Despite some major setbacks, including an ill-advised invasion of North Africa, the destruction of their fleet by storms no less than three times, and near financial ruin, the Romans responded to adversity in typical, never-say-die fashion: they rebuilt their ships. Crucially, they were given a much-needed breathing space when, in 247 BC, the Carthaginians chose to focus not on defeating the Romans, but on restoring the loyalty – wavering towards Rome – of the Numidians and the Libyans in the interior of North Africa. When, on 10 March 241 BC, Rome won a decisive victory over a Carthaginian relief fleet off the Aegates Islands to the north of Sicily, the Romans finally achieved mastery of the sea. At that time the Carthaginian general Hamilcar was conducting a successful guerrilla war against the Roman army on Sicily. Even though he himself had not been beaten, he was instructed by the political leaders in Carthage to come to terms.
The undefeated general’s submission to the Romans symbolized the unresolved nature of the first war. If striking the peace treaty rankled the Carthaginian leadership, there were more bitter pills to swallow. In the immediate aftermath of the war Carthage evacuated Sicily and, with the exception of the kingdom of Syracuse, which remained an ally, the island became Rome’s first overseas province. Harsh conditions were imposed, principally the indemnity that Carthage had to pay Rome: 3200 talents of silver, the equivalent of 82,000 kilograms (80 tons), to be paid over ten years. Rome then took advantage of Carthage’s weakness to expel Carthaginians unceremoniously from both Sardinia and Corsica. In the space of a few years Rome had moved seamlessly from a position of seeking to ‘defend’ its allies in the region by excluding the Carthaginians from ‘Italian’ waters to exploiting the three wealthy islands for its own enrichment. Corn, as well as other riches, flowed into Rome from the islands. And yet despite this naked show of imperialism, the question of who controlled the Mediterranean had still not been answered.
The region of contention between the established Carthaginian empire and Rome’s fledgling overseas empire now became Spain. The general Hamilcar headed up an expeditionary force and went there in 238 BC with the express purpose of building a new empire to make up for the loss of Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica. The mines of Spain were rich in gold and silver, a new army could be recruited from the local tribes there, and the country’s grain supply could compensate for the loss of Sardinia’s. Through a combination of campaigns, treaties and alliances, Hamilcar with his sons expanded their control of Spain, while Carthage continued to supply his expeditionary force with officers, elephants and colonists to populate the new cities being built. Nervous of the growing power base that Carthage was building in Spain, Rome sent envoys in 226 BC to New Carthage (modern-day Cartagena), asking the Carthaginians to limit their expansion to the river Ebro (see map, page 49). They agreed, but the peace was only temporary because Rome then strategically established an alliance with the independent city of Saguntum on the Mediterranean coast north of New Carthage. By making an ally of a city on the periphery of Carthage’s expanding Spanish empire, Rome could eventually justify a war once again by claiming to come to Saguntum’s defence. A time bomb for a future war was thus set ticking.
The man who was prepared to take on Rome for a second time and try to reverse the result of the first war was Hamilcar’s younger son, Hannibal. In 221 BC he had assumed command of the Carthaginian forces in Spain. When he was nine, went one famous story, his father had dipped his hand in the blood of a sacrifice and sworn him to an eternal hatred of Rome. Now the twenty-seven-year-old general had his excuse to vent that wrath. To his mind the city of Saguntum, which had begun harassing neighbouring Carthaginian towns, was a threat, an impediment to their control of Spain and the security of the western empire. So, with authorization from the leaders of Carthage, Hannibal crossed the river Ebro and took the city by storm. War had been declared.
The Romans expected the Second Punic War to be fought in Spain. They were utterly wrong-footed. This conflict, which lasted from 218 to 201 BC and was the greatest of the wars between the two rival empires, is legendary for Hannibal’s extraordinary decision: to invade Italy and march on Rome. In the spring of 218 BC he set out on the 1600-kilometre (1000-mile) journey across hostile territory with 12,000 cavalry, 90,000 infantry and thirty-seven war elephants. Such a feat demanded courage and resourcefulness. At the river Rhone, 500 metres (1650 feet) wide and too deep to wade across, the elephants were enticed on to rafts by mahouts. The animals were deceived by a covering of soil laid on the rafts to make them look like solid ground. Once two females had floated across, the others, despite some casualties, overcame their panic and followed. However, the greatest challenge to Hannibal was not a river, but the snowcapped mountains of the Alps.
Enduring ambushes, falling rocks and boulders, steep, slippery tracks, low food supplies and freezing temperatures, Hannibal headed his army through the narrow passes with ingenuity and inspired leadership. When his men were cold he spent the night in the open with them; when a road was blocked by a landslide he rallied them to heat up sour wine, pour it over the obstructing rocks and thus break them up; when his army was flagging from exhaustion he raised their spirits by reminding them of the opportunities for glory and loot that lay ahead: ‘You are passing over the protective barrier of Italy – nay more, you are passing over the very walls of Rome!’5 After four weeks crossing the whole Alpine range, Hannibal walked into Italy in the company of (at the lowest estimate) 20,000 infantry, 6000 cavalry and a minority of the elephants. The infantry might have been double that size. He rested them all for two weeks before proceeding to match the great feat of reaching Italy with another: destroying every Roman force he met there.
Between the winter of 218 BC and the summer of 216 BC, at the battles of Ticinus, Trebia and Trasimene (see map, page 49), the young general Hannibal surpassed the Romans in military flair, strategy and daring to consistently crush armies far larger than his own. The climax to his Italian campaign, however, was the battle of Cannae, a place that became synonymous with Roman tragedy. At this confrontation in the region of Apulia he succeeded in surrounding an army double the size of his own with both flanks of his superior African cavalry. As the encircling Carthaginian alliance closed in, a prolonged period of butchery ensued; 45,500 Roman and allied infantry were killed, along with 2700 cavalry. The battle cut a massive swathe through the officer corps of the aristocratic élite too: no fewer than eighty senators died on the battlefield. Indeed, it is said that perhaps no Western army has suffered higher casualties in a single day of fighting before or since than the Romans did at Cannae. The defeat sent shock waves through southern Italy, where many of Rome’s allies and colonies now defected to Carthage. This had always been Hannibal’s plan, and now it was paying off. To all appearances, Rome, the precocious fledgling empire, was doomed to be short-lived.
And yet, in the immediate aftermath of the battle, one man would show the never-say-die spirit of defiance with which Rome would turn events around. His name was Publius Cornelius Scipio and he was the man who was to become the grandfather of Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus. Although the then nineteen-year-old junior magistrate had just witnessed his father-in-law killed on the battlefield, he rallied the surviving officers. Scipio’s energy and authority checked the impulse of the terrified soldiers who were threatening to flee. In fear now of Scipio, they promptly pulled themselves together and swore their loyalty to the Roman republic. The same indomitable spirit was echoed at the gates of Rome too. Here the victorious Hannibal sent a delegation to sue for terms in the expectation that his enemy would capitulate. The Romans responded by refusing to allow the Carthaginians even to enter the city. When Hannibal himself subsequently drew up his army outside the city walls, so the story goes, the land on which they camped happened to be for sale. Such was the confidence of the Romans that, before Hannibal and his army left, a buyer for it was found.6 The message was clear: the Romans were determined to fight on and fight to win.