Hannibal's Children by John Maddox Roberts Read Free Book Online Page A

this be true?" Marcus said. He had never heard of such a prodigy. It was as if Jupiter himself had spoken from his throne inside the temple.
    "The whole city saw it," Flaccus said. "I saw it myself."
    Marcus was glad that he was sitting, because he was not sure his knees would have supported him. "That's it, then," he said. "We're going."
    "Not if they have anything to say about it." Flaccus gestured once more, this time toward a large crowd of senators grouped in the middle of the chamber. They wore tunics with the broad purple stripe of the senator, and those holding higher magistracies wore togas with a broad purple hem, but in every case the garment, tunic or toga, was of Gallic cloth, striped, checked and interwoven with lines of brilliant color. A few men, daringly, even sported long hair and flowing mustaches. This was an affectation Marcus had never seen before in the Curia. It portended an even deeper split than usual.
    "What is wrong with them? Can't they recognize the will of the gods when they see it?"
    "They aren't as fond of omens as the old families," Flaccus said. "Or rather, they fancy different omens than we do. And different gods." It was no surprise. The new families were careful to perform all the rites demanded by the state gods, but in their homes they kept shrines to the gods of their ancestors.
    "Who's the ringleader?" Marcus wanted to know.
    "Old Norbanus."
    "What happened to Tubero?"
    "Died last month. Norbanus took over the leadership of the opposition. If this keeps up, we'll all be chucking rings into sacred pools and be stuck here in the frozen north forever." He didn't look terribly distressed at the prospect. Flaccus had served a quaestorship and had done his military service sitting in a general's tent making himself an invaluable secretary. This had earned him a purple stripe and a seat in the Senate. He had done nothing else in the years since. He was a bottomless well of senatorial gossip.
    "What is the sticking point this time?"
    "Whether the decision should come from the Senate or the Popular Assemblies. You can guess the rest."
    Indeed he could. The old families dominated the Senate; the new families controlled the largest voting bloc in the Assemblies. "But war has always been the prerogative of the Senate."
    "War isn't the immediate question," Flaccus said. "A mission to Carthage is under discussion."
    "Foreign relations and diplomacy are also senatorial privileges."
    "What we are discussing here"—Flaccus made eloquent gestures indicative of uncertainty—"is neither war nor diplomacy. It is an ostensible mission of trade and exploration, but actually a spying expedition, to get the lay of the land, find out how powerful Carthage is these days, who their allies are, if any, that sort of thing."
    Marcus nodded. "It makes sense. Marching against an unknown enemy would be folly."
    "Exactly. But the nature of the mission is ambiguous enough that it is unclear who should have authority. If it's for war, the Senate is in control. If it's for trade, the equites demand authority."
    "Of course it's for war!" Marcus said. "All espionage is military in nature."
    Flaccus patted him on the shoulder. "Marcus, you're such a political infant. Even within the Senate, it's hard enough to get a majority for this war. The Assemblies are against it. But everyone likes the idea of a mission to find out what is happening down south these days. All we ever hear is what the Greek traders choose to tell us, and who can trust a Greek? The merchant community would like very much to open up trade routes to the south."
    The merchants of Roma Noricum were almost all members of the equites, the class of wealthy plebeians. Their name meant "horsemen" and dated from the days when the highest property assessment meant assignment to. the cavalry when the legions were called up. Soldiers served at their own expense. An equites had to provide his own horse and see to its maintenance. In recent generations, as cavalry