Hannibal: Fields of Blood (22 page)

Gaius was so excited that he didn’t hear her last words. ‘By your leave, I’ll go inside to make my offering.’

‘Of course.’ She watched him go, her heart thudding off her ribs. Surely, any chance she had of winning him over had just vanished.

‘Quite the dashing young soldier, isn’t he?’

She spun in shock. Phanes was watching her from the shadow of the colonnaded walkway that ran around the temple’s courtyard. How long he had been there, Aurelia didn’t know. She hadn’t noticed him on her way in. Despite the slaves who stood behind her, fear coursed through her, and she studied the gloom to either side.

‘Don’t worry. I’ve left Smiler and Achilles at home.’

‘How long have you been watching?’ He hadn’t been there when she went in, she was sure of it. What had he heard?

‘Long enough. I thought you spent all your time with Lucius Vibius Melito nowadays,’ he said slyly. ‘That’s Martialis’ son, isn’t it?’ He strolled forward. Sunshine glittered off his oiled hair.

‘What if it is?’ She wanted to leave, but her fear that he had noticed something between her and Gaius froze her every muscle.

‘A handsome lad, as you said.’

‘He looks good in uniform, like my brother. Like most men.’

‘You seem worried that he might be sent to war.’

‘He’s dear to me. I’ve known him since I was a child,’ she said casually. ‘He and my brother Quintus are best friends.’

‘May the gods protect him if he is sent north. Rome has lost too many sons in recent months,’ said Phanes, his tone oozing sincerity.

‘He’s Oscan, not Roman.’ She could not bear his calculating eyes on her any longer. ‘Mars will give our forces victory, and Gaius will be there to celebrate it,’ she declared, moving past him, and grateful for the slaves’ presence at her back.

‘My compliments to your lady mother,’ he called.

Aurelia didn’t deign to reply. She just wanted to get away.

Phanes launched his final barb. ‘Does Melito know your friend?’

Despite her best efforts, Aurelia stiffened. She forcibly relaxed her shoulders and turned with a surprised look. ‘But of course. He will miss Gaius too.’

Phanes nodded as if she’d given him the answer he expected. ‘I’m sure he will.’

She left him to it. All the way back from the temple, Aurelia’s unease grew. Phanes had put two and two together about her feelings for Gaius – why would he have made such a comment if he hadn’t? Had she done enough to allay his suspicions? Gods, don’t let him tell Lucius, she worried. If there was even a seed of doubt in Lucius’ mind about her intentions, he would never consent to a betrothal. If all things were equal she wouldn’t have minded that, but it would bring ruin down on her family.
Curse him!

Eventually, Aurelia managed to achieve some sort of calm by telling herself that the Greek could not have read too much into the situation. She couldn’t quite shake her disquiet, however. Phanes probably had spies throughout Capua. As she neared Martialis’ house, she watched the people in the street sidelong: a boy selling fruit juice from a handcart; a stonemason and his apprentice repairing a wall; two old men gossiping in the warm sun; a woman selling trinkets from a small stall. Any one of them could be in his employ, she thought bitterly. As the Greek had already proved, even in Martialis’ house she was not beyond prying eyes.

Aurelia felt like a rat in a trap.

She made up her mind. From now on, she would have to avoid Gaius, and make much more of Lucius. She had to, for her family’s sake. It felt as if the last of her liberty had been taken away. Before, she had at least been able to play at being free to make her own decisions. Not any more.

Near Lake Trasimene

‘Tell me what you saw again,’ ordered Corax. The bright moonlight lit up his features but not his deep-set eyes, making him look even more forbidding. Quintus, who had been ordered to attend him along with Big Tenner and the rest of their section, was glad that the centurion was on his side.

‘As you know, sir, the ground opens out after the pinch point to the east of our camp,’ said Big Tenner.

‘Yes, yes.’

‘The area is half-moon shaped and about a square mile in area, sir. At the eastern end of it, another ridge comes down to the water’s edge. Hannibal has put his camp on the heights there, overlooking the road. We scouted along the shore towards the enemy for about half a mile, but then we started seeing groups of Numidians. If we’d gone any further, they would have ridden us down.’

‘You saw nothing on the hills to the north?’ asked Corax.

‘No, sir. On the way back, I even sent a five-man section to search the lower slopes. They didn’t find a thing.’ As Corax chewed on that, Big Tenner let out a little sigh. Quintus knew why. Tenner had reported when they’d returned to the camp, which lay just to the west of the entrance to the narrows. Then he had had to repeat it all to Flaminius himself. Now Corax was making him do it all over again. Behind Tenner, Quintus shifted on his haunches. Rutilus glanced at him as if to say, ‘How much longer will this take?’ Even in the poor light, Urceus looked downright pissed off. It was unsurprising. They had been scouting since early morning. All of them were tired, sunburned and thirsty. Quintus’ stomach rumbled with hunger, but he said not a word. Until their centurion dismissed them, they had to sit tight. Surely, though, the grilling would not go on for much longer.

‘What’s the whoreson planning?’ mused Corax. ‘He must be aware, like us, that Servilius is marching this way from Ariminum. If he stays where he is, with the lake hemming him against the hills, his army could be crushed.’

‘Knowing that, they’ll probably move off tomorrow, sir,’ Tenner ventured.

Corax barked a laugh. ‘Aye, I dare say you’re right.’ He gave the velites an approving nod. ‘You’ve done well today, all of you. You have earned a drink, and some food in your bellies.’ They rumbled in agreement, and he clicked his fingers. A servant hastened over. ‘Fetch an amphora of my second-best wine and a round of cheese to these lads’ tent lines.’

‘We’re grateful, sir.’ Tenner was grinning from ear to ear.

‘Thank you, centurion,’ the rest chorused.

‘Enjoy it, but don’t stay up too late,’ warned Corax. ‘You’ll need fresh heads in the morning. Flaminius is set on an early start. Dismissed.’

The velites trudged away, their spirits restored by Corax’s generosity. ‘He’s a good officer,’ muttered Quintus. ‘I wouldn’t mind standing in line with him.’

‘He’s just given us some food, not a promotion!’ said Rutilus. ‘It’ll be a year at the earliest, probably two, before you’re even considered for the hastati.’

‘I know, I know.’ Quintus buttoned his lip. Part of the reason he wanted to leave the velites was because of Macerio, whose latest tactic was to spread malicious rumours about him among the men. ‘Crespo pissed in the river. It fouled the water. That’s why men are falling sick.’ ‘Crespo would have fallen asleep on sentry duty if I hadn’t woken the dog up.’ ‘Crespo is a coward. He’ll run the first time we really have to fight the guggas.’ And so on. Quintus was sick of it. Fortunately, most of the men in his section didn’t believe the lies. They had been there during the ambush on the Numidians. But they seemed to have taken root with some of the other velites. If he moved to the hastati, he could start anew.
Don’t be stupid.
Macerio also stood to be promoted into the legionaries’ ranks. What was to say that they wouldn’t end up in the same unit, where the bullying would start all over again? Quintus clenched his jaw in frustration. It was a moot point anyway, because he was still a veles, and would remain so for the foreseeable future.

‘Forget about everything except that wine and cheese,’ advised Rutilus. ‘That and a dip in the lake before bed.’

Quintus smiled. The idea of filling his belly and, after it, washing off the day’s dust was so appealing that it was easy to obey.

Tomorrow was another day.

Following Hannibal’s orders, Hanno and his men had moved into position when there was scarcely any light in the sky. They and the rest of the Libyan spearmen were the bait in the trap for the Romans. They had been deployed on the slopes of the hill below their camp and across the road where it ran into the defile on the eastern side of the half-moon-shaped plain. The phalanxes were in full sight of anyone approaching from the west, and an open invitation for Flaminius to seek battle. More than an hour had passed since they had blocked the passage east, and the skyline was paling fast. Hanno studied the eastern horizon for the hundredth time. Red, pink and orange mixed in a glorious riot of colour. Normally, he would have taken the time to appreciate such a beautiful dawn. Today, though, his gaze quickly returned to the west.

Sudden delight filled him. No one could have predicted this! Everything was vanishing beneath a blanket of grey. It was as if the Carthaginian gods had decided to act in unison, favouring Hannibal, he thought, watching the thick, oily banks of fog that were creeping in off the lake. Already some of the flat ground had been covered; it would not be long before the low hills were also encased. It was fortunate that the area had been reconnoitred the previous day; that Hannibal had ordered everyone into position so early. By now, the entire army should have been deployed.

Hanno had seen glints from sunlight flashing off metal a few times as the Gauls moved on to the slopes opposite, and the Numidians on to the hills to the north, but that had been it. His guts clenched with excitement and fear. He hardly dared admit it, but he even felt a touch of elation. Before, their ambush might have been revealed if the Romans had sent in scouts in advance of the legions. With the arrival of the fog, however, the enemy had no chance of noticing the waiting Carthaginian soldiers, scouts or not. Don’t be over-confident, he told himself. Everything could still go wrong. If the Gauls did something stupid before the majority of Flaminius’ army had marched through the pinch point, they would only catch a fraction of the enemy’s number in their trap. He prayed that Hannibal’s trust in the Gauls, his most undisciplined men, would be repaid in full. Bostar had told him of the tribal chiefs’ joy at being given such an important task, as they had at the Trebia. To them, the possibility of suffering heavy casualties was as nothing compared to the honour of leading the attack. Yet that didn’t mean some fool among the Gauls wouldn’t give the game away by yelling a war cry too soon.

The gaming pieces were in place. The contest was about to begin. It was pointless worrying about it, but Hanno did anyway. Restless, he walked along the front rank of his spearmen, nodding, smiling, murmuring names, telling them that victory would be theirs. They gave him fierce grins in return. Even Mutt’s doleful face cracked into a smile as he approached. It had been the same since Victumulae. Hanno’s fingers felt under the strip of cloth that protected his neck from the edge of his cuirass. He could trace the outline of the ‘F’ still; he would be able to until his dying day. Perhaps the torture and pain had been worth it. His survival against all the odds at Victumulae had turned him into a sort of good-luck charm for his men, and those of the other phalanxes. Apparently, some of them maintained that he couldn’t be killed. Tanit grant that that be true for today at least, he thought wryly.

‘Ready, sir?’ asked Mutt.

‘As I’ll ever be. This is the worst bit, eh? Waiting.’

‘Aye,’ grumbled his second-in-command. ‘Let’s get it over with and have done.’

Hanno clapped Mutt on the shoulder and moved on. At the edge of his phalanx, he glimpsed Bostar, who was talking to Sapho and their father. Seeing him, they beckoned.

‘Father.’ He nodded at Sapho and Bostar. ‘Brothers.’

Malchus’ gaze moved across the trio. ‘This is a proud day, my sons.’

They all smiled, but Bostar and Sapho did not look at each other.

‘Who’d have thought that we would ever be standing in northern Italy as part of a Carthaginian army?’ asked Malchus. ‘That another Roman army would be about to walk into our trap?’

It did seem a touch unreal, thought Hanno. Not too many months before, he had been a slave. Memories filled his head.
Don’t think about Quintus.

‘Don’t tempt the gods, Father,’ said Bostar, glancing at the heavens. ‘We haven’t won yet.’

Sapho eyed his brother derisively. ‘Are you scared we’ll lose?’

Rather than reply, Bostar clamped his jaw. Malchus intervened. ‘Over-confidence is not a quality admired by the gods, it is true. Pride comes before a fall. Far better to ask for victory with humble hearts.’

‘All I ask is that those bloodthirsty Gauls keep silent for long enough, until the Roman vanguard reaches us. We’ll do the rest,’ said Sapho. ‘Eh, brother?’ He aimed a nudge at Hanno.

Don’t try and use me in your fight with Bostar, thought Hanno angrily. ‘I’m sure that all four of us will play our part. Fulfil our duty to Hannibal.’

In the distance, trumpets blared. The hairs on Hanno’s neck prickled. There
would
be a battle today.

‘They’re coming!’ breathed Bostar.

‘Blindly, into the fog. Baal Hammon be thanked for their arrogance.’ Malchus bared his teeth. ‘Back to your phalanxes. I will see you when it’s over, gods willing.’

With fierce grins, they parted.

Tiny pearls of moisture covered the iron of Quintus’ javelins and his shield rim. His skin was clammy, his tunic damp and, thanks to the wet grass, his feet were soaking. Pangs of hunger rose from his empty stomach, and he wished he’d taken a chunk of bread to eat while marching, as some of the others had. Yet his physical discomforts were the least of his worries. The visibility was growing worse, he was sure of it. The grey fog lay heavy on the land. Rutilus and Urceus were a few steps to his left and right, but he could barely make out the men beyond them. At least Macerio was as far away from him as possible, at the end of the line. Nonetheless, it was unnerving to walk into the gloom, knowing that the enemy was only about a mile and a half away. ‘Is this a good idea?’ he muttered. ‘We can’t see a damn thing.’

Urceus heard him. ‘Flaminius thinks the fog will lift by mid-morning. So did Corax and so do I. That good enough for you?’