by Ben Kane
‘I see little point in sending further patrols across the Trebia. They would meet the same fate, and we have few enough cavalry as it is,’ said Publius. He pressed a finger against his lips, thinking. Then he shook his head. ‘Our main priority is to block the passage south, which we are already doing. The Carthaginians will not attack us here, because of the uneven terrain. Nothing has changed. We wait for Longus.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Fabricius concurred.
‘Very good. You may go.’ Publius waved a hand in dismissal.
Father and son made a discreet exit.
Quintus managed to contain his frustration until they were out of earshot. ‘Why doesn’t Publius do something?’ he hissed.
‘You want revenge for what happened at the ford, eh?’ asked Fabricius with a wry smile. ‘I do too.’ He bent close to Quintus’ ear. ‘I’m sure that Publius would have moved against Hannibal again if he weren’t … incapacitated. Of course he’s not going to admit that to the likes of us. For the moment, we just have to live with it.’
‘Will Longus want to fight Hannibal?’
‘I’d say so,’ replied his father with a grin. ‘A victory before the turn of the year would show the tribes that Hannibal is vulnerable. It would also reduce the number of warriors who plan on joining him. Defeating him soon would be far better than leaving it until the spring.’
Quintus prayed that his father was correct. After all the setbacks they’d suffered, it was time for the tables to be turned. The quicker that was done, the better.
Chapter XXIII: Battle Commences
BOSTAR WAITED UNTIL they’d got back to the Carthaginian camp before he launched his attack. The moment that their men had been stood down, he rounded on Hanno. ‘What the hell was that about?’ he shouted. ‘Don’t you remember our orders? We were supposed to kill them all!’
‘I know,’ muttered Hanno. The sad image of Quintus and his father riding down to the Trebia was vivid in his mind’s eye. ‘How, though, could I kill the person who had saved my life, not once, but twice?’
‘So your sense of honour is more important than a direct order given by Hannibal?’ Sapho sneered.
‘Yes. No. I don’t know,’ Hanno replied. ‘Leave me alone!’
‘Sapho!’ Bostar snapped.
Sapho raised his hands and stepped back. ‘Let’s see what the general says when we report to him.’ He made a face. ‘I presume that you are going to tell him?’
Hanno felt a towering fury take hold. ‘Of course I am!’ he cried. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide. What, were you going to tell Hannibal if I didn’t?’ His mouth opened as Sapho flushed. ‘Sacred Tanit, you fucking were! Where did you get to be so poisonous? No wonder Bostar doesn’t like you any more.’ He saw Sapho’s shock, and despite his anger, felt instant shame. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s a bit late,’ retorted Sapho. ‘Why should I be surprised that you’ve been talking about me behind my back? You little dirtbag!’
Hanno flushed and hung his head.
‘I’ll see you at the general’s tent,’ said Sapho sourly. ‘We’ll see what Hannibal thinks of what you’ve done then.’ Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he walked away.
‘Sapho! Come back!’ Hanno shouted.
‘Let him go,’ advised Bostar.
‘Why is he being like that?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Bostar, looking away.
Now you’re the one who’s lying, thought Hanno, but he didn’t have the heart to interrogate his older brother. Soon he would have to explain his actions to Hannibal. ‘Come on,’ he said anxiously. ‘We’d best get this over with.’
Hanno was relieved to find that Sapho had not entered Hannibal’s tent, but was waiting outside for them. Zamar, the Numidian officer was there too. Announcing themselves to the guards, they were ushered inside.
Hanno slipped to Sapho’s side. ‘Thank you.’
Sapho gave him a startled look. ‘For what?’
‘Not going in to tell your version of the story first.’
‘I might disagree with what you did, but I’m not a telltale,’ Sapho shot back in an angry whisper.
‘I know,’ said Hanno. ‘Let’s just see what Hannibal says, eh? After that, we can forget about it.’
‘No more talking about me behind my back,’ Sapho warned.
‘It’s not as if Bostar said much. He commented that after the pirates’ capture, you had changed.’
‘Changed?’
‘Grown tougher. Harder.’
‘Nothing else?’ Sapho demanded.
‘No.’ What in Tanit’s name happened between you two? Hanno wondered. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Sapho was silent for a moment. ‘Very well. We’ll put it behind us after we’ve reported to Hannibal. But understand this: if he asks me my opinion about the release of the two Romans, I’m not going to lie to him.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Hanno heatedly. ‘I wouldn’t want you to.’
Their conversation came to an abrupt halt as they entered the main part of Hannibal’s tent.
The general greeted them with a broad smile. ‘Word of your success has already reached me,’ he declared. He raised his glass. ‘Come, taste this wine. For a Roman vintage, it’s quite palatable.’
When they all had a glass in hand, Hannibal looked at them each in turn. ‘Well?’ he enquired. ‘Who’s going to tell me what happened?’
Hanno stepped forward. ‘I will, sir,’ he said, swallowing.
Hannibal’s eyebrows rose, but he indicated that Hanno should continue.
Shoving away his nervousness, Hanno described their march to the Trebia, and the long wait in the hidden clearing. When he got to the point where the Roman patrol had crossed, he turned to Zamar. The Numidian related how his men had carried word to him of the enemy incursion, and of how the ambush had been sprung early by an overeager section leader. ‘I’ve already stripped him to the ranks, sir,’ he said. ‘Thanks to him, the whole thing might have been a disaster.’
‘But it wasn’t, thankfully,’ Hannibal replied. ‘Did any make it to the river?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Zamar. ‘Eight.’
Hannibal winked. ‘That didn’t leave much work for nine hundred spearmen!’
They all laughed.
‘Did you find any documents on the Roman commander?’
Hanno didn’t know how to answer. ‘No, sir,’ he muttered. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sapho glaring at him.
Hannibal didn’t notice Hanno’s reticence. ‘A shame. Still, never mind. It’s unlikely that they would carry anything of importance on such a mission anyway.’
Hanno coughed awkwardly. ‘I didn’t manage to search him, sir.’
‘Why not?’ asked Hannibal, frowning.
‘Because I let him go, sir. Along with one other.’
The general’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘You had best explain yourself, son of Malchus. Fast.’
Hannibal’s intense stare was unnerving. ‘Yes, sir.’ Hanno hastily began. When he had finished, there was a pregnant silence. Hanno thought he was going to be sick.
Hannibal eyed Sapho and Bostar askance. ‘Presumably, he consulted with you two,’ he snapped.
‘Yes, sir,’ they mumbled.
‘What was your reaction, Bostar?’
‘Although it was against your orders, sir, I respected his reason for wanting to let the two men go.’
Hannibal looked at Sapho.
‘I violently disagreed, sir, but I was overruled.’
Hannibal regarded Zamar. ‘And you?’
‘I had nothing to do with it, sir,’ the Numidian replied neutrally. ‘I was a hundred paces away with my men.’
‘Interesting,’ said Hannibal to Hanno. ‘One brother supported you, one did not.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Is this what I am to expect in future when I issue a command?’ demanded Hannibal, his nostrils flaring.
‘No, sir,’
protested Bostar and Hanno. ‘Of course not,’ Hanno added.
Hannibal didn’t comment further. ‘Do I detect that there was quite an amount of disagreement?’
Hanno flushed. ‘You do, sir.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because we were given orders to let none survive, sir!’ cried Sapho.
‘Finally, we come back to the nub of the issue,’ said Hannibal. In the background, Sapho smiled triumphantly. ‘Under ordinary circumstances, this situation would be black and white. And if you’d disobeyed my orders as you have done, I would have had you crucified.’
His words hung in the air like a bad smell.
Fear twisted Sapho’s face. ‘Sir, I …’ he began.
‘Did I ask you to speak?’ Hannibal snapped.
‘No, sir.’
‘Then keep your mouth shut!’
Humbled, Sapho obeyed.
Hanno wiped his brow, which was covered in sweat. I still did the right thing, he thought. I owed Quintus my life. Sure that, at the very least, a severe punishment was about to follow, he resigned himself to his fate. Beside him, Bostar was clenching and unclenching his jaw.
‘Yet what transpired happens but once in a host of lifetimes,’ said Hannibal.
Stunned, Hanno waited to hear what his general said next.
‘A man can’t go killing those who have helped him, even if they are Roman. I cannot think of a better way to anger the gods.’ Hannibal gave Hanno a grim nod. ‘You did the right thing.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ whispered Hanno. He’d never been so relieved in his life.
‘I will let you off, Bostar, because of the unique nature of what happened.’
Bostar stood rigidly to attention and saluted. ‘Thank you, sir!’
Hanno glanced at Sapho. His fear had been replaced by a poorly concealed expression of resentment. Did he want us to be punished? Hanno wondered uneasily.
‘As well as satisfying your honour, your lenient gesture fulfilled another purpose,’ Hannibal continued. ‘Those two men will speak of little but the excellence of our troops. Some of their comrades will be demoralised by what they hear, which helps our cause. Despite your disobedience, you have achieved the result I wanted.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That’s not all,’ said Hannibal lightly.
Hanno’s fear returned with a vengeance. ‘Sir?’
‘There can be no repeat of such behaviour.’ Hannibal’s voice had grown hard. ‘You have paid off your obligation to this Quintus. Should you see either him or his father again, you can act in only one way.’
He’s right, screamed Hanno’s common sense. How can I remain friends with a Roman? Despite everything, his heart felt differently. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Trust me, those men would bury a sword in your belly as soon as look at you. They are the enemy,’ growled Hannibal. ‘If you meet either again, you will kill them.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Hanno said, finally giving in. But never let it happen.
‘Understand too that if any of you disobey my orders again, I will not be merciful. Instead, expect to end your miserable lives screaming on a cross. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Hanno, shaking.
‘You’re dismissed,’ said Hannibal curtly. ‘All of you.’
Muttering their thanks, Zamar and the three brothers withdrew.
Sapho sidled up to Hanno outside. ‘Still think you did the right thing?’ he hissed.
‘Eh?’ Hanno gave his brother an incredulous look.
‘We could all be dead now, thanks to you.’
‘But we’re not! And it’s not as if such a thing will ever happen again, is it?’ demanded Hanno.
‘I suppose not,’ Sapho admitted, taken aback by Hanno’s fury.
‘I’m as loyal as you or any man in the damn army,’ Hanno snarled. ‘Line me up some Romans, and I’ll chop off all their fucking heads!’
‘All right, all right,’ muttered Sapho. ‘You’ve made your point.’
‘So have you,’ retorted Hanno angrily. ‘Did you want us to be punished in there?’
Sapho made an apologetic gesture. ‘Look, I had no idea he might crucify you.’
‘Would you have said anything to Hannibal if you had?’ challenged Bostar.
A guilty look stole across Sapho’s face. ‘No.’
‘You’re a fucking liar,’ said Bostar. Without another word, he walked off.
Hanno glared at Sapho. ‘Well?’
‘Do you really think I’d want the two of you to die? Please!’ Sapho protested. ‘Have some faith in me!’
Hanno sighed. ‘I do. I’m sorry.’
‘So am I,’ said Sapho, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Let’s forget about it, eh? Concentrate on fighting the Romans.’
‘Yes.’ Hanno glanced after Bostar, and his heart sank. His other brother looked angered by the friendly gesture Sapho had just made. Gods above, he thought in frustration, can I not get on with the two of them?
It appeared not.
Saturnalia was fast approaching. Despite Atia and Aurelia’s melancholy, preparations for the midwinter festival were well under way. It was a way, Aurelia realised, of coping with the void both of them felt inside at her father’s probable death, and the lack of word from Quintus. Life had to go on in some fashion, and losing themselves in mundane tasks had proved to be an effective method of maintaining normality. There was so much to be done that the short winter days flashed by in a blur. Atia’s list of things to do seemed never-ending. Each evening, Aurelia was worn out, and grateful that her exhaustion meant deep slumber without any bad dreams.
One night, however, Aurelia did not fall asleep as usual. Her mind was racing. She and her mother were going to Capua in two days on a final shopping expedition. Dozens of candles were still required as gifts for their family friends and the guests. Not all of the food for their impending feasts had been ordered yet – there had been a mix-up with the baker over what was needed, and the butcher wanted far too much money for his meat. Atia also wanted to purchase pottery figurines; these were exchanged on the last day of the celebrations.
Despite her best efforts, Aurelia found herself thinking about Suniaton. After meeting Agesandros, she and Elira had made their way to the hut without any difficulty. Pleasingly, Suni’s leg had healed enough for him to leave. He’s long gone, thought Aurelia sadly. Suniaton had been her last link with Hanno, and in a strange way, Quintus and her father. It was entirely possible that she would never see any of them again. On the spur of the moment, she decided to visit the isolated dwelling one more time. What for, Aurelia wasn’t sure. Perhaps the gods would offer her some kind of sign there. Something that would make her grief more bearable. Keeping this idea to the forefront of her mind, she managed to fall asleep.
Waking early the next morning, Aurelia dressed in her warmest clothes. She was relieved to find only a finger’s depth of snow covering the statues and mosaic floor in the courtyard. Pausing to tell a sleepy Elira where she was going, and to raise the alarm if she was not back by nightfall, Aurelia went to the stables and readied her father’s grey horse.
She had never ridden so far from the farm in the depths of winter before, and was stunned by the beauty of the silent countryside. It was such a contrast to the spring and summer, when everything was bursting with life. Most of the trees had lost their leaves, scattering them in thick layers upon the ground, layers that were now frozen beneath a light covering of snow. The only movement was the occasional flash of wildlife: a pair of crows tumbling through the air in pursuit of a falcon, the suggestion of a deer in the distance. Once, Aurelia thought she saw a jackal skulking off into the undergrowth. Gratifyingly, she heard no wolves, and saw no sign of their spoor. Although it was rare for the large predators to attack humans, it was not unheard of. The chances of seeing them grew as she climbed, however, and Aurelia was grateful that she had taken a bow as well as her sling.
Her anticipation grew as she neared the hut. Its peaceful atmosphe
re would assuage her worries about her loved ones. With a growing sense of excitement, Aurelia tied up her horse outside. She scattered a handful of oats on the ground to keep it happy, and stepped towards the door. A faint sound from inside stopped her dead. Terror paralysed Aurelia’s every muscle as she remembered the bandits whom Quintus and Hanno had fought. What had she been thinking to travel alone?
Turning on her heel, Aurelia tiptoed away from the hut. If she made it onto her saddle blanket, there was a good chance of escaping. Few men possessed the skill with a bow to bring down a rider on a galloping horse. She had almost reached her mount when it looked up from its oats, and gave her a pleased whinny. Frantically stroking its head to silence it, Aurelia listened. All she could hear was her heart pounding in her chest like that of a captured beast. Taking a good grip of the horse’s mane, she prepared to scramble on to its back.
‘Hello?’
Aurelia nearly jumped out of her skin with fright.
A moment passed. The door did not open.
Aurelia managed to calm herself. The voice had been weak and quavering, and certainly not that of a strong, healthy man. Gradually, her curiosity began to equal her fear. ‘Who’s there? I’m not alone.’
There was no response.
Aurelia began to wonder if it was a trap after all. She vacillated, torn between riding to safety and checking that whoever was inside did not need help. At length, she decided not to flee. If this was an ambush, it was the worst-laid one she could think of. Gripping her dagger to give her confidence, she padded towards the hut. There was no handle or latch, just a gap in the timbers to pull open the portal. With trembling fingers, Aurelia flipped the door towards her, placing her foot against the bottom edge to hold it ajar. She peered cautiously into the dim interior. Instead of the fire she might have expected, the round stone fireplace was full of ashes. Aurelia gagged as the acrid smell of human urine and faeces wafted outside.
Finally, she made out a figure lying sprawled on the floor. She had taken it first for a bundle of rags. When it moved, she screamed. ‘S-Suni?’
His eyes opened wide. ‘Is that you, Aurelia?’
‘Yes, it is.’ She darted inside and dropped to her knees by his side. ‘Oh, Suniaton!’ She struggled not to weep.