Fabius peered towards the men who had come out of the entrance with Hasdrubal. Two were priests, and two others were evidently Carthaginian officials, dressed not in armour but in purple-rimmed robes. It was the fifth man who caught his eye, a stocky, muscular man with short grey hair wearing a Greek chiton, clothing that seemed incongruous with his physique.
Fabius stared. And then he realized why the clothing seemed odd. It was because the last time he had seen this man he was dressed in armour, not the armour of a Carthaginian or a Greek but the chain mail and helmet of a Roman legionary.
He turned to Scipio. ‘On the platform, beside Hasdrubal. I’ve just recognized him, the one in the chiton. That’s my old nemesis Porcus Entestius Supinus.’
Scipio stared. ‘Are you sure?’
‘When someone has fought with you as often as he did when we were boys, you get to know every contour of their face.’
‘But Porcus is Metellus’ servant. I mean, his soldier companion, as you are to me. And Metellus is in Macedonia.’
‘He’s also Metellus’ version of Polybius. He’s something I could never be, a wily emissary. He must be here on some business for Metellus.’
Scipio looked down, thinking hard. ‘Of course. That lembos by the wharf — just the vessel to bring him here at high speed from Macedonia.’
‘Carefully hidden away in the war harbour, with signs of a Roman crew.’
‘A mission that the Senate could never have sanctioned,’ Scipio said.
‘Even though some of its most powerful members might have done so in secret.’
‘What do you mean?’ Scipio asked.
‘Remember what the kybernetes told us. About the involvement of Roman senators in those Carthaginian trading enterprises.’
‘You think Metellus could be one of them?’
‘I’m just a simple legionary, Scipio. I can’t get my head around trade deals, but I have learned a bit about military strategy. I think it’s even worse than the kybernetes suggested. To my eyes, seeing a secret embassy here from Metellus smacks of a military alliance in the making.’
Scipio’s eyes narrowed. ‘An alliance between the Roman governor of Macedonia and Hasdrubal of Carthage.’
‘Maybe not just the governor of Macedonia. Maybe he intends to be more than that. We know that Metellus has been a secret supporter of Andriscus, but perhaps it’s not Andriscus who had pretentions to the Macedonian throne. It has always seemed only a matter of time before Andriscus ceases to be useful and Metellus finds some excuse to destroy him. Do you remember how fascinated Metellus always was by Alexander the Great? When I used to listen to you in the academy war-gaming past battles, Metellus always brought his name up, in tones of reverence. He said the main thing that the academy had taught him was how if he were Alexander he would have solidified his gains and not overstretched himself.’
‘A new Alexander,’ Scipio breathed. ‘Rome’s main enemy has not been Carthage after all. It’s been herself, a dark force unleashed because Rome has not been able to provide men like Metellus with satisfaction in their careers, men who would not just be kings, but emperors.’
Fabius was silent for a moment. Men like you too, Scipio Aemilianus. He peered at the soldiers. ‘They could see us if we move now. But as soon as the last warrior passes, we should go. We need to get to the harbour and then to Polybius. We have no time to lose.’
They watched the final line of men drink their libations. Fabius’ mind raced. Their mission to Carthage had uncovered far more than they could have imagined. Carthage was not only rearming, but was on the cusp of becoming the richest state ever known. Worse still, she was conducting negotiations with a Roman whom most in the Senate would believe was one of their most loyal generals, yet who might be on the verge of setting himself up as the successor of Alexander the Great, ruler of a new Rome in the east.
Rome had allowed herself to become complacent. Only one man stood in the way of this new world order, and that was Scipio Aemilianus. Yet Scipio’s own future, his ability to lead an army to destroy Carthage and swing the pendulum back towards Rome, hung in the balance. And few in Rome knew as well as Fabius how precarious Scipio’s own loyalty was, and what he might do if one day he were to stand on the burning ruins of the temple that towered above them now.
The last Carthaginian walked past them, wiping his mouth and flicking droplets of blood on the ground. Fabius stared Scipio in the eye, and then nodded at him.
His mind flashed back to the men they had killed beside the harbour. They were only two, but they would be the first of many. Scipio would return to this city.
They turned down the alley where the two Thracians were waiting for them, and began to run.
17
Near the Numidian border, five months later
Fabius reined in his horse and came to a halt, watching the solitary rider with the crested helmet framed against the early morning light on the escarpment ahead. In the months since their covert mission to Carthage and return to the Roman headquarters encampment, he and Scipio had devoted themselves relentlessly to Gulussa’s cause, helping to muster and train Numidian cavalry in the plains and semi-desert scrubland far to the south of Carthage. Fabius had relished proper soldiering again, but this morning he was tired and hungry, caked in dust from their ride through the night; he knew that as soon as he lay down with the others in the wadi below he would go out like a snuffed candle, and sleep for hours.
Gulussa reckoned that they still had five days’ hard ride ahead before they reached the dried-up marshland below Carthage, their final stretch after weeks spent trawling the outer limits of his father’s kingdom for men to join the cavalry force that he and Hippolyta were readying to counter further Carthaginian incursions into the territory of Numidia. They were all here now, over a thousand men with their horses, teeming in the wadi below, their breakfast fires dotting the edge of the shallow stream where they had watered the animals and would sleep through the heat of the day. Coming to the wadi had been a diversion of a few hours to the west of their main route, but Scipio had planned at the outset to visit this place; Fabius himself had been given strict instructions by Polybius to write down everything he saw. Polybius had yearned to come himself, but his return to Rome to report to Cato on their reconnaissance into Carthage had kept him there for months longer than expected, lobbying hard in place of the increasingly ailing Cato, now well over ninety years old. Despite their overwhelming evidence of Carthaginian war preparations, the argument had continued to be an uphill struggle against those who dismissed the importance of Africa in favour of Greece and the east, and who even argued for withdrawing support from Masinissa in his attempt to defend the integrity of his kingdom against the resurgence of Carthage. Fabius knew that Polybius had kept their most potent ammunition until last, the evidence for the complicity of Roman senators at the highest level with Carthaginian plans, fearing that a premature attempt to expose the culprits would be disbelieved and count against them unless they had a majority of the Senate already in their camp. But they also knew that time was running short, that this waiting game could not go on much longer while Carthage continued to rearm. Polybius would have to play his cards soon, risking censure and proscription for himself as well as Scipio, if there was not movement in their favour very soon in the Senate.
Fabius took a swig from his water skin, and then poured water over his horse’s mane, leaning back as it shook its head and neighed. Soon they would be back at the watercourse, and the horse would be able to drink its fill. He watched Gulussa ride up the ridge from the wadi to join him, still wearing his cloak against the chill of the night, and together they made their way further up the rocky ground to the figure on the escarpment. For Scipio, coming to Zama was a personal pilgrimage: it was here that his adoptive grandfather Scipio Africanus had won his greatest glory almost sixty years before, when two armies had come to this place on the edge of the unknown to decide whether Carthage or Rome would hold sway as the greatest power the world had ever seen.