When they reached the base of the tower, a pair of Cretans wearing twisted headbands relieved them of their swords and daggers. With harness creaking they ascended the broad wooden stair that served instead of a ladder, coming at last to the wide platform some forty feet above the plain.
"I've been admiring your army, Dictator," said the man who leaned on the railing at the front of the platform. He spoke in Greek, the one language common to all of the men present. "It is impressive, but not as fine as the Roman armies I defeated at Trebia and Lake Trasimene and Cannae. I do not see so many well-salted soldiers this time. I do see a great many boys."
"It is good for men to learn war at a young age," Fabius answered.
"But their first lesson should not be the last. That is a great waste." The Shofet was a handsome man of medium height, clean-shaven in the Hellenistic fashion that was followed even in Carthage of late. A broad patch covered his left eye. He suffered from a chronic ophthalmic complaint and rarely had any use of that eye.
"That army before us," said a very young man who carried himself regally, "is no more than a morning's work for my men. Is there any reason why we should be haggling with these people?" The king of Macedonia was only twenty-four years old, but his kinsman Alexander had set the fashion for youthful conquerors.
"You are rash, my friend," Hannibal said. "The Romans may have found wisdom, and wisdom should always be honored. What says the Senate? Will you seek terms?"
"The Dictator overrules the Senate," said Scipio. "He speaks for Rome in his own right."
"Ah, I forgot," Hannibal said ruefully. "Those stories I hear about his Master of Horse-what is his name? Minucius? Yes, Minucius. I hear that Minucius is a firebrand and would have battle immediately."
"The Master of Horse carries out the Dictator's orders," Scipio said. "That is the law." It was the law, but in truth Minucius defied the Dictator and acted as if he were an equal colleague. He had been elected to his office by popular acclaim instead of appointed by the Dictator himself. It was a violation of custom that had resulted in serious consequences.
"Does it matter?" said a man who closely resembled Hannibal, but stouter and with two good eyes. This was Hasdrubal, the Shofet's brother and second in command. Fierce old Hamilcar Barca, their father, had made both his sons swear upon the altar of Tank to destroy Rome, the upstart citystate that had challenged and humiliated him and Carthage.
"There was a time for you to treat with me," Hannibal said. "After any of the battles, I would have been pleased to offer you the most generous terms: the destruction of your fleet, your withdrawal from Sicily and Messana, things that would have cost you little and assured your survival and the friendship of Carthage. But"-he shook his head as if in deep sorrow-"but you Romans are stubborn. You had to keep fighting when such defiance was foolish. You harassed me and would not come to battle. You suborned my allies, the cities of Italy that threw open their gates for me and in return suffered no harm whatsoever from my army. Now I am not so favorably inclined. Now I am of a mind to be harsh."
"We will not surrender," Fabius said. "Rome will not pass beneath your yoke."
"That settles it then," said young Philip. "Let's fight!"
"Don't be hasty," Hannibal said.
"What do you mean?" Philip demanded. "Either they surrender or they fight us. What other options have they?"
"There is a third course," Hannibal told him. "A very ancient one."
"What might that be?" Fabius asked.
"National exile," said Hannibal. For a moment the Romans lost their fabled gravitas, shuffling and looking at one another in wonderment. This was totally unexpected.
"Explain," Fabius said.
"When the Great Kings of Persia were displeased with a subject state, they could banish the whole nation to someplace in the vast interior of the Empire, where they could dwell in obscurity and cause no more distress. This is what I offer you."
"Leave Rome!" Scipio said, aghast. "Never!"
"I believe I was talking to your Dictator," Hannibal chided.
"This is unprecedented," Fabius said.
"Perhaps it is here," said Hannibal. "But I make you this offer and for the last time. Take what you can transport, pack up your household gods, and leave Italy. Go to the northeast, beyond the alps into the place you call Noricum. Do not trouble the Gauls, they are my allies now. Find for yourselves a new home in the north and never bother Carthage again. These are my terms. If you do not accept them, I will annihilate those boys and old men in arms over there"-he jabbed a finger toward the last Roman army-"and then I will exterminate all that lives in that city. I will pull down its walls and demolish its buildings and heap earth over it, and on top of the grave of Rome I will erect an altar to Tank."
For a while the Romans were silent. Then Fabius spoke. "I must consult with the Senate and the people."
"I thought you were Dictator," said Philip. "You speak for them all."
"Nonetheless, I will consult with them."
Hannibal glanced at the angle of the sun. "You have until sunset. If you have not answered by then, get a good night's sleep, for we commence battle in the morning and every one of you shall die. The very names of your houses will be forgotten. Now leave me."
Without further words the Romans left the platform. At its base they collected their arms and their horses and they rode back toward their lines.
"This is absurd!" Scipio cried. "Surely you don't propose to lay these terms before the Senate?"
Quintus Caecilius Metellus pointed toward the Roman army. "Look at them! In four or five years, the boys will make passable legionaries. The last credible Roman army died at Cannae. These are just fodder for Hannibal's veterans and hirelings. You don't eat seed corn, Scipio."
Scipio began to draw his sword but Fabius barked, "Enough! This is not for you to decide. Keep quiet and pretend that the Romans are still a unified people. If Hannibal finds out otherwise, we are truly lost."
There was no illusion of Roman unity in the Senate that afternoon. Because of the emergency they met in the war headquarters instead of the Curia.
"The time to fight is now, this very hour!" shouted Minucius. "The men are ready for battle! Make them wait another day and they will lose their edge. Their nerves will begin to assail them."
"That is exactly why we must not fight," Fabius asserted. "What stands between Hannibal and Rome is the seed of an army. Given time, we can raise and train new legions. But if we lose one more battle, there will be no more legions, no more Rome."
He gazed around him at the sadly depleted ranks of the Senate. They provided much of the officer class of the legions. Senators served not only as generals and tribunes, but as centurions and decurions, and there was no disgrace in a man serving as a common soldier in the years before his elevation to the Senate. More than half of the senators who had sat in this august assembly at the start of the present war were now dead on the field of battle. Almost all of the older men had lost sons and grandsons.
An elderly senator stood, trembling with wrath. "We cannot give up our lands, our estates! The land belongs to our ancestors and our descendants!"
The rest murmured agreement. Fabius had known that this was the argument that would weigh the heaviest. The Senate, both its patrician and plebeian members, were the landed gentry of Rome. For them, losing land was worse than losing sons. They could prattle on as much as they liked about the importance of breeding and high birth, but without land and the wealth it brought them, they were nothing. Old patrician families had fallen into poverty, and they plummeted into the general populace like a rock dropped down a well. It was a prospect they did not want to face.