explain his caution this summer.

  “It seems unlikely that Hasdrubal will bring his army by sea. I also feel that King Philip has enough on his hands in Greece that he won’t soon answer Hannibal’s call. Still, the only port in the south suitable for large transport ships is Tarentum. I will recommend increased pressure there if only to assure that Hasdrubal must come through the mountains. That can’t be done without tremendous cost to his troops.

  “Your duty through the winter is to keep an eye on Hannibal. I doubt he will venture out of Tarentum until the spring, but the movement of his brother might change that.

  “I’m putting Purpurio in command. I will travel with a contingent of our soldiers tomorrow. The troops from Fregellae and Aesernia will come with us. They’ll be returning to their homes. Our two legions will remain here for the duration.

  “General,” he said, addressing Purpurio, “keep a constant rotation of scouts in the south, watching Tarentum. If Hannibal leaves the city for any reason, get a message to me in Rome. Trail him, but do not engage in battle until I can return. Any questions?”

  “It would be wise to increase the size of our cavalry, sir,” said Asellus. “If our strategy remains the same next summer, it would allow us to offer battle without logistical protection to either flank.”

  Marcellus nodded. “I have thought the same thing, Tribune. It will require more funding. I will work on that while I’m gone.”

  Lentulus followed. “The men will become restless staying here for the entire winter, sir. Is it possible to send a rotation of them home for short periods? I believe it would be good for morale after what has been an exceedingly frustrating campaign.”

  Marcellus looked down at the map, thinking. After a moment, he said, “Yes. There are twenty cohorts. Continue exercises through the winter and reward the best cohorts in each legion with two weeks of staggered leave.”

  “What about concentrating more men at the south end of the peninsula?” asked Purpurio. “We could spend less time marching and more time fighting if we had a few more legions.”

  Marcellus nodded. “Yes, that’s something to think about.”

  “Won’t that depend on Hasdrubal’s route to Italy?” asked Lentulus. “If he comes through the Alps, we’ll have both ends of the peninsula to defend. That might spread us a little thin.”

  “That’s why I’d hoped to take Hannibal this year. I think he’s under great pressure right now. We’ll make a decision on defending the north when we have more information. Anything else?”

  No one spoke up. “The camp is yours tomorrow, General. I’ll see what I can do in Rome.”

  The meeting adjourned. Marcellus asked Marcus to remain afterward. I stayed to review my notes with Marcellus, as had become our custom.

  “Marcus,” said Marcellus. “I’m leaving you here. Timon will be going with me.” This was the first I had heard of it. “I’ve asked Purpurio to take you as his aid. You know what I think and how I think. Advise him as I would. No unwanted risks.”

  “Of course, Father. Please give my regards to Mother when you get home.”

  As Marcus turned to leave, one of the guards outside the tent pulled open the flap. “Consul, two centurions request permission to speak with you.”

  “Send them in,” replied Marcellus, already back at the map that he studied so often it may as well have been drawn inside his head.

  Marcus stood back as Statorius and another centurion pushed through the tent entrance dragging a young black-haired woman by the arms. The woman stumbled forward and fell onto her hands and knees. Her simple woolen dress had a long tear in it, revealing her left leg up to the hip. Her hair hung in her face in twisted hanks. She looked up through the knotted strands and glared at us like a wild animal.

  Statorius beamed. “Sir, we wanted to give you a gift before you leave.”

  “The guards found her outside the camp asking for handouts,” said the second centurion. “We thought she might earn herself a meal.”

  “She’s quite a beaut, Consul,” added Statorius with a wink. “And passionate, too.” Long red scratches ran down both of his forearms.

  The young woman stood warily and pushed her hair out of her face. Even with smudges of dirt on her chin and forehead, she was beautiful and very young—fourteen perhaps, with piercing green eyes, filled with fire.

  Marcellus briefly appraised the woman, then looked at the soldiers. “You may go.” As they turned away, he added, “Thank the men.”

  “Aye,” called Statorius over his shoulder. Then he chuckled and put an elbow in the other centurion’s ribs.

  As soon as they were gone, the woman dove at me, snatched the dagger from my belt, and ran to a corner of the tent. “Don’t touch me,” she cried out, waving the knife back and forth.

  Marcellus put out his hand. “I have no intention of hurting you.” The conviction in his voice was enough to confirm his sincerity. “What is your name?”

  “Esmeralda,” she snapped, dagger outstretched, still wary.

  “And you live in Venusia?”

  “My father has a farm nearby. The war has left us with no harvest. We’re starving.”

  Half a loaf of bread lay on the table beside the divan. Marcellus offered it to her.

  She snatched it from his hand and immediately took a big bite.

  “Esmeralda,” said Marcellus, “the Roman army is not here to take advantage of the local people. We are here to end this war so that you and the others in Apulia can return to your farms.”

  Marcellus turned to Marcus. “Get this young woman a bag of wheat. Escort her back to her home. Make sure she and her father understand we are here to help. Timon, carry the wheat for her. And be prepared to leave with me tomorrow at daybreak.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Marcus lifted the tent flap. “Stay close to us, Esmeralda. You’ll be safer that way. And please return the scribe’s dagger.”

  Still cowering in the corner, Esmeralda eyed both of us and took another big bite of the bread. I wanted to reach out to her, but I wasn’t sure how she would react.

  She swallowed the bread and slowly came out of the corner. She extended the knife to me with suspicion.

  “Come, Esmeralda,” said Marcus, as I took the knife from her, “the sooner you’re out of this camp the better for all of us.”

  She hurried out of the tent and we followed. Even though it was dark, many of the soldiers knew about the “gift” to Marcellus. As we walked to the main gate, one crude remark after another chorused from the line of tents.

  Marcus decided to bring four other soldiers with us. By chance Troglius was chosen. The young woman’s farm was no more than a mile away. Marcus introduced himself to her father and apologized for the incident.

  Outside the door to her home, lit by an oil lamp held by her father, Esmeralda finally graced us with a smile. All of us were struck by her beauty. Even Marcus, seemingly impervious to the charms of women, stared.

  Once we were well away from her house, Marcus commented. “That girl will be a lovely woman when she has a few more years.”

  I nodded. “She could steal my heart right now.” I would have guessed her father was Greek.

  Troglius walked behind me and sped up his pace to whisper, “That’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  I nodded, surprised that he would say anything at all.

  CHAPTER 47

  I woke before dawn the next morning. I stumbled from the tent to the camp latrine knowing I had to be ready to leave by daybreak. The allied commanders were already assembling their troops to begin the trek north when I realized that the pouch around my neck was gone. My heart raced.
I ran back to the tent to see if it had somehow fallen off when I was asleep.

  The others from my unit were sitting around the campfire, preparing a large pot of wheat gruel. Pulcher called out as I went into the tent. “We lose the Greek today, boys. How will we ever survive?”

  I heard them laugh as I went to my knees beside my bedroll, pawing through the blankets, looking for the pouch. It wasn’t there. I looked around the tent. I knew the others were just outside, but I couldn’t help myself. I checked through all their belongings as well. Nothing.

  I packed my bedroll wondering what to do. Should I ask my tentmates if they had seen the pouch? They all knew that I had it, and not that many others in the camp did. Had I simply lost it? Could it have slipped from my neck the night before when we returned the young woman to her father? Or had it been stolen while I was asleep? The days were long and hard. We slept like we were dead. Anyone could have taken it. What about Statorius? He hadn’t liked the attention I’d gotten when we looked at the butterfly. But I couldn’t confront him or anyone else without causing trouble. I was running out of time. The crystal lens was rare and valuable, but using the two lenses together was profound. My stomach sank. What was I to do?

  I left my belongings in the tent and went out into the morning. Seppius offered me a cup of gruel, but I had no appetite and hurried off in the direction of the gate. I must have dropped the pouch the night before. I ran out of the camp and retraced the route we had taken. The column had already begun to form outside the camp. I had to hurry.

  I scoured the path all the way to the farmhouse. The farmer was out front and gave me a look. I immediately turned around and rushed back to the camp, barely looking at the ground. I was so upset I was shaking