Hannibal Enemy of Rome (2011)

by Ben Kane

  Liar, thought Hanno. Above him, Aurelia’s face twisted with disbelief, reinforcing his conviction.

  Quintus could also see that Agesandros was lying, but to accuse him further would bring the situation into completely uncharted waters. He didn’t feel quite that confident. ‘How did it happen?’

  Agesandros indicated Galba. ‘That slave fell deliberately and injured his leg. He was trying to get off work. It’s an old trick, and I saw through it at once. I laid a few blows into the dog to teach him a lesson, and the gugga told me to stop, that it had been a genuine accident.’ He snorted. ‘Such defiance cannot be tolerated. He needed to be taught the error of his ways on the spot.’

  Quintus looked down at Hanno. ‘I think you succeeded,’ he said sarcastically. ‘He’s halfway to Hades.’

  One corner of Agesandros’ mouth tugged upwards.

  The only one to see it was Hanno. Agesandros wants me dead. Why?

  It was the last coherent thought he had.

  Quintus’ confidence was bolstered by his success over Agesandros. Rather than let the injured Hanno be carried back to the villa like a sack of grain as the Sicilian wanted, he insisted that a litter be fetched. Galba could limp alongside. Scowling, Agesandros could do little but obey his command, sending a slave off at the run. The overseer watched with a surly expression as, using a strip of cloth, Aurelia cleaned the worst of the blood from Hanno’s face. Tears poured down her cheeks, but she did not make a sound. She would not give Agesandros the satisfaction.

  A short time later, when Hanno had been carefully transferred into the litter, she finally stood. A mixture of blood and dust covered the lower half of her dress, from where she had knelt in the dirt. Though reddened, her eyes were full of anger, and her face was set. ‘If he dies, I will see that Father makes you pay,’ she said. ‘I swear it.’

  Agesandros tried to laugh it off. ‘It takes more than that to kill a gugga,’ he declared.

  Aurelia glared at him, afraid and yet unafraid.

  ‘Come,’ said Quintus, gently leading her away. Agesandros made to follow, but Quintus had had enough. ‘Go about your business,’ he barked. ‘We will care for the two slaves.’

  They installed Hanno on blankets and a straw mattress in an empty stable off the farmyard, where he lay as still as a corpse. Quintus was concerned by his pale face. If the Carthaginian died, his father would be severely out of pocket, so he ordered hot water to be fetched from the kitchen, along with strips of linen and a flask of acetum, or vinegar. When they arrived, he was surprised by Aurelia’s reaction. She would suffer no other to clean the Carthaginian’s wounds. Meanwhile Elira treated Galba, with Quintus watching appreciatively. The Illyrian’s medical knowledge was good, courtesy of her upbringing. As she’d told Quintus, her mother had been the woman to whom everyone in the tribe came with their ailments. First she washed the wound with plenty of hot water. Then, ignoring Galba’s hisses of discomfort, she sluiced the area with acetum before patting it dry and applying a dressing. ‘Two days’ rest, and light duties for a week,’ Quintus said when she was done. ‘I’ll make sure Agesandros knows.’

  Muttering his gratitude, the Gaul shuffled off.

  There was a moan from behind him, and Quintus turned. Hanno’s face twisted briefly at whatever Aurelia was doing, before relaxing again. ‘He’s alive,’ he said with relief.

  ‘No thanks to Agesandros,’ Aurelia shot back vehemently. ‘Imagine if we hadn’t come along! He might still die.’ Her voice tailed off as she bit back a sob.

  Quintus patted her shoulder, wondering why she was so upset. Hanno was only a slave, after all.

  Elira moved to the bed. ‘Let me take a look at him,’ she said.

  To Quintus’ surprise, Aurelia moved aside. They watched in silence as the Illyrian ran expert hands over Hanno’s battered body, gently probing here and there. ‘I can find no head injury apart from his broken nose,’ she said eventually. ‘He has three cracked ribs, and all these flesh wounds from the whip.’ She pointed to his prominent ribcage and concave belly. ‘Someone hasn’t been feeding him enough either. He’s strong, though. Some good nursing and decent food, and he could be up and about inside a week.’

  ‘Jupiter be thanked,’ Aurelia cried.

  Quintus smiled his own relief and went in search of Fabricius. Agesandros’ cruelty must be reported at once. He suspected that his father would not seriously punish the Sicilian, who, no doubt, would deny everything if challenged. He could hear Fabricius’ voice already. Discipline was part of the overseer’s remit, and no slave had the right to question his authority as Hanno had. This was the first time that Agesandros had gone overboard. In Fabricius’ eyes, it would be a one-off occurrence. Quintus knew what he had seen, however. His jaw hardened.

  Agesandros would have to be watched from now on.

  Hanno was woken by the pain radiating from his ribs each time he took a breath. The dull throbbing from his face reminded him of his broken nose. He lifted his hands, feeling the heavy strapping that circled his chest. The manacles around his ankles had been removed. This could hardly be Agesandros’ work. Quintus must have insisted I be treated, Hanno thought. His surprise grew when he opened his eyes. Instead of the damp straw in his miserable cell, he was lying on blankets in an empty stable. Occasional whinnies told him that there were horses nearby. He eyed the stool alongside him. Someone had been keeping vigil.

  A shadow fell across the threshold and Hanno looked up to see Elira carrying a clay jug and two beakers.

  Her face lit up. ‘You’re awake!’

  He nodded slowly, drinking her beauty in.

  She rushed to his side. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Sore all over.’

  She reached down and lifted a gourd from the floor. ‘Drink some of this.’

  ‘What is it?’ he asked suspiciously.

  Elira smiled. ‘A dilute solution of papaverum.’ Seeing his confusion, she explained. ‘It will dull the pain.’

  He was too weak to argue. Taking the gourd, Hanno took a deep swallow of the painkilling draught, screwing up his face at the bitter taste of the liquid within.

  ‘It won’t take long to work,’ Elira murmured reassuringly. ‘Then you can sleep some more.’

  Abruptly, the Sicilian came to mind, and he tried to sit up. The small effort felt exhausting. ‘What about Agesandros?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Fabricius has seen your injuries, and warned him to leave you alone. The gods must have been in good humour, because he also agreed to let me care for you. It took a bit of persuasion, but Aurelia won him over,’ Elira said. She raised a hand to his sweating face. ‘Look, you are as weak as a kitten,’ she scolded. ‘Lie down.’

  Hanno obeyed. Why would Aurelia care what happened to him? he wondered. Feeling the papaverum begin to take effect, he closed his eyes. It was a huge relief to know that one of his owner’s children was on his side, but Hanno doubted that Aurelia could shield him from Agesandros’ ill will. She was only a girl. Still, he thought wearily, his situation was better now than it had been. Perhaps the gods were showing him favour once more? Keeping that idea uppermost, Hanno relaxed and let sleep take him.

  Chapter VII: A Gradual Shift

  HANNO DID LITTLE more than sleep and eat for the next three days. Under Elira’s approving eyes, he devoured plate after plate of food from the kitchen. His strength returned, and the pain of his injuries subsided. Soon he insisted that the strapping around his chest be removed, complaining that it was restricting his breathing. By the fourth day, he felt alert enough to venture outside. Fear stopped him, however. ‘Where’s Agesandros?’

  Elira’s full lips flattened. ‘The whoreson is in Capua, thankfully.’

  Relieved, Hanno shuffled outside. The yard was empty. All the slaves were at work in the fields. They sat down together in the sunshine and rested their backs against the cool stone of the stable walls. Hanno didn’t mind that there was no one around. It meant he could be alone with Elira, whose physical attraction
s were daily becoming more obvious. As the ache in his groin constantly told him, he hadn’t had a woman for many months. Yet merely to entertain such thoughts was dangerous. Even if Elira was willing, slaves were forbidden from having sexual relations with each other. What’s more, Hanno had seen the way she and Quintus looked at one another. Stay well away, he told himself sternly. Screwing the master’s son’s favourite slave would not be clever. There was a simpler way of satisfying himself. Less enjoyable, but far safer.

  He needed something to take his mind off sex. ‘How did you come to be a slave?’

  Elira’s surprise was instantly replaced by sadness. ‘That’s the first time anyone has asked me such a question.’

  ‘I guess it’s because we all have the same miserable story,’ said Hanno gently. He raised his eyebrows in an indication that she should continue.

  Elira’s eyes took on a distant look. ‘I grew up in a little village by the sea in Illyricum. Most people were fishermen or farmers. It was a peaceful place. Until the day that the pirates came. I was nine years old.’ Her face darkened with anger, and sorrow. ‘The men fought hard, but they weren’t warriors. My father and my older brother, they …’ Her voice wobbled for a moment. ‘They were killed. But what happened to Mother was just as bad.’ Tears formed in her eyes.

  Horrified, Hanno reached out to squeeze Elira’s hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

  She nodded, and the movement made the tears spill down her cheeks. ‘We were taken to their ships. They sailed to Italy and sold us there. I haven’t seen Mother or my sisters since.’

  As Elira wept, Hanno cursed himself for opening his mouth. Yet the Illyrian’s sorrow made her even more attractive. It was hard not to imagine wrapping her in his arms to comfort her. He was therefore relieved to see Aurelia approaching from the direction of the villa. Nudging Elira, he scrambled to his feet. The Illyrian had barely enough time to pull her hair down around her face and wipe away her tears.

  Aurelia felt a tinge of jealousy at seeing Elira so close to Hanno. ‘You’re up and about!’ she said tartly.

  He bobbed his head. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  Hanno touched his ribs. ‘Much better than I did a few days ago, thank you.’

  Aurelia’s sympathy surged back at the sight of Hanno wincing. ‘It’s Elira you should be grateful to. She’s a marvel.’

  ‘She is,’ agreed Hanno, giving Elira a slanted grin.

  The Illyrian blushed. ‘Julius will be wondering where I am,’ she muttered, before hurrying off.

  Aurelia’s annoyance returned, but, irritated with herself for even feeling it, she dismissed it at once. ‘You’re Carthaginian, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hanno replied warily. He’d never yet had a proper conversation with Fabricius or any of his family. In his mind, they were still very much the enemy.

  ‘What’s Carthage like?’

  He couldn’t help himself. ‘It’s huge. Perhaps a quarter of a million people live there.’

  Despite herself, Aurelia’s eyes widened. ‘But that’s far bigger than Rome!’

  Hanno had the sense not to utter the sarcastic response that rose to his lips. ‘Indeed.’ Aurelia seemed interested, so he launched into a description of his city, picturing it in his mind’s eye as he did. Realising eventually that he had lost the run of himself, Hanno fell silent.

  ‘It sounds beautiful,’ Aurelia admitted. ‘And you looked so happy while you were talking.’

  Feeling utterly homesick, Hanno stared at the ground.

  ‘It’s not surprising, I suppose,’ said Aurelia kindly. Looking curious, she tipped her head to one side. ‘I remember that you speak Greek as well as Latin. In Italy, only nobles learn that tongue. It must be much the same in Carthage. How did someone so well educated end up as a slave?’

  Balefully, Hanno lifted his gaze to hers. ‘I forgot to ask a blessing of our most powerful goddess before I went on a fishing trip with my friend.’ He saw her enquiring expression. ‘Suni, the one you saw in Capua. After catching plenty of tunny, we drank some wine and fell asleep. A sudden storm took us far out to sea. Somehow, we survived the night, but the next day a pirate ship found us. We were sold in Neapolis, and taken to Capua to be sold as gladiators. Instead I was bought by your brother.’ Hanno hardened his voice. ‘Who knows what happened to my friend, though?’ He was pleased to see her flinch.

  Annoyed, Aurelia recovered quickly. Handsome or not, he’s still a slave, she thought. ‘Everyone at the slave market has a sad story. That doesn’t mean that we can buy them all. Consider yourself lucky,’ she snapped.

  Hanno bowed his head. She might be young, but she’s got spirit.

  An awkward silence fell.

  It was broken by Atia’s voice. ‘Aurelia!’

  Aurelia’s face took on a hunted look. ‘I’m in the yard, Mother.’

  Atia appeared a moment later. She was wearing a simple linen stola and elegant leather sandals. ‘What are you doing here? We were supposed to be practising the lyre.’ Her gaze passed over Hanno. ‘Isn’t this the slave whom Agesandros beat? The Carthaginian?’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’ A touch of colour appeared in Aurelia’s cheeks. ‘I was checking with Elira that his recovery was satisfactory.’

  ‘I see. It’s good that you are taking an interest in things like that. It’s all part of running the household.’ Atia eyed Hanno with more interest. ‘That broken nose isn’t healed, but otherwise he looks fine.’

  Hanno shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable with being talked about as if he weren’t present.

  Aurelia became a little flustered. ‘I suppose … Elira didn’t say when he’d be ready to return to work.’

  ‘Well?’ Atia demanded. ‘Are you sufficiently recovered?’

  Hanno couldn’t exactly refuse. ‘Yes, mistress,’ he murmured.

  ‘He’s got three cracked ribs,’ Aurelia protested.

  ‘That’s no reason to stop him working in the kitchen,’ Atia replied. She stared at Hanno. ‘Is it?’

  It would be far less effort than toiling in the fields, thought Hanno. He bowed his head. ‘No, mistress.’

  Atia nodded. ‘Good. Follow us back to the house. Julius will have plenty for you to do.’

  Secretly delighted, Aurelia followed her mother. She would no longer need an excuse to come and see Hanno.

  ‘Quintus wants us to watch him sparring with your father,’ said Atia in a proud yet wistful tone.

  ‘Oh.’ Aurelia managed to convey all of her disapproval and jealousy in one word.

  Atia turned. ‘Enough of that attitude! Would you rather spend the time playing the lyre or talking Greek with your tutor?’

  ‘No, Mother,’ Aurelia muttered furiously.

  ‘Fine.’ Atia’s frown eased. ‘Come on then.’

  Hanno was fascinated. All the girls he’d ever met were perfectly happy to stick with womanly pursuits. Aurelia was made from a different mould.

  They entered the house via a small postern gate. It was incorporated into one of the two large timber doors that formed the entrance. Hanno looked around keenly. It was the first time he had been in the villa proper. The simple elegance of its design did not fail to impress him. Carthaginian homes were typically built for functionality, rather than beauty. Elegant mosaics and colourful wall paintings were the exception, not the rule.

  In the courtyard, they found Fabricius and Quintus moving carefully around each other. Both were clad in simple belted tunics, and carrying wooden swords and round cavalry shields.

  Seeing Atia and Aurelia, they paused.

  Fabricius raised his weapon in salute to Atia, who smiled.

  ‘Finally,’ said Quintus drolly to his sister.

  Aurelia did her best to look enthusiastic. This is better than music lessons, she told herself. ‘I’m here now.’

  Quintus looked to his father. ‘Ready?’

  ‘When you are.’

  The two stepped closer, raising their swords. The poi
nts met with a dull clunk. Both remained still for a moment, trying to gauge when the other would move.

  Atia clapped her hands. ‘Fetch some fruit juice,’ she ordered Hanno. She pointed. ‘The kitchen is over there.’

  He tore his eyes away from the contest. ‘Yes, mistress.’ Adopting the preferred slave walk, slow and measured, Hanno did as he was told. Happily, he was able to continue observing.

  Quintus was first to act. He swept his gladius down, carrying his father’s blade towards the ground. In the same movement, he drew back his right arm and thrust forward, straight at the other’s chest. Fabricius quickly met the attack with his shield. With a great heave, he lifted it in the air. Quintus’ sword was also carried up by the move, which exposed his right armpit. Knowing that his father would strike at his weak point, Quintus desperately twisted to the left and retreated several steps. Fabricius was on him like a striking snake. Despite his father’s ferocity, Quintus managed to hold off the assault. ‘Not bad,’ Fabricius said at length, pulling back. They paused to catch their breath before renewing the engagement.

  To Quintus’ delight, he drew first blood. His success came thanks to an unexpected shoulder charge at his father that enabled him to thrust his gladius around their shields. The point snagged in the left side of Fabricius’ tunic. Despite the fact that the blade was wooden, it tore a great hole in the fabric, raked along his ribs and broke the skin. He bellowed in pain, and staggered backwards. Knowing that his father would now find it agonising to lift his sword, Quintus prepared to follow through and win the bout.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Aurelia cried.

  Fabricius did not answer. ‘Come on,’ he growled at Quintus. ‘Think you can finish me?’

  Stung, Quintus lifted his gladius and ran forward. When he was only a step away, he feinted to the right and then to the left. A backward slash at Fabricius’ head followed, and his father’s response was barely enough to prevent the blow from landing. Quintus crowed with triumph and pushed on, keen to press home his advantage. Surprising him utterly, Fabricius backed away so fast that Quintus overbalanced and fell. As he landed, Fabricius spun round and placed his sword tip at the base of Quintus’ neck. ‘Dead meat,’ he said calmly.