night."
The consul frowned. "What of that? Doesn't every commander have that problem? Did you think one of your close friends would be named as your second? Like it or not, this is the way things get done."
"Exactly," Gabinius said. "You ought to be able to handle the likes of Titus Norbanus. He's just a forum politician, a rich man's son with a smooth tongue. He hasn't a single military victory to his name."
And that, Marcus knew, was exactly what would make Norbanus dangerous. His politician's skills would make him persuasive to other members of the expedition. His jealousy of Marcus's military reputation would do the rest.
"I'll confer with the family," he told them.
"Your family?" Gabinius snorted. "When did the Cornelia Scipiones ever pass up a chance for honor? They'll think you're insane for consulting with them."
"Nevertheless, I will speak with them. And should I accept, I shall want authority to veto any man the committee tries to foist on me."
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
The consul frowned. "What of that? Doesn't every commander have that problem? Did you think one of your close friends would be named as your second? Like it or not, this is the way things get done."
"Exactly," Gabinius said. "You ought to be able to handle the likes of Titus Norbanus. He's just a forum politician, a rich man's son with a smooth tongue. He hasn't a single military victory to his name."
And that, Marcus knew, was exactly what would make Norbanus dangerous. His politician's skills would make him persuasive to other members of the expedition. His jealousy of Marcus's military reputation would do the rest.
"I'll confer with the family," he told them.
"Your family?" Gabinius snorted. "When did the Cornelia Scipiones ever pass up a chance for honor? They'll think you're insane for consulting with them."
"Nevertheless, I will speak with them. And should I accept, I shall want authority to veto any man the committee tries to foist on me."
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
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