“To you?”
“A registry is kept by the curule aediles of all foreigners residing in Roma. So is a registry of all slaves, listing their nationality. The priests asked for the lists. I supplied them. How the priests determined which two Gauls and which two Greeks, I don’t know, but they informed me of their decision this morning.”
Plautus snorted. “I own a Gaul or two, myself, and more than a couple of Greeks!” His face fell. “By Hercules! That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? The cancellation of The Swaggering Soldier was only the bad news. Worse news, you said…”
“One of the Greeks they chose was Hilarion.”
Kaeso, who had listened in silence, let out a gasp.
“You’ll be properly compensated, of course,” said Gracchus hastily, averting his eyes.
“Compensated?”
“For the sacrifice of your property.”
“But…why Hilarion?”
“I don’t know. The priests chose the names. The Pontifex Maximus confirmed their decision.”
“I suppose I have no choice in this matter?”
“None whatsoever. Lictors were dispatched to your house before I came here. I imagine they’ve already taken Hilarion into custody. Workmen began digging the pit in the Forum Boarium last night. The entombment will take place this afternoon.”
“What’s the Old Etruscan adage? ‘Quickly done is best done,’” said Plautus bitterly. He gripped his head. “Oh, that infernal hammering!”
Tiberius Gracchus took his leave and strode away.
Kaeso felt unsteady on his feet. There was a fluttering in his head, such as sometimes preceded his seizures. His vision became blurry. Tears welled in his eyes. He shuddered but he did not weep.
“Madness!” whispered Plautus. “When a horror like Cannae occurs, do men react with compassion, reason, kindness? No! They blame the outsider; they punish the guiltless. And if you point out their madness, they call you a traitor and a blasphemer! Thank the gods I have a vessel into which I can pour my darkest feelings—my comedies! Otherwise, I should go as mad as the rest.”
“Your plays aren’t dark,” said Kaeso dully. “They make people laugh.”
“Comedy is darker than tragedy,” said Plautus. “No laugh was ever born except out of someone’s suffering, usually mine. And now—poor Hilarion!”
The two of them stood motionless for a long time, enduring the din of the hammers. Suddenly Kaeso blinked and furrowed is brow. “Is that…my cousin Quintus?”
A young officer wearing the insignia of a military tribune was striding purposely across the open expanse of the Circus. Kaeso ran toward him.
Quintus looked pale and haggard. There was a fresh scar across his forehead, but otherwise he appeared to be intact.
“You’re alive!” said Kaeso.
“By the will of the gods.”
“We’ve had no word. Your father has been ill with worry.”
“Even so, it looks like he’s managed to keep the city running. I understand he’s been appointed dictator.”
“Have you not seen him?”
“I only just arrived.”
“What news?”
“News?”
Kaeso dreaded to ask. “What of Scipio?”
Quintus smiled. “Wouldn’t you know? He proved his bravery once again, just as he did at the Ticinus. If there was one Roman hero to emerge from the catastrophe at Cannae, it was Scipio.”
“Tell me!”
“The mongrels encircled us. The slaughter was terrible. Only a handful of us managed to fight our way through it and escape with our lives. We became separated. We were wounded, dazed, fearful of capture at any moment. It took days for us to find one another, one by one, all the time hiding from Hannibal’s mercenaries. When we finally regrouped, and put enough distance between ourselves and the enemy to catch our breaths, a debate broke out. Where should we go, and who should lead us there? I confess, I was among those who gave in to despair and argued that we should leave Italy altogether. We assumed that Hannibal would march on Roma at once, burn the city, and enslave the citizens. There’s a Roman army in Spain, and a Roman navy fighting the war on the sea. Join them, I argued, and see where the future leads us, because Roma is finished forever and there’s no going home.
“But Scipio wouldn’t hear of it. Even though his father and uncle are off fighting in Spain, he said he had no intention of joining them, not as long as Roma needed us to defend her. He mocked our despair. He shamed us. He made us take an oath to Jupiter never to abandon the city, to die fighting for her rather than to surrender to Hannibal. Once we took that oath, it was as if a great weight was lifted from us. We knew we could endure anything, because Scipio had given us back our honor.
“Then we watched and waited. Days passed, but Hannibal made no move to march toward the city. We were puzzled, then elated. We began the journey back to Roma, taking back roads so that no Carthaginian out-riders would find us. The way was slow. Some of the men were badly wounded, and Scipio refused to leave them behind. Finally we reached the Appian Way, and I rode ahead. I’m the first to arrive.”
“And Scipio?”
“He should be here tomorrow, or the day after.”
“He’s alive, then?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
“Of course.”
Kaeso began to cry, weeping unabashedly with joy as he had been unable to weep with sorrow for Hilarion. Indeed, in his relief for Scipio, he all but forgot his grief over Hilarion. Quintus, who had seen terrible things at Cannae and had despaired of ever returning to Roma, had tears streaming down his cheeks as well.
Together they went to find Maximus.
On the eve of the Roman Games, the city was gripped by yet another crisis.
An emissary from Hannibal, a Carthaginian noble named Carthalo, arrived at the city gates. In exchange for a steep ransom, he offered to return a large number of Roman prisoners. A few representatives of the prisoners came with him to plead their cause, for the Romans had a long history of turning their backs on men who had surrendered to the enemy. In spite of the ban, a vast crowd of women gathered in the Forum to plead for the ransom of their husbands, fathers, and sons.
Behind closed doors, the Senate debated the matter.
The representatives of the prisoners defended their actions. They had remained on the battlefield at Cannae until the bodies lay thick around them, then had managed to break through the enemy circle and flee to the Roman camp. In the morning, rather than die on the ramparts, they had given themselves up. It was true that they had neither died bravely nor been clever enough to escape. Yet, they argued, was it not better to pay for the return of genuine Roman soldiers than to enlist yet more slaves to defend the city?
Those who opposed the ransom argued that the captives had surrendered rather than die fighting, and had therefore proven themselves cowards who deserved to be sold into slavery by their captors. Besides, any ransom paid from the public treasury would enrich Hannibal and enable him to hire more mercenaries.
In the end it was decided that the ransom would not be paid. The prisoners were abandoned to their fate. Most would be sent back to Carthage as slaves. Their relatives would never see them again.
There was bitter lamentation throughout the city. Maximus dispatched his lictors to maintain order.
In such an atmosphere, the date arrived for the Roman Games. The invocation to Jupiter on the Capitoline had an edge of desperation. The procession from the Temple of Jupiter to the Circus Maximus was a sad affair; many of the senators and magistrates who normally would have strutted before the people were conspicuously missing. The Feast of Jupiter consisted of little more than the scant daily rations allowed by the dictator for the duration of the crisis.
The company of Plautus performed The Casket. Their rehearsal for the new play had been rushed and chaotic, and the terrible fate of Hilarion had shattered their morale. The production was a disaster. Plautus’s only consolation was that the comedy’s spectators were even more depressed than its performers. The audience scarcely noticed the tardy entrances, missed cues, and flubbed lines. No one hissed or booed; nor did anyone laugh.