Troglius bit on the knuckle of his right hand, still struggling to look at me.
“What is it, Troglius?”
He suddenly blurted it out. “Because the disk made things look bigger, I thought it might allow me to see farther also. But it didn’t.”
Whatever simplicity of mind I might have attributed to this man was unfair. He had seen the magnifying quality of the lens and made a jump in logic few could. “What was it you wanted to see?”
Again he looked away, but he looked back quickly and leaned forward with a sly glimmer in one eye. “Do you remember Esmeralda?” he asked in a voice just above a whisper, then looked to his left and right, checking to see if anyone else might have heard him.
“The farm girl that the soldiers gave Marcellus as a gift. How could I forget her? You, Marcus, and I took her back to her father.”
Again he looked around to assure that no one was within earshot. “I wanted to see her again. I thought the glass would allow me to watch her from a distance without her seeing me.” As soon as he said it, he turned his eyes downward. “So beautiful a girl would not want someone like me looking at her. If I got close, I might frighten her.” He looked up as though he wanted me to verify his logic.
I nodded that I understood. “So you went to her farm to watch her?”
He nodded his head several times quickly. “I hid in the trees when she went down to the river to bathe.” He twisted his misshapen face into a knot of innocent lechery. “But the crystal didn’t work. Everything was blurry.”
I immediately thought of the day I had seen Moira through the lenses, when she had lowered the top of her chiton for the guards at the island gate. “It only works for very short distances—to make small things appear large,” I said. “It doesn’t work the other way.”
He seemed to think about this, then said, “Too bad.”
I slipped the thong over my head and dropped the pouch beneath my tunic, relieved to have the lenses back, but I couldn’t help thinking of Gyges peering through the curtains while Candaules’ wife undressed.
CHAPTER 61
The annual elections took place in Rome that spring without either of the co-consuls present. Quintus Fulvius Flaccus, the dictator chosen by the people and approved by the Senate, presided. The junior century of the Galeria tribe had the honor of naming the first nominees for consul. “Quintus Fabius Maximus and Quintus Fulvius Flaccus,” the centurion called out loud and clear. The tribune of the plebs Bibulus immediately vetoed Fulvius’ nomination, calling it unconstitutional for a dictator to be nominated for a magisterial position in an election he administered.
These were the early days of Cornelius Scipio’s rise to popularity. The Roman Senate was settling into two factions, the minority Scipionic faction that pushed the strategy of attacking Carthage and the majority Fabian faction that was determined to drive Hannibal from Italy through attrition. Bibulus, who supported the Scipionic faction, simply did not want two Fabians in the position of consul.
Fabius, of course, stepped forward and announced that there was a precedent. Seventy-five years earlier, Lucius Postumius Megellus, also serving as an interim dictator, had presided over his own election to a consulship with Gaius Junius Bubulcus.
Bibulus withdrew his veto with a lot of grumbling, and Fulvius’ nomination by the Galeria tribe stood. The majority of the centuries supported the nominees, and Fulvius, for the fourth time, and Fabius, for the fifth time, were elected as Rome’s co-consuls, extending the Fabian influence in Roman politics another year.
In a minor victory for the Scipionic faction, Licinius was elected as one of the censors. His two magisterial positions, censor and pontifex maximus, made him arguably the second most powerful man in Rome.
I was in headquarters working on the map of Italy when the new prefects, Gaius Claudius Nero and Junius Pennus, arrived. Claudius Nero, like Lentulus, was another of the young and ambitious Roman officers Marcellus had requested for his staff. In contrast to the personable Lentulus, Nero, from the patrician branch of the Claudian name, was a commander driven by discipline, known to be arrogant and brash. Powerfully built and handsome in a rough way, he burst into the tent, eyes lit, carrying a leather courier’s packet. He strode across the tent with a big grin and handed the packet to Marcellus. “Orders to chase down Hannibal, sir.”
Pennus ducked in like a shadow, head down, a completely different kind of man. He came up alongside Nero and watched Marcellus open the packet.
Marcellus withdrew a piece of papyrus folded in thirds. The red wax seal stamped with Fabius’ signet ring had lifted off the papyrus. Marcellus held the open letter out to Nero. “Why is this seal broken?”
Lentulus and Purpurio entered the tent. They knew the prefects carried our orders and had followed them to headquarters. The situation was evident to them immediately.
Nero grinned. “It’s a long ride, sir. That packet got some jostling.”
Marcellus had only met the man once before. He didn’t like his answer. He looked at Pennus. “Did anyone besides the two of you have access to this letter?”
Nero suddenly stopped grinning. “No, General. The packet was in my possession throughout the trip from Rome.”
“Did either of you read these orders?”
Pennus looked at the floor.
“No,” Nero replied. “They are from the Senate to you.”
Marcellus opened the letter. He read it quickly, then looked up at the four officers in front of him and led them over to the map table. I backed away to give them room.
“Our orders are to keep pressure on Hannibal so that the armies in the south can concentrate on taking cities with Carthaginian garrisons. Fabius plans to start with Manduria.” He pointed to Manduria on the map. “Then move on to Tarentum for a full scale siege.” His finger slid south to Italy’s bootheel. “He will have two legions, plus thirty warships from Sicily to blockade the harbor.” He moved his finger north. “Fulvius will receive two legions, also from Sicily. He will be in Samnium to patrol the west side of the Apennines and pressure Carthaginian outposts there. Quinctius Crispinus will have a legion in Capua, and a portion of the citizen garrison at Rhegium will be used to besiege the city of Caulonia.” The four commanders watched Marcellus place markers on the map.
“We will retain the two legions we have now. Claudius Nero will command the levies from Venusia, Junius Pennus the levies from Brundisium. They will be here next week.” He looked up at both men. “Expect rough recruits.” His eyes remained on Nero. “Our first task will be to chase down Hannibal.”
Nero gave a quick glance to the other commanders. “That’s why I’m here, General. I heard that last year’s campaign was unusually frustrating. I think I can help with that. I want a chance at Hannibal.”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, General. But passion without battle sense is a sure way to fail when engaging Hannibal.”
Nero lifted his chin. “I know what I’m doing on a battlefield.”
Marcellus tipped his head. “If what you’ve said, and the way you’ve said it, are any indication, you have a lot to learn. Just follow my orders and you’ll get your chance at Hannibal.”
Nero’s body went taut and his eyes lit like beacons. Marcellus looked right through him, then turned to his other prefect. “Have you anything to say, General?”
“I recall, sir, that you were presiding over the Senate when six cities spoke out against providing soldiers for the war.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“It’s twelve now. They came to Rome after the elections with a petition. They have no money and no young men. One representative even had the nerve to say that Hannibal treats his prisoners better than we treat their levies.”
Marcellus glanced at the other officers.
“He returns his allied prisoners to their homes. We keep them in foreign lands for years on end.”
Marcellus frowned. “But they’re fighting for the glory of Rome.”
“Yes, of
course, sir. I just thought you should know.”
The augur who traveled with us changed with each campaign. This time the priest was a man by the name of Cassius Regulus. He came to the tent after the officers had left. I was still there. Marcellus briefed him just as he had Varus Nasica. Regulus immediately took offense, but Marcellus was too intimidating and his message stuck. Mars would have nothing but approval for anything we did the entire summer.
CHAPTER 62
Hannibal and his army marched out of their winter quarters in Tarentum in late April. They headed north through Apulia toward Canusium, which had remained loyal to Rome throughout the war. According to the reports we received, Hannibal was convinced that Tarentum was secure and felt that control of Canusium was the best way to keep a route open to the north. Marcellus saw this as confirmation that Hasdrubal would come through the Alps.
As soon as Fabius learned of Hannibal’s departure from Tarentum, he left Rome headed south on Via Latina to Manduria just north of Italy’s boot heel. At the same time, eight thousand soldiers from the garrison in Rhegium set off for Caulonia, a Carthaginian controlled seaport on the instep of the boot. Fulvius, a hundred miles to the north, settled into Lucania with his two legions to pressure three small Carthaginian garrisons in that region. We headed to Canusium.
Nothing could have pleased Marcellus more. The previous summer’s campaign had been extremely difficult, but he was convinced more than ever now that given a second chance at Hannibal he would be victorious.
Hannibal was camped outside Canusium when word reached him that Marcellus was on his way. With no help yet from Carthage and his brother still in Spain, he wanted no part of a confrontation with Marcellus. He struck camp and disappeared into the wooded ridges on the east bank of the Aufidus River.
When we arrived in Canusium, twenty thousand strong, Hannibal was gone. We camped there one night, then set off after him. The situation quickly deteriorated into the same game of cat and mouse that we had played the year before, but this time we were giving Fabius a chance to prepare for his siege of Tarentum.
We trailed Hannibal for a full month in Apulia trying to draw him into battle. Several times our foraging parties engaged in minor skirmishes, but we never got close enough to Hannibal to offer battle.
The tension in our camp increased with each passing day. The men could endure much in battle, but when the prospect of battle rose and fell, again and again, they got edgy. Many of the soldiers had taken part in the previous campaign and wanted nothing of this fruitless harvest. Impatience spread throughout the camp, especially among the new officers.
Hannibal zigzagged south by southwest across the mountains in the direction of Lucania until his scouts ran into Fulvius’ two legions in Samnium. Fulvius had already taken two Carthaginian outposts in the region and was in Samnium to block the Appian Way as protection for Fabius. With a Roman army in front of him and one behind, Hannibal had no choice but to go east. He withdrew from the safety of the wooded hills and marched double time across the plain between Asculum and what had been Herdonea.
As soon as our scouts reported Hannibal’s sudden change of direction, Marcellus called for double time and extended our day of marching until sunset. We caught Hannibal midafternoon three days later as he was setting up camp on the eastern edge of a valley north of Asculum. Rather than encamp, Marcellus gave the order to reconfigure the column into battle formation. Barely breaking step, we stormed the Carthaginians while they were still building their ramparts.
Hannibal managed to hastily assemble his men across the unfinished face of the camp. Just enough of the palisades had been completed to provide some protection. Despite the surprise, a trapped army fights for its life, and the Carthaginian army was able to hold us off until dusk. Had the day been longer we might have prevailed, but as night descended, we withdrew to the opposite end of the valley and assembled our camp in the moonlight, determined to press Hannibal again the next day.
Between our camps was a wide flat valley. It had no ravines or significant stands of trees to stage an ambush. Hannibal’s advantage would be what always gave him the edge, his cavalry, but as far as Marcellus was concerned, this setting was as close to a level playing field as he could expect. He held a meeting late that night in the headquarters’ tent. I had been there since the tables were set up, preparing a map of the prospective battlefield.
The four legion commanders were there, as were Asellus, Marcus, and the tribune Gaius Flavus. All the men were physically imposing, but Purpurio, Nero, and Lentulus added huge egos to their presence. This group had gathered many times during the campaign, but never with the prospect of combat in the morning.
Claudius Nero was in a wild state. He had killed twenty men in the fighting earlier that day. “I got a good look at Hannibal today,” he said on entering the tent, his eyes blazing with battle lust, a blood-stained gladius at his hip. “He looked ripe for the kill.”
“You will get your chance tomorrow,” replied Asellus, still weighing the character of this haughty man he had only recently met.
Nero stood up to the map table, grinning in a way that seemed inhuman. “I wish the sun were rising now. I can’t wait for the night to pass.”
Marcellus took a moment to appraise his eager new general, a man not yet forty years of age. “And yet we must wait, General. After today, the men will need all the sleep they can get. Be aware, though, nothing is ever settled so easily with that man across the way. We have no promise that Hannibal will accept battle tomorrow or even that he will be in this valley when the sun comes up.”
Nero laughed freely. “No great general turns down battle.”
Marcellus might have said the same thing five years earlier. He shook his head on this night. “Even the greatest general must know when to fight and when not to.”
Nero sneered. “What, are you another Fabian? I thought a lion sired you.”
Marcellus reached across the table and took hold of Nero’s tunic at the collar and yanked the younger, more vital man halfway across the table. “No, it was Mars himself, General,” Marcellus snarled. “Watch your mouth or you’ll lose your command. I requested that you join my staff because of your hard edge, and you rose to the occasion in battle today, but respect for your superiors is just as important as courage or passion.”
He let go of Nero. The nearly rabid prefect straightened his tunic and glared down at the ground, as though it were taking all his restraint not to yank out his gladius and challenge Marcellus then and there.
Marcellus addressed the other men. “Most of you were with us last year. For those who weren’t, one thing we’ve learned is that Hannibal is as clever as Odysseus. He does more than study the battlefield. He studies his adversaries. Is this general a hothead?” He looked at Nero. “Is this man too cautious? His every move has a purpose, even when he declines battle. I suspect he knows that my anxious young officers are chafing now, drawing us from the real task at hand—preparing for tomorrow.”
Lentulus had missed the engagement outside Numistro during the previous campaign, but had firsthand frustration with the game of chase. Like Nero, he had also killed his share of men that day and glowed with the thirst for blood. “What will we do, sir, if Hannibal refuses our offer?”
“Prepare for battle the next day just as we are doing now.”
Marcellus proceeded to lay out a strategy for the morning. It resembled the approach taken at Numistro, but with no walled city to protect one flank.
Scouts would go out before dawn and scour the surrounding forests for hidden Carthaginian contingents. If there was no reason for concern, the soldiers would take the battlefield. We would form two lines, two legions across. Asellus would split the cavalry to defend the flanks. Marcellus emphasized the need for order in the ranks.
He placed the markers on the map I had sketched, then spoke at length on the Numidian cavalry’s tactics. “Again we’ll depend on Asellus to keep them at bay, away from our camp and off of our back.”
/>
After the confrontation with Nero, the commanders remained quiet, clearly focused by Marcellus’ intensity.
“Our strength is our heavy infantry. I’m convinced our first line can handle anything Hannibal has to offer. Tell that to your men. Tell them they are the heart and soul of the Roman army. And that they are invincible if they believe they are.
“I fully expect to destroy Hannibal’s army this summer. If not tomorrow, then next week or the one following that. That’s what we are here for. Impress that on your soldiers.” He looked at Nero and repeated what he had said earlier. “Stick to the battle plan. Maintain order in the ranks. That’s the only way we can succeed. Final orders at dawn.”
With that the officers filed out of the tent. Marcus and Lentulus were the last to leave. Lentulus lifted the tent flap, then suddenly stopped and looked at me. “What say you, Greek? Does your science tell us if Hannibal will be there to fight in the morning?”
“Science is the analysis of certainties—the laws of figures and forms,” I said. “When it comes to the whims of men, science has little to offer. Only your gods can answer to that.”
Lentulus was a curious mix of intellect and emotion. I always struggled to read him. Marcellus had already buried his head in the map, but Marcus paused beside his friend, waiting for a response.
Lentulus suddenly grinned. “Fair enough, Greek. Let the gods keep their secrets. Tomorrow will be what it must be.” He spun around and walked out of the tent.
CHAPTER 63
Marcellus had seen Hannibal break camp in the middle of the night too many times. Scouts searched the surrounding area and watched the Carthaginian camp from dusk to dawn. The first news to circulate around the pre-dawn campfires was that Hannibal had not left and that we would offer battle. Our tent unit was already eating. Horatius heard the news and immediately vomited up everything he had eaten.
The Death of Marcellus Page 32
