Only outside of Rome, out of the immediate reach of the Senate and the minds of the senators could Duilius ensure Atticus’s safety from prosecution. He would persuade Caiatinus, now the senior consul, to repress all debate on the subject, knowing that, with time, the senators would forget and move on. The war still raged and victory was now further away than ever. All he needed was Atticus’s compliance and he pushed through the outer fringes of the crowd, his eyes on Atticus only yards away. He called his name and Atticus turned.
Duilius was immediately taken aback by Atticus’s murderous expression. His anger was understandable, but Duilius discerned something else, something deeper, a look in his eyes that seemed to suggest that all he saw was abhorrent to him.
‘Atticus,’ he said, his words coming slowly, distracted by the prefect’s expression. ‘I know you’re angry, but we could not have foreseen Scipio’s attack on you.’
‘It is not his attack that angers me,’ Atticus replied vehemently. ‘It’s how quickly and easily his words persuaded many of the senators that I was a traitor.’
‘The defeat at Drepana unnerved them,’ Duilius said. ‘They were easy prey for Scipio’s lies. They will soon forget, but in the meantime you should leave Rome. I’ll send word when it is safe to return.’
‘I’m sailing with the tide for Brolium,’ Atticus said coldly. ‘But
…’
He stopped short of saying he would not return, not wanting to listen to any words Duilius might speak in Rome’s defence. They would be hollow arguments that would do nothing to assuage his hatred. He looked to Duilius, the senator’s face showing mild surprise, as if he had expected Atticus to resist his request to leave the city. Duilius held out his hand and Atticus shook it perfunctorily, not hearing the senator’s final words of farewell. He turned and walked away, his thoughts already on his ship and the open seascape to the south, determined that, if the Fates allowed, he would never set foot in Rome again.
Hamilcar paced across the small antechamber outside the Supreme Council’s meeting room, his impatience bidding him to turn to the door continually. He had been summoned unexpectedly an hour before, only to be ordered to wait, the undeclared reason for his summons only adding to his anxiety. He paused and listened again, holding his breath in the quiet of the antechamber. He could hear voices raised in anger but they were muffled by the heavy oak door and he was unable to identify the words or the speakers.
He had arrived back in Carthage five days before, announcing his victory — amidst rapturous applause — to the One Hundred and Four, and to fractured elation from the Supreme Council. Hanno, the newly elected suffet, and his faction remained subdued while his father, and his supporters, sent heralds out into the street to proclaim the victory, to ensure that every voice in Carthage would speak Hamilcar’s name with pride and jubilation.
A louder voice suddenly rang out within the meeting room and a silence descended, causing Hamilcar to stare transfixed at the door. It opened and Hasdrubal, his father, beckoned him in, his face crestfallen, unable to meet his son’s gaze. Hamilcar stepped in and stood in the centre of the room, facing the council. Hanno was directly before him in the centre, seated in the suffet’s chair.
‘The Council has decided,’ Hanno began, without the formality of a greeting, ‘that the Gadir fleet will return to Iberia forthwith and that the Greek mercenaries will be withdrawn and their contract ended.’
Hamilcar was speechless. He looked to his father, but Hasdrubal could only stare back impassively, his own arguments having already fallen on deaf ears.
‘But what of the campaign?’ Hamilcar asked, turning to Hanno. ‘Are those forces to be replaced?’
‘No,’ Hanno scoffed. ‘The campaign is over. The Romans are beaten; the seaways around Sicily are secure. There is no reason to commit any more resources to that godforsaken island.’
‘But we have a chance to retake lost territory, to retake Agrigentum,’ Hamilcar protested. ‘If you give me the men and galleys-’
Hanno held up his hand to quiet Hamilcar, his expression suddenly hostile. ‘The council has made its decision, Barca,’ he said. ‘That is an end to the matter, and this meeting is adjourned.’
Many of the councillors rose up immediately, some going to Hanno who was still seated while others walked straight from the room, brushing past Hamilcar without a glance. Hasdrubal approached his son and, taking him by the arm, led him to the side of the room.
‘It’s over, Hamilcar,’ he said. ‘We knew this day would come.’
‘But what of the other councillors?’ Hamilcar asked. ‘What of their support for the Sicilian campaign?’
‘The vote was nine to three against continuing the war with the Romans. I am isolated, and those who would be swayed are cowed by Hanno. As suffet his power is too great to challenge.’
Hasdrubal glanced over his shoulder at Hanno. ‘Come,’ he said to Hamilcar. ‘We must go.’
Hamilcar shrugged off his father’s hand. ‘I will speak with Hanno myself,’ he said, looking past his father to the suffet. The room was all but empty, the last of the councillors leaving, with only one remaining at Hanno’s side, speaking to him in whispered tones.
‘No,’ Hasdrubal said, ‘you cannot confront him.’
‘I must,’ Hamilcar hissed, and he stepped away from his father, moving once more to the centre of the room to stand before the suffet’s chair.
Hanno saw him and waved the last supplicant away, the councillor leaving quickly. Hasdrubal paused for a moment longer, looking to his son’s back. He could not drag him away, Hamilcar was his own man, and he too left, closing the door to leave his son alone with the most powerful man in Carthage.
‘Why?’ Hamilcar asked.
‘Because it is within my power,’ Hanno said simply, enjoying the realization of a long-held desire.
‘But if we strike now we can end Rome’s plans of dominating Sicily forever,’ Hamilcar protested.
‘I have told you before, Barca,’ Hanno said. ‘I care nothing for Sicily. I concede that Lilybaeum is an important trading hub for Carthage, and for its defence I agreed to the use of the Gadir fleet, but I want nothing more of that island. The war against Rome has been a drain on our resources for too long, and to what end?’ He paused and hardened his stare. ‘So you can write your name in the annals of history?’ he asked with a sneer.
‘You think I want Sicily for personal glory?’ Hamilcar asked incredulously, anger in his voice. ‘And you would end the campaign simply to thwart that ambition?’
Hanno laughed mockingly. ‘This was not personal, you young fool,’ he said. ‘I may despise you for your reckless ambition and mindless obstinacy, but that is not why I end the campaign on Sicily. Lilybaeum is safe and Panormus will soon be in our hands. Seaports are what count on that island, and with those in our control the trading route around the northwest of the island is secure. There is nothing more to be achieved.’
He stood up, walking over to stand before Hamilcar, his expression grave once more. ‘My loyalty to Carthage runs as deep as yours, Barca. Perhaps even deeper, despite what you think, and I believe this city’s future lies in Africa, not on some island to the north. We are not vile conquerors like the Romans, we are traders, and Africa is where we will expand our empire and our wealth, by extending our reach from the sacred soil of this city; something we cannot achieve if we are fighting a war on two fronts.’
‘Then let me finish our war against the Romans decisively,’ Hamilcar said, fearful of allowing Rome to recover. ‘You must give me the forces I need to do this.’
‘I do not answer to you, young Barca,’ Hanno said, angry again.
‘Then you will answer to the children of Carthage,’ Hamilcar said vehemently. ‘Rome will rise again. They are relentless in their quest to expand. If we do not contain them on their peninsula they will threaten Carthage again. With control of Sicily we can achieve that. Otherwise our children will have to fight them as we have.’
‘You overestimate the Romans, Barca,’ Hanno scoffed. ‘With their losses in the storm and Drepana, their ambitions to control the sea-lanes are finished.’
Hamilcar made to retort but, as before, Hanno held up his hand to stay his words. He had not intended on explaining himself to the young commander, his dislike for Barca running as deeply as before, but he had felt a sense of magnanimity in the wake of his victory. He forced his temper to cool, focusing on what Barca had achieved at Drepana.
‘I will allow you to retain the galleys you captured at Drepana and Panormus,’ he said evenly. ‘Use them to keep Lilybaeum supplied by sea until the Romans abandon their futile siege, as they surely will in time. Now go, I grow weary of this argument. My decision is made and the council has voted. From this day, the armies of Carthage will fight only on African soil.’
Hamilcar stared at Hanno for a moment longer and then turned and walked from the room. To argue further was pointless, and while every futile word he spoke pricked his honour, Hamilcar knew in his heart that Hanno was
