Hannibal Enemy of Rome (2011)

  Quintus turned his back on the River Trebia. In a way, he realised, he was doing the same on Hanno and his friendship. Feeling hollow inside, he followed his father.

  They reached Placentia about an hour later. Quintus had never been so glad to see the walls of a town, and to hear the challenge of a sentinel. The lines of frightened faces on the ramparts above soon distracted him from thoughts of sitting by a fire, however. Word of the battle had arrived before them. Despite the sentries’ fear, Fabricius’ status saw the gate opened quickly. A few barked questions at the officer of the guard revealed that a handful of cavalrymen had made it to the town ahead of them. Their garbled account appeared to have the entire army wiped out. There had been no sign of Longus or the infantry yet, which had only fuelled the fears of the soldiers who were manning the defences. Fabricius was incensed by the harm that the unsubstantiated reports would have already caused and demanded to see the most senior officer in the town.

  Not long after, both men were wrapped in blankets and drinking warm soup in the company of no less than Praxus, the garrison commander. The rest of their party had been taken off to be quartered elsewhere. A stout individual with a florid complexion, Praxus barely fitted into his dirty linen cuirass, which had seen better days. He paced up and down nervously while father and son thawed out by a glowing cast-iron brazier. At length, he could hold in his concerns no longer. ‘Should we expect Hannibal by morning?’ he demanded.

  Fabricius sighed. ‘I doubt it very much. His soldiers will be in need of rest as much as we are. You shouldn’t give up on Longus just yet either,’ he advised. ‘Last I saw, the legionaries were holding their own.’

  Praxus winced. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. ‘Where are they then?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Fabricius replied curtly. ‘But Longus is an able man. He will not give up easily.’

  Praxus resumed his pacing and Fabricius left him to it. ‘Worrying about it won’t do any good. This fool won’t be able to stop the rumours either. He probably started half of them,’ he muttered to Quintus before closing his eyes. ‘Wake me up if there’s any news.’

  Quintus did his best to stay alert, but it wasn’t long before he too grew deliciously drowsy. If Praxus wanted his fireside chairs back, he could bloody well wake them up, Quintus thought as sleep claimed him.

  Some time later, they were woken by a sentry clattering in, shouting that the consul had arrived at the gates. It seemed a miracle, but as many as ten thousand legionaries were with him. Quintus found himself grinning at his father, who winked back. ‘Told you,’ said Fabricius. Praxus’ miserable demeanour also vanished, and he capered about like a child. His sense of self-importance returned with a vengeance. ‘Longus will have need of my quarters,’ he declared loftily. ‘You’d best leave at once. One of my officers can find you rooms.’ He didn’t give a name.

  Fabricius’ top lip lifted at the sudden return of the other’s courage, and his bad manners, but he got up from his chair without protest. Quintus did likewise. Praxus barely bothered to say goodbye. Fortunately, the officer who’d initially brought them from the gate was still outside, and upon hearing their story, agreed to let them share his quarters.

  The three hadn’t gone far before the heavy tramp of men marching in unison came echoing down the narrow street towards them. Torchlight flickered off the darkened buildings on either side. A surge of adrenaline shot through Quintus’ tired veins. He glanced at his father, who looked similarly interested. Quintus’ lips framed the word ‘Longus’? His father nodded. ‘Stop,’ he requested. The officer complied, as eager as they to see who it was. Within a few moments, they could make out a large party of legionaries - triarii - approaching. The soldier at the outside edge of each rank carried a flaming torch, illuminating the rest quite well.

  ‘Make way for the consul!’ shouted an officer at the front.

  Quintus sighed with relief. Sempronius Longus had survived. Rome had not lost all its pride.

  The triarii scarcely broke step as they passed by. One of the two most important men in the Republic did not wait while a pair of filthy soldiers gaped at him. Especially on a night like this.

  Quintus couldn’t stop himself. ‘What happened?’ he cried.

  His unanswered question was carried away by the wind.

  They gave each other a grim look and resumed their journey. Soon after, they happened upon a group of principes. Desperate to know how the battle had ended, Quintus caught the eye of a squat man carrying a shield emblazoned with two snarling wolves. ‘Did you win?’ he asked.

  The princeps scowled. ‘Depends what you mean by that,’ he muttered. ‘Hannibal won’t forget the legionaries who fought at the Trebia in a hurry.’

  Quintus and Fabricius exchanged a shocked, pleased glance. ‘Did you turn and fall on the Carthaginian rear?’ asked Fabricius excitedly. ‘Did the allied infantry throw back the elephants and the skirmishers?’

  The soldier looked down. ‘Not exactly, sir, no.’

  They stared at him, not understanding. ‘What then?’ demanded Fabricius.

  The princeps cleared his throat. ‘After breaking through the enemy line, Longus ordered us to quit the field.’ A shadow passed across his face. ‘Our wings had already broken, sir. I suppose he wasn’t certain that we could turn the situation around.’

  ‘The allied troops?’ Quintus whispered.

  The silence that followed spoke a thousand words.

  ‘Sweet Jupiter above,’ swore Fabricius. ‘They’re dead?’

  ‘Some may have escaped back to our camp, sir,’ the princeps admitted. ‘Only time will tell.’

  Quintus’ head spun. Their casualties could number in the tens of thousands.

  His father was more focused. ‘In that case, I think it’s we who will be remembering Hannibal rather than the other way around,’ he observed acidly. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the princeps muttered. He threw a longing glance at his comrades, who were disappearing around the nearest corner.

  Fabricius jerked his head. ‘Go.’

  In a daze, Quintus watched the soldier scuttle off. ‘Maybe Praxus was right,’ he muttered.

  ‘Hannibal could be at the gates by dawn.’

  ‘Enough talk like that,’ his father snapped. His lips peeled back into a feral snarl. ‘Rome does not give up after one defeat. Not with foreign invaders on her soil!’

  Quintus’ courage rallied a fraction. ‘What of Hannibal?’

  ‘He’ll leave us to it now,’ Fabricius declared. ‘He will be content to gather support from the Gaulish tribes over the winter.’

  Quintus was relieved by his father’s certainty. ‘And us?’

  ‘We will use the time to regroup, and to form new legions and cavalry units. One thing Rome and her allies are not short of is manpower. By the spring, the soldiers lost today will all have been replaced.’ And I’ll have won a promotion which will keep the moneylenders at bay. Fabricius grinned fiercely. ‘You’ll see!’

  At last Quintus took heart. He nodded eagerly. They would fight the Carthaginians again soon. On equal or better terms. There would be a chance to regain the honour that, in his mind, they had left behind on the battlefield.

  Rome would rise again, and wrench victory from Hannibal.

  Author’s Note

  IT IS AN immense privilege to be accorded the opportunity to write a set of novels about the Second Punic War (218-201 BC). I have been fascinated by the time period since I was a boy, and I, like many, regard this as one of history’s most hallowed episodes. The word ‘epic’ is completely overused today, but I feel that it is justified to use it with reference to this seventeen-year struggle, the balance of which was uncertain on so many occasions. If it had tipped but a fraction in the opposite direction during a number of those situations, life in Europe would be a very different affair today. The Carthaginians were quite unlike the Romans, and not in all the bad ways history would have us believe. They were intrepid explorers and inveterate
traders, shrewd businessmen and brave soldiers. Where Rome’s interests so often lay in conquest by war, theirs lay more in assuming power through controlling commerce and natural resources. It may be a small point, but my use of the word ‘Carthaginian’ rather than the Latin-derived ‘Punic’ when referring to their language is quite deliberate. The Carthaginians would not have used the term.

  Many readers will know the broad brush strokes of Hannibal’s war with Rome; others will know less; a very few will be voracious readers of the ancient authors Livy and Polybius, the main sources for this period. For the record, I have done my best to stick to the historical details that have survived. In places, however, I have either changed events slightly to fit in with the story’s development, or invented things. Such is the novelist’s remit, as well as his/her bane. If I have made any errors, I apologise for them.

  The novel starts with a description of Carthage in all its magnificence. In the late third century BC, it was an infinitely grander city than Rome. I have taken the liberty of describing the fortifications present at the time of the Third Punic War (149-146 BC). I did this because we do not know what defences were in place in Hannibal’s time. Because the incredible and impressive structures that held off the Romans in the final conflict were built sometime in the fifty years after Hannibal’s defeat, I did not feel that using them was a major digression from fact.

  Describing Carthaginian soldiers, both native and non-native, is a whole minefield of its own. We have little historical information about the uniforms that Carthaginian citizens and the host of nationalities who fought for them wore, or the type of equipment and weapons that they carried. Without several textbooks and articles, which I’ll name later, I would have been lost. Another difficult area was Carthaginian names. In short, there aren’t very many, or at least not many that have come down to us, more than 2,200 years later. Most of the ones that have survived are unpronounceable, or sound awful. Some are both! Hillesbaal and Ithobaal don’t exactly roll off the tongue. Hence the main Carthaginian protagonist is called Hanno. There were important historical characters with this name, but I desperately needed a good one for my hero, and they were in very short supply.

  The siege of Saguntum happened much as I’ve described. Anyone who visits Spain’s eastern coast could do worse than climb the huge rocky outcrop near modern-day Valencia. It’s such an impressive place that it’s not hard to imagine Hannibal’s soldiers besieging it. The formidable size of his army is attested by the ancient sources, as are the ways it was reduced by deaths, desertions and release from service. Whether any troops were left as garrisons in Gaul, we do not know. There has been much argument over which route the Carthaginian army followed after the Pyrenees, and where it crossed the River Rhone. The Volcae were surprised from the rear by a party of Carthaginians who had crossed upriver; their commander was one Hanno, not Bostar, however. The elephants were ferried over the river in the manner I’ve described.

  The dramatic confrontation between the Roman embassy and the Carthaginian Council of Elders apparently took place as I’ve portrayed it. So too did the chance encounter between a unit of Roman cavalry and one of Numidians in the countryside above Massilia. I altered events, however, to take Publius back to Rome before he travelled to Cisalpine Gaul to face the invaders. Minucius Flaccus is a fictitious character, but Minucius Rufus, his brother, is not.

  Most controversy over Hannibal’s journey concerns which pass his host took through the Alps. Having no wish to enter into such debates, I merely used the descriptions which Polybius and Livy gave us to set the scene. I truly hope that I managed to convey some of the terror and elation that would have filled the hearts of those hardy souls who followed Hannibal up and over the Alps’ lofty peaks. The speech he gave to his troops before they started climbing was very similar to the one I described. Although not every source mentions the scene with the boiling wine and the boulder, I felt that I had to include it.

  The term ‘Italy’ was in use in the third century BC as a geographical expression; it encompassed the entire peninsula south of Liguria and Cisalpine Gaul. The term did not become a political one until Polybius’ time (mid second century BC). I decided to use it anyway. It simplified matters, and avoided constant reference to the different parts of the Republic: Rome, Campania, Latium, Lucania, etc.

  My description of the calf born with its internal organs on the outside is not a figment of my imagination - I have performed two caesarean sections on cows to deliver the so-called schistosomus reflexus. They were without doubt two of the most revolting things I’ve ever set eyes upon. On one occasion, the unfortunate calf was still alive. Although this happened only fifteen years ago, the farmer’s superstition was obvious and he became extremely agitated until I had euthanased it. We can only imagine what kind of reaction such a creature might have provoked in ancient times.

  The duels between the Carthaginian prisoners, and the rewards on offer to those who survived, are described in the ancient texts. So too is the fate of Taurasia. When it came to making a point, Hannibal was as ruthless as the next general. The Roman losses in the Ticinus skirmish were severe and the savage night attack by some of their so-called Gaulish allies only served as another knock to Publius’ confidence. I invented the Carthaginian ambush at the River Trebia, but the details of the remarkable battle that unfolded afterwards are as exact as I could make them. Hannibal’s victory on that bitter winter’s day proved beyond doubt that his crossing of the Alps was no fluke. As the Romans would repeatedly discover in the months that followed, he was a real force to be reckoned with.

  A bibliography of the textbooks I used while writing Hannibal: Enemy of Rome would run to several pages, so I will mention only the most important, in alphabetical order by author: The Punic Wars by Nigel Bagnall, The Punic Wars by Brian Caven, Greece and Rome at War by Peter Connolly, Hannibal by Theodore A. Dodge, The Fall of Carthage by Adrian Goldsworthy, Armies of the Macedonian and Punic Wars by Duncan Head, Hannibal’s War by J. F. Lazenby, Carthage Must Be Destroyed by Richard Miles, The Life and Death of Carthage by G. C. & C. Picard, Daily Life in Carthage (at the Time of Hannibal) by G. C. Picard, Roman Politics 220-150 BC by H. H. Scullard, Carthage and the Carthaginians by Reginald B. Smith and Warfare in the Classical World by John Warry. I’m grateful to Osprey Publishing for numerous excellent volumes, to Oxford University Press for the outstanding Oxford Classical Dictionary, and to Alberto Perez and Paul McDonnell-Staff for their superb article in Volume III, Issue 4 of Ancient Warfare magazine. Thanks, as always, to the members of www.romanarmy.com, whose rapid answers to my odd questions are so often of great use. I also have to mention, and thank, the three Australian brothers Wood: Danny, Ben and Sam. Their excellent mini travel series, On Hannibal’s Trail, couldn’t have screened on BBC4 at a better time than it did, and was a great help to me when writing the chapter on crossing the Alps.

  I owe gratitude too to a legion of people at my wonderful publishers, Random House. There’s Rosie de Courcy, my indefatigable and endlessly encouraging editor; Nicola Taplin, my tremendous managing editor; Kate Elton, who was generous enough to welcome me into the big, brave world of Arrow Books; Rob Waddington, who ensures that my novels reach every possible outlet in the land; Adam Humphrey, who organises fiendishly clever and successful marketing; Richard Ogle, who, with the illustrator Steve Stone, designs my amazing new jackets; Ruth Waldram, who secures me all kinds of great publicity; Monique Corless, who persuades so many foreign editors to buy my books; David Parrish, who makes sure that bookshops abroad do so too. Thank you all so much. Your hard work on my behalf is very much appreciated.

  So many other people must be named: Charlie Viney, my agent, deserves a big mention. Without him, I’d still be working as a vet, and plugging away at my first Roman novel. Thanks, Charlie! I’m very grateful to Richenda Todd, my copy editor, who provides highly incisive input on my manuscripts; Claire Wheller, my outstanding physio, who stops my body from falling to bits after spending too long a
t my PC; Arthur O’Connor, the most argumentative man in Offaly (if not Ireland), who also supplies excellent criticism and improvements to my stories. Last, but most definitely not least, Sair, my wife, and Ferdia and Pippa, my children, ground me and provide me with so much love and joy. Thank you. My life is so much richer for having you three in it.

  Glossary

  acetum: vinegar, the most common disinfectant used by the Romans. Vinegar is excellent at killing bacteria, and its widespread use in Western medicine continued until late in the nineteenth century.

  Aesculapius: son of Apollo, the god of health and the protector of doctors. Revered by the Carthaginians as well as the Romans.

  Agora: we have no idea what Carthaginians called the central meeting area in their city. I have used the Greek term to differentiate it from the main Forum in Rome. Without doubt, the Agora would have been the most important meeting place in Carthage.

  Alps: In Latin, these mountains are called Alpes. Not used in the novel (unlike the Latin names for other geographical features) as it looks ‘strange’ to modern eyes.

  Assembly of the People: the public debating group to which all Carthaginian male citizens belonged. Its main power was that of electing the suffetes once a year.

  Astarte: a Carthaginian goddess whose origins lie in the East. She may have represented marriage, and was perhaps seen as the protector of cities and different social groups.

  atrium: the large chamber immediately beyond the entrance hall in a Roman house. Frequently built on a grand scale, this was the social and devotional centre of the home.

  Baal Hammon: the pre-eminent god at the time of the founding of Carthage. He was the protector of the city, the fertilising sun, the provider of wealth and the guarantor of success and happiness. The Tophet, or the sacred area where Baal Hammon was worshipped, is the site where the bones of children and babies have been found, giving rise to the controversial topic of child sacrifice. For those who are interested, there is an excellent discussion on the issue in Richard Miles’ book, Carthage Must Be Destroyed. The term ‘Baal’ means ‘Master’ or ‘Lord’, and was used before the name of various gods.