Hannibal Enemy of Rome (6 page)

They climbed steadily, leaving the deciduous woods behind. Now they
were surrounded by pines, junipers and cypress trees. The air grew cooler and Quintus began to worry. He’d seen piles of dung, and treetrunks with distinctive claw marks scratched into the bark, in this area before. Today, he saw nothing that wasn’t weeks, even months, old. He kept going, praying to Diana, the goddess of the hunt, for a sign, but his request was in vain. Not a single bird called; no deer broke from cover. Finally, not knowing what else to do, he stopped, forcing everyone else to do the same. Acutely aware of his father at his back, Agesandros staring, and the Gauls giving each other knowing looks, Quintus racked his brains. He knew this ground like the back of his hand. Where was the best place to find a bear on such a warm day?

Quintus glanced at his father, who simply stared back at him. He would get no help.

Attempting to conceal his laughter, one of the Gauls coughed loudly. Quintus flushed with anger, but Fabricius did nothing. Nor did Agesandros. He looked at his father again, but Fabricius’ gaze was set. He would get no sympathy, and the Gaul no reprimand. Today of all days he had to earn the vilicus’ and the slaves’ respect. Again Quintus pondered. At last an idea popped into his mind.

‘Blackberries,’ he blurted. ‘They love blackberries.’ Higher up, in the clearings on the south-facing slopes, were sprawling bramble bushes, which fruited far earlier than those growing on slopes with a different orientation. Bears spent much of their life in search of food. It was as good a place to look as any.

Right on cue, the staccato sound of a woodpecker broke the silence. A moment later, the noise was repeated from a different location. His pulse racing, Quintus searched the trees, finally seeing not one, but two black woodpeckers. The elusive birds were sacred to Mars, the warrior god. Good omens. Turning on his heel, Quintus headed in an entirely different direction.

His smiling father was close behind, followed by Agesandros and the Gauls.

None was laughing now.

Not long after, Quintus’ prayers were answered in royal style. He’d checked several glades, with no luck. Finally, though, in the shade of a tall pine tree, he found a lump of fresh dung. Its shape, size and distinctive
scent was unmistakable, and Quintus could have cheered at the sight. He stuck a finger into the dark brown mass. The centre had not grown completely cold, which meant that a bear had passed by in the recent past. There were also plenty of brambles nearby. Jerking his head at the tattooed man, Quintus pointed at the ground. The Gaul trotted up, and his two dogs instantly converged on the pile of evidence. Both began whining frantically, alternately sniffing the dung and the air. Quintus’ pulse quickened, and the Gaul gave him an enquiring look.

‘Let them loose,’ ordered Quintus. He glanced at the other slaves. ‘Those too.’

Aurelia’s foul mood crept up on her after Quintus and their father had left. The reason for her ill humour was simple. While her brother went hunting for a bear, she had to help her mother, who was supervising the slaves in the garden outside the villa. This was one of the busiest times of the year, when the plants were shooting up out of the ground. Lovage sat alongside mustard greens, coriander, sorrel, rue and parsley. The vegetables were even more numerous, and provided the family with food for most of the year. There were cucumbers, leeks, cabbages, root vegetables, as well as fennel and brassicas. Onions, a staple of any good recipe, were grown in huge numbers. Garlic, favoured for both its strong flavour and its medicinal properties, was also heavily cultivated.

Aurelia knew that she was being childish. A few weeks earlier, she had enjoyed setting the lines where the herbs and vegetables would grow, showing the slaves where to dig the holes and ensuring that they watered each with just the right amount of water. As usual, she had reserved the job of dropping the tiny seeds into place for herself. It was something she’d done since she was little. Today, with the plants growing well, the main tasks consisted of watering them and pulling any weeds that had sprouted up nearby. Aurelia couldn’t have cared less. As far as she was concerned, the whole garden could fall into rack and ruin. She stood sulkily off to one side, watching her mother direct operations. Even Elira, with whom she got on well, could not persuade her to join in.

Atia ignored her for a while, but eventually she had had enough. ‘Aurelia!’ she called. ‘Come over here.’

With dragging feet, she made her way to her mother’s side.

‘I thought you liked gardening,’ Atia said brightly.

‘I do,’ muttered Aurelia.

‘Why aren’t you helping?’

‘I don’t feel like it.’ She was acutely aware that every slave present was craning their neck to hear, and hated it.

Atia didn’t care who heard her. ‘Are you ill?’ she demanded.

‘No.’

‘What is it then?’

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Aurelia mumbled.

Atia’s eyebrows rose. ‘Really? Try me.’

‘It’s …’ Aurelia caught the nearest slave staring at her. Her furious glare succeeded in making him look away, but she got little satisfaction from this. Her mother was still waiting expectantly. ‘It’s Quintus,’ she admitted.

‘Have you had an argument?’

‘No.’ Aurelia shook her head. ‘Nothing like that.’

Tapping a foot, Atia waited for further clarification. A moment later, it was clear that it would not be forthcoming. Her nostrils flared. ‘Well?’

Aurelia could see that her mother’s patience would not last much longer. In that moment, however, she caught sight of a buzzard hanging overhead on the thermals. It was hunting. Like Quintus. Aurelia’s anger resurged and she forgot about their captive audience. ‘It’s not fair,’ she cried. ‘I’m stuck here, in the
garden
, while he gets to track down a bear.’

Atia did not look surprised. ‘I wondered if that was what this is about. So you would also hunt?’

Glowering, Aurelia nodded. ‘Like Diana, the huntress.’

Her mother frowned. ‘You’re not a goddess.’

‘I know, but …’ Aurelia half turned, so the slaves could not see the tears in her eyes.

Atia’s face softened. ‘Come now. You’re a young woman, or will be soon. A beautiful one too. Consequently, your path will be very different to that of your brother.’ She held up a finger to quell Aurelia’s protest. ‘That doesn’t mean your destiny is without value. Do you think I am worthless?’

Aurelia was aghast. ‘Of course not, Mother.’

Atia’s smile was broad, and reassuring. ‘Precisely. I may not fight or go to war, but my position is powerful nonetheless. Your father relies on me
for a multitude of things - as your husband will one day. Maintaining the household is but one small part of it.’

‘But you and Father chose to marry each other,’ Aurelia protested. ‘For love!’

‘We were lucky in that respect,’ her mother acknowledged. ‘Yet we did so without the approval of either of our families. Because we refused to follow their wishes not to wed, they cut us off.’ Atia’s face grew sad. ‘It made life quite difficult for many years. I never saw my parents again, for example. They never met you or Quintus.’

Aurelia was flattered. She’d never heard any of this before. ‘Surely it was worth it?’ she pleaded.

There was a slow nod. ‘It may have been, but I would not want the same hard path for you.’

Aurelia bridled. ‘Better that, surely, than being married to some fat old man?’

‘That won’t happen to you. Your father and I are not monsters.’ Atia lowered her voice. ‘But realise this, young lady: we
will
arrange your betrothal to someone of our choice. Is that clear?’

Seeing the steel in her mother’s eyes, Aurelia gave in. ‘Yes.’

Atia sighed, glad that her misgivings had gone unnoticed. ‘We understand each other then.’ Seeing Aurelia’s apprehension, she paused. ‘Do not fear. You will have love in your marriage. It can develop over time. Ask Martialis, Father’s old friend. He and his wife were betrothed to each other by their families, and ended up devoted to one another.’ She held out her hand. ‘Now, it’s time to get stuck in. Life goes on regardless of how we feel, and our family relies on this garden.’

With a faint smile, Aurelia reached out to grasp her mother’s fingers. Maybe things weren’t as bad as she’d thought.

All the same, she couldn’t help glancing up at the buzzard, and thinking of Quintus.

Quintus had followed the pack for perhaps a quarter of an hour before there was any hint that the quarry had been found. Then a loud yelping bark rang out from the trees ahead. It quickly died away to a shrill, repetitive whine. With a racing heart, Quintus came to a halt. The dogs’ role was merely to bring the bear to bay, but there was always one more eager
than its fellows. Its fate was unfortunate, but unavoidable. What mattered was that the bear had been found. In confirmation, a renewed succession of growls was met by a deep, threatening rumble.

The terrifying sound made a hot tide of acid surge up Quintus’ throat. Another piercing yelp told him that a second dog had been hurt, or killed. Ashamed of his fear, Quintus willed away his nausea. This was no time for holding back. The dogs were doing their job, and he must do his. Muttering more prayers to Diana, he pounded towards the din.

As he burst into a large clearing, Quintus frowned in recognition. He had often picked berries here with Aurelia. A sprawl of thorny brambles, taller than a man, ran across the floor of the glade, which was bathed in dappled sunlight. A stream pattered down the slope towards the valley below. Fallen boughs lay here and there amidst a profusion of wildflowers, but what drew Quintus’ eyes was the struggle going on in the shadow cast by a nearby lofty cypress. Four dogs had a bear cornered against the tree’s trunk. Growling with fury, the creature made frequent lunges at its tormentors, but the hounds dodged warily to and fro, just beyond reach. Each time the bear moved away from the tree, the dogs ran in to bite at its haunches or back legs. It was a stalemate - if the bear left the tree’s protection, the dogs swarmed in from all sides, but if the beast remained where it was, they could not overcome it.

Two motionless shapes lay outside the semicircle, the casualties Quintus had heard. A cursory glance told him that one dog might survive. It was bleeding badly from deep claw wounds on its ribcage, but he could see no other injuries. The second, on the other hand, would definitely not make it. Shallow movements of its chest told him it still lived, but half its face had been torn off, and shiny, jagged ends of freshly broken bone protruded from a terrible injury to its left foreleg, the result of a bite from the bear’s powerful jaws.

Quintus approached with care. Rushing in would carry a real risk of being knocked over, and the Gauls would soon be here. Once they called off the hounds, his task would begin in earnest. He studied the bear, eager for any clue that might help him kill it. Preoccupied with the snapping dogs, it paid him little notice. Its sheer size meant that it had to be a male. The creature’s dense fur was yellowish-brown, and it had a typical large, rounded head and small ears. Massive shoulders and a squat body at least
three times bigger than his own reinforced Quintus’ awareness of just how dangerous his prey was. He could feel his pulse hammering in the hollow at the base of his throat, its speed reminding him that he was not in total control. Calm down, he thought. Breathe deeply. Concentrate.

‘Thinking of the berries was a good idea,’ said Fabricius from behind him. ‘You’ve found a big bear too. A worthy foe.’

Startled, Quintus turned his head. The others had arrived. All eyes were on him. ‘Yes,’ he replied, hoping that the growling and snarling a dozen steps away would hide the fear in his voice.

Fabricius moved closer. ‘Are you ready?’

Quintus quailed mentally. His father had seen his anxiety, and was prepared to step in. A fleeting look at Agesandros and the slaves was enough to see that they also understood the question’s double meaning. A trace of disappointment flashed across the Sicilian’s visage, and the Gauls slyly eyed each other. Damn them all, Quintus thought, his guts churning. Have they never been scared? ‘Of course,’ he replied loudly.

Fabricius gave him a measured stare. ‘Very well,’ he said, coming to a halt.

Quintus wasn’t sure that his worried father would obey. There was more at stake than his life now, though. Killing the bear would prove nothing if the Sicilian and the slaves thought he was a coward, who relied on Fabricius for back-up. ‘Do not interfere,’ he shouted. ‘This is my fight. I must do this on my own, whatever the outcome.’ He glanced at his father, who did not immediately respond.

‘Swear it!’

‘I swear,’ Fabricius said reluctantly, stepping back.

Quintus was satisfied to see the first signs of respect return to the others’ faces.

A dog howled as the bear caught it with a sweeping arm. It was thrown through the air by the powerful blow, landing with an ominous thud by Quintus’ feet. He squared his shoulders and prepared himself. Three hounds weren’t enough to contain the quarry. If he didn’t act at once, it had a chance of escaping. ‘Call them back,’ he shouted.

With shrill whistles, the Gauls obeyed. When the enraged dogs did not comply, the tattooed man ran in. Ignoring the bear, and using a leash as a whip, he beat them backwards, out of the way. His actions worked for two
of the hounds, but the largest, its lips and teeth reddened with the bear’s blood, did not want to withdraw. Cursing, the Gaul half turned, trying to kick it out of the way. He missed, and it darted past him, intent on rejoining the fray.