Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

‘Buying slaves, I mean.’ Quintus had never really given much thought to the process before, which, for obvious reasons, still impacted on Agesandros. ‘You can teach me.’

The Sicilian glanced at Fabricius, who gave an approving nod.

‘Why not?’ Atia declared. ‘It would be good experience for you.’

Agesandros’ lips curved upwards. ‘Very well.’

Aurelia rushed to Quintus’ side. ‘I’m coming too,’ she declared.

Agesandros arched an eyebrow. ‘I’m not sure…’ he began.

‘It’s out of the question,’ said Fabricius.

‘There are things in the slave market which are not fitting for a girl to see,’ Atia added.

‘I’m almost a woman, as you keep telling me,’ Aurelia retorted. ‘When I’ve been married off, and I’m mistress of my own house, I will be able to visit such places whenever I choose. Why not now?’

‘Aurelia!’ Atia snapped.

‘You do what I say!’ interrupted Fabricius. ‘I am your father. Remember that. Your husband, whoever he may be, will also expect you to be obedient.’

Aurelia dropped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I just wanted to accompany Quintus as he walked through the town, looking so fine in his new toga.’

Disarmed, Fabricius cleared his throat. ‘Come now,’ he said. He glanced at Atia, who frowned.

‘Please?’ Aurelia pleaded.

There was a long pause, before Atia gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Fabricius smiled. ‘Very well. You may go with your brother.’

‘Thank you, Father. Thank you, Mother.’ Aurelia avoided Atia’s hard stare, which promised all kinds of dressing-down later.

‘Go on, then.’ Fabricius made a benevolent gesture of dismissal.

As Agesandros silently led them down the busy street, Quintus gave Aurelia a reproving look. ‘It’s not only my exercises that you’ve been spying on, eh? You’re quite the conspirator.’

‘You’re surprised? I have every right to listen in to your little conversations with Father.’ Her blue eyes flashed. ‘Why should I just play with my toys while you two discuss possible husbands? I may be able to do nothing about it, but it’s my right to know.’

‘You’re right. I should have told you before,’ Quintus admitted. ‘I’m sorry.’

Suddenly, her eyes were full of tears. ‘I don’t want an arranged marriage,’ she whispered. ‘Mother says that it won’t be that bad, but how would she know?’

Quintus felt stricken. Such a bargain might help them climb to the upper level of society. If so, their family’s fate would be changed for ever. The price required made him feel very uncomfortable, however. It didn’t help that Aurelia was right beside him, waiting for his response. Quintus didn’t want to tell an outright lie, so, ducking his head, he increased his pace. ‘Hurry,’ he urged. ‘Agesandros is leaving us behind.’

She saw through his pretence at once. ‘See? You think the same.’

Stung, he stopped.

‘Father and Mother married for love. Why shouldn’t I?’

‘It is our duty to obey their orders. You know that,’ said Quintus, feeling awful. ‘They know best, and we must accept that.’

Agesandros turned to address them, abruptly ending their conversation. Quintus was relieved to see that they had reached the slave market, which was situated in an open area by the town’s south gate. Already it was becoming hard to make oneself heard above the din. Aurelia could do little but fall into an angry silence.

‘Here we are,’ the Sicilian directed. ‘Take it all in.’

Mutely, the siblings obeyed. Although they had seen the market countless times, neither had paid it much heed before. It was part of everyday life, just like the stalls hawking fruit and vegetables, and the butchers selling freshly slaughtered lambs, goats and pigs. Yet, Quintus realised, it was different here. These were people on sale. Prisoners of war or criminals for the most part, but people nonetheless.

Hundreds of naked men, women and children were on display, chained or bound together with rope. Chalk coated everyone’s feet. Black-, brown- and white-skinned, they were every nationality under the sun. Tall, muscular Gauls with blond hair stood beside short, slender Greeks. Broad-nosed, powerfully built Nubians towered over the wiry figures of Numidians and Egyptians. Full-breasted Gaulish women clustered together beside rangy, narrow-hipped Judaeans and Illyrians. Many were sobbing; some were even wailing with distress. Babies and young children added their cries to that of their mothers. Others, catatonic from their trauma, stared into space. Dealers stalked up and down, loudly extolling the qualities of their merchandise to the plentiful buyers who were wandering between the lines of slaves. On the fringes of the throng, groups of hard-faced, armed men lounged about, a mixture of guards and fugitivarii, or slave-catchers.

‘The choice is enormous, so you have to know what you want in advance. Otherwise, it would take all day,’ said Agesandros. He looked enquiringly at Quintus.