#spotlight To Kill A Consul by Robert M Kidd
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.
Purchase Links
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Kill-Consul-Histories-Sphax-Book-ebook/dp/B0CKZCXPRV
https://www.amazon.com/Kill-Consul-Histories-Sphax-Book-ebook/dp/B0CKZCXPRV
Extract from To Kill a Consul by Robert M. Kidd
Spring 217 BC – Hannibal’s invading army has marched westwards over the mountain passes of the Apennines, but now they must face their greatest challenge, something the army has been dreading for weeks: the Arno marshes.
Today, all that’s left of these vast wetlands west of Florence is the Fucecchio Marshlands, north of San Maniato (even after a thousand years of attempts to drain it, it’s still Italy’s biggest inland marsh!). In 217 BC it was a vast watery graveyard for unwary travelers!
The passage begins when Sphax leads his Numidian cavalry into the marshes waters. And it doesn’t begin well!
* * * *
Shortly after dawn he raised his javelin and signaled the Numidian column into the murky waters of the swamp. Instead of gazing at the men under his command he should have been paying attention to the silvery, diamond-backed shape that was ominously gliding towards him on the surface of the water. But Dido saw it. Without warning she frantically reared up in terror, catching her rider off balance and throwing him into the water with an almighty splash. Too late, Sphax saw the cursed viper and made a lunge for it. Gripping it halfway down its length he flung it as far as he could, but not before it had sunk its fangs into his forearm.
Seeing what had happened, Jugurtha quickly dismounted and bent over him. Grabbing Sphax’s arm he located the puncture marks, squeezed until it hurt and began sucking out the poison, spitting the contents into the swamp. Sphax was too shocked to object.
After several more mouthfuls and bouts of spitting, Jugurtha stared at him, concerned. ‘I think I’ve sucked out most of the poison, lad, but your arm will likely swell and you’ll feel as sick as a dog later. Nasty things, serpent bites.’
By now quite a crowd had gathered. Looking around at their concerned faces, Sphax handed his clay water flask to Jugurtha. ‘I’m truly grateful for your skills, my friend. Drink and cleanse your mouth.’ At last his heart had stopped pounding and he felt in possession of his senses.
He would have to say something to his men. Otherwise, they might see this as an evil omen, a harbinger of disaster. His men were superstitious, simple folk. Old beliefs die hard and linger on.
Raising his voice he began, ‘If I were a Roman, I would take this to be a sign from the gods, an augury of doom and calamity. But I am not a Roman. I am a Numidian. Our people are made of sterner stuff! Our gods Ba ‘al Hamūn laugh at such pitiful ignorance and superstition.
‘Only slackheads believe that a battle is decided by the flight of birds or a journey must not be undertaken because a dog pisses in the road. Romans can’t even take a shit unless a cock crows!’ Sphax was reassured by the laughter. ‘As an augur it foretells only that my arm may swell and my belly ache, but no worse than yours after drinking that foul vinegar you call wine.’
Sphax managed a grin. ‘Now get on your horses and think no more on this.’ Mounting Dido he raised a javelin and nudged her into a walk, this time paying more attention to the murky surface of the slime.
Author Bio:
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.
Social Media Links
https://twitter.com/RobertMKidd1
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100064169594911
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