by Ben Kane
When Agesandros stepped out on to the path, she screamed in fright. So did Elira.
‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he said apologetically.
Aurelia tried to calm her pounding heart. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.
He raised the bow in his hands. An arrow was already notched to its string. ‘Hunting deer. And you?’
Aurelia’s mouth felt very dry. ‘Looking for nuts. And mushrooms.’
‘I see,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t stray too far from the farm on your search.’
‘Why not?’ asked Aurelia, trying desperately to sound confident.
‘You never know who might be about. Bandits. A bear. An escaped slave.’
‘There’s little chance of that,’ Aurelia declared boldly.
‘Maybe so. You’re unarmed, though. I could come with you,’ the Sicilian offered.
‘No!’ Instantly, Aurelia regretted her vehemence. ‘Thank you, but we’ll be fine.’
‘If you’re certain,’ he said, stepping back.
‘I am.’ Jerking her head at Elira, Aurelia walked past him.
‘It’s a bit late for mushrooms, isn’t it?’
Aurelia’s step faltered. ‘There are still a few, if you know where to look,’ she managed.
Agesandros nodded knowledgeably. ‘I’m sure.’
Aurelia’s skin was crawling as she walked away.
‘Does he know?’ whispered Elira.
‘How could he?’ Aurelia hissed back.
But it felt as if he did.
Many days passed by, and it became evident that there would be no battle. As Fabricius had said, no commander would choose to fight unless he could select the time and place. Publius’ refusal to move from the high ground and Hannibal’s unwillingness to attack his enemy’s position produced a stalemate. While the Carthaginians roamed at will across the plain west of the Trebia, the Romans stayed close to their camp. Hannibal’s cavalry now severely outnumbered their horsemen. Patrols were so risky that they were rarely sent out. Despite this, Quintus found it hard to remain equable about their enforced inactivity. He was still suffering nightmares about what had happened to Licinius. He hoped that in battle he could purge himself of the disturbing images. ‘I’m going crazy,’ he told his father one night. ‘How much longer do we have to wait?’
‘We’ll do nothing until Longus arrives,’ Fabricius repeated patiently. ‘If we marched down to the flat ground today and offered battle, the dogs would cut us to pieces. Even without the difference in cavalry, Hannibal’s army outnumbers us man for man. You know that.’
‘I suppose so,’ Quintus admitted reluctantly.
Fabricius leaned back in his chair, satisfied that his point had been made.
Quintus stared gloomily into the depths of the brazier. What was Hanno doing at this very moment? he wondered. It didn’t seem real that they were now enemies. Quintus also thought of Aurelia. When would his recently composed letter reach her? If Fortuna smiled on them both, he might get a reply within the next few months. It was a long time to wait. At least in the meantime he was serving alongside his father. His sister, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Quintus’ heart ached for her.
‘Here you both are!’ A familiar booming voice broke the silence.
Fabricius made a show of looking pleased. ‘Flaccus. Where else would we be?’
Quintus jumped up and saluted. What does he want? he wondered. Since the debacle at the Ticinus, they had hardly seen Aurelia’s husband-to-be. The reason, all three knew, was Flaccus’ conduct during that disaster. It was hard to dispel suspicion once it had taken root, thought Quintus. Yet he could not shake off his feeling. Nor, it appeared, could his father.
‘Quite so, quite so. Who would be out tonight apart from the sentries and the deranged?’ Chuckling at his own joke, Flaccus proffered a small amphora.
‘How kind,’ Fabricius murmured, accepting the gift. ‘Will you try some?’
‘Only if you will,’ Flaccus demurred.
Fabricius opened the amphora with a practised movement of his wrist. ‘Quintus?’
‘Yes, please, Father.’ Quickly, he fetched three glazed ceramic beakers.
With their cups filled, they eyed each other, wondering who would make the toast. At length, Fabricius spoke. ‘To the swift arrival of Sempronius Longus and his army.’
‘And to a rapid victory over the Carthaginians thereafter,’ Flaccus added.
Quintus thought of Licinius. ‘And vengeance for our dead comrades.’
Nodding, Fabricius lifted his cup even higher.
Flaccus beamed. ‘That’s fighting talk! Just what I wanted to hear.’ He gave them a conspiratorial wink. ‘I’ve had a word with Publius.’
Fabricius looked dubious. ‘About what?’
‘Sending out a patrol.’
‘Eh?’ asked Fabricius suspiciously.
‘No one has been across the river in more than a week.’
‘That’s because it’s too damn dangerous,’ Fabricius replied. ‘The enemy controls the far bank in its entirety.’
‘Hear me out,’ said Flaccus in a placatory tone. ‘When Sempronius Longus arrives, he’ll want fresh intelligence, and information on the terrain west of the Trebia. After all, that’s where the battle will be.’
‘What’s wrong with waiting until he gets here?’ demanded Fabricius. ‘Some of his cavalry can do his donkey work.’
‘It needs to be now,’ urged Flaccus. ‘Presenting the consul with all the information he needs would allow him to act fast. Just think of the boost it would provide to the men’s morale when we come back safely!’
‘We?’ said Fabricius slowly. ‘You would come too?’
‘Of course.’
Not for the first time, Fabricius wondered if it had been a good idea to betroth Aurelia to Flaccus. Yet how could he be a coward and offer to take part in such a madcap venture? ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘It would be incredibly risky.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Flaccus protested. ‘I’ve been watching the Carthaginians from our side of the river. By hora decima every afternoon, their last patrol has vanished from sight. It’s at least hora quarta the following morning before they return. If we crossed at night, and rode out before dawn, we’d have perhaps two hours to reconnoitre the area. We would be back across before the Numidians had finished scratching their lice.’
Quintus laughed.
Fabricius scowled. ‘I don’t think it’s a very good idea.’
‘Publius has already given his approval. I could think of no one better to lead the patrol, and he agreed,’ said Flaccus. ‘Come on, what do you say?’
Damn you, thought Fabricius. He felt completely outmanoeuvred. Refusing Flaccus’ offer could be seen as a snub to Publius himself, and that was not a wise course of action. Furious, Fabricius changed his mind. ‘It could only be a small patrol. One turma at most,’ he said. ‘It would have to be under my sole command. You can come along – as an observer.’
Flaccus did not protest. He turned to Quintus. ‘Your father is a shining example of a Roman officer. Brave, resourceful and eager to do his duty.’
‘I’m coming too,’ said Quintus.
‘No, you’re not,’ snapped his father. ‘It will be far too dangerous.’
‘It’s not fair! You did things like this when you were my age – you’ve told me!’ retorted Quintus furiously.
Flaccus stepped in before Fabricius could reply. ‘How can we deny Quintus such a chance to gain valuable experience? And think of the glory that will be heaped upon the men who brought Longus the information that helped him to defeat Hannibal!’
Fabricius looked at his son’s eager face and sighed. ‘Very well.’
‘Thank you, Father,’ said Quintus with a broad smile.
Fabricius kept showing a brave face, but inside he was filled with fear. It will be like walking past a pride of hungry lions, hoping that none of them sees us, he thought. Yet there was no going back now.
&nb
sp; He had given his word to lead the mission.
Chapter XXI: Hannibal’s Plan
ONE MORNING, NOT long after the Carthaginians had driven the Romans back over the Trebia, Malchus was ordered to Hannibal’s tent. While this happened regularly, he always felt a tremor of excitement when the summons arrived. After so many years of waiting for revenge on Rome, Malchus still thrilled to be in the presence of the man who had finally begun the war.
He found Hannibal in pensive mood. The general barely glanced up as Malchus entered. As ever, he was leaning over his campaign table, studying a map of the area. Maharbal, his cavalry commander, stood beside him, talking in a low voice. A thin man with long, curly black hair and an easy grin, Maharbal was popular with officers and ordinary troops alike.
Malchus came to a halt several steps from the table. He stiffened to attention. ‘Reporting for duty, sir.’
Hannibal straightened. ‘Malchus, welcome.’
‘You asked to see me, sir?’
‘I did.’ Still deep in thought, Hannibal rubbed a finger across his lips. ‘I have a question to ask you.’
‘Anything, sir.’
‘Maharbal and I have come up with a plan. An ambush, to be precise.’
‘Sounds interesting, sir,’ said Malchus eagerly.
‘We’re hoping that the Romans might send a patrol across the river,’ Hannibal went on. ‘Maharbal here will organise the cavalry that will fall upon the enemy, but I want some infantry there too. They will lie in wait at the main ford, and prevent any stragglers from escaping.’
Malchus grinned fiercely. ‘I’d be honoured to take part, sir.’
‘I didn’t have you in mind.’ Seeing Malchus’ face fall, Hannibal explained, ‘I’m not losing one of my most experienced officers in a skirmish. I was thinking of your sons, Bostar and Sapho.’
Malchus swallowed his disappointment. ‘They’d be well suited to a job like this, sir, and I’m sure delighted to be picked for it.’
‘I thought so.’ Hannibal paused for a moment. ‘And so to my question. What about your other son?’
Malchus blinked in surprise. ‘Hanno?’
‘Is he battle-ready yet?’
‘I put him into training straight after he returned, sir. Not being in Carthage, it was a little improvised, but he performed well.’ Malchus hesitated. ‘I’d say that he’s ready to be commissioned as an officer.’
‘Good, good. Could he lead a phalanx?’
Malchus gaped. ‘Are you serious, sir?’
‘I’m not in the habit of making jokes, Malchus. The crossing of the mountains left many units without officers to command them.’
‘Of course, sir, of course.’ Malchus gathered his thoughts. ‘Before Hanno was lost at sea, I would have had grave reservations.’
‘Why?’ Hannibal’s gaze was as fierce as a hawk’s.
‘He was a bit of a wastrel, sir. Only interested in fishing and girls.’
‘That’s hardly a crime, is it?’ Hannibal chuckled. ‘I thought he was too young to serve in the army back then?’
‘He was, sir,’ Malchus admitted. ‘And, to be fair, he was excellent when it came to lessons in military tactics. He was skilled at hunting too.’
‘Good qualities. So, has your opinion changed since his return?’
‘It has, sir,’ Malchus replied confidently. ‘He’s changed. The things he experienced and had to live through would have broken many boys, but it didn’t Hanno. He is a man now.’
‘You’re sure?’
Malchus met his general’s gaze squarely. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Fine. I want you and your three sons back here in an hour. That’ll be all.’ Hannibal turned back to Maharbal.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Grinning with excitement, Malchus saluted and withdrew.
Confusion filled Hanno when his father told him the news.
‘What does he want with a junior officer like me?’
‘I couldn’t say,’ Malchus replied neutrally.
Hanno’s stomach twisted into a knot. ‘Are Sapho and Bostar also to be present?’
‘They are.’
That did little to reassure Hanno. Had he done something wrong?
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Malchus. ‘Make sure you’re there in half an hour.’
‘Yes, Father.’ With a racing mind, Hanno set to polishing his new helmet and breastplate. He didn’t stop until his arms burned. Then he rubbed his leather sandals with grease until they glistened. When he was done, Hanno hurried to his father’s tent where there was a large bronze mirror. To his relief, Malchus wasn’t there. He scowled at his reflection. ‘It’ll have to do,’ he muttered.
As he walked to Hannibal’s headquarters, Hanno was grateful that none of the soldiers hurrying to and fro gave him a second look. It wasn’t until he reached the scutarii who stood guard outside the large pavilion that he became the focus of attention.
‘State your name, rank and business!’ barked the officer in charge of the sentries.
‘Hanno, junior officer of a Libyan phalanx, sir. I’m here to see the general.’ Hanno blinked, half expecting to be told to get lost.
Instead, the officer nodded. ‘You’re expected. Follow me.’
A moment later, Hanno found himself in a large, sparsely furnished chamber. Apart from a desk and a few hide-backed chairs, it held only a weapons rack. Hannibal was there, surrounded by a circle of his commanders. Among them were his father and brothers.
‘Sir! Announcing Hanno, junior officer of the Libyan spearmen!’ the officer bellowed.
Hanno flushed to the roots of his hair.
Turning, Hannibal smiled. ‘Welcome.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘You all know about Malchus’ prodigal son?’ asked Hannibal. ‘Well, here he is.’
Hanno’s embarrassment grew even greater as the senior officers studied him. He could see Bostar grinning. Even his father had the trace of a smile on his lips. Sapho, on the other hand, looked as if he’d swallowed a wasp. Hanno felt a surge of annoyance. Why is he like that?
Hannibal looked at each of the brothers in turn. ‘You’re probably wondering why I summoned you this morning?’
‘Yes, sir,’ they answered.
‘I’ll come to my reason in a moment.’ Hannibal looked at Hanno. ‘You’ve heard no doubt of our severe casualties, suffered during the crossing of the Alps?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Since then, we’ve been short of not just men, but officers.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Hanno replied. What was Hannibal getting at? Hanno wondered.
The general smiled at his confusion. ‘I’m appointing you to the command of a phalanx,’ he said.
‘Sir?’ Hanno managed.
‘You heard me,’ replied Hannibal. ‘It’s a huge leap, I know, but your father assures me that you’ve returned a man.’
‘I …’ Hanno’s gaze flickered to Malchus and back to Hannibal. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘As you know, a phalanx should number four hundred men or so, but yours now barely musters two hundred. It’s one of the weakest units, but the men are veterans, and they should serve you well. And, after your extraordinary ordeals, I have high expectations of you.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Hanno, acutely aware of the huge responsibility he’d just been handed. ‘I am deeply honoured.’ Bostar winked at him, but he was irritated to see that Sapho’s lips were pursed.
‘Good!’ Hannibal declared. ‘Now for the reason I called you all here today. As you probably know, there’s been no action since we sent the Romans packing over the Trebia. Nor is there much chance of any in the near future. They know that our cavalry greatly outnumbers theirs, as does our infantry. From our point of view, it would be pointless to attack their camp. It’s on such uneven ground that the advantage our horsemen grant us would be negated. The Romans know that too, so the mongrel bastards are happy just to block the road south and wait for reinforcements. We may have to wait until those forces ar
rive, but I’m not happy to sit about doing nothing.’ Hannibal turned. ‘Maharbal?’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the cavalry commander. ‘To try and encourage the enemy to send some men over the river, we’ve been giving the impression that our riders have become quite lax. Do you want to know how?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ the three brothers replied eagerly.
‘We never appear on our side of the Trebia until late in the morning, and we always leave well before dark. Understand?’
‘You want them to try a dawn patrol, sir?’ asked Bostar.
Maharbal smiled. ‘Exactly.’
Hanno felt his excitement grow. He didn’t feel confident enough to ask a question, however.
Sapho did it for him. ‘What else, sir?’
Hannibal took over once more. ‘Maharbal has five hundred Numidians permanently stationed in the woods about a mile from the main ford over the river. If the Romans take the bait, and send out a patrol, they’ll have to ride past our men. Not many of the dogs will escape when the Numidians fall on them from behind, but some might. Which is where you and your Libyans will come in.’
Hanno shot a glance at Bostar and Sapho, who were grinning fiercely.
‘I want a strong force of infantry to remain hidden near the crossing point. If any Romans do cross, they’re not to be hindered, but when they return …’ Hannibal clenched a fist. ‘I want them annihilated. Is that clear?’
Hanno glanced at his brothers, who gave him emphatic nods. ‘Yes, sir!’ they cried in unison.
‘Excellent,’ declared Hannibal. His gaze hardened. ‘Do not fail me.’
Shortly after darkness had fallen the following evening, Hanno and his brothers led their units out of the Carthaginian camp. As well as their tents and sleeping rolls, the men carried enough rations for three days and nights. To Hanno’s delight, the Numidians who were to guide them into position were led by no less than Zamar, the officer who’d found him near the Padus. Following the horsemen, the phalanxes quietly marched to the east, following little-used hunting tracks. As the sound of rushing water filled everyone’s ears, Zamar directed them to a hidden dell which lay a couple of hundred paces from the area’s main crossing point over the River Trebia. It was a perfect hiding place. Spacious enough to contain their entire force, but sufficiently close to the ford. ‘I’m leaving you six riders as messengers. Send them out the moment you see anything,’ Zamar muttered before he left. ‘And remember, when the Romans come, none are to be left alive.’