"Rise," Hanno said. "What makes these newcomers so special?"
"Lord, they claim to be Romans."
Hanno almost choked on a date. "Romans! That cannot be!"
"Yet this is their claim, Lord."
The governor scratched in his scented beard. "I suppose it is not beyond possibility. Greek merchants have informed us that the wretched rabble so generously spared by my ancestor founded a squalid little nation somewhere in the barbarous north. This could prove to be entertaining. Yes, do send them up. Will I require an interpreter? I believe the Romans spoke Latin, which is related to the Oscan spoken by some of the natives here."
"They speak passable Greek, Lord."
"Indeed? That is intriguing. Perhaps they are Greek imposters, mountebanks expecting hospitality and presents by claiming to be ambassadors from a distant land."
"I think not, Lord," said the officer.
As Hanno watched the men ascend the great stairway he, too, knew that they were not Greeks. He had never seen men who carried themselves with such self-assurance. Their bearing was erect and soldierly and they wore robes gracefully draped over one arm, giving each man the poise of an orator. Even the slaves who held the horses below bore themselves regally among the idlers of the agora.
The officer of the gate walked beside them, cutting a poor figure as he explained palace protocol to the visitors. When they reached the terrace, they advanced closer to the governor than was customary.
"Stop!" the officer cried. "On your faces!"
They ignored him entirely. One, apparently their leader, stepped two paces forward and inclined his head slightly. "Have I the honor of addressing His Excellency, the Governor of Italy?"
Hanno waved a hand to silence the sputtering officer. "You have. I am Hanno Barca, cousin in the second degree of His Majesty, Hamilcar. I fear you did not understand my officer's instructions."
"We understood them quite clearly," said the leader. "Roman citizens do not prostrate themselves. Nor do we kneel or bow." The officer of the gate went pale. Hanno's slaves were so shocked that the fan-bearers halted their metronomic motions.
Hanno all but gaped, then he erupted in convulsive laughter. "You must be Romans! Our historians avow that the Romans were the most arrogant race we ever encountered."
"It is not arrogance," the leader said. "It is a quality we are schooled in called gravitas. We do not tolerate foolishness or obsequiousness in men of public service."
For a few moments Hanno toyed with the idea of having them all crucified over the main gate of the city. It was his usual course with insolent foreigners and rebellious subjects. But, it was yet early in the day for executions, and he was in an excellent mood. Besides, something about these bizarre northerners tickled his sharp political instincts, and he had learned to trust those instincts. In Carthaginian court politics, one always walked a tightrope above sharp swords, and he had yet to lose his balance. He felt that they might be of use to him and decided to sound them out. Plenty of time to kill them later, should they prove disappointing.
He mused over one little problem: the slaves and the guard captain who had witnessed this breach of decorum. It wouldn't do to have anyone see this act go unpunished. If he decided not to kill the Romans, he would have the witnesses done away with instead: a simple, satisfactory solution.
"Gravitas, eh? It is a good word. Now, you must sit down and tell me all about your country and your mission."
"In the name of the Roman republic, I thank you," said the leader. "I am Marcus Cornelius Scipio, empowered by the republic to negotiate trade agreements and to open diplomatic relations with Carthage."
"Trade agreements? We are always eager to open new markets. As for diplomatic relations, those you must discuss at court, where I am certain His Majesty will give you a most sympathetic hearing. But first, you must be my guests."
"I thank you. Allow me to introduce my party." One by one, he introduced them. Their names sounded so similar that Hanno was certain he would never remember most of them. No matter. He would remember the two or three most prominent and the rest would be "my Roman friend."
While these formalities were observed, household slaves quietly and efficiently brought folding chairs onto the terrace. These were not mere camp chairs, but elegant furniture crafted from rare woods inlaid with ivory, their seats made of brilliant carpeting that was visible only briefly as still more slaves covered them with rare animal pelts. A small table was set beside each chair, covered with spotless linen and loaded with wine and delicacies.
"Your hospitality on short notice is more than splendid, Excellency," Scipio said, taking his seat. The others sat in order of precedence, even Flaccus showing himself as punctilious as the rest, in the presence of barbarians.
Hanno waved a hand dismissively. "Just what we keep handy for when unexpected guests drop in. Tonight I shall entertain you at a proper dinner and tomorrow we shall have a banquet, with all the best people of the city attending."
"That is short notice for all the important people to drop their plans." This from another man. What was his name? Norbanus, that was it. Hanno did not miss the flicker of annoyance that crossed the face of the one called Scipio. Norbanus had spoken out of turn.
"Everyone will be more than happy to meet such fascinating newcomers," Hanno assured them. Not, he reflected, that their wishes were of any account when he desired their presence. "In the meantime, quarters will be prepared for you here in the Residence. It will be my great pleasure to provide for all your needs and desires."
"This is most generous," Scipio said. "You will find that our wants are minimal."
"Indeed?" Hanno said. "But then, you are a martial people. Most commendable. Our own soldiers, officers and men, while on campaign practice the virtues of austerity as well. But what need is there to be frugal in the midst of abundance?"
"It is our belief that luxury and soft living weaken a man, Excellency," Scipio said. "Even when we are away from the legions, we avoid those practices that might unfit us for service."
"Most wise, I am sure," Hanno said, nodding, making a mental note to see which of these Romans actually lived up to this ideal. But he was intrigued by that word: legions. Had the Romans maintained their vaunted military organization and discipline? It was so superior that the Carthaginians had imitated it in many regards. He began to detect a possible answer to his recruitment dilemma, should conditions prove favorable.
"I must confess," Hanno admitted, "that my knowledge of lands north of the alps is sketchy. We Carthaginians are sea-traders and send few expeditions inland. We have only the reports of Greek traders for information about the remote north, and they prefer to guard their trade secrets closely. It was my impression that your ancestors who dwelled formerly on this peninsula had founded a small nation beyond the mountains. Am I to take it that your New Rome is a rather prominent citystate?"
"We call it Noricum, or Roma Noricum," Scipio answered. "And, yes, we have prospered up there. Noricum is the militarily dominant state of the region, as well as the most prosperous commercially and in all categories of agriculture."
"How good to hear," Hanno murmured, certain that the man was holding back a great deal, which was only the path of wisdom. "And how comes it about that you have decided to return to Italy after all these years? You do understand that the banishment of your people has never been repealed?"
"That is understood. In truth, for generations all the omens proclaimed that our gods wished us to stay north of the mountains. However, of late, certain signs have indicated a change in divine attitude and the Senate has decided to investigate the possibility of a Roman-Punic friendship. After all, many years have passed, times have changed, new persons occupy the thrones of nations-there is no reason why the enmity of our ancestors should separate us forever."