Fabius dramatically pointed to the Byrsa. ‘There are men up there, old men, men who are fat in these times when even a soldier goes hungry, men who would today hold me to account. That’s their job, you might say. That’s the purpose of the One Hundred and Four. Well, so it is. That’s their duty. That’s their privilege. That’s their right. But such duty requires immense wisdom. And what wisdom do they show? They question the conduct of the war. My conduct of it.’

‘You’ve not won it yet,’ somebody dared call out.

There was a mutter, people looked at each other, and soldiers prowled menacingly.

‘No!’ shouted Fabius. ‘No, let him be. He speaks the truth, after all. This war is not yet won. The siege is not lifted. It might take months yet. Years. But, if it were not for me, if not for my vigilance and the vigilance of my men, the war would already have been lost.’ He turned to Nelo, and murmured, ‘Pass me one of those heads, boy. And for Jupiter’s sake keep the innards from spilling on your clean tunic.’

When he had the trophy, Fabius held it aloft, its red hair grasped in one strong fist. People gasped and turned away.

‘Do you see?’ Fabius cried. ‘Do you see what my men found in your city? Do you see what we are up against? If we had not rooted them out, these infiltrators would have opened up the gates in the night, and slaughtered you men in your beds – your children next – and then they would have fallen on your daughters and your wives. This is the horror that I have averted. This very morning!’ He pitched the head into the crowd, and people flinched back out of its way as it bounced and rolled. ‘I cannot promise you a quick victory. Nobody could. But I can promise you there will be no quick defeat. I can promise you that Carthage will throw off these wolves at the gate, and will rise again. I can promise you all this. Here, you see the proof! What can the old men on that hill promise you, but to bring me down?

‘Well, this morning I have been summoned to account for my actions. I am a good Roman, and a good Carthaginian. I will obey the summons. But will you come with me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you be at my side?’

‘Yes!’

‘Will you, will you?’

‘Yes! Yes!’

At that moment Fabius’ driver whipped his horses, and the chariot lurched forward, through the gate and into the Byrsa. The cart followed, the piled-up heads rolling and rattling perilously, and then came the gathering crowd. Nelo saw Gisco take brisk command, ensuring that the general was secure, and that the chariot was escorted by flanking soldiers.