The athletic competitions were equally lackluster. Many of Roma’s best young runners and boxers had died at Cannae, and the highly trained slaves who ranked fastest among the chariot racers had been called away to military service.
The citizens who took part in the Roman Games merely went through the motions, performing their patriotic duty to attend an annual celebration that dated back to the days of the kings. They had been rendered insensible by the massacre at Cannae, the scandal of the Vestal virgins, and the wrenching rejection of the captives’ plea for ransom.
Roma was numb with grief and worry. The future of the city was very much in doubt.
212 B.C.
Four years later, the war with Carthage continued to rage, with no end in sight.
Hannibal never marched on Roma. This curious fact was to become part of the city’s legend, another element of her mystique: At the city’s most vulnerable moment, she was spared an assault that would surely have ended in her destruction. How and why had Roma survived? Fabius Maximus was given credit for seizing the reins when chaos threatened, and Scipio was widely praised for his inspiring example to the younger generation; but most Romans, agreeing with their priests, believed that Jupiter himself had deflected the wrath of Hannibal, allowing the Romans a chance to rally.
Hannibal and his marauding army remained in Italy. His apparent strategy—to isolate Roma and to undermine her dominance of the peninsula by winning over her allies, either by force or by persuasion—met with only limited success. The Romans steadfastly avoided another direct confrontation with Hannibal, but ruthlessly struck back at the allies who betrayed them. In regrouping their forces, marshaling their resources, and regaining their morale, the Romans proved to be remarkably resilient.
Meanwhile, the theater of war, already waged in Spain and Sicily and on the sea, expanded to the east. Philip of Macedonia, the heir to Alexander’s homeland, allied himself with Carthage. To counter the threat from Philip, Roma dispatched ambassadors to seek new alliances in Greece and Asia.
As the struggle between the two cities spread across the whole of the Mediterranean world, from the Pillars of Hercules to the straits of the Hellespont, the Romans adopted an increasingly outward-looking foreign policy. The more visionary men of the Senate dared to indulge in heady dreams of empire far beyond the confines of Italy. Roma was like the legendary phoenix consumed by fire only to rise from its own ashes.
The turn of events also brought unexpected good fortune to Kaeso. Because of his lameness and his nonexistent political prospects, his parents had despaired of finding him a suitable wife. After the massacre at Cannae, and the resulting shortage of young bachelors, Kaeso’s mother was able to find a perfectly acceptable patrician girl for him to marry.
Sestia was not beautiful. People said she had a mannish face, but Kaeso found her pleasant enough to look at. Like Kaeso, she had not expected to marry, and was pleased that Fortuna had allowed her to achieve the status of matron. She seemed content to confine her interests to running the household, and demanded no more of Kaeso’s attention than he demanded of hers. She never questioned him about his expenses or business affairs, his abrupt comings and goings, the odd hours he kept, or the exotic perfumes that frequently scented his clothes. Her simple needs and incurious nature suited Kaeso.
Both accepted, from the outset, that the principal purpose of their marriage was to create a child. They made love on a regular basis, though without much enthusiasm on either’s part. Their workmanlike efforts were rewarded. Within a year after they were married, Sestia gave birth to a daughter.
When he saw that little Fabia had been born without physical defects, Kaeso was enormously relieved. He had feared that the baby might be a monster, like the children who had preceded him from his own mother’s womb, or at best flawed and ungainly, like himself. But Fabia was perfect in every regard. There and then, after giving thanks to the gods, Kaeso swore never to have another child.
To settle for a daughter was not the Roman way. Kaeso’s relatives and in-laws suggested that he and Sestia should try again, to see if she could give him a son. But Kaeso, fearing to tempt the Fates, and little drawn to having sex with his wife, remained adamant that he would produce no more children after Fabia. She was now almost three years old.
Sestia had brought with her a small but useful dowry. With it, Kaeso had been able to buy out the other investors in the theater company of Plautus. Being the sole owner of a comedy troupe would never make him wealthy, and certainly would never earn him the respect of his patrician relatives, but Kaeso delighted in the role of impresario and took an active part in running the company. He consulted with Plautus about the Greek source material for his plays, he haggled with magistrates about budgets and allowances for festivals, and he particularly enjoyed auditioning the young slaves whom Plautus put forth as possible additions to the company.
The fourth anniversary of Cannae came and went, stirring bitter memories of the massacre and its terrible aftermath, but also a sense of rejuvenation and hope; the unspeakable despair of those days now seemed distant and unreal, like a bad dream. As Sextilis gave way to September, Kaeso looked forward to the annual Roman Games with special anticipation, for his dear friend Scipio had been elected curule aedile and was in charge of putting on the festivities.
By law, Scipio had been too young to stand for the magistracy. But on voting day an adoring crowd raised Scipio on their shoulders and carried him through the city, demanding his election with chants, songs, and deafening cheers. The throng grew so large and unruly that the polling officials were completely overwhelmed. After a hasty conference, they allowed the unprecedented election of a twenty-four-year-old to the office of curule aedile.
Afterward, with a wink and a laugh, Scipio denied any responsibility for engineering the “spontaneous” near-riot that resulted in his election. “If all Roma wants to make me aedile,” he said, “well, then—I must be old enough!” Surprised or not by his election, he seemed quite ready to take office. On the very day he assumed the aedileship, he announced a detailed plan for putting on the most lavish Roman Games ever produced. “The city needs a celebration,” he declared, “an escape from months and years of constant worry. This year, let the games be not a patriotic duty, but a pure delight!”
A few grumblers complained that election laws that had served Roma for centuries had been broken to reward an upstart youth, and that Scipio’s bland disavowals of self-promotion proved him to be devious and disingenuous. Well, thought Kaeso, what politician was not? And if anyone deserved to have the rules bent on his behalf, was it not the young hero of the Ticinus and Cannae? Kaeso was in awe of his friend’s relentless drive and ambition, and hardly surprised by his extraordinary popularity. It seemed to Kaeso that no man was more deserving of every man’s love.
For the theatrical program, naturally enough, Scipio solicited a comedy from Kaeso’s company. After consulting with Plautus, Kaeso suggested The Swaggering Soldier.
It was a daring gamble. In the aftermath of Cannae, Gracchus had canceled the play, fearing that its portrayal of a vain, lecherous military man would be taken as a distasteful lampoon of Roma’s defeated generals. But now, with the insertion of a few new puns and some hints from the costuming—would a patch over one eye be too obvious?—the character of the Swaggering Soldier might be seen as a parody of the most arrogant military man of all—Hannibal. Until now, the Romans’ dread of the Carthaginian had been too great to indulge in satire, but in the years since Cannae he had shown himself to be indecisive and increasingly fallible. The Romans still loathed and despised Hannibal; were they ready to laugh at him?