To Kill a Consul
217 BC. The Gauls are restless. Where is the wealth, plunder and lands they were promised? Hannibal’s army has become little more than a burden to be fed and quartered … as welcome as a plague of locusts. Assassination plots abound as Hannibal is driven to take desperate measures to evade the assassin’s knife.
If Hannibal is to appease the Gauls he must act fast. The invasion of Italia must not be delayed – his very life depends on it – but as that winter of winters fades into memory he is faced with a stark choice. Should he strike east towards the plains of Umbria and face consul Gnaeus Servilius Geminus’ legions holed up inside the unassailable walls of Ariminum? Or strike westwards into the plunder-rich lands of Etruria?
Consul Gaius Flaminius’ legions guard the western approaches. If any man can fire the bellies of Gauls with loathing it’s Flaminius. But there is one other whose blood runs cold at the mention of the name. Flaminius ordered the brutal murder of Sphax’s parents and Sphax has sworn a sacred oath to seek revenge. Can Hannibal trust the leader of his Numidian cavalry, or will this blood feud cloud his judgement? Sooner or later Sphax will have to face his inner demons.
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Extract from To Kill a Consul by Robert M. Kidd
Spring 217 BC – Sphax, three of his Numidians, and his friends Idwal and Drust have commandeered a trading vessel to make contact with a Carthaginian fleet of triremes sighted off Pisae (modern Pisa) a week earlier.
There is an unfortunate history between Sphax and the vessel’s captain, Tarbo, an old salt we met in The Walls of Rome. From the moment he steps aboard, Sphax behaves in an arrogant high-handed manner towards the captain; something he comes to regret. On their first night at sea he decides to make amends, climbing up on to the steering platform with a peace offering; a basket of bread and cheese.
* * * *
‘Since I commandeered your vessel and ordered you to sail to Cosa,’ Sphax began, keen to get this over with, ‘I’ve acted in a high-handed, arrogant manner, for which I’m profoundly sorry. You’re quite right, we have behaved like pirates, showing you none of the courtesy and respect you deserve, or gratitude for what you’re doing for us. All I can offer to make amends, is to swear a solemn oath that when we return to Pisae, I will pay you handsomely in silver for your inconvenience and any expense you’ve incurred.’
Throughout this monologue, Tarbo neither glanced in his direction nor issued one of his cursory grunts to acknowledge what was being said. Sphax judged he may as well have spoken to the swan’s neck carving over the stern for all the good it had done. Nevertheless, he felt better.
Other than the faint murmur of conversation from the deck cabin below them, time passed in an uncomfortable silence. From time to time he offered the basket to Tarbo who selected whatever he fancied. So light was the sea that night the captain could safely eat and drink with both hands, leaving the steering oars to plough their own course southwards.
‘What happened to that girl of yours?’ asked Tarbo, softly.
The question was so unexpected it caught Sphax off guard. Gathering together thoughts that were still raw and painful he was slow to reply. ‘Fionn was killed,’ he said finally. ‘Our army was attacked by Gauls in the high Alps … she fell …’ His voice trailed into silence.
‘Those whom the gods love ….’ Tarbo quoted the old proverb. ‘She was quite a beauty.’
Turning slowly around, Sphax searched the heavens for her star. Finding the square quartet of stars Illyrians call the Great Wagon, his eyes flickered to the east, and there she was: what the Greeks call Kynosoura, but what from ancient times his own people had named Phoenice, the star of the north. Somehow, since her death he’d come to associate her memory with Phoenice, the brightest star in the northern heavens. If she had not followed him to her death, Fionn would have followed that star to find her kin in the far north. Would that she had.
Often he searched it out. For some unfathomable reason it offered consolation and the blessing of memory. ‘Her star shines brightly this evening,’ he said gently, awakening from his reverie.
‘Which star would that be?’
Sphax turned and smiled at Tarbo. ‘Phoenice. But you may know her by another name.’
‘Ah … Stella Polaris.’
‘Yes, the northern star. If only Fionn had followed her star, and not me.’ For a while the two of them gazed at the southern heavens, locked in the silence of their own thoughts.
I’ve always read widely and been fascinated by ancient cultures - especially those of Greece, Phoenicia and Carthage. But my reason for writing the first novel in The Histories of Sphax series may sound strange to readers: I really wanted to set the record straight, to write about Hannibal’s war with Rome from Carthage’s perspective.
When Cato the Censor demanded that Carthage must be destroyed,’ Rome did just that. In 146 BC, after a three-year siege, Carthage was raised to the ground, its surviving citizens sold into slavery and the fields where this once magnificent city had stood, ploughed by oxen. Carthage was erased from history.
That’s why I’m a novelist on a mission! I want to set the historical record straight. Our entire history of Hannibal’s wars with Rome is nothing short of propaganda, written by Greeks and Romans for their Roman clients. It intrigues me that Hannibal took two Greek scholars and historians with him on campaign, yet their histories of Rome’s deadliest war have never seen the light of day.
My hero, Sphax the Numidian, tells a different story!
When I’m not waging war with my pen, I like to indulge my passion for travel and hill walking, and like my hero, I too love horses. I live in Pembrokeshire, West Wales.
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