"We will lose our lands anyway," Fabius said without pity. "The Carthaginians will take them. If we migrate, we will take new lands. We have done this before. Was Rome not founded by a wandering war-band led by Romulus and Remus?"
"The Carthaginians don't take land," said Quintus Caecilius Metellus. "They exact tribute."
"I won't hear it!" Fabius shouted. "Romans do not pay tribute! Would we become like the people of Utica? Better to be exterminated first!" He was roundly cheered, with the Scipio family cheering loudest.
Gaius Regulus, the oldest senator, stood and there was silence. "What do the gods say?"
Fabius turned to the man who sat beside him, dressed in a simple toga, wearing a cap surmounted by a wooden disk. From the center of the disk a spike jutted, a few threads of wool dangling from its tip. He was the Flamen Dialis, high priest of Jupiter. Beside him stood a single lictor. He was also very old and he heaved himself to his feet with difficulty.
"The flamenae, the pontifexes and the augurs are all in agreement: The omens have never been worse for Rome. The sacred birds will not eat, and they die in unprecedented numbers. The sacrificial animals struggle to escape from the altar, and then they are found to have diseased or malformed organs. Just yesterday, the augur Aulus Perperna saw an eagle alight upon the roof of the temple of Jupiter Best and Greatest. It had captured a serpent, and as it lowered its head to devour its prey, the serpent sank its fangs into the eagle's throat. The noble bird gave a great cry and tried to fly away, but a moment later it fell dead before the altar of Capitoline Jupiter."
At this even the most ardent for war turned pale. It was one thing to fight men. But to fight against the gods themselves?
"Noble Senators," Fabius said, "I think the will of the gods is plain. I am Dictator, but a decision this momentous must be put to the vote. I will have a division of the House: Those for immediate battle, to the right. Those for migration, to the left."
There was a shuffling of sandaled feet, together with a scraping of hobnails, for many senators were in military uniform. Slowly, the bulk of the assembly drifted to the left. At first, some hesitated to show what might be interpreted as timidity, but as more gathered to the left, others followed. At last, only a half-dozen senators stood to the right, all of them members of the Cornelia Scipiones. Then the youngest of the Scipios, the hero of Cannae, spoke.
"Kinsmen, let's not defy the gods as well as the noble Senate. We will found a new Rome in the north, as Aeneas founded a new Troy in Italy." With this, he walked to the left of the chamber and the rest of the Scipios followed.
The Flamen Dialis spoke once more. "There must be one condition, or we cannot go."
Once again, the Romans stood before Hannibal. This time, the Carthaginian met them before his command tent, with all his commanding officers and ranking allies around him. Beside the tent was a strange object: a table surmounted by a standard that consisted of a golden pole. At its base was a triangle topped with a pair of stylized arms, hands upraised. Above that was a golden disk, and above the disk a silver crescent, points upward.
"What is your decision, Dictator?" Hannibal demanded. "The sun is almost at the horizon."
"We will go," said Fabius, his face frozen. From the crowd surrounding Hannibal came many exclamations, some of satisfaction, others of disappointment.
"You are wise," said the Shofet.
"But there is one condition," the Dictator said.
"No conditions!" barked Hasdrubal. "Go or die, it is all the same to us!"
"Peace, brother," Hannibal said. "I would hear this condition."
"I have spoken with the Senate, with the priests and with the citizens assembled in arms. We are in agreement. You must swear not to lay violent hands upon the tombs of our ancestors or upon the temples of our gods. You may loot the temples of their treasures, but leave the buildings and the images of the gods unmolested. Otherwise, we must stay and die, right here, right now." Now he, too, gazed at the setting sun. "No need to wait until morning. A night battle will suit us as well. We do not need sunlight to find our way to the underworld."
There was stunned silence. To offer battle when the outcome was certain annihilation was astounding but not unheard of. To offer a night battle was appalling. At last Hannibal spoke.
"You Romans are a truly remarkable people. I will be almost sorry to see you gone." He walked to the strange structure by his tent and placed a palm against the golden triangle. "Upon the altar of Tanit I, Hannibal, Shofet of Carthage and general of all her armies, swear that neither I, the men under my command, my allies nor any Carthaginian will ever molest the tombs and temples of the Romans. In this I include their sacred groves, shrines, holy wells and their mundus to the underworld. This I enjoin upon all my descendants as well." He took his hand from the altar and faced the Romans again.
"Now go. Take what you can carry, but go. You have the turning of one moon. Tonight the great moon of Tanit is full. At the next full moon I will slay without mercy any Roman I find in Italy."
There was a final assembly in the temple of Capitoline Jupiter: Jupiter Best and Greatest. The Senate was present, as were all the priesthoods: the flamenae and the pontifexes; the college of augurs; the Salii, known as "holy leapers"; the keepers of the ancilia, the quinqidecemviri, who kept the Sybilline Books; The Rex Sacrorum, King of Sacrifices* who stood second only to the Flamen Dialis; the Arval Brothers; the Pontifex Maximus, who ruled over all aspects of religious practice. Behind him stood the Vestal Virgins. There were other priesthoods, some of them so ancient and obscure that most Romans were scarcely aware of their existence, each dressed in its own regalia.
When all the prayers and invocations had been spoken or chanted or wailed in their archaic languages, when all the protective and apotropaic spells had been laid, the Pontifex Maximus spoke.
"I now invoke an oath upon the whole Roman people." Four priests entered the temple. They wore long-sleeved tunics and upon their heads were bulbous turbans encircled by scarlet and yellow stripes. They carried a sacrificed pig, each holding a leg as its slashed throat dripped a line of blood upon the floor of the temple. They halted before the Pontifex Maximus and one of them handed him a rod of iron.
"If we do not return to take back our sacred seven hills, may the curse of Jupiter fall upon our descendants thus!" He raised the rod and brought it down upon the carcass with terrible force. The temple filled with the sound of snapping bones. "If Rome is not liberated from Carthage, may Jupiter smite us and our children thus!" Again the rod fell and bones crunched. "If we do not raise Rome anew, more splendid and beautiful than before, may Jupiter curse and destroy all our progeny thus!" The rod fell a third time and he cast it aside to clatter on the floor, the blood that now coated it splattering the nearest bystanders.
"This I swear by all the gods, by Jupiter and Mars, by Juno and Quirinus, by Janus, god of beginnings and endings, and by. ." Here he raised his hands in a significant gesture and all present save he, the Flamen Dialis and the Virgo Maxima, chief of the Vestals, covered their ears. Then, in a quiet voice, he pronounced the Secret Name of Rome, the most sacred and terrible oath of Roman religion, known only to the three of them. Then the carcass of the pig, bearing the dreadful oath with it, was taken from the temple to be thrown upon the sacrificial fire. The ancient terracotta statue of Jupiter, painted red except for his black beard and golden eyes, looked down upon them benignly. In later years, many of those present would claim that they saw him nod approval.