Hannibal: Clouds of War (29 page)

By the third day, Kleitos judged it safe enough for Hanno to take Aurelia out of the city to cremate Publius. Kleitos had checked the duty rosters beforehand to ensure that the soldiers who had seized Hanno upon his arrival weren’t on duty. If stopped, the couple’s pretence was to be that they were man and wife, the boy their deceased son, and Elira a servant.

Aurelia had retained her poise since her rescue, but the moment that she, Hanno and Elira began their sad journey, it cracked. ‘If only Quintus could be here too,’ she whispered. Hanno stared blankly at her. ‘He’s here on Sicily,’ she said, dissolving into floods of tears, clutching the linen-wrapped shape that was Publius. Elira also began to weep. Hanno instinctively went to put an arm around Aurelia, but, worried that she would think it inappropriate, he stopped. It wasn’t long, though, before he did it anyway. She didn’t tell him to stop, so he walked alongside her, his arm around her waist. Feeling an unexpected depth of sadness, for he had never met the child alive, he supported her all the way. It felt odd that Quintus was stationed here on the island, but at least they would never meet. Hanno didn’t want to face that possibility, especially considering his feelings for Aurelia.

He needn’t have been worried about the guards, who took one look and waved them on. What he didn’t like was hearing the announcement, repeated several times as they walked through, that at the slightest risk of danger, the gate could be closed without notice.

Standing outside the walls, therefore, felt most disquieting. Hanno half expected to see an enemy patrol appear. Yet despite the siege, life here – and death – had achieved a kind of status quo since the failed Roman assault. From the vantage points on their fortifications, enemy sentries could see anyone who came along the road that led to the north, but their fear of the Syracusan artillery meant that they did nothing. It meant, too, that funerals were held as they always had been, among the innumerable tombs that lined the thoroughfare.

There were roadside stalls where religious trinkets, wood for pyres, animals for sacrifice and even hot food could be bought. Priests, orators and professional grievers offered their services. Musicians played dirges on flutes and lyres. A soothsayer in a greasy leather cap promised a good chance of favourable readings in the entrails of any animals he examined. Whores and other lowlifes congregated around the less well-kept tombs. It was similar in many ways to Carthage, although there were none of the ornamented masks that went into the afterlife with the dead. Hanno’s apprehension about where they were gradually eased. He, Aurelia and Elira were just three mourners in a crowd. No one paid them any attention, and the Romans weren’t going to either.

A few extra coins saw the pyre built, and tended by the son of the man who’d sold him the wood and charcoal. Before long, the heat from its flames forced them to retreat. Hanno and Elira stood a little distance back from Aurelia, who was so locked in her own world that she didn’t notice. They remained there for some time, the background noise of music, other mourners and the roving vendors filling the air.

‘Life can be so cruel,’ said Aurelia at last.

Hanno moved closer. ‘It can,’ he replied sombrely. ‘I have no children, but I can imagine that losing one must be terrible beyond belief.’

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. After a moment, she said, ‘I wasn’t just talking about my little Publius. My mother died about two months ago. Right after that, Lucius was badly injured in Rhegium. The last I heard, he’d been unconscious for days. To lose one’s loved one is bad enough, but two – as well as one’s husband? And Quintus is probably no more than a few miles away.’

Hanno felt too awkward to talk about Quintus. He put an arm around her again. ‘I had no idea that your mother was dead. I’m sorry.’

‘It was a growth in her belly, on her liver, that took her. She wasted away in a matter of weeks.’

‘Atia was a good woman. Your father must be grieving still.’

A bitter laugh. ‘Of course! How could you have known? Father is gone too. He died at Cannae.’

‘Damn it, Aurelia, I’m sorry. My father was also killed that day.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘And your brothers?’

‘They survived, thank the gods. I left them in good health when I departed for Sicily.’

‘It is good that you have living flesh and blood.’ Her voice changed, becoming wistful. ‘Do you ever think of Quintus? He’s stationed on the island, you know. He might be close by.’

‘I have wondered whether he could be here,’ said Hanno, realising that his relationship with Aurelia meant that he could never now regard Quintus as an enemy. Had he truly ever done so? he wondered. ‘May the gods keep him safe.’

It took a number of hours to burn Publius’ body, and several more until the embers had sufficiently cooled. By this point, Hanno was keen to regain the safety of the walls. After so long at war, it felt foolish to remain in such an exposed position. Just because the Romans had never staged an attack along this route didn’t mean that they mightn’t try. Yet the sun had almost set by the time that they set out for Syracuse, Aurelia clutching an urn full of her child’s ashes. The area had already emptied, and they were among the last people to enter the city before the gate was closed for the night.

Life settled into an odd kind of routine as the heightened security over the soldiers murdered by Aurelia died down. She and Elira began venturing outside. They never went far, but, as they told Hanno, anything was better than being cooped up day and night. He visited once a day, often twice. Kleitos sometimes came with him. The urn and the makeshift shrine in the corner were reminders of what had gone before, but Aurelia’s mood remained if not happy then stable, and a touch less sad than it had been. Thinking that a distraction from their confined existence might help, Hanno bought a kitten one day, a mewling bundle of tabby fur. To his relief, both women fell in love with it at once. Aurelia named it Hannibal, after its habit of ambushing the back of their legs from around the corner of the beds. Hanno found this hilarious, and even Kleitos’ disapproval of the creature was half-hearted. Soon all of them were spending hours playing with Hannibal, getting him to chase a trailed length of wool, or to pat a ball of it around the floor. Hanno would admit it to few people, but caring for the tiny creature was a welcome break from his military routine.

He should have known it would never last. Since he’d joined Hannibal’s army, Hanno had learned never to take things for granted. Life was uncertain, but war was a different beast altogether: uncaring, unpredictable, and far more savage. But being in Syracuse and freeing Aurelia had lulled him into a sense of false security. It was a city under siege, but it was easy to forget that. Apart from the presence of soldiers on the streets, and the shortage of certain foodstuffs, life went on as normal. When news came three weeks later that Himilco, a Carthaginian general, had landed on the island’s south coast with thirty thousand soldiers, Hanno had to acknowledge reality. A day after that, a summons to the palace arrived. Despite what the order meant, his spirits rose. If there was ever going to be a chance for him to discover something of use to Hannibal, it would be now.

Hippocrates’ and Epicydes’ planned response to the Carthaginian landings changed everything. Hanno couldn’t deny that there was sense in sending some of their strength to join with Himilco. Breaking the siege would be made easier if a massive, friendly force were to attack the Romans’ rear while the garrison sallied forth to assail them from the front. Yet Hippocrates’ order to accompany him meant that Hanno would have to leave Aurelia behind. That mightn’t have been so bad – in terms of the task set him by Hannibal, it was good news – but Kleitos had also been chosen to go.

Troubled, he went to talk with Kleitos upon his return from the palace. ‘What should I do?’

Kleitos regarded him with lowered brows. ‘Leave her here.’

‘After all that she’s been through?’

‘She’s a resilient woman, and so is Elira. They’ve got each other. There’ll be no threat from Hippocrates, because he’s leading the expedition. If Epicydes even knows of her existence, I doubt he cares. What other dangers could there be, other than the normal ones of living in a city? We’ll pay the innkeeper to have someone keep an eye on them. That should be more than enough, my friend. She’ll scarcely even know you’re gone before you’re back again, having helped to drive Marcellus’ legions into the sea.’

‘What about taking her with us?’

Kleitos gave him a scornful look. ‘The only women who follow armies are cooks or whores. Usually, they’re both. There’s no place for them among the soldiers.’

‘I know, but—’

‘This will be no gentle stroll in search of an enemy,’ warned Kleitos. ‘The damn Romans could have troops anywhere in the hinterland. We’ll be marching at speed, and anyone who can’t keep up will be left behind. Imagine if that happened to Aurelia.’

Hanno was all too aware of the carnage that resulted if soldiers came upon ‘enemy’ camp followers. Aurelia’s status as a Roman noblewoman would mean nothing to battle-crazed legionaries. ‘Aye, you’re right,’ he said with a sigh.

‘She’ll be safe inside the city, never fear. Safer than she would be with us.’

Hanno nodded reluctantly.

What he hadn’t counted on was Aurelia’s vehement reaction when he told her.

‘I’m not staying behind. Nor is Elira.’ She listened as Hanno re-explained the dangers of accompanying an army on campaign. ‘I don’t care,’ she declared. ‘It’s worth the risks.’

‘You have no idea of the risks,’ retorted Hanno, frustrated.

‘I’m not going to hide in this room while you march off, to return gods know when, if at all.’

His temper flared. ‘I forbid you!’

She recoiled.

‘I’m sorry, Aurelia. I could wish for nothing more than for you to come, but it’s too dangerous. If there was no other option, then maybe we’d have to consider it, but there is another way. You can stay here with Elira, in relative safety. I’ll be back within a few months.’

Her chin wobbled, but she didn’t argue further. ‘Very well. You must swear to return. If you didn’t, I don’t know what I would do.’

‘I give you my oath,’ said Hanno, hoping that the gods were listening, and in good mood.

Aurelia seemed satisfied. She hooked her fingers around the back of his head and drew him close. ‘If you’re to be gone for some time, we should become better acquainted.’

Summer had arrived as they had left Syracuse, and with it had come blue skies, burning sun and baking heat. This was the fifth day of their march through the hilly region to the west and south of Syracuse, a fertile, beautiful area of vineyards and farms. Hanno had had little time to admire the scenery, however. His unit had been placed midway down the column of eight thousand men, and the great clouds of dust sent up by those in front hid much from view. He wiped at the sweat that had trickled from under the felt liner beneath his helmet, and his fingers came away brown with moist dust. Was this what hell was like? he wondered. His throat was dry with thirst, his lips were cracked, and it felt as if he was cooking in his bronze breastplate. How good it would feel to be in Aurelia’s bed instead of here. But she was back in Syracuse, and he was here.

Thus far, there had been no news of Himilco’s force, which meant that their journey had to continue. It didn’t bear thinking about that once they had united with Himilco, the whole distance would have to be marched again, in reverse. At least there’d be some Carthaginian officers whom Hanno might know. Seeing some of his own kind would be a welcome change. He hoped that Hannibal would be pleased with the message that he’d sent via a Carthaginian trireme that was bound for southern Italy, telling him of the patrol, and their mission to join up with Himilco. Hanno hoped too that Himilco and Hippocrates got on with one another, or his job would prove a difficult one. Few things guaranteed defeat faster than commanders who argued.

It was fortunate that their cavalry had seen no enemy forces since their night-time departure from Euryalus, the westernmost fort in Syracuse’s defences. They never spent that long in the field, which concerned Hanno. How far did they ride from the column? he wondered. Nonetheless, his nervousness that they would be the victims of a Roman ambush had eased.

Every day had been the same. There was an inviting cool period in the early morning that lasted as long as it took them to rise and break camp. If near a stream or river, the soldiers drank as much as they could before setting out. The first couple of hours’ march were bearable, but after that came the hottest part of the day, a torment that had to be endured. The ball of fire that was the sun sapped men’s energy even as it burned their skin and drenched them in sweat.

At midday, there was a short but welcome halt, to force down some food and to drink a couple of mouthfuls of blood-warm water. This lifted their energy levels somewhat, and then there was the slog until they had reached the spot where their camp would have to be built. Built? thought Hanno with contempt. Their disorganised encampments weren’t built, they were more half assembled, like a wooden toy house abandoned by a child before it was finished. He had yet to see a defensive ditch completed, or for any order in the tent lines to exist. The slapdash arrangements were worrying, but his biggest concern every evening was that Hippocrates posted too few sentries. Hanno had mentioned it not once, but twice; Kleitos had backed him. The second time, Hippocrates had told them to shut their damn mouths, or he’d have them shut for good. That had been that. His prayers would have to suffice, Hanno decided. Keep the Romans a safe distance away, Baal Saphon. Let us have word of them only after we’ve united with Himilco.

‘Where do all the damn flies come from?’ grumbled Amphios, the ugliest of Hanno’s soldiers, swatting a hand at the cloud of little black dots around his head. ‘They fucking love me!’

‘They can sense that you’re full of shit,’ jibed Deon, Amphios’ best friend and the unit’s joker.

All the soldiers within earshot laughed. ‘They should congregate around you instead, Deon, because you’re an arsehole,’ Amphios shot back. ‘A big, fat, hairy one.’