Man of Salt: The Story of Marcus Livius Salinator and the Battle of the Metaurus in Hannibal’s War With Rome

By Frank Gugino

Merriam Press Historical Fiction

Marcus Livius, last year's war hero, is angry at the ungrateful Romans for convicting him on phony charges. Disgraced in exile, he vows never to return to Rome.

Then tragedy strikes home after the disaster at Cannae. A grieving Marcus plunges into depression, blaming his hubris for losing his mind, career and family. Hannibal defeats one Roman army after another, poised to conquer Rome itself. Marcus's countrymen turn to him as their last hope to avert destruction.

Can Marcus overcome his anger and bitterness especially when the other consul, Nero, is the man responsible for his unjust conviction? The fate of Rome hinges on his ability to recover his senses and defeat the enemy at the Battle of the Metaurus.

The author states, "I have endeavored to tell the story of a man whose life seemed most unusual to me. In the process, I’ve attempted to synthesize the historical narrative of the War with Hannibal around Livius’s imagined life, maintaining a healthy respect for the actual characters and events as gleaned from the pages of Livy and Polybius, my primary sources."

Steven Manchester, #1 Best Selling author, The Rockin' Chair, said, "In Gugino's epic novel characters are real and relatable, scenes are vivid, plot is a true page turner. Gugino's writing is powerful, invoking a constant state of intrigue. I highly recommend this book."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781312650633

Book preview

Prologue

It was the late afternoon of a warm summer day in Rome that brought a gentle, though fading light to the room. Titus Livius was too immersed in his work to notice. His eyes strained to continue writing. Not even the opening of the door to his library prevented him from stopping. Somewhat hard of hearing, he sensed the presence of someone entering the room without bothering to knock. Suddenly his concentration was interrupted by a voice. The old man’s head quickly jerked upward to face his intruder.

Grandpa Titus, will it be all right if I read one of your books, while you work? Mother says I must ask your permission.

Why Lucius, you gave me a start. I wasn’t aware you had such an interest. If you can be quiet and very careful you may peruse the books over there, he replied, pointing to a group of shelves behind him and resuming his writing. The ten-year old boy gently closed the door behind him, wandering around the room in awe of the bountiful collection of scrolls that populated practically every available space. He’d never seen so many books in one place. It was if his grandfather had hoarded all the most important volumes from all over the world. Dust was collecting on some of the scrolls. Others were already opened, as if in the process of being inspected regularly.

The library seemed to be organized by its owner, but the boy couldn’t discern exactly how. Books written in Latin, Greek, Egyptian, Hebrew and other strange languages were laying side by side. He opened one volume, read a few lines and replaced it in silence. The boy’s eyes got even bigger when he espied a title by Xenophon called "Anabasis. He’d heard his father mention that story before. He knew it was a story of men with great courage who performed great deeds. Lucius opened the book and began to read, but his knowledge of Greek was rudimentary. After trying to comprehend the opening chapter, his attention soon waned. He peered over the old man’s shoulder. Unable to restrain himself much longer, he blurted out from behind the patriarch. Grandpa Titus, what are you working on now? It looks very important."

Momentarily startled, the old man raised his quill then looked toward him. "Well, my boy, it’s the last book of my History of Rome which Octavian, or rather the emperor Augustus, as he is now known, has compelled me to finish. Now make yourself useful and light some of these lamps, so I can continue."

The boy dutifully complied, making the room sufficiently brighter as his interest became heightened. Like so many privileged youths, he was tutored in his country’s past. Wars and battles, great soldiers and terrible enemies, laws and orators, gods and religions, times of prosperity and hardship were included in his curriculum. He was proud of his family’s noble status and hoped to be a lawyer someday just like his father. His curiosity could not be contained any longer. Again, he interrupted, Grandpa Titus, I’ve read some of your stories about the legendary heroes of Rome. I was wondering. Many of my friends are very proud of their lineage and the heroes in their families. Has there ever been anyone from our family who was important? I mean anyone remarkable that you have written about?

The old man thought for a moment, considering the boy’s newfound interest in family history. Perhaps it might be better to ignore such a request to uncover greatness so close to home. After all, it might be unseemly to brag about relatives who were obscure. But upon reflection, he smiled and addressed the boy’s inquiry forthrightly. Well, there was one such a man who lived 200 years ago during the Second Punic War with Carthage—you know, the war with Hannibal. He was probably one of the early members of our family tree, but I have no proof as such.

What was his name?

His name was Marcus Livius Salinator.

Livius, just like our name—but Salinator, the salt-tax man? That’s a funny name. How did he get that? Was he famous?

He did achieve a measure of fame in his own time. How he got that agnomen is also rather strange. He was a most unusual man in both character and achievement. He was beset with strange, personal problems that he was unable to cope with for some time—perhaps because the gods did not favor him. But ultimately after years of wandering in his own wilderness, he overcame his demons and returned to Rome. He led his army to an important victory that may have saved the city from destruction by the Carthaginians. The historical record is rather incomplete, but we can surmise some things from what we do know of the people, the places and the times in which he lived. Would you like to know more about him?

Lucius jumped to attention, nodding excitedly. Then pour me a cup of wine from that jug on the table and I’ll tell you the story of a man unlike any that you’ve known or imagined.

Is it a long story?

Rather long, yes. We can start now. You can come back from time-to-time when you like, and we can resume the story until we finish.

The boy eyes opened as wide as the smile on his face. He fetched the wine and sat down alongside his grandfather, who proceeded to relate the story of a long, lost ancestor.

Part I: The Delegation

Three Roman warships cruised southward, as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The placid waters off the western coast of Sicily offered little resistance in the mid-March morning. The prows of each quinquereme cut cleanly through the shimmering sea, dividing it with widening wakes. Their mainsails were full of the westerly wind that swept across the starboard bows. The men of the first two decks pulled hard, two to an oar, while the rowers of the third deck rested. It was nearly time at the top of the hour to change the order. Sweat poured from each man’s body with arms and legs moving in unison to the beat of the oar master’s drum. Oar and sail worked together, propelling the ships in a line inexorably past an ever-changing shore.

Marcus Livius stood alone along the bow of the lead ship, peering intently toward the horizon, the sea breeze blowing gently in his face, the salty air filling his nostrils. He felt like lingering in these waters for a while longer, contemplating his delegation’s mission. Perhaps the sea contained the answers to the questions that occupied his mind. The rolling waves magically transported him from earthly reality to an ethereal dreamlike state.

Are you looking for something out there in the sea, Marcus? You seem lost in thought.

Marcus turned to see his friend smiling at him. Just wondering, I suppose, Lucius. We’re approaching the Aegates Islands where the final sea battle of the last war was fought. Could the ghosts of the men who died here over 20 years ago tell us what we’re in for when we get to Carthage tomorrow?

That’s an interesting notion, Marcus. I’ll bet they’d hope we were successful at averting another war. But those lost souls might also tell us to prepare for the worst, nonetheless.

It seems to me, Lucius, that we have no choice. If Hannibal Barca’s army has conquered all of Spain, isn’t that just a prelude to attacking Rome? How can we stop him?

If only the voices of the dead could rise up to guide us, Marcus.

Well, if you really want to know, I’ll be happy to tell you both, since I was nearly among the dead that fateful day, a voice interjected. Both men turned to see one of their fellow senators apparently reminiscing just as they were. He was the oldest, most astute member and leader of the delegation. It was Fabius Maximus, the most powerful man in Rome.

Yes, Fabius, by all means. Were you actually there? asked Marcus.

I was a young officer then and will admit that we were all practically scared to death.

You scared, Fabius? I can hardly imagine that. said Lucius.

We were very wary, indeed, but at the same time supremely confident if you can reconcile those emotions. The gods smiled on us that day and we destroyed the Punic fleet.

Yes, added Marcus, Thousands of men drowned that day.

One of the marines nearby inquired, Was that the end of the war?

Fabius continued, For all practical purposes, yes. The Carthaginian land forces of Hamilcar Barca on Mt Eryx, which we’d blockaded, were now incapable of relief. It was the end of all resistance. Carthage was forced to submit to our terms. Unfortunately for Hanno, their commander, it was his third defeat and he was crucified when he returned home.

That would be the ultimate disgrace for a soldier, said Lucius. To be humiliated and executed by his own people for being judged unworthy and incompetent. But that seems to be the Punic way of war—victory or death.

Which brings us to our current predicament, gentlemen. added Fabius. Either the Carthaginians agree to stop the hostilities now and abide by our standing treaties, or we start another war. This time it will be decided by land battles because they don’t have the warships or transports needed to invade Italy.

Unless Hannibal decides to march his army into Italy? retorted Marcus.

Impossible, asserted the amazed and ever prudent Lucius Paullus. He’d have to take an entire army across the Pyrenees, march into Gaul, cross the Rhone then go over the Alps, fighting local tribes all along the way. Daunting enough for a few men—but an entire army, with elephants no doubt? It simply can’t be done. We’ll fight him in Spain, when we’re good and ready.

That’s what everyone thinks, Lucius—except Hannibal Barca. I’ve heard he’s the most resourceful general Carthage has ever had—just like his father, replied Marcus.

Perhaps Livius, but we’ll be prepared whatever the circumstances. That’s what the ghosts would warn us to do, countered Fabius, casting a suspicious glance at the ex-consul. We can’t be sure of their intentions, but our legions will be ready to protect us.

Let’s just hope the Punic Senate will listen to reason and be willing to negotiate a new treaty, Marcus countered. Otherwise, Rome and Carthage are headed for a war the likes of which the world hasn’t seen since Alexander’s Greeks fought the Persians a hundred years ago. The Romans referred to all things Phoenician as Punic—and that included Carthage, a former Phoenician colony.

I’ll never understand these Punic people, Marcus. They’re so intent on acquiring wealth that they neglect the responsibilities of basic patriotism. They rarely seem willing to even fight for their own country, turning to mercenaries to do what any citizen should be obliged to do. How do they survive?

Well Lucius, so long as there are men willing to fight and die to defend another man’s freedom then they’ll be successful. There seems to be no lack of men in the world that fit that description—trading blood for gold. And Carthage has plenty of gold.

Thankfully, it’s not the Roman way, concluded Lucius, exuding his patrician values. We fight our own battles. When that changes it will be the end of Rome and I’ll be glad to be dead and buried. Some principles are universal and immutable.

We’re fortunate to have a large enough supply of men and officers to keep those principles intact, Lucius. The day may come when we don’t have the luxury of only using Roman citizens and our Italian allies to defend ourselves.

I hope I never see that day either, Livius, Fabius added with a decided reference to his old-school ways and commitment to Roman traditions.

Marcus noted his colleagues’ opinions. They were rational and reasonable. But what didn’t make sense was the inescapable feeling that the time was shortly coming when all such conventional wisdom would become obsolete. What then? But there was something else that began to bother him. It was a strange sensation-as if a large, strong, invisible hand was grabbing at his gut. He doubled over in discomfort. Slowly the hand released its grip. Momentarily unsure of himself, Marcus looked around. He was alone now, only the vast sea surrounding him and he wondered. Is this a harbinger of what we’re facing, something altogether different—ominous and unworldly?

*

Ecco, terra! went the cry of the lookout. Dead ahead was Carthage, a city as exotic as its name, populated with all the races of mankind, speaking a multitude of languages. Carthage was a mercantile miracle where the wares of the world were traded, people and products bought and sold. Silver and gold coin exchanged with precious gems and the currencies of all nations. Caravans of camels and pack animals carried the bounty of Africa’s interior across the plains to market. Ships with the flags of many nations unloaded the precious cargo of far-away regions.

This was the source of the city’s wealth, the lifeblood of its economy.

The advance party assembled on deck. Ropes were thrown over the side, and the huge quinqueremes came to rest. A squad of ten marines prepared to disembark, a mere security precaution to keep the locals at bay. Together, with the lictors they created an official presence. As they approached the dock Marcus turned to Quintus Baebius, Was there a reception committee for you here last year?

No, not here, Livius. We’ll have to make our way through the marina and the market. There’s a plaza a short walk from there where an official will probably meet us. No doubt, they’ve anticipated our arrival. It’s late and we may not get an audience today. As soon as our ships were sited, the word went out. These people have a knack for knowing things.

Marcus cautioned everyone to keep their eyes forward and not be distracted by the somewhat strange and unfamiliar sights they were sure to encounter. Remember he insisted, We’re here on official business. Let’s act like it.

The lictors led the way, dressed in red tunics and flowing red capes. Each carried the ever—present fasces, symbols of consular authority—a bundle of reeds wrapped around an iron axe, tied with leather straps. The lead lictor carried their legionary staff with a Roman eagle above the letters SPQR. Livius and Baebius walked behind them wearing full length senatorial togas, white with a purple stripe with letters of introduction in the folds. Their garb was civilian, their intentions were diplomatic, but their concerns were strictly military. Sextus and the marines followed. Each man had a short sword on his belt and carried an eight-foot pilum spear which featured a foot-long iron tip. They proceeded slowly but deliberately with all the local fishermen staring at them. The looks on their faces ranged from surprise to incredulity to annoyance to complete disdain. They were not enemies quite yet, but they were not particularly welcome either.

Seagulls squawked while the marina dogs barked menacingly at the strangely dressed visitors. Even in a city that welcomed all manner of diverse and unusual people, the Romans stood out from the rest—not only by their dress, but also by their manner of disciplined carriage and gait. Waiting at the gate ahead was a small group of men with leather caps that looked very much like a welcoming party. One man carried an official standard, the Lion’s Head of Carthage. They stood at attention.

As the Romans approached, Marcus and Baebius turned to each other and the latter said Well this is it. We’re being accosted. It was nearly dusk.

Their leader stepped forward and began to speak. He was a slender, distinguished-looking nobleman whose voice resonated beyond all need for both groups to hear. In fact, it seemed as if he were making a public address for anyone within shouting distance to hear.

I am Hamdras, son of Himilco, Suffete of Carthage. The City of Carthage recognizes and welcomes the representatives of the City of Rome. May our peaceful relationship continue.

I’m Marcus Livius, recent consul of Rome. The rest of our delegation is still aboard our ships. We’re prepared to meet with your Senate immediately on urgent business as soon as possible.

Although we were aware of your coming, I regret that because of the late hour an audience cannot be arranged until tomorrow. You and your entire delegation are welcome to be our guests until then. We have adequate accommodations for all in your company. I hope that will suffice.

Marcus knew that Fabius would never consent to staying on foreign soil. He demurred.

Surely there is no need for you all to return to your ships. Perhaps you and your aide will take advantage of our hospitality? Hamdras implored.

Baebius jerked his head upward, obviously miffed at being dubbed merely an aide and began to voice his displeasure. Livius, I don’t think we should...

Marcus interrupted, I’ll be glad to accept the Suffete’s hospitality for one night. My colleague on the other hand prefers to join our delegation aboard ship. Baebius, please tell Fabius and Paullus of my decision and that I’ll meet you at this very spot early tomorrow morning. You may return with the lictors and the marines. Do you understand? The man grudgingly nodded. Sextus, escort Baebius back to the ship.

The Romans made an about face and gradually marched away, retracing their route through the market which, by this time in the afternoon, was dissipating considerably in activity.

I’m most pleased about your decision, Livius. Perhaps it bodes well for your delegation. You seem like a man who knows how to take advantage of an opportunity. You’ll be my guest tonight, concluded Hamdras who welcomed the chance to focus on a solitary adversary.

*

The open carriage was drawn by four large, black horses. They rode together into the city down a broad boulevard lined with date-palm trees, escorted by the leather-capped men.

Noting the flurry of commercial activity around them, the consul remarked, I can see that your city has prospered in the last 20 years, Hamdras. Are you prepared to wage war and risk losing all of this?

The prosperity you see did not come easily, Livius, but by the sacrifices of the nobility and the struggles of the common people to succeed—despite the terrible sanctions and reparations that Rome imposed upon us. We were once a great city. It is difficult for many of us to imagine Carthage in any other way. There are those among us who want to see a return to that greatness.

Well, Hamdras, is war the cost of greatness? Is there no other way? Your ships bring the wealth of the world to your doorsteps. Your supremacy in commerce is practically unrivaled. Do you need more than that?

Perhaps, Livius, you might ask yourself the same questions. Is Rome’s greatness due to its war machine which seems ready to impose its will on its neighbors? Do you have the capacity to allow others to live in peace and freedom?

We are strong militarily because not to be so would risk destruction. The Gauls in the north of Italy constantly threaten us. We’ll always remember that they captured, burned and plundered Rome. The Illyrians to our east ravage our coastline and murder our citizens. And lest we forget, the Greeks in Italy hired Pyrrhus to wage war on us not long ago. Carthage to our south fought us ceaselessly for over 20 years until we prevailed. And now to our west, your Hannibal attacks our allies and seeks our demise. We are surrounded by hostile people intent on our destruction. Greatness to some, it seems, means merely survival to others.

Yes, I see how threatened you must feel, Livius. Hamdras replied with a wry look of disdain, feeling challenged to rebut his guest’s assertions. You control only three-quarters of Italy, but the Gauls in the north should be eliminated soon. You demand and receive tribute in the form of soldiers and supplies from the Italian towns you’ve conquered. Your legions travel unimpeded wherever you choose. You seize territory at your will. You engage in the affairs of Spain, Gaul and Sicily at your pleasure. You must tell me again how threatened you are? he added, with a sarcastic smirk. But forgive me consul, I must first congratulate you and Paullus on your triumph against the Illyrians last year.

Marcus’s head perked up and his surprised eyes stared at his host. It amazed him that Hamdras knew that. The suffette is too kind. We were honored for vanquishing our enemies. But tell me Hamdras, how it is that Carthage seems to know everything that goes on in Rome?

That would be rather easy, Livius. Our defeats in wars have left us with little security. You’ve taken away nearly all our warships. We have barely enough soldiers to defend the city. What have we left? Nothing but our ability to trade, make money and secure alliances. Those little fishing boats you see in the harbor catch more than just fish. We make it our business to know what goes on in the world. Do you understand that?

Yes, Hamdras, and how well you do it, answered the consul sensing he was being schooled in Punic methods. He wanted to know more. But what of Hannibal Barca and the army he’s amassed in Spain? Surely, Carthage can depend on him for security, now that he has effectively subjugated all the tribes in Iberia. Will his minions follow him, perhaps even to the gates of Rome? Is this what you intend as retaliation against us? Does he do your bidding, or do you simply allow him, like his father, to carry out his own designs?

Hamilcar Barca, Hannibal’s father, was a great man, Livius—too great for Carthage. As all great men do, he made enemies who both feared and coveted his power. Carthage needed him to destroy the mercenary army which threatened the city after the last war. Some of the One Hundred and Four wanted him as a Suffete. But he wouldn’t be lured into the vicious politics that consumes our men like a sandstorm in the desert. It would have been only a matter of time before he would’ve been accused of some petty offense, put on trial on some trumped-up charges and brought low by those who wanted him out of the way after he’d served his purpose. He knew he had to build his dream elsewhere. Iberia, the home of his wife, was the natural place. He amassed a fortune in the silver mines and recruited his own army—the army which his son, Hannibal—half Carthaginian and half Iberian—now leads.

I see, and how do you avoid being consumed by the sandstorm, Hamdras?

With the help of the gods, my family, my friendships and my wits, Livius as we all do who are so foolish to enter the arena of politics. Is it not so in your country?

Yes, unfortunately. Rome has its own factions whose purpose is to either maintain their power or deprive others of the same. And there are always the demagogues and people’s leaders to contend with. These tribunes, who were created to protect the people, are among the most ambitious men in Rome—the most unscrupulous and the most dangerous.

As it is in Carthage, but enough whining and complaining. It is the life we have chosen. And we are here.

The carriage, which had been climbing steadily uphill for a while, now stopped in front of a palatal, pink limestone structure surrounded by resplendent gardens.

Please, Livius, feel free here. This is my home, the home of my ancestors for many years. We are among the fortunate few still able to own land on Byrsa Hill, which has been overtaken by so many public buildings. You must be very tired. My man Gogal will show you to your quarters where you can rest before supper, which will be in a few hours. Then we can resume our most enjoyable conversation.

Gogal led Marcus past the massive wooden doors, carved with images of palm trees and fruits which were so plentiful in the gardens. He stepped into an anteroom with beamed ceilings which had several arched doorways going inward. The twosome turned to the right and up a flight of stairs to the private rooms. At the end of a hall they stopped. He opened an unlocked door and bade Marcus enter. Without another word, he turned around and departed.

The room was large enough for a bed, table and chair of excellent craftsmanship with gilded floral decorations. On the table was a carved alabaster bowl full of fresh fruit. Marcus helped himself to an apricot that was the sweetest he’d ever tasted. He poured himself a cup of rose-scented water from the pitcher and walked through a doorway onto the balcony and was instantly struck by a glorious panorama of the entire city and the harbor below. The landscape of palm-lined streets divided a pattern of stuccoed buildings, beyond which lay a calm green sea. White clouds gently floated in a fading blue sky. A circle of palm trees enclosed what seemed to be a public park. The gardens around the estate were filled with multi-colored flowers in various states of bloom. Such a magnificent view’ he thought.

He reclined on the bed, daring to nap. Before long, he arose and returned to the balcony, as if it were calling him to behold the picturesque scenery once more. It was then that he sensed something or someone in the room behind him. He smelled her before he saw her. It was the faintest fragrance of jasmine, yet the most tantalizing perfume that introduced her presence.

Welcome to our home, Consul. I am Samsara, Hamdras’s wife.

Marcus quickly turned away from the window to gaze upon a goddess posing as a woman. Her aura transfixed him. Am I somewhere in the heavens? he mused. She must be Juno or Athena or Venus herself.

Samsara was taller than most Carthaginian women, with long, shinning, straight black hair which she wore with combs back behind her ears and with a silver headband across her forehead. She was dressed in a full-length indigo colored vestment, fastened with a rope-like belt around her hips connected to a silver buckle that draped below her navel. But it was her face that struck the greatest blow to his senses—a perfectly formed countenance of light-brown skin exaggerated by her high cheekbones. Large, dark-brown eyes seemed to penetrate his senses. Her full, red tinged lips exuded a lusciousness that excited a lustiness in his loins that he’d not felt in years. She looked deeply into his eyes smiling with the face of Venus herself.

Marcus was smitten. He collected himself and abruptly replied. Your hospitality is most generous, Samsara. I’m delighted to be in your home.

You’ve had a long journey and must be hungry. Please follow me and join us in a modest supper. She turned walked out of the room.

He dutifully followed her down the stairs back to the front foyer, where they went through one of the other archways.

Perhaps you would like to see the rest of the house? she suggested.

Of course, he replied, thinking to himself, I’d willingly follow this woman anywhere, even to my perdition. All she needs to do is ask.

Samsara led him into a peristyle, the middle of which had a pool of aquamarine water below an open roof to collect rainwater. There were cushioned benches around the walls decorated with frescoes of native flora and fauna. That led to a grand outdoor courtyard, with terracotta floor tiles and decorative blue, yellow and red wall tiles shaped in plant and animal patterns. A central painted fountain gently bubbled with lotus plants floating in the water. An intoxicating aroma of bougainvillea filled the air.

I prefer this place to read in the morning. It gives me the sunshine without the heat and the privacy to enjoy it. I’m compiling material for an anthology about women in literature. Have you read The Trojan Women? "she inquired.

Marcus marveled at the goddesses’ obvious education and intelligence.Why yes, Samsara, the Greek plays are very popular to many in Rome and often performed in the theaters. Euripides is one of my favorite poets. Tell me, how do feel about men going to war? Do you agree with Andromache that it is useless?

Samsara’s smiling face instantly became sober. Women everywhere hate war. Once the men are killed, women are the ones who must endure, either as widows or slaves. Families are destroyed. There is no good result.

War is the pestilence that men bring upon themselves and all humanity, Samsara. It is the defect of our gender. That’s why we rely on women like yourself to turn us away from such destructive pursuits toward the creative endeavors of agriculture and art. If only the Muses had as much influence with Jupiter as Mars does.

I understand, Livius. It’s the same in our country as in Rome. Ba’al Hammon is a powerful and vengeful god that dominates all other benign deities. She turned and walked toward an open archway that led into a room that was set for dinner.

At that moment Hamdras entered the room. Please excuse my absence, he apologized, but some business has detained me. I trust everything has been to your satisfaction so far, Livius?

Far more than satisfactory. Remarkably enjoyable and entertaining.

They sat down on the low-lying cushions as servants arrived with a meal that was more a feast than a supper, table filled with several delectable dishes of swordfish, roasted lamb, eggplant with dates and figs. A servant poured wine. Another poured warm scented water over their hands, the water being captured in a bowl beneath. Towels were used for drying before they began to eat and drink with their hands. At first the conversation centered on pleasantries.

I hope you like the wine Livius. It just arrived from Pergamon, a most interesting country. Their King, Attalus, is very pro-Roman you know. He thinks your people have a destiny to dominate our world. Do you agree with him? Have you traveled to the East?

Yes, Hamdras, both to the wine which is to my liking and to having visited several places among other cities including Pergamon, Crete and Athens. But my favorite was Alexandria because of the library. I have the most unfortunate habit of collecting books and the library there was the most amazing place I’ve ever experienced. Have you seen it?

Seen it? Yes. I’ve spent many enjoyable hours at that library. It’s where I had most of my personal collection copied from. I spoke with the chief librarian of Alexandria, Eratosthenes. He is from Cyrene just down the coast, a most learned man, who studies the earth and the stars. He claims to have ascertained that the world is round, like a globe.

Well, Hamdras I would like to learn more about it. Will any of this be possible if our two countries go to war?

If we go to war, Livius, all human activity will be summoned to the service of death and destruction. Intelligent learning will cease, happiness will disappear, art will evaporate. We will direct all our efforts and energies to mutual misery. I will sell horses to the Carthaginian cavalry and you will command Roman armies against us. We will become enemies.

Is there any hope that we can stop this war from happening or is it inevitable, Hamdras? asked the rather pessimistic guest.

Tomorrow we will find out the answer to that question. Tomorrow, you will hear from both sides of Carthage. You will hear from Hanno, the leader of the aristocratic party and the sworn enemy of Hamilcar. He will make the case for peace. He despises all that the Barcas have done to bring us to this point. Unfortunately, very few now share his views. The popular party, which adores Hannibal Barca in his quest for revenge against Rome, dominates the government and the common people. You will also hear from Melqart who will make the case for supporting Hannibal. Then the choice of war or peace will be yours.

Marcus could hardly believe this scenario. Why are you telling me this now, Hamdras?

Because though I share Hanno’s concerns, it does not benefit me to advocate them in public. I have sympathy for the peace movement, but not the confidence that it will succeed. There are too many other problems that will ensue if I make my views public. My own family is divided on this issue. Samsara, my daughters and I want peace, but our son, Matho, has been taken with the patriotic fervor of the war faction. He and his young friends are consumed by Hannibal’s call to arms to fight Rome—to return Carthage to greatness. He enlisted in the army against my wishes, going off to Spain. We fear that a war will mean we’ll never see him again.

A silence followed only to be broken by Samsara’s soft but fearful admonition.Then the real sacrifices will begin, again.

Sacrifices? What sacrifices?

Hamdras explained, My wife refers to that peculiar feature of Carthaginian culture that others consider terrifyingly barbaric and insane for a civilized society. It is our sacrifices to the god Ba’al Hammon. Now, in peacetime, we give burnt offerings of sheep, goats and cattle. But in wartime or periods of great distress, the offerings come from our own families.

Marcus could only utter, Do you mean human offerings, human sacrifice?

Samsara spoke with a halting, breathless answer. Yes, Livius, our children, our most prized and priceless possessions—newborn babies or one-year-olds from the most noble families like ourselves. The priests will declare that if Carthage desires greater glory and wealth, then Ba’al Hammon will demand greater tribute. Animal sacrifices will be insufficient. We must contribute the flesh of our own young. This, alone, will satisfy the god.

Marcus was non-plussed and continued cautiously. I sense that you have personally experienced this sacrifice, Samsara?

Yes, at the end of the last war when things were going badly for Carthage, we were a very young couple. I was only 17 years old. Our parents decided that it was necessary to ensure our own future welfare and that of Carthage. So, our first-born child, an infant boy, was surrendered to the priests during the ceremony of Moluch. His ashes are in an urn at the Tophet near the harbor. I was quite distraught at the time it happened, but it was many years ago. Now we have three fine grown children and have enjoyed much prosperity since then. Perhaps it was worthwhile, but now I fear for our daughter, who is due to be married soon. If we are at war, she will be asked for the same offering. We dread the thought of her giving up a child to the fires. It’s too terrible to even consider.

I am sorry for your loss. This is not something that I understand, nor which I can pass judgment on, Samsara, though it does seem like a most uncivilized custom. In Rome we tolerate all religions, but there are limits to even that. I strongly doubt that this practice would be allowed. Mine are rather private. I observe the gods with my family. Unfortunately, like for so many others in public life, religion is a veiled observance of the ritualistic necessities and nothing more. Otherwise one might end up like my wife’s grandfather, Claudius Pulcher.

And now it is we who do not understand, Livius, Hamdras replied.

Publius Claudius Pulcher was the commander of a Roman fleet that fought Carthage early in the last war. Before the Battle of Drepana some thirty years ago, some sacred chickens were to be killed and their entrails examined to make sure that the auspices were satisfactory. The chickens were supposed to eat some holy grain before their sacrifice, but they wouldn’t cooperate. So Pulcher, being impatient as well as irreverent, exclaimed, ‘Well if they’re not hungry, perhaps they are thirsty?’ whereupon he had them thrown overboard before heading off to fight the battle which he promptly lost and was forever vilified. So, Romans do understand the necessity of rituals, if only for pretense.

Hamdras and Samsara smiled, appreciating their guest’s attempt at humor.

After another hour or so