It didn’t take long before the wine began to affect them both. Neither were used to drinking much. Fortunately, they grew merry rather than morose, and the evening became quite enjoyable. Encouraged by a hooting Hanno, Quintus even relaxed enough to take one of the whores on to his lap and fondle her bare breasts. He might have gone further, but then something happened that took all their attention away from wine and women. Important news didn’t take long to spread through cities and towns. People simply carried the word on foot, from shops to taverns, and market places to houses. Naturally, the accuracy of such gossip could not always be relied upon, but that did not mean there wasn’t some truth to it.
‘Hannibal is leading his army over the Alps!’ cried a voice from outside the inn. ‘When he falls upon Italy, we shall be murdered in our beds!’
As all conversation ceased, the two friends stared at each other, wide eyed. ‘Did you know about this?’ Quintus hissed.
‘I had no idea,’ Hanno replied truthfully. ‘Why else would I have agreed to travel with you to Iberia?’
A moment later, a middle-aged man with a red face and double chin entered. His grubby tunic and calloused hands pointed towards him being a shopkeeper of some kind. He smiled self-importantly at the barrage of questions that greeted him. ‘I have seen Publius the consul with my own eyes, not an hour since,’ he announced. ‘He has returned from Massilia with this terrible news.’
‘What else did you hear?’ shouted a voice. ‘Tell us!’
A roar of agreement went up from the other patrons.
The shopkeeper licked his lips. ‘Running through the streets is thirsty work. A cup of wine would wet my throat nicely.’
Hurriedly, the landlord filled a beaker to the brim. Scurrying over, he pressed it into the newcomer’s hand.
He took a deep swallow and smacked his lips with satisfaction. ‘Tasty.’
‘Tell us!’ Quintus cried.
The shopkeeper smiled again at his temporary power. ‘After landing at Massilia for supplies, Publius heard word that Hannibal might be in the area. He sent out a patrol, which stumbled upon the entire Carthaginian army.’ He paused, letting the shocked cries of his audience fill the air, and draining his cup. The innkeeper refilled it at once. The man raised a hand. Instantly, silence fell. ‘When he heard, Publius led his army north with all speed, his aim to force the enemy into battle. But when they arrived, Hannibal had gone. Vanished. His only intention can be to cross the mountains and enter Cisalpine Gaul. Before invading Italy.’
Wails of terror met his final remark. The room descended into chaos as everyone screamed to be heard. Some customers even ran away, back to their houses. Quintus’ face bore an expression of total shock, while Hanno struggled to control his exhilaration. Who else could be so daring, other than Hannibal? He wondered if his father had known about this tactically brilliant plan, and said nothing? At one stroke, his priorities had been changed utterly.
Quintus had realised the same thing. ‘I suppose you’ll be leaving now,’ he said accusingly. ‘Why travel to Iberia now? Just head to Cisalpine Gaul.’
Feeling guilty for even entertaining the idea, Hanno flushed. ‘This changes nothing,’ he replied. ‘We are going to Iberia to find your father.’
Quintus looked Hanno in the eyes, and saw that he meant it. He hung his head. ‘I’m sorry for doubting your honour,’ he muttered. ‘It’s shocking to hear news like this.’
Their conversation was interrupted again. ‘Do you not want to know why the consul has returned?’ bellowed the messenger, who was already on his fourth cup of wine. He waited as the room grew quiet once more. ‘Publius has been recalled by the Senate because he sent his army on to Iberia rather than pursuing Hannibal. They say that the Minucii want him replaced with one of their own. Tomorrow, he will attend the Curia to explain his actions.’
All thoughts of leaving Rome at dawn vanished from the pair’s heads. What did it matter if they delayed their departure for a few hours to witness this drama unfold?
Whatever Publius’ reception in the Senate might be, he was still one of the Republic’s two consuls. At the walled gate that signalled the end of the Via Ostiensis, the road from Ostia, a fine litter borne by six strapping slaves awaited his arrival. He, Flaccus and Fabricius clambered aboard. A dozen lictores bearing fasces preceded the litter into the city. As soldiers under arms, Fabricius’ thirty cavalrymen had to remain outside but this did not delay the party’s progress. The lictores’ mere presence, wearing their magnificent red campaign cloaks rather than just their usual togas, and with the addition of axes to their fasces, was enough to clear the streets. All citizens, apart from Vestal Virgins or married women, were obliged to stand aside, or face the consequences. Only the strongest and tallest men were picked to join the lictores, and they had been taught to use their fasces at the slightest opportunity. If ordered to do so, they could even act as executioners.
Fabricius had been to Rome several times, and always enjoyed the spectacle provided by the capital. The lictores’ presence ensured that he gained the best possible impression of the city. People pushed inside the shops and into the alleyways to get out of the way. It was all a far cry from Capua, and even further from Fabricius’ farm, and yet it felt very similar. He tried to ignore the feeling of homesickness that followed. Their rapid progress to the Forum Romanum ensured that he had no time to wallow in the emotion.
As they entered the Forum, Fabricius’ eyes were drawn to the Curia, the home of the Senate. Unremarkable apart from its great bronze doors, it was nonetheless the focal point of the Republic. He picked out the Graecostasis, the area just outside, where foreign embassies had to wait until they were called in. Today, accompanying one of the two most important men in the land, there was no such delay. The lictores swept up to the entrance, scattering the crowd of senators’ sons who were hovering outside, listening to the debates within. Publius alighted right before the portals; so too did Flaccus and Fabricius. All three were clad in their finest togas. Naturally, Publius wore the grandest, a shining white woollen garment with a purple border.
Before leaving, Fabricius had secreted a dagger in the folds of his toga. After months on campaign, he felt naked without a weapon, and had scooped it up without even thinking. Yet it was a risky move: the lictores alone were allowed to bear arms within the Curia. Now, Fabricius cursed his impulsive decision. There was no way of getting rid of the dagger, though. He would have to carry it inside and hope for the best. His heart began to pound. Publius had asked him to be present because he was the only Roman officer to have seen Hannibal’s army. His testimony was vital for Publius’ defence. ‘I’m relying on you,’ the consul had said. ‘I know you won’t let me down. Just tell them what you saw at the Carthaginian camp.’ Fabricius had promised to do so. He sneaked a glance at Flaccus, who looked rather pleased with himself. Confusion filled Fabricius. What role would he play in the drama to come?
The most senior lictor spoke with the guards before entering to announce Publius’ arrival. A hush fell inside. Upon the man’s return, the twelve lictores re-formed in six columns of two. With a measured tread, they led the way into the Senate. Fabricius followed Publius and Flaccus. He had to stop himself from staring like an excited boy. He’d never entered the seat of the Republic’s democracy. Light flooded in through long, narrow windows set high in the walls. Running the length of the rectangular room, three low steps were lined by marble benches. Rank upon rank of standing toga-clad senators filled this space. To a man, their gaze was locked on Publius and his companions. Struggling to control his awe, Fabricius kept his eyes averted from the senators. At the end of the chamber, he saw a dais upon which sat two finely carved rosewood chairs. These, the most important positions, were for the consuls.