Fields of Blood h-2

by Ben Kane

  It was around midday on the second day when Hanno arrived at the main gate on the west side of Capua, the point at which travellers from the coast would arrive. Seeing the mighty stone walls again reminded him why Hannibal wasn’t attacking cities. Reducing such a place would take many months, as the siege of Saguntum had shown, time in which the Romans would be free to cut off all supply routes and thus the Carthaginians’ ability to remain in the field. Far smarter to do as Hannibal had, and to fight the Romans in open battle. The number of guards at the arched gateway made Hanno’s stomach clench. None of the other travellers were keen to talk, which suited him. There was time for a prayer that no difficult questions would be hurled his way. When his turn came, the sentries seemed satisfied with Hanno’s explanation, delivered in his best Greek accent, that he worked for a merchant who had recently landed at the nearest port. He slapped his saddlebags and pronounced them full of letters for his employer’s customers. The guard studied him for a moment, his eyes moving to the horse. Hanno began to sweat. Not only were his saddlebags empty, but his short sword was lying hidden under the saddlecloth. Then, to his relief, the man waved him in without further query, even giving him advice about where to find stabling for his horse.

  Their information was as good as any, he decided. A short time later, having secured a small bedchamber and a place in the stables for his horse in a rundown establishment called the Sheaf of Wheat, Hanno headed out to get his bearings. He left his blade under the mattress in his room. After so long away from centres of population, the experience was a shock to the senses. The narrow, unpaved streets were jammed with a mass of humanity, their speed reduced to that of a snail. Capua, it seemed, was filled to bursting point with refugees from the surrounding countryside. The effect on the city was noticeable. The shops had less on offer than he would have expected. He heard prices bellowed for ordinary goods such as bread and fruit that were eye-watering. A burst sewer at one junction spewed liquid filth that was spreading in every direction. The smell was overpowering, and that was without the run-off from the dungheaps in many alleyways. Beggars lounged in every available space, hands outstretched, and gaunt-faced children ran hither and thither, grabbing purses and stealing what they could from the food stalls. Because of the press, the enraged shopkeepers could do little but throw abuse after the thieves.

  Realising that his decision to come to Capua had been rash indeed, Hanno wandered aimlessly at first. He had no clue where to start. Think, he told himself, think. Buying a fresh flat loaf at a baker’s, he moved to the doorway of a temple and racked his brains as he ate. Quintus’ friend had been called Gaius. But what had his family name been?

  It wouldn’t come to him.

  Frustrated, he wandered on, hoping for a sight of Aurelia, her mother or even Agesandros. His luck was not in, however, and his mood wasn’t helped when he stumbled on to the slave market. The war hadn’t stopped business here. Lines of naked men, women and children, their feet chalked and with chains around their necks, filled the roped-off area behind the forum. Prospective buyers walked up and down, assessing the specimens on offer. Bad memories flooded back. This was where he’d been sold for the second time. Parted from Suniaton. Met Agesandros, who would make his life a living hell.

  ‘Looking for a slave? A pretty girl?’

  Startled, he found a pox-scarred dealer with lank grey hair regarding him. He indicated his slaves, half a dozen girls who ranged from no more than six or seven up to adulthood. They all seemed terrified. Hanno curled his lip. ‘No.’

  A greasy smile. ‘You prefer boys? A friend of mine has several who might interest you. Come, come!’ The dealer beckoned.

  Hanno could feel his temper rising. Keen not to make a scene, he turned his back and strode off. Unsure where to go next, his feet took him down a street that he’d not been on before. A blast of warm, moist air from a doorway to his left made his head turn. Above the lintel, he read the words ‘BATHHOUSE. JULIUS FESTUS, PROPRIETOR. HOT WATER AT ALL TIMES. PRICES REASONABLE.’ He could hear the chatter of conversation within and a voice calling, ‘Fresh pastries, fresh pastries. Just baked! A quarter of an as each, or five for one as.’ Hanno stopped, but not because of the food. He hadn’t had a proper bath in many months — and if Carthage was anywhere to go by, there was no better place to eavesdrop on conversations. He was about to duck inside when something made him glance to his right. A pair of bruisers were leaning nonchalantly against the wall of the forge opposite. They scowled; Hanno averted his gaze. No point picking a fight when there was no need.

  A pasty-faced fat man was sitting behind a desk by the entrance. On top of the desk lay a tabby cat, which was cleaning its face with its paw while the attendant stroked its ears and whispered to it. Hanno waited for a moment. The cat cocked its head at him, but the man did not look up. Irritated, he cleared his throat.

  Finally, an uninterested glance. ‘Wanting a bath?’

  ‘Yes,’ he growled.

  ‘One as. That includes a drying cloth. Two asses if you want a strigil and oil as well.’

  ‘That’s bloody robbery!’

  ‘Times are hard. That’s the price. If you don’t want to pay. .’ His eyes flickered to the right, and Hanno spotted the other doorman, a grinning brute with no teeth who gripped a club as thick as his thigh.

  ‘Fine.’ He slapped down two bronze coins.

  The attendant eyed Hanno again. ‘If you’re after a massage, the slaves, male and female, offer other services as well, but they cost more-’

  ‘A bath will be sufficient.’

  ‘As you wish. The apodyterium is that way.’ He waved at the door on the far side of the little room, his attention returning to the cat.

  Hanno didn’t bother to reply. Throwing a scornful look at the brute, he made his way into the rectangular changing room beyond, which was nicely decorated with a mosaic floor and swirling aquatic murals on the walls. At once a pastry-seller — whose voice he must have heard — lifted his platter in Hanno’s direction, but he waved it away. There were a couple of other men undressing; they handed their clothes to a slave who placed them into individual numbered partitions on the wooden shelves that hung at eye height. Hanno was about to start disrobing himself when a sudden realisation froze him on the spot. His scar. He’d forgotten his damn scar! Anyone who saw it would take him for a slave. Devilment and irritation made him decide not to walk out. If he left the strip of fabric that protected his neck in place, no one would see the incriminating ‘F’. If asked about the cloth, he would explain it away with a story about a non-healing wound. The surgeon had told him to keep it covered, especially in the baths.

  He stripped and handed his garments and sandals over. ‘I want nothing stolen while I’m bathing.’ It wasn’t his imagination that the slave sniffed. Hanno’s lips quirked. ‘They might smell ripe, but some thieves will take anything.’ He handed over an as, and the slave’s expression warmed.

  ‘I’ll keep good watch over them, sir. Would you like your clothes laundered?’

  ‘Maybe another time.’

  The slave threw a curious glance at his neck, but Hanno was already heading for the frigidarium. He didn’t intend to spend long there: few people tended to linger in this room. Sure enough, there was only one occupant of the cold pool — one of the other customers he’d seen in the apodyterium, a middle-aged man with a shock of white hair and a beak of a nose. They exchanged nods; his neck cloth got another inquisitive look. To keep up the pretence, Hanno was careful not to get it wet. He waded quickly from one side of the pool to the other and climbed out. The tepidarium, the next room, would be more to his taste. The brief immersion had brought up goose bumps all over him.

  In the tepidarium, he took a seat on one of the long wooden benches that ran down each side of the room. The air was pleasantly warm; the walls were decorated with images of dolphins, fish and sea monsters. A number of men sat nearby, or opposite. Three were talking together in low tones while supping wine from clay beakers; a pair w
ere playing dice on the floor; one leaned back against the wall, dozing. Hanno closed his eyes and pretended to do the same. In reality, he was listening with all his might.

  ‘A drachm on the next roll, as before?’ asked the first gamer.

  ‘Aye, I suppose,’ said his companion none too happily.

  ‘Two fives! Beat that if you can, my friend!’

  ‘Did you go down on Fortuna last night?’ asked the second man sourly. ‘She’s giving you all the luck.’ He rolled the dice. Then, a triumphant cry: ‘A six and a five! I win at last.’

  The pair continued to play and bicker, and Hanno’s attention moved on to the three men who were sitting together. Because they were opposite him, he continued to pretend that he was asleep. Thanks to this, or perhaps the wine, their tones gradually became louder.

  ‘The damn war shows no signs of ending,’ grumbled the oldest, a greyhair with knobbly jointed hands and feet. ‘No doubt it will drag on as long as the last one did. I remember-’

  ‘Calavius, have some more wine,’ said the man on the left, a short individual with brown eyes and oiled ringlets. ‘Your cup is empty.’

  Although he had interrupted, Hanno noted that his manner was obsequious. There was a difference in social status here: his companions were possibly nobles. This added hugely to his frustration. Capua was not that big a city. These men probably knew Aurelia’s parents. If only he could ask them where she was!

  ‘My thanks.’ Calavius held out his beaker.

  The short man raised his own vessel. ‘A toast: to our brave leaders, that they may defeat Hannibal before too much longer.’

  The third man, broad-shouldered and with a casually handsome look, sat back without doing the same. ‘Our leaders, you said. You’re not a Roman, still less a Campanian. You’re a damn Greek.’

  ‘That’s neither here nor there, surely. I live here, I pay my taxes,’ said the short man, looking a trifle uncomfortable.

  ‘You’re no citizen, though.’ The third man’s voice had a hard edge to it. ‘You’ll never be conscripted into the army. Never have to fight the guggas, like my son, or Calavius’ nephews and grandsons.’

  Calavius’ brows lowered. ‘It’s as my friend says.’

  ‘My apologies,’ came the swift reply. ‘I meant no offence.’ He lifted his cup again. ‘May the gods guide and protect the Republic’s leaders in their quest to defeat Hannibal. May they also keep safe all the sons of Rome who fight the enemy.’

  The two others were mollified by this. They all drank a toast.

  However, the peace didn’t last long. When the two Romans began talking politics again, the Greek couldn’t help but throw in his opinion. The third man looked even more irritated than he had before. ‘Enough of this, Phanes. You’re here to curry favour, that’s clear, but I’m not interested in your opinions on the Roman political system. Understand?’

  As Phanes fawned and grovelled, Hanno’s brain raced. The name ‘Phanes’ was familiar.

  ‘Why are you here, Phanes?’ asked Calavius. ‘It’s not just to share your wine with us.’

  ‘Well. .’ The Greek licked his lips. ‘I have a number of debtors who have fallen severely behind on their payments.’

  The moneylender! realised Hanno. The one with the stranglehold over Aurelia’s mother. Gripped by fury, he listened even harder.

  ‘That’s unsurprising. There’s a war going on, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ snapped the third man.

  ‘Peace,’ said Calavius. ‘You may disapprove of his profession, but he and his fellows provide a service to the city. Let him speak.’

  ‘Fine. I’m for the caldarium then.’ With a courteous nod at Calavius and a scowl at Phanes, the third man got up and walked out. A moment later, he was joined by the man who’d been dozing. Hanno snorted as if stirring, but then pretended to fall asleep again. There was a short pause before, apparently happy, the Greek spoke again.

  ‘I would like to approach the courts for permission to seize their properties in payment for their debts. I was wondering whether, perhaps, the judges’ decision would be made easier if they had a little guidance. A word or two in the right ears would ensure that my appeals were heard favourably.’

  ‘Are any of these people nobles whom I would know?’ asked Calavius.

  An awkward cough. ‘Some, yes.’

  Atia could easily be on Phanes’ list, thought Hanno, seething with anger. In his mind, the first seeds of a plan began to sprout.

  ‘I could not countenance that,’ said Calavius sharply. ‘In these straitened times, those who have fallen on hard times must be afforded some leeway. More time to pay.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘No, Phanes.’

  A short pause.

  ‘I do not like to mention it, but there is the small matter of your son-in-law,’ muttered Phanes.

  ‘That is none of my affair,’ snapped Calavius.

  ‘Not quite true. How would it look if it were to come out that one of Capua’s most illustrious magistrates was father-in-law to a degenerate — a gambler who has wagered away his entire family’s wealth? A man who spends his time in the city’s lowest taverns and fleshpots? Your chances of re-election might suffer considerably in the light of that information.’

  ‘Curse you, Greek!’ hissed Calavius.

  ‘You give me no option. I am entirely within my rights to ask for a court ruling on these debts,’ protested Phanes.

  ‘You’re still a bloodsucking parasite!’ Calavius let out a heavy sigh. ‘What is the price for your silence about my son-in-law?’

  ‘As a gesture of goodwill, I will write off his debts in their entirety. Not a word shall pass my lips about him either. In return, I ask for not a drachm. As I mentioned, all I need is for the judges to approve the list of properties that I wish to have seized.’

  ‘I want to see the names first,’ said Calavius.

  ‘It will be delivered to your house by the end of the day.’

  ‘Then I believe that our business is done. I seem to have lost my taste for your wine.’ Without another word, Calavius rose and stalked off.

  Hanno sensed Phanes’ gaze rest on him. He kept his breathing slow and regular, and after a moment he heard the Greek rise and leave the room. After an acceptable amount of time had passed, he decided to enter the caldarium himself. It was far busier than the tepidarium had been. The air was intensely warm and moist. Nearly a dozen men were relaxing in the hot pool, among them Calavius and the big noble; others were using strigils and oil to scrape the dirt from their skin or performing stretches; several were lying face down on waist-high stone benches while slaves massaged their muscles. There was no sign of Phanes, and disappointment filled Hanno. Then he heard a woman’s voice from one of the cubicles off to the side and he remembered the attendant mentioning the other services on offer. It was a gamble that the Greek was engaged in such activity, but it was better to stay where he was. If Phanes had gone through to the next room and he followed too soon, his quarry might grow suspicious. Hanno climbed into the pool, avoiding eye contact.

  After so long without a bath, the hot water was unadulterated bliss. He longed to immerse himself up to his chin, but conscious of the charade with his neck cloth, he lounged against the side with his arms stretched out along the tiles. The chatter here was all about the war: about this man’s son and the unit he was serving in; how Fabius was too cowardly to fight Hannibal; what a blessing it had been when the Carthaginians had headed east once more; how the numbers of refugees were filling the city to bursting point; and so on. Hanno was too far away to eavesdrop on Calavius and the third man, and he heard no mention of Atia or Aurelia. Patience, he thought. If his plan came off, Phanes would be able to tell him where they lived. It wasn’t long before there was a friendly query from his neighbour about the strip of fabric. His explanation was accepted without question, but Hanno moved off soon after. He had no desire to enter into conversation with anyone. After he had cleaned his body with a strigil, he dried himself o
ff and went to pick up his clothes. It was imperative that he was outside before the Greek.

  The two thugs were still parked opposite the bathhouse entrance. It was the best spot for observing who entered and left and so Hanno was forced to take a seat at an open-fronted restaurant a short distance away. Picking through a plate of tasteless gruel that was being sold as ‘meat stew’, he kept a regular eye on proceedings and wondered if it would be more prudent to continue his search for Aurelia. It didn’t take long to make up his mind. At this late stage, being sensible had nothing to do with it. Just coming to Capua had been an insane notion. Now that he was here, he had a definite link to Aurelia through Phanes, which was more than he’d discover by wandering around like a fool.

  When the Greek emerged, Hanno was annoyed and dismayed to see the two heavies fall in line behind him. Why did they have to be his bodyguards? he railed silently. His plan to interrogate Phanes was slipping away before his eyes. With a grudging nod at the stallholder, he paid for his food and sidled after the trio. It was soon apparent that the moneylender was making the rounds of some debtors. The reactions of the shopkeepers who saw him was uniform: one of surprise and dismay. Yet their attempts to avoid Phanes, or to shut their premises, all failed. His two companions were adept at jamming their feet in doorways or seizing men by the scruff of the neck and pinning them up against a wall. This was done in the most upfront of ways, without even a look as to how the passers-by might react. Any thoughts that Hanno might have had about tackling the pair disappeared. Not only were they armed with short cudgels, but they were well able to handle themselves. To have any chance of tackling Phanes, the Greek would have to leave his men behind. Morose because this did not seem likely, he dogged their footsteps for more than an hour.