Hannibal 03 - Clouds of War

  ‘All we have to do is finish the wall and the ditch, and stay alert for enemy patrols,’ Mattheus went on. ‘I’m happy to do that for a few months, regardless of how the Syracusans are doing, and if you don’t think that way too, you’re bigger fools than I imagined.’

  More laughter.

  ‘We’ll each of us be a long time dead,’ agreed Quintus, thinking of poor Unlucky. ‘So it’s best to enjoy life while we can, eh?’

  ‘That’, declared Urceus with a meaningful stare at Quintus, ‘is something that needs to be toasted properly.’

  Everyone’s eyes turned to Quintus. Mattheus rummaged among his utensils and produced a clay cup, which he held out expectantly. ‘Fill her up!’

  Quintus thought for a moment. They had already done their drill and weekly ten-mile run. The contubernium was on sentry duty that evening, but that was hours away. The chances of Corax requiring them before then were slim. ‘Damn it, why not?’ He ducked into the tent, emerging with an amphora that fitted under one arm.

  ‘Is that the one you stole from the quartermaster’s tent?’ hissed Urceus, who knew perfectly well that it was.

  A round of applause broke out, and Quintus grinned. Gods, but what had he been thinking? Full, it had weighed enough to slow him right down as he’d sloped off into the darkness. If he’d been caught, well … ‘I couldn’t say,’ he replied with a smirk. ‘Now, who wants some?’

  His offer was met with a roar of approval.

  Life wasn’t so bad, Quintus decided. He was alive. So too were Urceus, Corax and the rest. They weren’t going to be killed in the immediate future either, which felt very good indeed.

  Making contact with Elira proved more tricky than Hanno had hoped. His duties – training his and other officers’ men – meant that he had little free time. It was several days after the celebrations before he had an opportunity to search for the baker’s shop. At first, things went well. The bakery proved easy to locate: a couple of questions to passers-by in the area sent him straight to its door. Real excitement gripped him as he waited outside for an hour, and then two, but as time passed he had to admit to himself that it would be pure luck if Elira came along while he was there. Hanno realised he needed someone to wait there every day. Gods, but he wished that Mutt and his men were with him. It would be the easiest thing in the world to order a couple to remain outside. His soldiers here seemed a decent lot, but there was no way he could trust any of them with such a duty. Abducting two of Hippocrates’ concubines would carry the severest of punishments: his and Aurelia’s relationship would count for nothing in mitigation. Never had he felt more alone. He wondered about bribing the baker, a jolly type with a paunch that revealed he enjoyed his own produce, but decided it was too risky. The city was alive with rumours of enemy agents, and of troops who wanted to defect to the Romans. No one could be relied upon, least of all someone he didn’t know.

  Hanno had another reason for caution. A way of communicating with Aurelia might be a means to an end, but he was no nearer knowing how to get her, her son and Elira out of the palace. Even if that seemingly impossible objective had been achieved, what would they do then? His duty to Hannibal meant that he had to stay within the city, and that would be dangerous in the extreme.

  A week went by. The loss of so many men had ensured that the Romans were silent. Epicydes seemed pleased with Hanno’s training of the troops, and he was kept busier than ever. His offer to become more involved with the city’s defences – a ruse to discover information for Hannibal – was politely ignored, so Hanno bit his tongue and said nothing. He visited the baker’s at every opportunity, but not once did he see Elira. In desperation, he visited a temple to Zeus, one of many in Syracuse. A few silver coins placed in the hand of one of the priests saw a plump lamb sacrificed, and his entreaty that a female friend ‘find her way to his side’ requested of the god.

  The calm bestowed on Hanno by this offering lasted as long as it took him to leave the temple complex. The entrance was clogged by a crowd of the usual type of supplicants. As he threaded his way between them – the man with inflamed eyes, come in search of a cure, and the distraught mother, carrying her sick babe – he was overcome by bitterness. It was the same here as it had been at the shrines in Carthage, and, he suspected, at the temples of all gods in every land under the sun. The needy, the unwell, the dying, the jealous and the grieving came with a wide variety of offerings, from coinage to food, glassware and pottery, and what did they receive in return? Platitudes from a priest, and Hanno was tempted to think ‘nothing else’, but he didn’t quite dare. The gods were the only ones who could help him. It was they who had engineered the meeting between him and Aurelia. They would not – could not – leave things to continue as they were. Hanno told himself this a hundred times a day, but he was still riven by doubt.

  Several more days passed. Hanno thought he caught a glimpse of Aurelia on her balcony one evening, but he dared not wave in case anyone saw. Impotent and furious, he determined to speak with Kleitos, his one friend in Syracuse. To do so would place his life squarely in Kleitos’ hands, but by this stage, he was resigned to that risk. If he didn’t act, Aurelia would continue to suffer degradation at Hippocrates’ hands indefinitely.

  He pitched up at Kleitos’ door later that day, bearing a small amphora of wine and a hunk of the best ham that money could buy. The gifts ensured that Kleitos’ warm welcome became even more enthusiastic. Giving Hanno the only stool, he deftly cracked the wax seal on the amphora and filled two cups. Toasting each other, they drank deep.

  ‘Hungry?’ Kleitos jerked a thumb at the ham, which he’d placed on the table.

  ‘Let’s tackle it later, when we get back from the inn.’

  Kleitos chuckled. ‘Ah. We’re going out, are we?’

  ‘It might be good to, yes. My men talk about a little place on a back street in Achradina. It’s worth the walk, by all accounts.’

  ‘Poseidon’s Trident, is that the one?’

  Hanno felt a little disappointed. ‘You’ve been there.’

  ‘I’ve darkened the threshold of every tavern in Syracuse at one point or another.’ Kleitos slurped some wine. ‘I’d be happy to visit that one again, though. Especially if you’re buying!’

  ‘That was my intention,’ replied Hanno with a wink. He hesitated, unsure, but the thought of Aurelia was enough to make him continue. ‘I have a favour to ask.’

  Kleitos set his cup down. ‘I’ve been wondering if you had something on your mind of late. As long as it doesn’t harm my city—’

  ‘It’s nothing like that,’ said Hanno quickly.

  ‘Then if I can help, I will,’ said Kleitos with an expansive gesture.

  ‘You might not say that when I’ve told you what it is.’

  ‘Ha!’ Kleitos raised a hand, stopping him. ‘I need more wine.’ When he’d filled their cups again and taken a large mouthful, he indicated that Hanno should continue.

  ‘Do you remember the Roman girl, the woman, I told you about?’

  ‘A while back? I think so. The one who was married.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Hanno could feel his emotions rising, but he forced them down. This had to be done with a cool head. ‘She’s here. In Syracuse.’

  ‘You’re taking the piss!’

  ‘I’m not. I saw her, about two weeks ago.’

  ‘That’s why you’ve been preoccupied! Been sneaking off to screw her, have you?’ Kleitos roared with laughter, but he saw that Hanno wasn’t joining in, and frowned. ‘Of course. She’s Roman, so she won’t be roaming about freely. Let me guess – she’s someone’s captive or slave, is that it?’

  Hanno nodded.

  ‘That shouldn’t be hard to sort out. Being a mid-ranking officer carries some perks. I’ll come with you to see whichever prick it is who’s bought her. Once his head’s been smacked off the wall a few times, he’ll see the wisdom in selling her to you. For a pittance, naturally.’

  ‘My thanks. You’re a good friend, Kleito
s. But it’s not that simple.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  He had to roll the dice, and hope. ‘Because her owner is Hippocrates.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘You’re joking with me.’

  ‘I wish I was.’

  ‘You know that I’ve sworn to serve Hippocrates and Epicydes, both, with all of my strength, until my dying day.’ Kleitos’ voice was hard.

  He had committed himself now. ‘You’ve said before that Hippocrates can be …’ Hanno struggled to find a suitable word. ‘… unpleasant. I’m concerned that he’s doing the most disgusting things to Aurelia. I can’t stand by and do nothing. I have to free her.’ Kleitos said nothing, and Hanno’s fear grew. ‘This has nothing to do with the war against the Romans, or my loyalty to your rulers. If it comes to it, I’ll die in the defence of your city. I swear that to you, on my mother’s grave.’

  His words vanished into the yawning silence between them. ‘Damn it, Kleitos, she’s the woman I love,’ said Hanno. He could almost see Hippocrates’ guards coming to arrest him.

  He was stunned when Kleitos began to laugh. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Your passion, my friend. Your burning need to convince me that what you want will not harm the war effort.’

  ‘So you’ll help me?’

  ‘How could I not? You’d aid me if I needed to free my lover, wouldn’t you? If it didn’t impact on your fight with Rome?’

  ‘As Baal Hammon is my witness, I would,’ said Hanno fervently.

  ‘Right then. We need a plan,’ Kleitos declared. ‘But don’t get your hopes up. Just because there are two of us now doesn’t mean this will succeed. We’re more likely to end up being flung over the walls while Hippocrates watches.’

  The dire warning couldn’t stop Hanno from grinning.

  He was no longer alone.

  Chapter X

  ‘I COULD GET used to this,’ said Mattheus, turning his face to the sun, which was dipping down to the western horizon. ‘Warm sun all afternoon. A nice breeze off the sea. Not an officer in sight.’

  ‘No sign of the fucking Syracusans either,’ added Urceus, spitting over the timber ramparts in the direction of the besieged city.

  Quintus wasn’t going to argue with his comrades’ sentiments. It was true that over the previous weeks, life had become a little sedate, but after the horror of the failed naval attack on Syracuse, there was nothing wrong with that. Besides, it had been sheer luck that their commander Marcellus hadn’t taken their unit with him when he’d recently marched off to teach a lesson to the cities who had declared themselves for Syracuse. Megara Hyblaea had been taken by assault and then burned as an example of the fate that awaited those who defied Rome. While that victory had seen more than one town change sides yet again, there had been a good number of Roman casualties. Stop thinking like that! At times Quintus wondered if he’d lost his nerve, which made him feel ashamed. He didn’t admit this to a soul, not even Urceus. It flared up now, though. ‘It’d do us no harm to face an enemy attack,’ he said fiercely.

  ‘Eh?’ Mattheus looked at him as if he’d gone mad. ‘Why the fuck would you wish such a thing?’

  ‘Soldiers grow rusty if they don’t see enough active service,’ snapped Quintus.

  ‘Madman,’ said Mattheus, tapping his head. ‘I’m happy enough leaving off fighting for another while.’

  Irritated, and a little worried that anyone would see beneath his bravado, Quintus stalked off along the rampart. The section that they were guarding was near the main camp, and ran up to and over one of the regularly placed gates that faced towards Syracuse. The portal was only ever opened when a patrol was sent out to investigate possible enemy activity. Thankfully, that was rare. Even now, men still had a healthy respect for Archimedes’ lethal artillery. Why risk soldiers’ lives in no man’s land when no assault was to be made on the city walls? thought Quintus. Marcellus was no fool. He was conserving his forces for a time when they would be needed.

  Rumour had it that an enemy fleet was on its way to Sicily from Carthage. It would land in the southwest, men said. That made sense. The towns of Heraklea and Akragas were on that coastline, and they had been Carthaginian strongholds until near the end of the last war. If the stories were true, Marcellus would not take the challenge lying down, Quintus decided. No doubt that was why he’d been subjugating towns such as Megara Hyblaea. If too much of the island went over to Syracuse and Carthage, the Romans’ position on the island would become untenable, especially if thousands of Carthaginians were soon to arrive.

  ‘An obol for your thoughts,’ said Urceus’ voice, from right behind him.

  Quintus spun, annoyed that he hadn’t heard his friend and still unhappy with himself. ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘Liar.’

  Stung, Quintus’ mouth opened to issue a stinging retort.

  Urceus spoke first. ‘We’re all shitting ourselves at the idea of yet another battle, brother.’

  Quintus glanced up and down the walkway. To his relief, they were alone. ‘Who said that that’s what I’m thinking?’ he demanded hotly.

  ‘It’s as obvious as the sun on your face, Crespo. Why? Because every last one of us feels the same way! Trasimene and Cannae were awful, and we’ll never forget them, but the slaughter in the harbour was almost worse. All those men drowning …’ Urceus grimaced. ‘A man can’t see things like that without paying a certain price. You never want to experience anything like that again. That’s a normal response. We’re all of the same mind.’ He gripped Quintus’ arm and squeezed, hard.

  A host of emotions welled up inside Quintus. Terror. Relief and pride that he had a comrade like Urceus. Love for a man who saw his weakness and didn’t judge him for it.

  ‘You’re still the same soldier you were. When the time comes to march and to fight again, your balls might shrivel up, but you’ll stand with us, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course!’ Quintus replied. Despite the possible consequence – death – not to do so would be unimaginable. His comrades meant everything to him.

  Urceus’ eyes met his. ‘As we will, beside you. To whatever end.’

  Quintus leaned his pilum and shield against the battlements and grabbed Urceus in a bear hug. ‘You’re a good friend.’

  ‘As you are to me,’ said Urceus, returning the embrace.

  Quintus felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

  ‘I didn’t know you two were a pair of molles!’ called Mattheus.

  Both Quintus and Urceus made an obscene gesture by way of reply. ‘Watch out, or we’ll ask you to join us!’ advised Quintus with a leer.

  At that moment, Marius, another of their new comrades, whistled the call that signified ‘officer approaching’. Everyone in their section took an instant interest in the ground beyond the wall.

  Hobs clattered on the nearest ladder, and Quintus risked a glance to his left. It wasn’t Corax, or anyone he recognised. ‘Look lively! It’s not one of ours,’ he shot from the side of his mouth.

  Urceus took off along the walkway, as a sentry should. Quintus remained where he was, hoping that the officer, whoever he was, wouldn’t stay long.

  Annoyingly, the newcomer’s footsteps came to a halt beside him. Quintus looked, turned and saluted. ‘Sir!’

  The officer, a centurion, gave him a critical stare. He was clean-shaven, square-chinned and nearing forty. ‘As you were.’

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked Quintus, standing at ease.

  ‘So that is Syracuse,’ said the officer, gazing at the distant walls. ‘Its defences are impressive.’

  ‘They are, sir.’

  ‘After more than half a millennium, it’s not surprising, I suppose. Did you take part in the initial attack?’

  He had come with the reinforcements, thought Quintus in surprise. ‘I did, sir.’

  ‘Was it as bad as they say?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Quintus tried not to remember how Wolf and Unlucky had died, and failed.

  A
grunt.

  ‘Have you just arrived, sir?’ risked Quintus.

  ‘Yes. The Senate ordered us from Cisalpine Gaul.’

  Quintus felt a sudden kinship with the centurion. ‘Were you also at the Trebia, sir?’

  There was a flicker of annoyance. ‘No. I was stationed at Victumulae, a town to the west of Placentia. I was forced to remain within its walls at the time of the battle at the Trebia.’

  ‘I remember Victumulae, sir. It was one of the towns that Hannibal’s army sacked after the Trebia. You were lucky to survive.’

  Now the centurion’s face blackened.

  Why didn’t he like that? wondered Quintus in surprise. He moved to remedy the situation. ‘Fortuna must have been smiling on you that day, as she was on us in the harbour outside Syracuse.’

  The centurion’s expression softened a little. ‘The goddess is a capricious sort at the best of times, but she must have been in a good mood with me when Victumulae fell.’

  ‘You’ve been fighting Gauls since then, sir?’

  ‘Aye, filthy savages that they are. It’ll be a welcome break to battle Syracusans for a change. I hear we might even get to kill some guggas. That would please me.’ The centurion’s eyes had lit up.

  ‘Me too, sir,’ said Quintus stolidly. It wouldn’t do to mention how welcome the time spent building the encircling wall had been.

  ‘Pera!’

  The centurion looked down. So did Quintus. Another centurion sat on a horse below, beside a tethered mount that had to belong to Pera.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Pera.

  ‘I’ve been searching all over for you. A summons has been issued. We’re to attend a meeting at the headquarters at sundown. Marcellus wants to meet us. Best get ready, eh?’