“What else?” Hannibal asked.
One of the Libyans answered, “Commander, forgive me, but Publius told us to ask you whether his spies might survey your camp under the same conditions.”
Hannibal sent the same man back with a negative answer. He did say, however, that he would be pleased to meet Publius to discuss the terms of a peace. Without waiting for an answer, he kept to his tasks as he saw them. Maharbal's scouts surveyed the land between the two armies, and the commander maneuvered his troops according to their reports. It soon became clear that Publius had chosen the wide plain east of Zama as the stage for their encounter. A strong decision. The land was perfect for an open engagement, with nothing to favor either side, no traps to spring or avoid, no reason not to judge the ground a fair venue for combat. It was a spot, in fact, that Hannibal could find no excuse to avoid.
Strangely enough, he wished he could. He felt the fingers of another man's hands pushing him this way and that, and he did not like it. In the past he would have found some way to snatch control, but he could see no way to do this now. The consul held all the advantages he had had in Italy. For that reason, Hannibal meant his offer of discourse seriously. The Council wanted him to destroy the Romans, but if they believed that only he was capable of this, they must accept his word if he chose a negotiated peace. That might be just the thing they all needed, to talk peace, and then to go home and be citizens again. He sent a second envoy to the consul.
On the afternoon that he approached Hannibal with the news of Publius' acceptance of his proposal, Gemel found him asleep on his stool. He sat upright, with one hand stretched out before him on his thigh, as if he were reaching to accept an object into his palm. The officer almost commenced speaking, but then he noticed the slump of his head and the labored steadiness of his breathing.
“Hannibal?”
The commander opened his eyes. He did not start or jerk, or give any sign that he had been surprised. He simply straightened his head and turned his gaze on the officer and studied him for a quiet moment. “I was just thinking,” he said, “of how I used to kiss the drool away from my son's chin. There's nothing so soft as a baby's cheek, just there at the corner of their lips. I would like to do this again, but if I ever see young Hamilcar I probably won't even recognize him.”
“Of course you will,” Gemel said. “He is your son. My first son had a Turdetani mother, but still he came out my double.”
Hannibal frowned. “You have young?”
Gemel nodded. “I have three, Hannibal. Two by that Turdetani woman. I do not know their fate, but she was resourceful. They may yet live in Iberia. My youngest is by a Bruttian woman who still travels with me. This child is a girl. Unfortunately for her, she looks like me as well.”
Hannibal's gaze drifted away, moving from one thing to the next but obviously seeing only the thoughts inside him. “I did not know,” he said. “How can it be that I never spoke to you of this before?”
“When we speak it's of other things, Commander. More important things. That's why I'm here now. Scipio has agreed to speak with you. Tomorrow, on the field between the two armies.”
“So he agrees that we may end this with words?”
Gemel looked uncomfortable. “That I cannot say. Commander, are you well? If you wish I will propose a delay.”
Hannibal stood and stepped closer to his secretary. He placed a hand on his shoulder and rocked him gently back and forth, humor on his fatigued features. “You ask whether I am well. . . . You have come very far with me, Gemel, and you have become as dear to me as Bostar was. I remember the morning after Cannae, when you stepped in to fill his position. You had nervous eyes then. You stood very erect and spoke clipped words, such as would make any drill officer proud.”
“Some people have said that I still speak that way.”
“Yes, yes, you do. But I've grown so accustomed to it. I am sorry that we haven't spoken more as friends. This was a mistake on my part. Do you accept my apology?”
Gemel, embarrassed suddenly, nodded crookedly, in a way that both affirmed his acceptance and denied that any slight had been done.
“Good. Send Scipio my word; we will meet on the morrow. There is no need for delay.”
Hannibal slept like the dead that night. He woke in the predawn and automatically began to go over the speech he had to make. But he soon found that the words he meant to use did not need practicing. He felt like speaking the truth, and the truth is never rehearsed. Deciding so, he stilled his mind, stepped out of his tent, and watched the dawn.
Hannibal's forces marched down the slope from the northern boundary of the field of Zama and paused halfway, before them a great stretch of land as flat as a rough-cut paving stone. The Roman army occupied the southern area of this great space. They had drawn up in battle formation, in the checkerboard pattern of cohorts. Behind them rose the dim shapes of hills galloping off into the continent. Hannibal stepped forward before his army and walked toward the enemy without a weapon on his person. No guards—not even the Sacred Band—accompanied him. Only a translator trailed behind, also unarmed, a man of Egyptian blood and fluent in all tongues of consequence. Hannibal had no intention of using him, but it was the arrangement he had agreed to.
Publius likewise emerged as a single figure before the mass of men. His translator walked beside him. For a time he seemed very small, but as they neared the stools set up for them in the middle of the barren field, the man's proportions came into order. Lately, Hannibal had felt the vision of his good eye played tricks with him, especially in bright light. Because of this he opened their discourse abruptly, before either man had even sat down.
“We cannot speak sensibly in such a glare,” he said in Latin. “Would you mind if I called for shade? A single slave. On my word, he'd bear no weapon.”
Publius had clearly not expected this, neither the tone of it, its content or language. It took him a moment to recover. Call whomever you wish.”
Hannibal dispatched his translator to fetch a slave, and the two men sat on the stools, facing at slight angles away from each other. No more than three strides separated them. Publius bore the uniform of his office well. The bronze of his muscled breastplate glinted with fresh polishing, almost to the hue of gold. His empty sheath was attached to his body by a crimson band tight across his torso, and from his helmet rose a great horsehair plume dyed the same color. Hannibal could not help but notice his opponent's youth. By the gods, he was only a boy! His eyes set widely on his face, a sharp nose cutting between them, with thin lips closed and waiting. Not exactly a handsome face, not fierce as Marcellus' had been even in death, not spiteful like the faces of so many Roman prisoners, but even silently and in stillness he conveyed his intelligence.
Hannibal knew it was upon him to open the discourse. And so he did. He simply opened his mouth and let the thoughts within him out. He spoke in Latin.
“It is strange to finally look upon you,” he said. “I fought your father and knew much of your uncle, but never sat as close to them as I now do to you. Nor had I as much to fear from them. Publius Scipio, the conqueror of Iberia . . . the victor of the plains . . . I've heard so much of your exploits that in meeting you I expected to see either a man kissed by the gods or some demon, with the touch of death in his eyes. You are neither of these. You are younger-looking than I expected.”
Hannibal turned to watch the interpreter returning, beside him a slave with two large palm-leaf shades. The slave was clearly an Umbrian, naturally pale, although tanned by the African sun. He stood near them, completely naked, and perched the bases of the two palm fronds between the crooks of his arms and his back. Somehow he managed to cast shadows on both the men. Hannibal regretted that they had sent a Latin, both because of the unnecessary insult it suggested and because the man would have to be killed afterward for being able to understand them.