The Pillars of Hercules (37 page)

“OK,” said Barsine. “What would you suggest we do with you then?”

Xanthippus was only too happy to tell her.

The Romans were a strange lot, Eumenes thought.

They only ruled the central part of Italy, but they carried themselves with the arrogance of a people who had already conquered a mighty empire. Or maybe arrogance wasn’t the right word—perhaps a better one was
assurance
. As though they were guaranteed to some day rule many peoples beside those who currently did them homage. Which at this point meant the Samnites, the Etruscans, the Rutuli, and a few others. Not enough for anyone outside of Italy to give two shits about. But if you wanted to march down the length of the peninsula—well, that was a different story. You would have to deal with the Romans.

Which was why Eumenes had ridden into their city that morning as a
legatus
: an ambassador on behalf of the Macedonian king whose army was encamped fifty miles north of the city. As the representative of a foreign invader, Eumenes wasn’t surprised to see that the Roman people weren’t too happy to see him. Soldiers held a jeering mob back as it pressed forward, screaming oaths and throwing enough rocks to keep Eumenes’ two shieldbearers on their toes. The lack of discipline and order was a sight to behold. Had he not seen the Roman legions gathered up in full battle order in front of the city, Eumenes might have wondered how in the name of all the gods this people had ever conquered anything at all.

But even if he hadn’t seen the legions, he’d have ceased wondering when he arrived at what the Romans called their
Senate
. It was a word that meant
council of old men,
and it certainly lived up to its billing. No one in that chamber seemed to be less than eighty years old, and yet somehow all of them seemed to be wise beyond their years. Eumenes was ushered in just as another speaker was finishing up. That speaker wasn’t a Senator. He was another legatus, like Eumenes.

Only he was Athenian.

He was finishing up a rather eloquent speech rallying the Senators to join Athens against the cause of Alexander—or at the very least to block Alexander from passing through Roman territory to the boot of Italy and on to the island of Sicily. Neither the speaker nor the Senators seemed to be in any doubt that Syracuse was Alexander’s ultimate destination. It was the only thing south of here worth all the trouble. But Eumenes had to hand it to Alexander for being able to keep his objective a secret for so long. Once Syracuse fell into his hands the remnants of the Athenian Empire would lie in ruins, and the granaries of Italy would be lost to Athens, just like those of Africa already had been. It might even be possible to starve Athens out at that point; at the very least, the days of Athenian glory would be well and truly over. Eumenes listened impassively as the speaker wound up into a peroration asking Rome to defend its own sovereignty and reminding everybody of all the great things that Athens had done for Rome.

From the sound of it, it wasn’t much.
We tried to turn your city into an economic dependency of ours
was tough to spin. And Eumenes felt the speaker could use a few tips regarding his style. The Athenian Assembly was a very different audience than the Roman Senate. When the echoes of the speaker’s final impassioned plea had died away the low droning of the Latin translator continued for another ten seconds. After which there was what could only be described as an awkward silence.

“Er, um, thank you,” said the speaker. No one said anything. He shuffled off, giving Eumenes a dirty look as he did so. Eumenes stood up and cleared his throat. It had taken him exactly two weeks to learn Latin—his record so far.

“Senators,” he said. “My thanks for receiving me as an ambassador to your august city. I come before you to—”

“Stop,” said one of the Senators.

Eumenes stopped.

“We’ve heard enough speeches for the day,” said the Senator. A murmur of assent went round the chamber, followed by some scattered clapping.

“What would you prefer instead?” asked Eumenes.

“We’d prefer to ask you questions,” said another Senator. There was more clapping this time. It occurred to Eumenes that the Senators might dislike the Macedonians even more than they disliked the Athenians. After all, the latter weren’t trying to invade them. Still, all he could do was grin and bear it. He smiled the smile of the well-practiced diplomat.

“Of course,” he said.

“Your king, Alexander—we hear he is not the legitimate king of Macedonia.”

Uh-oh,
thought Eumenes. “You are misinformed, my lords.”

“Conscript Fathers.”

What kind of title is that?
“Conscript Fathers,” repeated Eumenes. “Your pardon. My king”—
shit
—“my
kings
rule Macedonia jointly.”

“We heard the father reprimanded the son.”

What father doesn’t?
“I fear your reports are misinformed. Kings Philip and Alexander are the very picture of harmony. And they are of one mind on Macedonian policy. Including the policy that sends me to your doorstep.” Sure enough, the next Senator swallowed the bait and changed the subject:

“Why
did
you bring your army into Italy?”

Because we could.
“We have no quarrel with the Roman people, Conscript Fathers. Our war is with Athens, but Athens controls the southern reaches of Italy and we need to pass through your territory to bring our war to—”

“You misunderstand,” said the Senator.

“Then I ask for your pardon and clarification.”

“Why didn’t your king send you
before
he crossed the Alps and brought his soldiers to the edge of our territory?”

“Originally my king intended to venture on into Iberia, but the pleas of the oppressed people of Syracuse so moved him that he had a change of heart at the last moment.” That was a load of crap, of course, but it was better than saying that Alexander was so paranoid he hadn’t even told his closest advisers what he intended to do until the last moment. Even now Eumenes and Hephaestion were the only ones beside the king to know that the real game underway went far beyond mere questions of conquest and empire. During the review of the weapons, Hephaestion had taken Eumenes aside and confided his concerns about the king’s
mental stability
. Those were his exact words. Eumenes had thought that Alexander had ceased to venture away from the camp at night—certainly the sentries reported nothing—but now it turned out that he was doing it
every evening,
sneaking back in past the sentries every morning like he was on a one-man commando raid. And when he was in bed, he muttered to himself in arcane languages that Hephaestion couldn’t understand. Eumenes didn’t know what he found more shocking—the information itself or the fact that Hephaestion was so disturbed he was confiding in him. It was all he could do to stay focused in this stupid Senate chamber and deal with the situation at hand. Another Senator stood up.

“So what is it you want?” he asked.

“Permission for our army to pass through.”

“With your weapons?”

And for the first time in the cross-examination, Eumenes was candid: “Well, yes. We need those to deal with the Athenians, after all.”

“No foreigner may cross the domain of Rome while armed!” yelled a Senator. Another Senator shouted him down. For a few moments the chamber was a mass of yelling geriatrics. And then another man shouted above the din for order. Much to Eumenes’ surprise, he got it.

“If that is all that King Alexander requires, then surely this is a request we can meet.” Eumenes hadn’t noticed the man previously. He stood at the back of the chamber, and unlike the Senators, his toga was red rather than white. Two men flanked him wearing togas of grey; each one carried a bundle of rods surrounding an axe, tied together with strips of leather. Eumenes recognized them as the
fasces
—symbols of Roman power. Which made these the officials known as lictors—which meant that the man who stood between them was one of the consuls. Eumenes chose his next words carefully.

“I thank the consul and the Conscript Fathers for their forbearance, and assure you that the only other things that my king asks of you are but trivial compared to what you have just so generously granted.”

There was a long pause while the implication of those words sank in. The consul was the first to speak.

“What else does your king want?”

“He wishes to step aside from his army’s march to visit the valley of Avernus, south of Naples.” A confused murmuring ran through the chamber. A Senator gave it voice: “Why does your king desire to go there?”

“He is interested in local culture”—
like fuck he is
—“and understands that Avernus is a center of your religious practices.”

“Perhaps we can grant that,” said the consul. “Perhaps. Does your king want anything else?”

Here it comes.
“Indeed he does.” He paused, then: “He wishes to enter Rome and inspect the Sibylline Books.” The last words of Eumenes’ sentence were drowned out by a single collective howl from everyone in the room. It was at least half a minute before the consul was able to calm things down enough for any individual voices to be heard, and during those thirty seconds there were several occasions when Eumenes thought he’d be lucky to escape from the chamber with his life. In theory, envoys to Rome were untouchable; in practice, there were undoubtedly things that would cause that rule to be violated. Whipping out one’s dick on the floor of the Senate, for example. Or describing some particularly lurid fantasy regarding the Vestal Virgins. Both of which were probably
slightly
less offensive than a request to consult the most sacred volumes of prophecy the Roman people possessed, but most of the Senators weren’t in the mood to quibble. When the consul finally addressed the floor, his words were ice.

“You talk sacrilege, Greek.”

“Then I ask for your forgiveness.”

“Apollo is the one you should ask. Given that it’s his temple that holds the Books. It’s he who you have offended.”

“In that case, my king asks permission to travel to his temple.”

No one bought that for a second. “Your
king
will remain outside the city and await our instructions as to when and by what route he can march his army.”

No one gives Alexander instructions.
But all Eumenes said was, “My king needs to march now.”

“What about the Books? Does he withdraw his request to visit them?”

“Perhaps the Books could visit him?” As the rumbling growl around him swelled toward a roar, Eumenes raised his voice: “I mean only that my king would be willing to consult the books in any place you might choose. In or outside of Rome.”

“The books don’t leave Rome,” said a Senator in a tone that would have won an Olympic award for patrician contempt.

“Why is your king so intent on consulting these books?” yelled another Senator.

“Does he put himself above the priests of Apollo?” asked the consul.

Eumenes judged that he had waited long enough. “Yes,” he said. “He does.” He expected that to result in another tide of anger, but the chamber slowly faded to silence.

“My king is the Son of Zeus-Ammon and divine in his own right,” said Eumenes, his words ringing out in the chamber. He was starting to enjoy himself; the expression on their faces was priceless. “That makes me the emissary of a living god, and I must warn you that should you defy his wishes your fate will be severe.”

There was a moment’s stunned pause.

“These Macedonians are all insane,” said someone.

“You
dare
threaten the Roman Senate?” said the consul.

“I dare more than that,” said Eumenes. Suddenly they all heard the noise of absolute bedlam outside the Senate House: explosions, collapsing masonry, screaming people, clashing swords. Eumenes had to give the Senators credit for poise. None of them even moved. Instead more Roman guards raced into the chamber, positioning themselves by the doorways. The consul strode toward Eumenes, flanked by his lictors—who were unravelling their bundles of wood and taking out their axes.

“How did you do it?” asked the consul.

“Do what?” asked Eumenes.

“Get inside our city.”

“You invited me in.”

“I mean your army,” said the consul.

“Army
is a bit of an overstatement,” said Eumenes. “Most of it’s still outside the city destroying yours. No force in the world has yet withstood the direct charge of Alexander’s Companion Cavalry, and I doubt yours will be the first, particularly once we’ve softened them up by lobbing gas and Greek fire into their midst.” The noise of the fighting outside was growing louder. “As for the disturbance on your doorstep, that’s really the result of your own investments in infrastructure. Such excellent aqueducts, such magnificent sewers. In particular that—what do you call it?—the
Cloaca Maxima
—a nice long underground channel leading outside the city. Of course, I suppose one could always go the other way—”

That did it. Before Eumenes could finish, the consul grabbed an axe from one of his lictors and rushed at him. Eumenes stepped under the sweep of the blade and tripped him. The consul sprawled on the floor of the Senate while his two lictors moved in. Eumenes grabbed the arm of the first man and broke it—seized the rod the man held and smashed him over the head with it—then leaped back out of range of the second man’s axe. As the man drew the axe back for a second swing, Eumenes slipped a hidden dagger out of his boot and hurled it into the man’s throat. He went down choking. Eumenes stepped over to the consul—who was pulling himself to his hands and knees—and kicked him in the face. He fell back onto the floor and didn’t move. Throughout this time, none of the shocked Senators had risen from their seats—but guards were racing down the steps, their weapons drawn and ready to hack Eumenes to bits. He turned to face them, acutely aware there were way too many.

But now more figures entered the chamber. They wore the colors of Macedonia and the Roman guards turned to confront them.