Hannibal Enemy of Rome (64 page)

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 atmosphere 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.

‘Have you any water?’

‘Better than that: I have wine!’ Aurelia ran outside, returning with her supplies. Gently, she helped him to sit up and drink a few mouthfuls.

‘That’s better,’ Suniaton declared. A tinge of colour began to appear in his cheeks, and he cast greedy eyes at Aurelia’s bag.

Delighted by his revival, she laid out some bread and cheese. ‘Eat a little at a time,’ she warned. ‘Your stomach won’t be able to take any more.’ She sat and watched him as he devoured the food. ‘Why didn’t you leave after my last visit?’

He paused between mouthfuls. ‘I did, the next day. About half a mile down the track, I tripped over a jutting tree root and landed awkwardly. The fall tore the muscles that had just healed in my bad leg. I couldn’t walk ten steps without screaming, never mind reach Capua or the coast. It was all I could do to crawl back to the hut. My food ran out more than a week ago, and my water two days after that.’ He pointed at the hole in the roof. ‘If it hadn’t been for the snow that came through that, I would have died of thirst.’ He smiled. ‘They took their time, but the gods answered my prayers.’

Aurelia squeezed his hand. ‘They did. Something told me to come up here. Obviously, you were the reason why.’

‘But I can’t stay here,’ Suniaton said despairingly. ‘One heavy fall of snow and the roof will give way.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Aurelia cried. ‘My horse can carry both of us.’

His expression was bleak. ‘Where to, though? My leg will take months to heal, if it does at all.’

‘To the farm,’ she replied boldly. ‘I will tell Mother and Agesandros that I found you wandering in the woods. I couldn’t just leave you to die.’

‘He might remember me,’ Suniaton protested.

She squeezed his hand. ‘He won’t. You look terrible. Totally different from that day in Capua.’

Suniaton scowled. ‘It’s obvious that I am an escaped slave.’

‘But there won’t be any way of proving who you are,’ Aurelia cried in triumph. ‘You can act mute.’

‘Will that work?’ he asked with a dubious frown.

‘Of course,’ Aurelia declared robustly. ‘And when you’re better, you can leave.’

A spark of hope lit in Suniaton’s weary eyes. ‘If you’re sure,’ he whispered.

‘I am,’ Aurelia replied, patting his hand. Inside, however, she was terrified.

What other choice had they, though? her mind screamed.

More than two weeks later, Quintus was wandering through the camp with Calatinus and Cincius. The general mood had been improved dramatically seven days before by the arrival of Tiberius Sempronius Longus, the second consul. His army, which consisted of two legions and more than 10,000 socii, infantry and cavalry, had swelled the Roman forces to nearly 40,000 men.

Inevitably enough, the trio found their feet taking them in the direction of the camp headquarters. So far, there had been little news of what Longus, who had assumed control of all Republican forces, planned to do about Hannibal.

‘He’ll have been encouraged by what happened yesterday,’ declared Calatinus. ‘Our cavalry and velites gave the guggas a hiding that they won’t forget in a hurry.’

‘Stupid bastards got what was coming to them,’ said Cincius. ‘The Gauls are supposed to be their allies. If they go pillaging local settlements, it’s natural that the tribesmen will come looking for help.’

‘There were heavy enemy casualties,’ Quintus admitted, ‘but I’m not sure it was the total victory Longus is claiming.’

Both of his friends looked at him in astonishment.

‘Think about it,’ urged Quintus. It was what his father had said to him when he’d raved about the engagement. ‘We had the upper hand from the start, but things changed immediately once Hannibal came on the scene. The Carthaginians held their ground then, didn’t they?’

‘So what?’ Cincius responded. ‘They lost three times more men than we did!’

‘Aren’t you pleased that we finally got the better of them?’ demanded Calatinus.

‘Of course I am,’ said Quintus. ‘We shouldn’t underestimate Hannibal, that’s all.’

Cincius snorted derisively. ‘Longus is an experienced general. And in
my book, any man who can march his army more than a thousand miles in less than six weeks shows considerable ability.’

‘You’ve seen Longus a few times since his arrival. The man positively exudes energy,’ added Calatinus. ‘He’s keen for a fight too.’

‘You’re right,’ said Quintus at last. ‘Our troops are better fed, and better armed than Hannibal’s. We outnumber the Carthaginians too.’

‘We just need the right opportunity,’ declared Cincius.

‘That will come,’ said Calatinus. ‘All the recent omens have been good.’

Quintus grinned. It was impossible not to feel enthused by his friends’ words, and the recent change in their fortunes. As always when Quintus thought of the enemy, an image of Hanno popped into his mind. He shoved it away.

There was a war on.

Friendship with a Carthaginian had no place in his heart any longer.

Several days passed, and the weather grew dramatically worse. The biting wind came incessantly from the north, bringing with it heavy showers of sleet and snow. Combined with the shortened daylight, it made for a miserable existence. Hanno saw little of either his father or brothers. The Carthaginian soldiers huddled in their tents, shivering and trying to stay warm. Even venturing outside to answer a call of nature meant getting soaked to the skin or chilled to the bone.

Hanno was stunned, therefore, by the news that Sapho brought one afternoon. ‘We’ve had word from Hannibal!’ he hissed. ‘We move out tonight.’

‘In weather like this?’ asked Hanno incredulously. ‘Are you mad?’

‘Maybe.’ Sapho grinned. ‘If I am, though, so too is Hannibal. He has ordered Mago himself to lead us.’

‘You and Bostar?’

Sapho nodded grimly. ‘Plus five hundred skirmishers, and a thousand Numidian cavalry.’

Hanno smiled to cover his disappointment at not also being picked. ‘Where are you going?’

‘While we’ve been hiding in our tents, Hannibal has been scouting the whole area. He discovered a narrow river that runs across the plain,’ Sapho revealed. ‘It’s bounded on both sides by steep, heavily overgrown banks.
We have to lie in wait there until the opportunity comes - if it comes - to fall upon the Roman rear.’

‘What makes Hannibal think that they’ll cross the river?’

Sapho’s expression grew fierce. ‘He plans to irritate them into doing so.’

‘That means using the Numidians,’ guessed Hanno.

‘You’ve got it. They’re going to attack the enemy camp at dawn. Sting and withdraw, sting and withdraw. You know the way they do it.’

‘Will it drag the whole Roman army out of camp, though?’

‘We’ll see.’

‘I wish I’d been chosen too,’ said Hanno fervently.

Sapho chuckled. ‘Save your regrets. The whole damn enterprise might be a waste of time. While Bostar and I are freezing our balls off in a ditch, you and the rest of the army will be warmly wrapped up in your blankets. And if a battle does look likely, it’s not as if you’ll miss out, is it? We’ll all have to fight!’

A grin slowly spread across Hanno’s face. ‘True enough.’

‘We’ll meet in the middle of the Roman line!’ declared Sapho. ‘Just think of that moment.’

Hanno nodded. It was an appealing image. ‘The gods watch over you both,’ he said. I must go and speak to Bostar, he thought. Say goodbye.

‘And you, little brother.’ Sapho reached out and ruffled Hanno’s hair, something he hadn’t done for years.

Quintus was in the middle of a fantasy about Elira when he became aware of someone shaking him. He did his best to stay asleep, but the insistent tugging on his arm proved too much. Opening his eyes irritably, Quintus found not Elira, but Calatinus crouched over him. Before he could utter a word of rebuke, he heard the trumpets sounding the alarm over and over. He sat bolt upright. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Our outposts beyond the camp perimeter are under attack. Get up!’

The last of Quintus’ drowsiness vanished. ‘Eh? What time is it?’

‘Not long after dawn. The sentries started shouting when I was in the latrines.’ Calatinus scowled. ‘Didn’t help my diarrhoea, I can tell you.’

Smiling at the image, Quintus threw off the covers and began scrambling into his clothes. ‘Have we had any orders yet?’

‘Longus wants every man ready to leave a quarter of an hour ago,’
replied Calatinus, who was already fully dressed. ‘I’ve been shouting at you to no avail. The others are readying their mounts.’

‘Well, I’m here now,’ muttered Quintus, kneeling to strap on his sandals.

Before long, they had joined their comrades outside, by their tethered horses.

It was bitterly cold, and the north wind was whipping vicious little flurries of snow across the tent tops. The camp was in uproar as thousands of men scrambled to get ready. It wasn’t just the cavalry who had been ordered to prepare themselves for battle. Large groups of velites were being addressed by their officers. Unhappy-looking
hastati
and
principes
- the men who stood in the legion’s first two ranks - left their breakfasts to burn on their campfires as they ran to get their equipment. Messengers hurried to and fro, relaying information between different units. On the battlements, the trumpeters kept up their clarion call to arms. Quintus swallowed nervously. Was this the moment he had been waiting for? It certainly felt like it. Soon after, he was relieved to see his father’s figure striding towards them from the direction of the camp’s headquarters. Excited murmurs rippled through the surrounding cavalrymen. As one, they stiffened to attention.