Gabinius smiled thinly. "That is entirely too reasonable to be acceptable."
"I think something can be worked out," said the consul.
"And I don't doubt it will be complicated," said Gabinius. "But this must be done. Are we agreed on that?" The other two nodded.
"I think you should take Aulus Flaccus," Scaeva said in a conspiratorial tone.
"Flaccus?" Marcus responded. "Can he even ride a horse? He's the most inert man in the Senate!"
"All the more reason for him to get off his fat rear and do some work for us," said the consul. "And he is your friend. You can trust him. I'll persuade the committee to place his name in the pool."
"I admit," said Gabinius, "the thought of Flaccus doing anything active sends the mind reeling. But he's shrewd and something of a scholar. He has read a great deal of history. He is observant and will make a good spy. Besides, he can help you write your reports to the Senate. Your own prose style tends to the soporific, Marcus."
"I'm a soldier, not a philosopher."
"The head of this mission," Scaeva said, "had better be both a soldier and a philosopher."
The domus of the Scipio family sprawled over a low hill to the east of the city. Early in the conquest, it had been decided that Roma Noricum would not be walled. The legions would be its protection. It was thought that a walled city would breed an unhealthy mentality. It would be an admission that an enemy could get that close. As a result, it had none of the crowding and clutter that had blighted Rome of the Seven Hills. The streets were broad and straight and there was plenty of space between houses and those who could afford it built spacious villas on the surrounding hills. These were always built within sight of the city. Men of important families had to be able to see the signal flags and fires that would summon them to the standards in time of war.
Marcus rode through the beautifully tended fields, the orchards and vineyards that surrounded the villa. After five generations, these vines were at last producing an acceptable vintage. The cattle were fat and sleek; the sheep grew fine, dense coats. From being a crowd of landless refugees, the Romans had risen to the eminence of a wealthy, powerful nation.
There were those, Marcus reflected, who took this as a sign that they had no need to return to the south, no need to retake Italy and the Mediterranean littoral, of which they had once been lords. But Marcus knew better. Here they were landlocked, with no access to the great markets of the world save through Greek middlemen. This was unacceptable.
And there was another, deeper cause for discontent: Every Roman knew that, somewhere to the south, the Carthaginians were laughing at them. Or, worse, had forgotten them. This was not to be tolerated. Roman honor forbade it.
His return had, apparently, been reported to the family. The household slaves and freedmen were lined up before the main house and a mob of his relatives stood at the top of the stairs, waving and yelling. A slave took his reins as he dismounted and climbed the steps, accepting the embraces of young brothers and sisters and cousins. Romans ran to large families. When he got loose of the younger crowd, Marcus embraced his mother, Caecilia. She was a daughter of Metellus Suebicus and had the spear-straight bearing bred into women of her class from infancy. She was in her early forties, her hair still glossy black, her face only faintly lined.
"The hero returns," she said, smiling, accepting his kiss on her cheek.
"Hero? We've lowered the standard for heroism if what I've been doing up north qualifies." He looked around. "Where is Father?"
"Still in the east," she told him. "Still commanding the Ninth and Eleventh. They're building a chain of forts against Dacian incursions. He calls it garrison duty and says he's bored to death. He says the Senate extended his command for another year because nobody else wants the job."
"That sounds like Father. Is the old man here?"
"Waiting for you by the pool. He's too proud to come out and greet a mere grandson, so go in and tell him everything that's happened before he gnaws his nails off. I'll see to your welcome-home dinner. We'll get properly reacquainted tonight."
Marcus passed inside the house and tossed a bit of incense into the brazier that burned on the altar of the family gods. From the cabinets that lined the atrium there gazed down the wax death masks of his ancestors going back to the day of Numa Pompilius. They had been carefully packed and carried all the long way from Rome of the Seven Hills. Noble families would lose their treasuries before they lost their ancestral masks.
Publius Cornelius Scipio, grandson of the hero of Cannae, sat impatiently by the catch basin in the center of the house. Although he shared the same name with his father and grandfather, he was known to everyone as Scipio Cyclops. There was so much repetition in Latin names that most men went by nicknames. The old man had lost an eye in his first campaign against the Suebi and any physical peculiarity was fair game to the crude Roman sense of humor.
"Welcome home, Grandson," the old man said, extending a hand.
Marcus clasped the hard old hand warmly. "Respects and greeting, Grandfather."
"I hear you have done the family and Rome great honor in the north. You are your father's son, and my grandson." Spoken simply, it was the equivalent of a lavish speech of praise for the fierce old man.
"I would never have returned without honor," Marcus said. "But I must admit that it wasn't much of a campaign."
"What of that?" said the old man. "I lost my eye in a stupid little skirmish. Death is the same in a small fight as in a great battle. Honor is in looking death in the face and doing your duty. You have done yours and Rome is the better for it. Now, sit here by me and tell me all about it."
Marcus took a chair and a slave brought in a pitcher of watered wine and refreshments. In the austere Scipio household these were simple: bread and sliced fruits and cheeses. The greatest concession to luxury was a dish of imported olives.
"I'll give you the whole story, Grandfather, but first I would like to know why you weren't at the Senate meeting this morning. I was summoned by the Senate and I reported to the Curia first thing."
"Ah!" Cyclops made a disgusted, impatient gesture with his hand. "I stopped attending a month ago. There is no productive work going on there, just endless bickering between old families and new, as if we weren't all Romans."
Marcus told him what had transpired at the meeting and Cyclops struck the table with his fist, rattling the platters.
"By the Styx! At last something meaningful happened and I missed it! But this is wonderful, Grandson. There could not have been a better choice to lead the expedition. I'll be named to the committee, of course. I may have to recuse myself since my grandson is to lead it, but-"
"Actually, Grandfather, I am not sure that I should accept this commission."
"What!" The old man's frown was terrible. "I cannot believe that a Scipio would turn down the most important command offered by the State in a hundred years! Explain yourself, Grandson!"
Marcus, veteran commander of legionaries that he was, quailed beneath the old man's displeasure. "Grandfather, you know that I am a soldier, like all men of our family back to the beginning of the Republic. But I am no more than that. This command calls for a diplomat, a scholar, a man of business. I am none of those. I can handle the role of military analyst, better than any other man of Rome, if I may say so. I'll render the Senate an analysis of every stone in the walls of Carthage, if I should get that far. Let the Senate assign me that position and I'll fulfill it with honor. But not the leadership."
The old man softened. "I understand your reservations, Grandson. But this is an opportunity you must not pass up. You must rise to the office, Marcus! You may surprise yourself. Besides, in those areas where you lack confidence, find subordinates who are expert, just as you did in the legions. Am I not right? Didn't you indebt yourself to the commanders of other legions to get the finest primus pilus you could? Did you not pass a few bribes to get the best supply man to be found?"