The Death of Marcellus

by Dan Armstrong

  Scipio’s most notable achievement of the summer, at least to the populace of Rome, had been drawing Hasdrubal south to Baecula, then soundly defeating him. Though Hasdrubal had escaped with several of his top officers, his army was decimated—eight thousand dead, ten thousand captured, two thousand horses lost. The defeat prevented Hasdrubal from coming to Italy that summer. This meant more waiting for Hannibal, whose strategy had already been reduced to wholesale foraging and raids on lesser cities.

  Perhaps of greater importance, Scipio had proven himself as adept a diplomat as he was a soldier. Demonstrating a generosity and nobility that even the wild Celtibarians could not fail to recognize, Scipio had successfully courted Spain’s most influential tribal leaders, building new alliances and effectively denying the Carthaginian generals a local source of mercenaries. With these achievements, Scipio’s plan to invade Africa gained a greater following of senators.

  CHAPTER 72

  Upon entering Rome, Marcellus, Marcus, and I went to the Claudian residence where Balius had been stabled. The three of us rode out to the farm that afternoon. Our greeting at the villa was subdued. The slaves waved from the fields. The dogs came running. Edeco took the bridles of our three horses, and after a word of greeting, led them to the stable to be groomed.

  Portia came out on the front step. Meda stood behind in the doorway. When Marcus embraced his mother, Marcellus, who had grown increasingly moody in the dark days at Venusia, strode into the house without a word to anyone.

  Portia didn’t miss it. “What has happened, Marcus?”

  “It was a hard campaign, Mother. I remember none harder.” He took her hand. “Hannibal still ravages the Italian countryside. We missed a chance to defeat him. Father couldn’t be more frustrated.”

  Portia turned to me as Marcus entered the house. I could never look at her without seeing the secrets in her eyes. “And you, Timon?”

  “The campaign was difficult for all of us, but I found what I’d lost.” Though I didn’t believe Paculla’s reading had anything to do with it, I thanked Portia for her help.

  Meda prepared a big meal—roasted chicken, quail eggs, and chickpeas. Publius and Claudia came out from Rome to join us, so there were six of us in the triclinium. Marcellus remained withdrawn. Only Publius’ gossip drew him out of his shell.

  “You know, Marcellus, they’re talking about taking away your command.”

  Marcellus turned to his son-in-law. “What do you mean, they?”

  “The other side of the Senate. Licinius has become a mouthpiece for the faction that favors an invasion of Africa. Young Scipio has made a big impression on the people. He’s returned from Spain to press the issue.”

  Marcellus glared down at the half–eaten meal on his plate.

  “Bibulus is with them. He’s condemned you for spending half the summer in Venusia.”

  “What would he know?” said Marcellus angrily. “He spent the summer in Rome.”

  “Yes, at the forum, talking you down.”

  Marcellus had only one thing on his mind—Hannibal. Taking his command away would leave him without an army. I believe he would have sooner given up the lives of his family. He stood from the table.

  “It’s already been discussed in the Senate, Marcellus. They’re going to make you defend your actions in a public debate before the Tribal Assembly. Not everyone knows this yet, but it’s what I’ve heard. Some people don’t want you leading an army again.”

  Marcellus seemed to swell with anger. I wondered if he might split the table in half with his fist. Bibulus hadn’t been there in Venusia. He hadn’t witnessed those three days in Asculum. He hadn’t seen the scar on Marcellus’ thigh.

  Marcellus abruptly left the room. I could hear his footsteps as he crossed the atrium to the peristyle. I imagined him walking out into the harvested wheat fields to scream at the moon.

  Everyone at the table fell silent. Even Portia, who had long tired of hearing Hannibal’s name at her dinner table, seemed to understand her husband’s anguish.

  Claudia broke the spell. “When’s the wedding, Marcus?”

  Portia answered. “Two weeks after the elections, so all of the political haggling is out of the way.”

  “Are you excited, Brother?”

  After what I had told him about Sempronia, he was, but his reply was subdued. “As any man would be.”

  “What about you, Timon? You tutor the young bride.”

  “I wish she were promised to me.” I said the truth as a way of hiding it. “Marcus will be pleased.”

  “Not another word, Timon,” reproached Portia. “Marcus will meet her soon enough and make his own judgment. But that reminds me. Sempronia requested more tutoring before the wedding. Her mother and I will arrange a time for next week.”

  Only locating my mother could have pleased me more.

  CHAPTER 73

  Publius Metellus was right. The Senate had decided to review Marcellus’ command. A debate would take place at the Circus Flaminius, the new arena at the south edge of Mars Field. The outspoken tribune of the plebs, Gaius Bibulus, would present the case to revoke Marcellus’ position as a field marshal. Marcellus would be given a chance to respond to Bibulus’ criticism.

  Marcellus was furious. As far as he was concerned, it was all about politics and had nothing to do with his capacity as an officer. While many issues split the Senate into factions, the rift between the Fabian faction and the Scipionic faction had grown from a minor bother a year earlier to the central question facing the Senate. Younger men, Scipio, Licinius, Laevinus, and Bibulus, led a group who wanted to force the older men out. Despite the success of the Fabian strategy early in the war, many felt the delaying tactic was no longer needed.

  Marcellus certainly agreed, but he didn’t think the next step was a siege of Carthage. He wanted Hannibal and he wanted him for himself. Playing the game with Fabius was his best chance for accomplishing that. Fabius, a man Marcellus had taunted at the beginning of the war, had become his ally by default.

  The debate took place a week after our arrival in Rome. The citizens began filing into Circus Flaminius as soon as the sun was up. More than fifty thousand people had packed the huge stadium by the time the debate began. As a gathering of the Tribal Assembly, one of the consuls, Quintus Fulvius, presided. The People’s Assembly would vote on the issue the following day.

  The Senate filled an entire section on the north side of the rectangular stadium. A stage with a podium had been placed on the stadium’s dirt floor so that it faced the senators. I sat with Marcus well east of the senators, where we had to strain to hear the speakers.

  Fulvius opened the proceedings by describing the state of the war, its history, the difficulties Roman generals had encountered with Hannibal, and the events that had taken place during the summer. He presented a view of the war based on a favorable interpretation of the Fabian strategy. When he spoke specifically to Marcellus’ career, he emphasized that no other Roman general had held his own on the battlefield with Hannibal.

  In what was very much a Greek-style debate, democracy dramatized by gifted orators, Bibulus was the first to speak. The tribune of the plebs’ voice was loud and commanding. He took issue with several of Fulvius’ statements and stretched the facts to his purposes. He stomped and postured at all the proper times. He recounted Roman history back to the days of King Tarquin, highlighting all the storied battles and grand triumphs, leading up to the past summer and what he called the “embarrassment in Asculum.”

  “Citizens of Rome,” he called out loud enough for the huge crowd to hear, “the man whose command I call in question, Marcus Claudius Marcellus, so often celebrated as one of the great generals of our time, was undone by Hannibal on two consecutive days this last summer at the cost of nearly half his men. But even worse, Marcellus tucked his tail between his legs and slunk off to Venusia afterward. For three full months he did nothing, as though the season for combat ended in the middle of July.

  “I can�
�t imagine what anyone could possibly do in Venusia for that length of time. While our general seemingly slept, Hannibal rampaged from one end of southern Italy to the other, harvesting our wheat, enjoying our orchards, and raping our women and children. Nothing was done to stop him. It seems the Fabian strategy of letting Hannibal feast on Latin abundance has infected the once heroic Marcellus.”

  Marcus, sitting beside me, stood up and shouted at Bibulus. Several men around us told him to keep quiet. I pulled him back into his seat before he tried to take on each man one at a time.

  “We have become a nation led by old men,” Bibulus continued. “Marcellus fights two battles and then he’s done for the summer. After Fabius takes Tarentum, he believes his work is complete. Fulvius, here, restores Roman garrisons to a few small villages in Samnium, then he also retires for the summer. If we’re going to force Hannibal from Italy, it cannot be under the guidance of reluctant old men. It cannot be with half-hearted efforts on the battlefield. It cannot be with two-month campaigns.

  “If Hannibal truly cannot be defeated, as we keep hearing from men like Fabius, and as demonstrated time and time again by generals like Marcellus, then maybe it’s time to take the war to Africa. Maybe it’s time to go straight to the walls of Carthage. There’s no better way to rid Italy of the invaders.

  “And that’s why I demand the recall of Marcellus’ command. The man is living off heroics from his youth. He has nothing to show for his last five campaigns but the siege of a city so far from Rome it was barely relevant to the war. It’s time for a new generation of Roman leaders. Men like Gaius Claudius Nero.”

  A good portion of those in attendance cheered in approval. Marcus looked at me. “One of our own?”

  I recalled the arguments between Nero and Marcellus during our time in Venusia.

  “Men like Marcus Valerius Laevinus,” continued Bibulus.

  Marcus shook his head as the audience once again cheered.

  “Men like Publius Cornelius Scipio.” The crowd’s approval increased to a unified and sustained roar.

  “Yes, I hear you!” called out Bibulus. “You know this as well as I do. With your vote tomorrow, we can strip aging Marcellus of his command and finally have a chance to win this war.”

  The crowd loved the passionate oratory. What made debates of this kind so popular was the fickle nature of the crowd. Logic didn’t seem to matter. One man might win them over with an emotional speech. The next might do the same offering a completely different argument.

  Marcellus slowly climbed the stairs to the raised platform. The crowd had not forgotten the longtime war hero. They cheered as he stood up to the podium. In his mind sixty years did not represent the end of his career, but the height of it. And that was how he spoke, with sobriety, candor, and a firm belief that he was destined to defeat Hannibal.

  The two previous summers had been difficult. Except for his own wound, yes, he would have pursued Hannibal as Bibulus demanded. But he also knew that he was getting closer to his goal. In his encounters with the Carthaginian, he had seen his strategies and his army hold up against Hannibal’s. If there were one more chance to confront the man before Hasdrubal arrived with reinforcements, Marcellus wanted that chance. He knew the lay of the land throughout the south. He had learned to play the game of cat and mouse with uncommon agility. And he would defeat Hannibal. That’s what burned in his heart when he addressed the huge audience with little flourish and in a voice that was soft—and yet somehow carried throughout the stadium.

  “All of you know me,” he began. “I have fought as a citizen of Rome every summer for forty years, the last twenty-five as a general. I have been elected to the position of consul four times. I have been granted two triumphs and an ovation. It seems impossible to me that I must be on this stage today defending my reputation as a soldier, especially at a time when Rome needs experienced men more than ever.

  “As Fulvius said, Hannibal has been in Italy for ten years. In that time he has proven to be one of the most dangerous enemies Rome has ever faced. He has destroyed six entire armies while his own army remains intact. No Roman general, other than I, has confronted him more than once, because in every instance those other generals have either been defeated or killed in the action.

  “I need not remind you of Gaius Flaminius at Lake Trasimene or Aemilius Paullus at Cannae. Or Gnaeus Fulvius just last year at Herdonea. Hannibal is superior to any foe Rome has ever known, mostly because of his intelligence and his daring. He is steadily teaching us a different way to wage war, and no one has learned those lessons better than I.

  “Six years ago, then again the following year, Hannibal set his sights on the city of Nola. Both times I was called on to protect its walls. Both times I engaged with Hannibal with no outcome—except the continued safety of Nola. No one in Nola thought I was unfit to command.

  “Two summers back, outside Numistro, my troops fought Hannibal’s army to a standstill. Only the onset of darkness prevented one army or the other from being victorious. When we awoke the next day, Hannibal was gone. We chased him the rest of the summer, but he never accepted my offers for battle again. Hannibal certainly didn’t think I was unfit to command.

  “Last summer, we fought Hannibal’s army on three consecutive days in Asculum. We surprised him one afternoon while his soldiers set up camp. The next two days our armies faced off in full battle.

  “It’s true we took it hard the second day. We left much Roman blood on the battlefield and quite a lot more on the surgeon’s table. But these same men rallied the third day. I believe we gave Hannibal his worst day in Italy, beating his men back to camp as has never happened before. In those three days, no less than seven thousand men on each side died.”

  I could feel it. He was gradually gathering in the audience.

  “Following those three days of combat, we retired to Venusia for the remainder of the campaign. Our troops had fought hard and paid for it. As the commander of those forces, I felt we needed that time to heal. Bibulus has called me a coward for this. But Bibulus wasn’t there in Asculum. He didn’t witness the savagery of those three days of combat. He didn’t see the condition of my men after the fighting was over. Take the word of someone who was there over someone who was not. At no time in my career have I seen an army fight with such intensity and resolve. Men don’t fight like that if their general is unfit to command. Ask them.

  “When the centuries assemble to elect consuls for the coming year, I will put my name forth. Should I be elected, I will go directly after Hannibal here in Italy. That’s the strategy I will present to the Senate. Now I ask you, does that sound like a general who’s afraid of combat? A general who’s unfit to command?”

  The audience erupted in calls for Marcellus. Marcus turned to me and said, barely audible because of the noise, “I’ve never heard him talk about himself like this—not before an audience.”

  When the crowd quieted, Marcellus continued. “Bibulus and others claim they have a better way to rid Italy of Hannibal. They have dreams of taking a huge army to Africa to besiege Carthage. This, they say, will force Hannibal to return to Africa to defend his fellow Carthaginians. I wonder if Bibulus has studied our own history. In his speech, he recounted many of Rome’s greatest successes in combat, but he skipped over one of our greatest failures.

  “Not that long ago, forty some years if my memory serves me correctly, we were engaged in another long war with Carthage. We had finally gained the upper hand in Sicily, and our general there, Marcus Atilius Regulus, pushed to go to Africa. He wanted to besiege Carthage—just as some men do today.

  “Carthage enlisted the aide of the Greek general Xanthippus to lead their army. Six months later, Xanthippus destroyed Regulus’ army in the battle of Tunis in northern Africa. Regulus was taken as a prisoner of war. Two years later, when it was decided to send another army to Carthage, we lost one hundred and fifty ships and fifty thousand soldiers to a storm off the coast of Africa—something that is always a risk when tru
sting the sea for the transport of a large army.

  “Yes, we did win that war, but not in Africa, and only after many more years of struggle. I wonder if these men who want to besiege Carthage remember those disasters? I suggest our best chance against Hannibal is to confront him here in Italy while we have him pinned in the south. That eliminates the risk of sending an army across the ocean and prevents us from having to fight such a clever general in his own backyard. Our advantage is greatest on Italian soil. That’s how we will finally defeat him. And I feel that I am the best man in Rome to do that. I want Hannibal. Give me that chance! Give me another consulship!”

  Marcus looked at me as the crowd stood as one and screamed for his father. He shook his head. “My father is a proud and often arrogant man. But he has rarely allowed that to show so clearly in public. Never have I heard him boast of his accomplishments or his desires as he has today. It doesn’t become him. I believe he’s changing.”

  “But the situation demanded it, Marcus. He had to be forthright. His words may have been uncharacteristic, but they were necessary. I agree with everything he said. He is the best man in Rome for the job.”

  All Marcus could say was “I hope you’re right.”

  CHAPTER 74

  Marcellus won an overwhelming vote of confidence from the People’s Assembly the following day. He would not lose his command. But as Marcus had identified, his father was changing. The time he had spent immobilized in Venusia had been harder on him than active combat and had intensified his desire to personally destroy Hannibal. Now back in Rome, he had returned to the political game of positioning himself for that goal. He spent much of his time with Publius and his other clients, building the support he needed to be elected to a fifth consulship.