John Stack - Captain of Rome

A sudden clarion call blasted from the vanguard of the fleet, the sound taken up and amplified until it rippled across the length of the entire formation, the air charged with the blare of a thousand trumpets as the head of the fleet reached the harbour entrance of Ostia. The flagship Victoria emerged, flanked by a dozen other quinqueremes, their banners heralding the family names of the senators on board, over fifty of them in total, many of them junior in rank, eager to associate their names with the impending invasion.

Hamilcar paced incessantly across his room in the naval barracks in Carthage. He had spent all morning with delegates from the one-hundred-and-four, discussing with them the latest rumours arriving in the city from traders interacting with others who had been to Ostia. The rumours were of a gathering fleet, and of Fiumcino’s shipyards’ increased and insatiable appetite for raw materials; pine and oak, canvas and iron; of a brooding tension that was permeating the enemy military.

He strode to the window and looked out over the harbour, subdued in the heat of the mid-day sun. In the military port, and beyond in the commercial harbour, the assembled fleets of the empire remained at anchor, over two hundred galleys, with only the Sicilian fleet still on station in the hostile waters surrounding the contested island. The galleys looked to be sleeping, tugging lazily on their anchor lines as the current shifted beneath them, the energy and anticipation that had infused the crews and commanders when they first arrived in Carthage now lost to apathy and tedium.

Hamilcar was due to stand before the supreme council of Carthage within the hour, to outline his revised plan of campaign now that his proposed invasion was all but impossible. The massive fleet in Carthage’s harbour was a constant strain on the city’s resources, draining the grain warehouses and coffers alike and Hamilcar knew that a majority of the council, led by Hanno, were anxious to return the fleets to their home ports.

The first knock on the door went unnoticed by Hamilcar, engrossed as he was in his thoughts, his eyes having lost their focus as he stared at the galleys before him. The second knock broke his reverie and he spun around, calling enter as he did. The door opened and Himilco stepped in, the captain’s face animated, his eyes darting to Hamilcar’s desk and then scanning the room until he saw his commander. He walked quickly to him.

‘My lord, I have further news of the Romans,’ he said.

‘Don’t you mean rumours?’ Hamilcar asked dismissively.

‘No, my lord,’ Himilco insisted. ‘There is a Maltese captain outside who you must hear.’

‘Maltese?’ Hamilcar asked, intrigued.

‘Yes, my lord. His ship approached the flagship Alissar in the commercial harbour and asked to speak to the commander. Once I heard his report I rushed him here.’

‘Very well,’ Hamilcar said. ‘Show him in.’

Hamilcar studied the captain as Himilco escorted him in. The Maltese was tall but showed none of the bearing of a military man, his eyes alert and intelligent but without the hard determination of one who has seen battle.

‘You have news?’ Hamilcar asked, his gaze suspicious.

‘Yes, my lord,’ the captain began, ‘from Naples.’

‘Go on.’ Hamilcar said.

‘As you know, my lord, the Maltese are no longer welcome in Ostia so we are forced to trade with the Republic further south where local loyalty leans more to the drachma and the denarius.’

Hamilcar nodded impatiently. Malta had been a province of Carthage for over one-hundred and fifty years, but her traders acted independently to those of the city, sailing their vessels into nearly every port in the Mediterranean, ally and foe of Carthage alike, their singular loyalty to trade recognised by all. Only Ostia forbade them entry.

‘And what have you heard?’ Hamilcar asked.

‘It is what I have seen, my lord,’ the captain said quickly. ‘A large Roman fleet sailing south from the city a week ago.’

‘How many ships?’ Hamilcar asked, his voice suddenly on edge.

‘At least three hundred galleys, my lord,’ the captain replied, ‘escorting transport ships carrying legionaries.’

Hamilcar stood silent for a moment, his mind racing. ‘Where were they heading?’ he asked.

‘The rumours in the city said Brolium on the Sicilian coast.’

Again Hamilcar remained quiet as he tried to discern the Romans’ intentions. He stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘Why do you bring us this news?’ he asked, searching the captain’s expression.

‘The Romans have already closed the port of Ostia to our ships,’ the captain spat. ‘If they expand their territory then who knows what rule of law will follow? We Maltese want only trade and for generations Carthage has given us a free hand. Given a choice I would sooner have the Romans bottled up on their peninsula.’

Hamilcar nodded but he remained cautious. This information, taken with the rumours thus far, seemed to indicate a massive offensive. But against where? Panormus? Syracuse? Either way, he now had vital information to share with the supreme council, information that would decide the next move of the Carthaginian fleet.

‘Can we believe this message?’ the councillor said, looking to his colleagues, uncertainty in his voice, his question answered simultaneously by a half-dozen others. Hamilcar stood silently as the debate swung back and forth amongst the twelve members of the supreme council, waiting to be addressed directly having finished his report. As always he looked to his father surreptitiously, searching for some unspoken advice, the intricate alliances and sub-groups of the council a mystery to Hamilcar, leaving him with little idea of who still supported him as military leader.

‘Do you believe this message?’ the suffet finally asked, looking at Hamilcar with hooded eyes.

‘I have dispatched a galley to Thermae with orders for the captain to make contact with our spies in Brolium,’ Hamilcar replied, carefully keeping all bias from his tone. ‘If the Roman fleet do indeed dock there, then I believe we will have verification of the message. In the meantime I have interned the Maltese captain and his crew. If his report is false then we shall exact the real truth from his lying tongue.’

‘If the report is verified,’ the suffet said, ‘what do you propose?’

‘To learn of their final objective and then take the battle to them with our entire fleet.’ Hamilcar replied boldly.

‘To what end?’ Hanno said with derision. ‘To attempt to regain the confidence of this council?’

‘No,’ Hamilcar replied, anger in his voice. ‘To wipe the Roman scourge from our seas.’

Hanno made to retort but the suffet held his hand up for silence. ‘I agree with young Barca’s plan,’ he said after a moment’s pause, looking to each council member in turn. ‘With such a Roman fleet at sea we must act decisively.’

Some of the council members nodded in agreement while more looked stonily ahead, Hanno amongst them. The suffet marked the division and, conscious of the need for agreement, turned directly to Hanno.

‘This reversal of Barca’s invasion plan,’ he said. ‘You no longer have faith in his ability to command?’

‘No, Suffet,’ Hanno replied, ‘I believe Barca has been blinded by his own ambitions.’

Hamilcar bristled at the remark but held his tongue, catching his father’s expression of warning in the corner of his eye.

‘Hamilcar Barca is our most able commander,’ the suffet began, ‘but perhaps Hanno is right, perhaps he is too determined, too aggressive. I propose that you, Hanno, sail with the fleet to ensure that assertiveness is tempered with experience.’