‘Good,’ Fabricius replied, placated. ‘It doesn’t take away from the fact that we should have been in Iberia three months ago!’
Flaccus made a conciliatory gesture. ‘At least we’re in Massilia now. Soon the Saguntines will be avenged.’
‘A bit late, isn’t it?’ demanded Fabricius sourly. The Senate’s refusal to act had meant leaving the Saguntines to their fate, which had not sat well with his conscience. It still didn’t.
‘Come now,’ entreated Flaccus. ‘We’ve just been through all that.’
‘I know,’ Fabricius replied heatedly. ‘But an ally of Rome should never be treated as Saguntum was.’
Flaccus’ voice grew soft. ‘You know that I agree with you. Did I not speak repeatedly in the Senate about the dishonour of abandoning the city?’
‘You did.’ Yet you probably knew that your words would make little difference, thought Fabricius. It had sounded good, however, and showed a pleasingly combative side to his prospective son-in-law’s character.
‘Thank all the gods that we’re serving under Publius rather than Tiberius Sempronius Longus,’ said Flaccus. ‘We shall see action far sooner than they will. Last I heard, Longus’ fleet wasn’t going to be ready for another month.’
‘How frustrating.’
‘Whereas we can set sail the moment that the fleet’s supplies of food and water have been renewed.’ Flaccus rattled the hilt of his ornamental sword.
‘Let’s not forget to hear what information the local intelligence has gathered,’ warned Fabricius. ‘Nothing has been heard of Hannibal for several months.’
‘That’s because he’s sitting on his hairy gugga arse in Iberia, drinking local wine and waiting for us to arrive!’ Flaccus sneered.
‘Maybe he is,’ said Fabricius with a smile, ‘but being forewarned is to be forearmed.’
He had no idea that, within the next few hours, his words would be proven true.
Hannibal was no longer in Iberia.
According to the exhausted Massiliote messengers who rode in on lathered mounts, he was probably no more than a day’s march away.
Flaccus and the other senior officers received an immediate summons to attend Publius in his headquarters, a sprawling tent at the centre of one of the legions’ temporary forts. Fabricius was pleased and surprised to receive a similar order less than an hour later. As he arrived, Fabricius saw Flaccus standing outside with the other high- ranking officers, including Gnaeus, Publius’ elder brother, a former consul who was also his legatus, or second-in- command. Fabricius saluted, and nodded at Flaccus. To his surprise, his future son-in-law barely acknowledged the gesture. Indeed, his face wore such a thunderous expression that Fabricius wondered what had gone on in the moments prior. He had no time to find out. Recognising Fabricius, the officer in charge of the sentries ushered him inside at once.
They found Publius talking animatedly with a young Massiliote soldier over a table on which a crudely drawn map had been laid out. Both men were wearing Hellenistic bronze cuirasses, layered pteryges, which protected the groin and the tops of the thighs, and bronze greaves. Yet there was no question, even to the untrained eye, who was in charge. The Massiliote’s armour was well made, but, with its magnificent depiction of Hercules’ face, Publius’ positively exuded quality and wealth. The same could be said of his ornate plumed Attic helmet, which sat on a nearby stool. Although the Massiliote towered over the grey-haired consul, Publius’ confidence more than made up for the difference in height. Fabricius had come to know his commander a little, and liked him. Publius’ calm presence and direct manner were popular with everyone, from the rank and file to the military tribunes. Gnaeus, his brother, was no different.
Publius looked up. ‘Ah, Fabricius! Thank you for coming.’
Fabricius saluted. ‘How can I be of service, sir?’
‘First meet the commander of the unit that brought us the dramatic news. Fabricius, this is Clearchus. Clearchus, meet Fabricius, of whom I have spoken.’
The two exchanged courteous nods.
‘Obviously, you have heard about Hannibal’s whereabouts,’ Publius enquired archly. ‘You’d have to be deaf not to.’
Fabricius grinned. The news had been shouted from the rooftops. ‘They say that he and his army have crossed the Rhodanus, sir, and are camped on the eastern shore.’
‘Indeed.’ Publius regarded the Massiliote. ‘Clearchus?’
‘Since word came that Hannibal had crossed into Gaul, we have been patrolling deep inland, using small, highly mobile cavalry units. One such sighted the Carthaginians about two weeks ago, and shadowed them to the river’s western bank. It’s a long day’s ride from here.’
Fabricius’ heart thumped in his chest. The rumour was true. ‘And their number?’
‘Perhaps fifty thousand men all told. Not quite a quarter of that is made up of cavalry.’
Fabricius’ eyebrows rose. This was a larger army than he’d ever faced in Sicily.
Publius saw his reaction. ‘I was surprised too. Hannibal means to attack Italy. Fortuna had been generous indeed to alert us to his purpose before he arrived. Go on, Clearchus.’
‘They camped by the river for several days, constructing rafts and boats, and no doubt planning their tactics against the Volcae, the hostile natives on the eastern side. The result was extraordinary, sir. Hannibal sent a strong force upriver, which crossed undetected and fell on the tribesmen’s rear.’ Clearchus made a circle of his thumb and forefinger. ‘They crushed them with ease. Nearly the whole army has traversed safely since then. Only the elephants remain on the far bank.’
‘Imagine if we had landed a week earlier, and been there to contest the passage of the river. The war might already be over!’ Publius cried in frustration. His face turned cunning. ‘We still might have a chance, though, Clearchus?’
‘That’s right, sir. Getting the elephants across will take at least two to three days. Perhaps more. Several attempts have already failed.’
‘Excellent. Now, I need someone to take a look at the Carthaginian army. A Roman officer.’ Publius glanced at Clearchus. ‘Not to belittle our Massiliote allies in any way.’
‘No insult taken, sir,’ said Clearchus, raising his hands.
‘Naturally, others wanted this job, but I felt that the task was suited to a veteran. A man who knows how to keep his cool. I thought of you.’ Publius fixed his eyes on Fabricius. ‘Well?’
Fabricius felt his breath quicken. Had Flaccus asked for the duty, and been turned down? That might explain his sour expression. ‘Of course I’ll do it, sir.’
Publius gave a small smile of approval. ‘Speed is of the essence. If you leave at once, you could be back by tomorrow night. The next day, at the latest. I will want good estimates of their numbers, and a breakdown of the troop types.’
Fabricius wasn’t going to back down from a challenge like this. ‘I will do my best, sir.’
‘How many men have you?’
‘About two hundred and fifty, sir.’
‘Take all of them. Clearchus will guide you.’ Publius looked at the Massiliote. ‘How strong is your force?’
‘Two hundred riders, sir, all experienced.’
‘It should be enough.’ Publius turned back to Fabricius. ‘You’re in charge. Avoid contact with the enemy unless it cannot be helped. Return quickly. I’ll have the army ready to march the moment you return.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Fabricius saluted crisply; Clearchus did the same.
They left the consul poring over his map.
Fabricius wasted no time. Less than an hour later, he led the ten turmae — cavalry units — under his command out of the camp and towards Massilia’s north gate. It was a pity that he hadn’t had time to replace his losses from the recent campaign, thought Fabricius. Still, he was reasonably happy with the rest of his cavalrymen, who had fought well during the summer. As citizen cavalry, his men were equestrians, and most dressed in a Hellenistic style similar to his own. They wore Boeotian helmets and bleached white tunics, which had a purple stripe running from each shoulder to the hem. Sturdy leather boots that completely enclosed the feet were ubiquitous. All carried thrusting spears, and round cavalry shields, made of ox hide. Few carried swords. The heavy cavalry cloak, or sagum, owned by each man and used in bad weather, was tied up in a roll behind the
