‘One day, it will happen to you. Eros’ arrow will strike, and your life will never be the same again.’
‘Not while this damn war is on, it won’t.’
‘Meeting women in the army is hard,’ Rutilus agreed. ‘You could always seek out male company.’
Quintus spun. Rutilus’ smile made him even angrier. ‘Stop making fun of me!’
‘My apologies. I was only trying to lift your mood.’
Quintus didn’t answer. They stood in silence. Overhead, a shooting star shot across the heavens and winked out. It’s gone, just like Calatinus, he thought sourly.
‘What has you so downhearted?’ asked Rutilus after a while. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
His anger eased. Rutilus was a good friend. ‘You have to promise not to tell a soul.’
‘Your secret is safe with me.’
‘Not even Severus, Rutilus, I mean it.’
‘What have you done, raped a Vestal Virgin?’ Rutilus saw his mood and nodded. ‘All right, I swear it, before Jupiter, Juno and Minerva.’
Mention of the sacred triad was reassuring. ‘My name’s not Crespo. It’s Fabricius. Quintus Fabricius.’
Rutilus’ surprise was palpable, even in the gloom. ‘Why did you use a false identity to join the army? Did you commit a crime?’
‘You could say that. I am – I was – a cavalryman, but my father ordered me home months ago. I hadn’t been discharged from the cavalry, so by enlisting in the velites, I broke my original oath.’
Rutilus’ eyes were wide. ‘You’re an equestrian?’
‘Shhhh!’
Rutilus came closer. ‘Why in all the gods’ names would you want to become a veles?’
‘It’s complicated.’ In low tones, Quintus sketched him a brief outline of his past.
‘Well, that’s a story and a half, and that’s no mistake,’ said Rutilus when he was done.
Quintus’ guilt felt more raw than ever. ‘Do you think the gods will punish me? Strictly speaking, I am still in the cavalry.’
‘The gods have already had the last laugh, by letting you join the velites!’
‘I’m serious.’
‘So am I. If the gods can’t see that you’re a loyal servant of Rome, then there’s no hope.’
‘I should have been serving with Servilius’ cavalry. I should have been there when they were ambushed. A good friend of mine is dead, Rutilus. I should be too.’
‘But your father ordered you home, didn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ muttered Quintus.
‘So you wouldn’t have been there anyway. Even if you had been with your friend, you wouldn’t have deserted him if you’d known about the ambush. Would you?’
‘Of course not! I would never have left Calatinus on his own.’
‘Stop blaming yourself, then. For all you know, you might die in the next battle against the guggas. It’s not your choice when or how it will happen.’
Quintus cast his gaze up to the stars. ‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I am, so cheer up,’ ordered Rutilus. He raised the wine skin he had been holding by his side, unseen. ‘Let’s drink a toast to your dead friend, Calatinus.’
The wine was probably stolen, but Quintus didn’t care. He took the skin and carefully poured a libation on to the ground below, offering a prayer for Calatinus as he did so. ‘To all the others who died at the lake as well.’ He took a deep swallow, enjoying the warm sensation as the liquid swept down into his belly. Wordlessly, he handed it back to Rutilus. They passed it to and fro for some time, honouring the dead and savouring the silence.
‘I’ve often thought your accent was better bred than you let on,’ said Rutilus eventually, ‘but I had no idea that you were nobility. And friends with a gugga!’
‘Don’t call him that,’ retorted Quintus, remembering the time he had used the insult on Hanno.
‘Come on! All Carthaginians are guggas, surely?’
‘No! The term means “little rat”, Rutilus, remember? I knew Hanno for almost a year. Whatever he is, he’s not a gugga.’ He related the story of Flaccus, and the ambush where he had died.
Rutilus chewed on that for a moment. ‘If a man prefers men to women, he’s often judged harshly by others. It’s something I’ve always hated,’ he mused. ‘I suppose the same applies to the Carthaginians. Hanno showed real honour in letting you and your father go free. They’re not all monsters, eh?’
Quintus felt a strange relief to hear another offer respect towards Hanno. ‘No. They’re enemies, but they are worthy men.’
‘What will you do if you meet him again?’
‘I hope that that never happens.’
‘But if it does?’
‘I’ll kill him, as he’d kill me,’ said Quintus savagely. Deep inside, he wasn’t so sure that he could, but he wasn’t going to admit that to anyone.
‘Gods will it that you never have to,’ muttered Rutilus. He nudged Quintus. ‘Never thought I’d be serving with someone whose dead brother-in-law was so important!’
‘He wasn’t my brother-in-law. The marriage never took place.’
Rutilus hadn’t even heard him. ‘The brother of our new Master of the Horse related to a lowly veles, imagine that!’
Quintus’ protest died in his throat. He’d heard Marcus Minucius Rufus mentioned often enough of recent days, but the name’s relevance had passed him by. Caius Minucius Flaccus and he had been brothers. Now and for the next six months, Minucius was the second-highest-ranking man in the land, subordinate only to Fabius, the dictator. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Another pang of guilt as he imagined the social and political advancements that that powerful family might have brought to his own if Aurelia’s wedding to Flaccus had taken place.
‘You will have to introduce me to him,’ said Rutilus, his tone mock-earnest.
Finally, Quintus laughed. ‘I told you, Aurelia did not marry Flaccus, so I’m not related to Minucius!’
Rutilus snorted with amusement. ‘Even if you were, I’d bet you wouldn’t introduce your comrades to him. Can you see someone as important as Minucius chatting to the likes of us?’
‘I can’t even see him talking to me. Anyway, it will never happen. I just hope that Minucius has more sense than Flaccus. He was an arrogant fool. It was his stupid idea to go on that patrol in the first place.’
‘Let’s be grateful that Fabius is more senior then,’ said Rutilus, looking a little worried.
‘They say he was slow-witted when he was a boy, don’t they? Now, he’s known for being cautious,’ said Quintus, repeating the gossip he’d heard. ‘But he’s twice been consul and once dictator. He should be able to keep Minucius in line.’
‘Course he will!’ Rutilus raised the skin high again. ‘To our new dictator. May he prove to be an able leader and a skilful general, who brings us victory over Hannibal!’
‘Before too long,’ added Quintus, thinking again of his mother and Aurelia.
‘Corax says the word is that he’s not going to rush into anything. To do so with so many new recruits and insufficient cavalry would be madness. The plan is to harry the Carthaginian foraging parties. Kicking the enemy in the stomach is nearly as effective as killing him in battle, Corax says, and far less dangerous. I’m not going to argue with that!’
Quintus had heard the talk. Although it was hard to swallow, it was difficult to disagree with Fabius’ and Corax’s logic. He could remember his father talking about the Hellenistic principles of generalship, which men such as Alexander had followed. If a general could not realistically be certain of winning a battle, then it was best that he avoid confrontation until such time as his forces had increased sufficiently in strength. It could easily take Fabius and Minucius the full period of their office to do that. ‘Gods, let Hannibal stay east of the Apennines,’ he muttered. He felt Rutilus’ eyes on him. ‘I’m from near Capua. My mother and sister are still living on the family farm.’
‘If Hannibal does cross the mountains, your mother wil
l abandon the property for the safety of Capua. She’ll be protected there.’
‘You don’t know my mother. She’s as stubborn as a mule with a bad temper.’
‘Your father might have sent her a letter.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Why don’t you write one as well?’ Rutilus sensed his uncertainty. ‘Tell her that you’re fighting with the socii or something of the kind. Even if your father hears that from her, he won’t have time to look for you in every section of the army.’
That could work, thought Quintus. ‘Writing her a letter doesn’t mean she’ll pay any heed to it.’
‘No, but it might. And it will ease your worries a little, so do it.’
‘Thank you, Rutilus,’ said Quintus gratefully. His friend was right: he should make the best of the situation rather than revel in misery. All the same, a knot of worry for his mother and Aurelia remained in his guts.
Chapter IX
Near Capua
AS THE WALLS of Capua receded into the distance, Aurelia wondered for the twentieth time if she was being wise. I’ll do what I want, she thought fiercely. My mother can go to Hades! One of Martialis’ two slaves threw her another questioning look, but her immediate scowl made his gaze drop. Her mixture of cajolery and threats had got the pair beyond the gate; she hoped that it would take them as far as the family farm. Aurelia wished again that Gaius were around; he would have accompanied her. No, it was better that he wasn’t here, she decided. She was to marry Lucius now. There was no point putting any more temptation in her way. Besides, Gaius was long gone, sent with his unit to bolster Fabius’ forces. Lucius might have come if she’d asked, but she didn’t want his company. He was part of the reason that she was going.
If only her mother hadn’t been so assiduous in winning over Lucius’ father, she thought. But Atia had been like a dog with a bone. She and Lucius were to wed within the next few months. Aurelia had grown somewhat resigned to that fact – her father had given his blessing to the union, so there wasn’t much she could do about it – but she was determined to savour her last months of relative freedom. As a married woman she would live at her husband’s command. This might be her last chance of visiting the place where she’d grown up, of being alone with her memories of Quintus and – if she admitted it – Hanno. She had been spurred into action by something she’d overheard literally the night before. Since her disastrous attempt to listen in on her mother and Phanes, Aurelia had become a master at eavesdropping. Atia and Martialis tended to talk in the evenings, after she was supposed to be in bed. The previous night, Aurelia had been shocked beyond belief by what she had heard. Martialis’ loan had only placated Phanes for two months, her mother had lamented. Martialis had expressed his horror and repeatedly apologised to Atia. The regret had been thick in his voice. ‘I don’t have any more money to lend you.’
Aurelia had bitten her lip at her mother’s next words. Unless Fabricius was able to help, which seemed unlikely given the fact that he was in the field, shadowing Hannibal’s army, the farm would either have to be sold or signed over to Phanes. Given the uncertainty gripping the area, the latter seemed more likely. Aurelia stuck out her jaw, trying hard not to cry at the memory. Because of her, Phanes would soon own her father’s farm. She’d had dark thoughts about having the moneylender killed, but didn’t know how to organise such a thing – even if she had the money to pay for it, which she didn’t. A gusty sigh escaped her. Her family would soon be beggared and there was nothing she could do about it.
‘Where are we going, mistress?’ asked the older of the two slaves, a stoop-shouldered man with foul breath. His companion, a swarthy Iberian with a moustache, also turned.
‘To my family’s farm,’ said Aurelia curtly. ‘It’s not far.’
‘And the master knows that we’re going there?’
‘Of course he does,’ Aurelia lied. ‘As if it mattered! He ordered you to accompany me everywhere for my safety, did he not?’
He looked unhappy. ‘That was within Capua, mistress.’
‘I do not recall Martialis saying that we were to remain inside the walls,’ she snapped, knowing full well that that had been what he meant. It was for that reason that she’d had the pair, and a mule for her to ride, at the east gate as soon as it opened, a time when Martialis would still have been abed. He was probably only stirring now, while they were more than a mile from the city. ‘Do you?’
‘N-no, mistress,’ he replied sullenly.
‘Less of your insolence then, and more attention to the road. Because of the war, there are more latrones about than ever. Keep your eyes peeled for bandits and your cudgels ready.’
The slave exchanged a look with his companion before buttoning his lip.
Good, thought Aurelia, urging her mule on with her heels. That should keep them quiet for a few miles. After that, I’ll tell them that it’s only another short distance. By the time they find the courage to question me again, we’ll practically be there. She tried not to think about the wooded area through which they’d have to pass some five miles hence. It was a favourite spot for travellers to be robbed. She rallied her courage. Nothing had ever happened to her or her family when travelling to or from Capua. Even if there were latrones in the woods, two sturdy slaves with clubs would be sufficient deterrent.
If Quintus were here, I’d feel safer, she thought with regret. There was no chance of that – she had no idea where he was. However, her brother was alive. Learning that had been the only thing to leaven Aurelia’s recent misery. The arrival of his letter – a month or so after Trasimene – had been a complete shock to her as well as her mother. Aurelia had wept for joy as Atia had read it aloud. She didn’t care that Quintus had argued with Fabricius, or that he had joined the socii contingents as a foot soldier rather than return home. All that mattered was that he was not dead. ‘Do not tell Father,’ Quintus had written. ‘He will not find me, no matter how hard he tries.’ Despite her obvious disapproval of his actions, Atia had also been unable to hide her joy at the news. She had even seemed to take in Quintus’ warnings about leaving the farm, even though it hadn’t been necessary. The urgency of her quest to marry Aurelia to Lucius had ensured that mother and daughter had not returned home since the confrontation with Phanes. The farm was too far from Capua for any wooing, or courting of Lucius’ father’s favour, to take place, so in Martialis’ house they had remained. ‘Agesandros is more than capable of running the place,’ Atia had said dismissively when Aurelia asked.
She wasn’t looking forward to meeting the overseer again, especially because she was on her own. Since Agesandros had killed Suniaton, she had never allowed herself to be alone with him. He scared her too much. He had done it ostensibly to protect the family, but it was really because he hated Carthaginians. Suni had done nothing! Aurelia thought sadly. He was a gentle soul who didn’t even want to become involved in the war. If I’d kept my mouth shut, he might still be alive. Remembering her slip of the tongue made her feel considerably worse. The journey began to drag even more. The temperature rose as the sun climbed into the azure sky. Aurelia’s dress clung to her back; sweat prickled her scalp, making her regret that she had not brought a hat. Her mule was as stubborn a beast as she’d met, refusing to walk faster than a steady plod. The slaves made one more attempt to question her authority before giving up, but they paid her back with resentful expressions and a shuffling pace that scarcely kept up with the mule. What Aurelia liked least, however, was the empty countryside.
The area was scattered with the farms and estates of her family’s neighbours. Normally, the fields were full of slaves at work. Today, there was barely a soul to be seen. Most of the wheat and barley had been harvested, but areas of blackened ground showed that a decent proportion of it had been burned instead. Some people were taking Fabius’ advice at face value, thought Aurelia scornfully, even though no Carthaginian soldiers had been seen within miles of Capua. Her contempt was somewhat of a pretence. By all accounts, it was only
good fortune that had prevented enemy foragers from raiding this far to the north and west. She was glad to be living in Capua with its strong stone walls. Whatever Hannibal’s skill in the field, Lucius was fond of saying, he had no siege engines. Without those, he had no chance of taking a town the size of Capua. ‘Unless he had help from the inside,’ Martialis had once said quietly, shocking Aurelia. She was used to thinking of the old man and Gaius as Roman, but of course they were Oscans first. The Oscan people had lived in the area for hundreds of years, and had only acceded to Rome’s rule a few generations before.
‘What are you saying?’ she had asked.
‘It was just an old man’s little joke,’ Martialis had murmured, smiling.
Well, it would never come to that, Aurelia decided, dismissing the idea as ridiculous.
Nonetheless, unsettling thoughts of Carthaginian soldiers filled her mind for the rest of the journey. When the familiar outline of the family’s villa and farm buildings appeared in the distance, relief filled her. To her surprise, one of their herdsmen was in position by the front gate, several of his large dogs by his feet and a bow sitting across his knees. It turned out that Agesandros had set armed guards all around the farm’s perimeter, their mission to alert everyone else in the event of any enemy troops being seen. One whistle blast meant a small group and a stand to arms; two blasts signified larger enemy numbers, necessitating a wholesale evacuation to the woods. Aurelia did not let Agesandros see how impressed she was. Instead she nodded as if she’d have done the same thing.
‘And your mother knows that you are here?’ he asked for the second time.
‘She does.’ It wasn’t a complete lie. By now, Atia would have found her note. She prayed that her mother hadn’t made the discovery until it was too late to set out in pursuit.
‘It is a little out of the ordinary for her to allow you to travel here with only two slaves as protection. These are dangerous times to be abroad, even for the legions.’