The Seven Hills(55)

He shook these unproductive thoughts from his head and returned his attention to the battle before him, or as much as he could see of it. He cursed the dust once again.




Gabinius relaxed in the courtyard of his ancestral home, enjoying the cool of the evening. The house was new, but it felt right. He was where he should be. He heard a small commotion from the atrium. A visitor, no doubt. A man of his importance received guests at all hours: clients in need of a favor, friends from other towns come to claim hospitality. His steward entered the courtyard.

"Princeps, a lictor has come to summon you to the curia."

"Good news or bad?"

"He would say no more than that you are summoned."

Gabinius rose. "Lictors. How they love their little secrets." He knew that it had to be something momentous for a Senate meeting to be called after sunset. Even the news of the disastrous fire in the harbor at Carthage had waited until morning. It had been by no means a decisive blow to Hamilcar, but it bought the Romans time, and time was what they needed. They were conquering too much, too fast. How long will the gods bless us in this fashion? he wondered.

His fellow senators milled on the curia steps, some of them looking a bit tipsy from their after-dinner drinking. At the summons of another lictor, they filed inside. The nearby forum began to fill as word spread of the extraordinary meeting.

Inside, they took their benches. The consuls were already in place. When the doors shut, the Consul Scipio stood and raised over his head a broad wooden tablet of traditional design, the letters SPQR blazoned on it in large, gilt letters. A laurel wreath encircled the tablet. A hiss of satisfaction went up from the assembly. Laureled dispatches meant victory.

"Syracuse has fallen!" Scipio announced, producing a general uproar. "Sicily is ours!"

When the cacophony died down, Scipio read the terse message. "The Proconsul Titus Scaeva sends greetings to the noble Senate. On this day, the nineteenth of Quinctilis, the city of Syracuse passed into the possession of Rome. About the middle of the second hour the undermining operations I had pursued bore fruit and a large section of the northern city wall collapsed. I immediately ordered my legions into the breach. The Carthaginians and their citizen allies fought with desperation, but they were lost when they had to face Roman soldiers at close quarters. The fighting was street-by-street and ended in the square surrounding the great temple of Zeus. Resistance ended by the seventh hour, and the inhabitants were put to the sword to let all foreigners know the price of resistance to Rome. At sundown I signaled a halt to the slaughter. In coming days I will render the noble Senate an accounting of the plunder of this very rich city. Death to Carthage. Long live Rome."

The Consul Norbanus stood. "I propose, pending a full report from both the Proconsul Scaeva and the Senate's observers in Sicily, that Titus Scaeva be voted the right to celebrate a triumph. I further propose that he be awarded the title 'Siculus' in honor of his conquest of Sicily."

Amid further cheering Gabinius made his way to the consuls' dais. Norbanus noticed him first. "I see from the princeps's sour look that even this wonderful news fails to elate him."

"Oh, I am quite elated," Gabinius assured him. "I'd always rather hear of victory than defeat. But has anyone given thought to what we are going to do with Sicily?"

"Do?" Norbanus said. "We are going to divide it up, naturally. That's what you do with conquered territory."

"And who's to get it, eh?" Gabinius asked. "You've read Cyclops's reports: The land is unbelievably rich and fertile, better than Campania. Are we to have the whole Senate at each other's throat over who gets what piece of this prize?"

"There is danger there," said the Consul Scipio. "What are your thoughts, Princeps?"

"Right now we are all a bit drunk with success and with favorable omens. A good drunk is always followed by a bad hangover. Even if we are fully successful in every campaign we undertake, there may be serious consequences. Foreigners are not the only enemy. We've expanded our legions to unprecedented numbers. What will we do with them when Carthage is destroyed and the fighting is over? Has anyone considered that?"

"They will go back home," Norbanus said uneasily.

"They will not," Gabinius assured him. "They came to Italy as farm lads and tribesmen of Noricum. Now they have seen the riches of the civilized world. Before this is over, they will have campaigned not just in Italy and Sicily, but in Africa, Egypt, Syria and the whole East. A common trooper will win more loot in a day than his father and grandfather saw in their lifetimes of toil.