The Turn of the Tide, page 28
part #7 of Soldier of the Republic Series
For a moment Flavius said nothing as he turned his eyes to the floor. Then at last he looked up at Aemilia.
“I have a proposal for you,” he said. “A proposal for an alliance between the house of the Cornelii and the Aemilii. And a loan of money.”
“An alliance with the Cornelii,” Aemilia said raising her eyebrows. “I thought we had already discussed this. If you are looking for support for Scipio’s campaign, then the answer is still no.”
“An alliance between the two families would be a powerful one,” Flavius continued unperturbed. “There would be substantial benefits for the Aemilii. I come to you Aemilia because I was hoping that you could speak with your brother Trebonius about the matter. Maybe you could convince him to agree to a face-to-face meeting with my patron Publius Cornelius Scipio to discuss the proposal in more detail? It will be worth Trebonius’s time - I assure you.”
“Flavius. You need to convince me first, before I agree to speak to Trebonius,” Aemilia replied in a gentle chiding voice.
“Like I said the alliance that I am proposing would have considerable benefits for the Aemilii,” Flavius replied. “Especially if Scipio were to be elected to the Spanish command. Spain is a rich country with vast natural resources. Silver. Lead. Iron. Slaves. If Scipio were in command, he would have much say in how these vast natural resources are carved up after we have won the war. I know the Aemilii have officially thrown their support behind Nero but,” Flavius said his eyes gleaming, “it would do no harm to secretly support my patron. It would mean that either way your family would emerge a winner.”
For a long moment Aemilia said nothing, as she gazed at Flavius. Then at last a little amused smile appeared on her lips.
“You have been speaking to Tertia I see,” she said. “This is the kind of thing my cousin would dream up.”
“Maybe,” Flavius replied. “But I ask you again. Please - will you speak to your brother and ask him to attend a meeting with my patron? There is no harm in talking. There is no harm in exploring what can be done.”
“You are right,” Aemilia replied. “There is no harm in talking. But I am still not convinced Flavius.”
“Then do this as a personal favour to me,” Flavius said, leaning towards Aemilia, his grave eyes fixed on her. “Please. Do this as a favour for your friend. For old times-sake. I really need your help Aemilia.”
Chapter Twenty-One - Hannibal ad Portas
Sat upon his horse enduring the torrential rain Flavius, clad in body armour, was clutching a small cavalry shield and a long thrusting spear, as he gazed at the enemy army, drawn up a half a mile away. Mounted on their horses and clustering around their patron, Publius Cornelius Scipio, Lealius, Davido and Scoti were armed in a similar manner. The civilians among them appeared tense and nervous - their facial expressions reflecting the unsettled weather. Only Laelius seemed to look like he knew what he was doing. It was morning and across the sodden ground the hundreds of patrician fathers and equites, together with their clients were massed around their consul - ready for battle, their mounts stirring and shifting uneasily beneath them.
Drawn up to Flavius’s right in a long solid line, four ranks deep, directly beneath the walls of Rome, their backs to the yellowish stone blocks, the tens of thousands of Roman infantrymen too were prepared for battle, their large infantry shields and spears turned towards the enemy. Eyeballing them across the terrain that separated the two sides, the Carthaginians had not moved for over an hour, content it seemed to hold their ground and stare at the formidable and towering walls of the imperial capital of the Romans. Hannibal was at the gates Flavius thought, as he peered through the rain at the enemy lines. It had finally come to this. A battle where the victor’s prize would be the city of Rome itself. But there seemed to be little prospect of the Carthaginians breaking into the city. Along the tops of the walls of Rome a huge crowd had come to watch and despite the incessant pouring rain he could hear the people’s defiant cries and shouts.
As a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning lit up the dreary grey skies, Flavius reached up to adjust the hood of his cloak that was pulled over his helmet. With Hannibal closing in on the city, every able bodied man had been rallied to the defence of the city. And it was only right and proper that all Scipio’s clients would ride into battle beside their patron. It was their duty and they’d had little choice. But Hannibal appeared unwilling to close for a decisive battle and it was obvious why, Flavius thought as he studied the enemy. Scipio had been right when he had claimed that Hannibal was desperate by marching on Rome. The advance was nothing more than a stunt - a feint. At the Carthaginians approach - honour had dictated that the consuls lead the defenders out of the city to offer battle and accept Hannibal’s challenge. His countrymen however, had taken up a very strong defensive position beneath their own walls and the sheer size of Rome’s mighty defences would surely further discourage the Carthaginian. Grimly Flavius tightened his grip on his spear. Despite the terror he had caused, Hannibal’s plan appeared to have already failed.
Across the sodden ground the torrential rain continued to hammer into the earth, while more cracks of thunder could be heard. The storm appeared to be intensifying as if the gods had decided to intervene - to discourage a fight. Around Flavius, the groups of mounted Roman aristocrats remained grimly silent, their eyes fixed on the enemy cavalry massed directly opposite them on the flank of the Carthaginian army. How long was this eyeballing going to last? It was sometime later when Flavius noticed a young soldier hastening towards his patron. Through the rain and the din coming from the city walls, it was impossible to catch their conversation, but a moment later Scipio abruptly turned his horse away and signalling to his small band of clients to follow him, he started out towards the city gates.
Obediently Flavius urged his horse after his patron, and as he, Davido, Laelius and Scoti clattered back through the gates and into the city he caught up with young Scipio.
“The consul does not think Hannibal is going to attack,” Scipio said, reaching up to wipe the rain from his handsome face. “So, he is sending us back. We have been given another job to do. There are disturbances breaking out within the city. The people are very tense and nervous. As is to be expected. The consul wants us to try and help calm the situation. So, come on. Let’s see what we can do to help the populace, to ease their fears.”
“Is that wise Sir,” Scoti called out nervously. “Not since Brennus sacked our city a hundred and seventy years ago has Rome been in such mortal peril. Not since then has an enemy army been allowed to approach so close to our walls. Surely the enemy is out there,” Scoti added, gesturing in the direction of the walls, “and not here within the city.”
“Calm yourself,” Scipio replied, shooting Scoti a reproachful look. “Hannibal has failed. He never came here with the intention of trying to capture Rome. It was always a bluff. We just have to see it out. But the consul is right. A more immediate danger is a collapse of morale among the civil population. Maybe the terror at Hannibal’s name is more potent an enemy than any Carthaginian sword. Come. We must put a stop to this right now. Let’s show ourselves on the streets and calm things down.”
As the small band of mounted men pushed deeper into the city, it quickly became apparent what the consul had been alluding to. Walking their horses down the narrow twisting street towards the Forum - up ahead - Flavius suddenly caught sight of a riot in progress. A large group of civilians were going from shop to shop, ransacking and looting, their excited cries ringing out above desperate wailing and pleading protests of the shopkeepers.
Undeterred, Scipio boldly rode straight towards the mob and as he approached he cried out at the people, his expression indignant. Joining him, Flavius scowled at the rioters as the mob swiftly surrounded him, their hands clenched into fists, their mood murderous.
“Citizens,” Scipio shouted, his eyes sweeping across the crowd that surrounded him. “What are you doing? Is this the way in which to treat your fellow countrymen who have nobly gone out beyond the walls to defend their city? You should be ashamed of yourselves. Return to your homes at once and abide by the law. This is no time for being out on the streets.”
“No. Why don’t you go home, pretty boy,” a man shouted in reply.
A moment later a stone struck Flavius, thrown from the window of a nearby insulae apartment block. Hurriedly looking up, Flavius was just in time to dodge another stone that struck the back of a rioter instead.
“Carthaginians,” a panicked voice screamed from an open window within the building. “The Carthaginians have broken through. They are in the city. Hannibal is in the streets!”
“No,” Flavius bellowed, as fear rippled through the mob around him, threatening to turn to panic. “No. We are not Carthaginians. Rome stands firm. Calm yourselves people. Hannibal is not going to get into our city. Listen to your magistrates and abide by the law. Go home.”
But as he cried out, another stone came hurtling towards him followed by yet more panicked shouts from the apartment buildings. Around Scipio the mob had started to jostle with his young patron, trying to wrench the reins from his hands while his horse whinnied nervously, threatening to bolt. As a man tried to do the same to him, Flavius kicked him away with his boot. The situation appeared to be rapidly getting out of hand. The mob were out of control. Flavius was about to lash out again - fending off half a dozen outstretched hands that were trying to pull him off his horse - when a sudden shout arose from the rear of the mob. Hurriedly breaking free of the grasping hands, Flavius turned to stare at the sudden, strange and unexpected sight coming down the street towards him. Led by just a solitary man, armed with nothing but a stout stick, a lone hooded woman had appeared, carrying a lamp from which a small flame was defiantly leaping out into the pouring rain. Catching sight of the woman as she advanced down the street towards the mob, a gasp arose from the rioters and they hurriedly began to part to let her through. The vestal virgin was clad in her distinctive priestly robes, her head held high, her stern, fearless eyes gazing straight ahead as she held up her lamp for all to see.
“Go home. Citizens of Rome. Go back to your homes,” the priestess called out, as a respectful silence descended upon the street. “Calm your fears. Witness the flame of Vesta burning in the rain. Witness the protection that the gods afford us. Go home citizens. In the name of the Goddess - calm yourselves.”
As the vestal virgin swept past down the street Flavius stared at her in awe. The lone priestess appeared to have managed what he and his companions had been unable to do. For, around him the mob appeared to have taken heed of her words. They had started to disperse, hurrying away in the rain with bowed heads. Looking grim but relieved, Scipio urged his horse alongside that of Flavius as he too gazed at the lone priestess holding up her little defiant flame as she moved away down the street.
“Observe the power of religion,” Scipio muttered quietly to Flavius as the rain clattered down on the paving stones. “I will let you in on a secret. I do not believe in the existence of the gods. Some may call me a cynic. But I do believe in religion. It has its uses. There is nothing like a good religious trick to impress the lower orders of society. A lesson for the future. If one wishes to impress and control the people, then the priests can be very useful. And if you can manipulate the priests you can wield real power over everyone.”
“A man is entitled to believe what he likes,” Flavius muttered as he turned to look at the people quietly dispersing in every direction leaving only the shopkeepers to preside over their ransacked businesses. “But on this matter you and I must agree to disagree Sir.”
Hurriedly, Flavius looked up, scanning the insulae looming over the street but their windows remained silent and the stone throwing had ceased. Throughout the street the only noise now came from the wailing of the matrons and the patter of the rain.
Scipio was about to say something else when he spotted one of his household slaves, a mere boy, hurrying down the street towards him.
“Lord, lord,” the boy cried out excitedly as he rushed up to Scipio, his clothing and face soaked by the rain. “They sent me from the house to find you. I am to give you a message. This morning a man came. He had a message for you lord. He says that Trebonius of the Aemilii has agreed to the meeting.”
***
A tense, silent and expectant atmosphere filled the atrium of Scipio’s house. Sitting on a simple three-legged stool, his hands pressed together, Flavius silently observed the household slaves, as they carefully placed small plates and dishes of food on the table and prepared the drinking glasses. Scipio was laying on a feast, but there was still no sign of Trebonius and the Aemillii. Would they come? Would Trebonius keep to his word? Suddenly Flavius realised that he was nervous. Apprehensive about meeting Trebonius again after all this time. He had not parted on good terms with his former patron and that could cause complications. If the Aemilii did not come soon they would be late.
Through the hole in the roof and the doors leading to the small garden, the warm evening air was drifting into the open living area bringing with it the distant noise and clamour of the city. But Rome appeared to have quietened down after the few heady days in which Hannibal had threatened to attack the city. But there had been no battle, no attack, no attempt to storm the walls of Rome. Over several days both armies had simply eyeballed each other without making a move. And now, as expected, the Carthaginian had gone - retreating southwards with his army all the way back to Capua and with his departure the mood of terror had lifted. The city had started to return to normality.
Reclining on the luxurious Greek style couches Scipio, Platinus, Laelius and Davido remained silent, lost in thought as they waited for their guests to arrive. His colleagues, Flavius could see, clad in their finest white togas, looked tense and fidgety. As the slaves finished setting out the food and drink, they silently took up their positions alongside the walls of the room, standing like statues, their backs held straight, their eyes staring into space.
“If Trebonius brings the three principal heads of the Aemilii clan,” Scipio said at last turning to Flavius with a gentle smile, “then we know he means to do business. But any less than three and I am not so sure. Watch and observe them when they arrive. It will reveal much as to their intentions.”
“If they come,” Laelius muttered darkly.
“They will,” Scipio said with surprising confidence. “I know Trebonius. He is an honourable man. If he says he has accepted my invitation, then I shall believe him. He will come. The real question is - to what purpose?”
It was a little while later when Flavius suddenly heard voices in the hallway of Scipio’s home. A few moments later, a smartly clad slave appeared in the doorway to the atrium.
“Your guests have arrived Sir,” the slave said in a graceful voice, as he turned to Scipio. “The Aemilii are here.”
As Trebonius led his kinsmen into the atrium, Flavius, Scipio and the others rose to their feet and, gathering their togas around them, advanced to greet their guests. Catching sight of Trebonius, Flavius saw that his small former patron had indeed lost weight although he was still obese. Clad in a splendid toga, Trebonius looked older and more weathered since he had seen him three years ago. Accompanying Rome’s spy master were three other toga clad men, all in their fifties, whom he did not recognise, but as a fifth guest stepped into the atrium Flavius blinked in surprise. It was Aemilia. Patiently waiting his turn to greet the party, Flavius caught Aemilia’s eye as Scipio warmly and graciously welcomed Trebonius and the others. But Aemilia’s expression was giving nothing away. Clad in her toga she looked stunning - her expression stern and unyielding. What was she doing here? He had not expected Aemilia to attend the meeting. At last, catching sight of Flavius, Trebonius’s eyes lingered on him for a moment before he politely shook Flavius’s proffered hand and moved on without saying a word - ignoring him as if he did not exist.
“Trebonius, I am glad that you have accepted my invitation,” Scipio said in a graceful voice after everyone had taken their seats in the atrium. “You are welcome. And you fathers of the Aemilii and you Aemilia, you are all welcome in my home. Please eat and drink.”
“My condolences on the loss of your father and uncle, Scipio,” Trebonius replied turning his eyes towards the young lord. “All of Rome mourns their death but not as much as you must be doing. You should be proud. Your father and uncle gave magnificent service to the Republic.”
Sitting beside Scipio, Flavius lowered his eyes hiding his relief as Scipio spoke again. The meeting had started well. If Scipio was right Trebonius meant to do business, for he had brought the three other Aemilii clan heads with him. His patron too, had positioned himself so that he could speak straight at Trebonius’s one good ear - just like he had advised him to do so beforehand. Looking up at the three older men, Flavius could see that their attention was fixed on Scipio. Only Aemilia seemed a little detached, sitting alone on her couch in a dignified manner.
“So, I understand that you have a proposal for us,” Trebonius said at last gazing at Scipio with an expression that gave nothing away as to what he was thinking.
“Yes, I do,” Scipio replied. “I propose a formal alliance between our houses, between the Cornelii and the Aemilii. An arrangement that will benefit both our great families.”
“I understand,” Trebonius said, “but such an alliance already exists does it not? You married one of ours Scipio, Tertia - your wife. So, there is already an alliance between our two families.”
At the mention of her name Flavius was startled to see Tertia suddenly appear from one of the side rooms. She had however clearly anticipated the meeting, for she was clad in her finest clothes, her expensive jewellery gleaming in the light, like weapons of war. As the heavily pregnant young woman calmly took her place at her husband’s side, the atrium remained utterly silent. Sitting opposite her husband Trebonius at last acknowledged Tertia with a little polite but tense nod, which she returned.
