The lictores reached the platform and fanned out to either side, leaving a space for Publius to assume his seat. Flaccus and Fabricius remained at floor level. As Publius sat down, the lictores smacked the butts of their fasces off the mosaic. The clashing sound echoed off the walls and died away.
There was a long pause.
Glancing sideways, Fabricius saw a tiny, satisfied smile flicker across the consul’s lips. It was obviously up to Publius to begin proceedings, and, in a pointed reminder of his rank, he was making the men who had recalled him to Rome wait. On and on the silence went. Soon Fabricius could see senators muttering angrily to one another. None dared to speak, however.
Finally, Publius opened his mouth. ‘As I speak, the greatest threat to Rome since the barbarian Brennus approaches us through the Alps.’ He let his shocking words sink in. ‘Yet instead of letting me fulfil my duty, that of defending the Republic, you would have me return to explain my actions. Well, I am here.’ Publius extended his arms, as if to welcome interrogation, and fell silent.
A deluge of questions followed. Practically half the senators present tried to speak at the same time. Many of their queries involved Brennus, the Gaulish chieftain who had led his fearsome warriors to the Capitoline Hill itself, and sacked Rome. In the process, he had left a weeping sore deep in the Roman psyche, a source of eternal shame. Fabricius did not know if Hannibal was truly that dangerous, but merely by mentioning Brennus, Publius had scored the first points. Before the Minucii could make a single accusation, the Senate’s attention had been neatly diverted to something far more primeval.
Publius wasn’t finished. Lifting a hand, he waited for quiet. ‘I want to know why I was summoned here. Only then will I tell you anything of Hannibal and the enormous Carthaginian army which follows him.’
Cries and protests filled the air, but Publius simply folded his arms and sat back on his chair.
Second round to Publius, thought Fabricius. His respect for the consul was growing by the moment.
Both young men were up late the next morning. A brief visit to the public baths helped to ease their pounding heads. Fortunately, both also had the wits to drink copious amounts of water. Relieving themselves was not an issue: all they had to do was dart up one of the many alleyways that contained dung heaps. Breakfasting on bread and cheese, they made their way to the Forum Romanum. Naturally enough, conversation was limited until they reached their destination.
Quintus soaked up the sight of the long, rectangular space. ‘It used to be a marsh, but now it’s the largest open area within the city walls. This is the heart of the Republic,’ he said proudly. ‘The centre of religious, ceremonial and commercial life. People come here to socialise, to watch court cases or gladiator fights, and to hear important public announcements.’
‘It has a lot in common with the Agora,’ said Hanno politely. Although it’s not half as big, he thought.
Hundreds of shops lined the Forum’s perimeter. They ranged from ordinary butchers, fishmongers and bakers to the grander premises of lawyers, scribes and moneylenders. Crowds of people thronged the whole area.
Quintus had been taught the Forum’s layout. ‘There are the shrines of Castor and Pollux, and Saturn,’ he cried as they walked along. ‘And the circular temple of the Vestal Virgins.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Hanno, pointing at a grubby building along the northern side of the Forum.
‘I think it’s the comitium,’ Quintus replied. ‘It’s a temple which was built during the foundation of Rome more than five hundred years before.’ His voice lowered. ‘Inside it is the lapis niger, a stubby pillar of black stone which marks the spot where Romulus, the founder of Rome, ascended to heaven. Beside is the rostra, the speaker’s platform, which is decorated with the prows of captured ships.’ Quintus flushed and fell silent. The most recent additions were from Carthaginian triremes that had been captured in the last war.
Realising, Hanno glowered.
The friends soon discovered that they had arrived just after Publius had entered the Curia, but consoled themselves with the fact that they would be close at hand when he emerged. Huge crowds were already present. The news about Hannibal had spread all over the city by now. Everyone in Rome wanted to know what would happen next. Wild rumours swept from one end of the gathering to the other.
‘Hannibal has a host of more than a hundred and fifty thousand men,’ cried a man with red-rimmed eyes.
‘He has a hundred elephants, and twenty-five thousand Numidian cavalry,’ wailed another.
‘They say that Philip of Macedon has mobilised his army and is about to attack us from the northeast,’ shot back the first man. ‘He’s going to join with the Carthaginians.’
‘So is every tribe in Cisalpine Gaul,’ added a third voice.
Hanno’s anger over the rostra was replaced by delight. If only a fraction of the gossip was true, Rome faced a catastrophe of enormous proportions. He glanced at Quintus, who was staring rigidly at the Curia, pretending to ignore what was being said.
An awkward silence fell.
A hush fell in the Senate as a stocky figure with wavy black hair and a ruddy complexion made his way into view. Bushy eyebrows sat over a pair of calculating blue eyes and a prominent nose. The senators around him moved deferentially out of the way. Flaccus gave the man a tiny nod, and Fabricius knew at once who it was. He was Marcus Minucius Rufus, a former consul, and Flaccus’ brother. This was the pre-eminent member of the Minucii clan, and one of the most powerful men in Rome. No doubt he was the person responsible for the letter to Publius.
‘Consul,’ said Marcus, inclining his head in recognition. ‘We thank you for returning to Rome. It is an honour to see you once more.’ With the niceties over, his expression turned hawkish. ‘We were alarmed to hear that your brother was leading your legions to Iberia. This, so that you could return to Italy. We have asked you back to explain your extraordinary about turn, which goes completely against the Senate’s decision made here not six months ago. You and Longus, your co-consul, have supreme command of the Republic’s military forces. That is beyond doubt. Yet neither of you are immune to challenge, should that be necessary.’ Marcus half turned, smiling at the mutters of agreement that were becoming audible. ‘Clearly, I am not the only one to hold such an opinion.’
One of Publius’ eyebrows arched. ‘And what opinion might that be?’ he asked in a silky smooth tone.
Marcus’ reply was urbane. ‘I speak of course, of the power of provocatio.’
Some of the senators hissed with disapproval at this, but others shouted in agreement. Fabricius felt a nerve twitch in his face. He’d never before heard of one of the Republic’s supreme magistrates being threatened with a criminal charge. He shot a glance at Flaccus, but could glean nothing from his face. Why were the Minucii seeking to depose Publius during his consulship? Fabricius wondered. What purpose would it serve?
‘Have you nothing to say?’ Marcus asked, taking a smug look around the room. Like a tide that had just turned, the noise of those who supported him began to grow.
Fabricius glanced at Flaccus again. This time, he saw the same self-satisfied expression as the one adorning Marcus’ face. Then it hit him. Flaccus had believed Publius’ account of the threat posed by Hannibal and, in his letter, told his brother of his concerns. Now Marcus, a previously successful general in his own right, wanted to become consul so that he could claim the glory of defeating the Carthaginians instead of leaving it to Publius. This possibility, no, probability, Fabricius thought angrily, defied belief. All that mattered was defeating an enemy who posed a serious threat to the Republic. Yet to some of these politicians, it was more about making a name for themselves.