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Against Rome |
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Back to section ii of this chapter V. Dorix, The Alps, 218 B.C. iii Publius
Scipio’s rapid march, which began four days before the Kalends of October, was
fast indeed. He
raced north, leaving behind his baggage train and anything else he didn’t
urgently need, slowed down only by crossing the Druentia. On a nearly straight
line to where Hannibal’s camp had been seen, he marched sixty miles in just
two long, arduous days, including the Druentia crossing—in hot, dry weather,
men and animals choking on dust. Publius
Scipio reined in at the campsite, a great mire of day-old horse droppings and
thoroughly stirred river mud, cursed, then rested the men for an hour and set
out again, sending fast scouts north ahead of him. The legions made another
eight miles before impending darkness forced a halt. September was gone. Publius
Scipio paced in his command tent that night, unable to sleep. “Have
I let Hannibal give me the slip?” he asked. Gnaeus
shook his head, obviously equally uncertain. Scipio and Marcus Livius kept
quiet. Long
before dawn the general was out of his cot, at first wandering the camp in
thought, Scipio not far from his side, then hurriedly rousing his tribunes for
an early day. While
Rome had been talking of the seemingly unlikely possibility that Hannibal might
march on Rome herself, Scipio was sure that in his deepest heart his father had
not believed it. No one really had. Hannibal’s interest, surely, lay in
defending Spain. But no. Now it was clear that the much underestimated
Carthaginian was indeed marching for Italy as fast as he could go—and right
through the Alps in—ye gods! October already. That
morning the scouts began returning, meeting an army already on the march again
since before dawn. As far as the scouts had ranged north, Hannibal had already
gone farther. By
the next morning, it was clear that Hannibal had such a head start that he could
not be caught, not by anything as slow as a whole army. The
general halted the column and called Gnaeus Scipio over. Young Scipio and Marcus
Livius rode along. “We
won’t catch him soon enough to do any good,” the general said. “No,”
Gnaeus said. “He’ll abandon his baggage if he must to avoid us. He doesn’t
want to fight on this side of the Alps.” “Do
you really think he can cross the Alps?” Scipio asked. “It’s already
October.” “After
what I’ve seen of him, I believe he can do it,” Gnaeus said. “And I
believe he will. And frankly I’d just as soon see him keep his baggage—it
will only slow him down.” “The
only good thing we’ve accomplished by being at Massilia was to drive him much
farther north than he must have intended,” Publius Scipio said, still
frowning. “His crossing will no doubt be harder now. But I agree. He will
almost surely succeed. And that dictates what I must do.” Those
present looked at him with a variety of expressions. Scipio knew what he himself
would do. He waited for his father’s words. “I
have to go back to Italy and meet him in the Padus Valley. A hot pursuit through
the Alps might make a fine tale around the campfire, but it’s not the answer.
We must interpose a consular army between him and Rome.” Yes!
Precisely what Scipio had been thinking. “It
will likely take us a month to get the army back to Italy, and more time still
to march to the Padus,” Gnaeus observed. He spat. “That’s
why we aren’t taking the army back,” the general said, a grim expression on
his tired face as he made the best decision of his entire career. “No?”
Gnaeus asked. He’d been looking off at the river as his brother spoke. Now he
turned and looked at him with interest. “No.
I want you to take the legions on to Spain and begin our work there, Gnaeus.
I’ll see that you have proconsular imperium for the job. Meanwhile,
I’ll sail for Italy on our single fastest ship, gather any men I can at Pisae,
and march straight through the Apennines for the Padus. By the gods, if he can
cross the Alps, I’ll cross the Apennines at least.” “I
see it,” said Scipio. “And there are already two legions waiting on the
Padus, even with a little seasoning on them.” With
that, the general, his son, Marcus Livius Salinator, and a few aides collected
several spare horses apiece and rode hard for Massilia. Gnaeus and the legions
would follow at a more sedate pace, there to take ship again for Spain. Between
Publius Scipio and Hannibal, it was to be a race. *
* * While
the fastest of their ships, a sleek trireme, was being hurriedly readied, Scipio
dashed to see Aphrodite. When he knocked, she appeared at the door looking
disheveled. “Scipio!”
she said, a smile bursting onto her face. “Send
him away,” he said, gathering her into his arms. He
waited outside until an equally disheveled man in his forties, completely bald,
whom he recognized as one of the city fathers he’d met in the first days at
Massilia, came out tidying his gown and stood looking Scipio over. The man eyed
him in some astonishment, then shook his head and departed, smiling, apparently
not particularly put out. “Goodbye,
Megasthenes,” Aphrodite called after him. “Thank you.” Scipio
embraced her. “You’re
leaving, aren’t you?” she asked amid his fevered kisses. “Yes,
I must. I’m sorry. Hannibal has crossed the Rhodanus and eluded us. My father
and I sail immediately for Italy to intercept him.” “Then
I may never see you again,” she said. The thought seemed to surprise her. “You’ll
see me again,” he promised. “It may be quite a long time, but I would cross
half the earth to hold you again.” “Only
half?” she teased. “Well,”
he replied, grinning. “I don’t ever intend to get more than that far away
from you in the first place.” He kissed her fiercely. “Well
said.” She pulled him deeper into her embrace, then brought him inside. Next section of V. Dorix, The Alps, 218 B.C. Back to Top
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