Hannibal 03 - Clouds of War

  Hanno wasn’t sure what distance they had travelled when the first screams rang out behind them. It was impossible to see how near the Romans were, but it was close, far too close. From this point, he thought grimly, the Syracusans would be like hens in a coop when the fox gets in. An animal sound of fear rose from the fleeing troops, almost as if they realised this too. Everyone began to shove even harder. To his right, Hanno saw a soldier stumble and fall to his knees. He had no opportunity to offer help – the tide of fleeing Syracusans behind was inexorable. No one behind the fallen man even slowed. There was a despairing cry as they trampled over the top of him, and he was gone. A moment later, Hanno barked his shins badly on a discarded shield. But for Deon’s support, he might have tumbled to the ground.

  ‘We’re never going to make it, sir,’ Deon shouted in his ear.

  Hanno’s instinct was screaming the same thing. A glance to either side. The tents to the left were far closer. ‘We get off the path, and into the tents. Go through them.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘On my count. One. Two. Three.’ Hanno slipped his arm from Deon’s, turned and drove to the left as if his life depended on it. Which it did. The first soldier in his path snarled a curse as Hanno tried to get past.

  ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’

  Asking the gods to forgive him, Hanno smashed the hilt of his sword into the man’s cheek. Eyes glazed, he dropped from sight. Hanno shoved into the space he’d left, felt Deon right on his heels. The next soldier saw his raised blade and thought better of challenging him. Hanno slipped past and elbowed another man in the face, and then he was free of the madness. Deon joined him a heartbeat later. ‘Have you seen Amphios?’ asked Hanno.

  ‘Not for a bit, sir.’

  ‘Any of the others?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Shit.’ Hanno surveyed the chaos before them. After a moment, he recognised a number of his men in the throng, but they all looked mad with fear. There was no way of knowing if Amphios would pass by. If he was even alive. ‘We can’t look for him.’

  ‘I know, sir.’

  That was the only confirmation Hanno needed. Lifting his sword, he slashed a great hole in back of the nearest tent and stepped inside it, into the reek of men’s sweat and old farts. Deon hurried right behind him, over the confusion of bedding that lay within. Hanno took care at the doorway not to barge out without looking. The coast was clear, however, and he raced across the gap, over a stack of plates and a pot of still warm stew, and through the open flaps of the tent opposite. At its end, he sliced a tear large enough to climb through, and so it went on. At times they met another soldier, who invariably ignored them. Once, Deon had to threaten a burly man with crazed eyes, but the rest of the time, it was a simple case of moving from tent to tent. Hanno’s fear subsided a little, giving him time to marvel at the sheep-like behaviour of the troops who were milling and shoving and screaming on the paths to either side. All they had to do was think – what he and Deon were doing was so obvious – yet almost none had come to the same realisation.

  Hanno stifled his pity. He wished the Syracusans no ill, but their bad fortune was his good, and he would need every last drop of that if he was to see the day’s end alive. Memories of the bloody routs he’d participated in before filled his mind. If their enemies were disciplined – and the Romans were – few men survived when they broke and ran. It was sheer stubbornness that kept Hanno going. That, and the rolls of the dice that had seen Deon stay by his side and permit their mad, exhilarating run through the abandoned tents. On he went.

  It came as a shock to emerge from a tent, panting, and find another half-constructed ditch before him. They had reached the far edge of the Syracusan camp. Beyond the earthwork, the ground ran gently down to the river in which he had swum, a lifetime ago. Hanno’s eyes shot to the ford, where the mass of fleeing soldiers was concentrating. The Romans hadn’t yet reached it, but that wasn’t preventing tragedy from unfolding. It was a natural pinch point. Men were already dying there. All sense of discipline had vanished. Hundreds of Syracusans pushed and shoved to get into the shallows, where they could cross, and escape the enemy. The injured or weak were being thrust aside or knocked over into the deeper water, where they drowned. Some soldiers were so frantic to get away that they had come to blows with one another. Blades rose and fell; fresh blood spilled on to the dusty ground. Bodies lay face down in the current, colouring the river scarlet. Those who had been injured roared their distress. Hanno’s heart clenched. In a mêlée such as this, such men stood little chance of surviving.

  Movement on the far bank caught his eye. Scores of riders were streaming away to the east. Beyond them, Hanno saw hundreds more – it was the cavalry, which had managed to escape. ‘Look,’ he said in disgust. ‘Hippocrates didn’t even try to fight. The coward ran and left the rest of us.’

  Deon scowled. ‘The filthy bastard.’

  ‘That’s what he is, and no mistake.’ It was another reason to hate him. Gods, bring him within reach of my blade, just once. ‘We’ll head for a place downstream of the ford. Our best chance is to swim across. Can you do that?’

  Deon’s lips twisted. ‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

  ‘Never mind. I’ll help you across.’

  Deon nodded his thanks.

  Staying close to one another, they threaded their way down the slope. Discarded weapons and shields littered the ground. Injured men who could go no further lifted their hands in supplication, beseeching those who passed for help, or for an end to their suffering. With clenched jaw, Hanno ignored them all. They were still some distance from the bank when loud wails of dismay dragged his eyes back up towards the camp. ‘Fuck,’ he heard Deon say as his own throat closed with fear. This entire bank was about to become a slaughterhouse.

  Scores of legionaries had burst into sight from various points in the camp. They’d done the same as Hanno and Deon had, cutting their way through the tents. The officer who had ordered that was a smart bastard, thought Hanno. It was the type of thing that Quintus might do. Could he be here? Hanno wondered fleetingly. Just then, it didn’t matter. The Roman move had been made to get ahead of as many of the fleeing Syracusans as possible, and it had worked. Utter panic broke out among the soldiers who were closest to the legionaries and, in a seething, disorganised mass, they fled towards the ford. Behind Hanno, the struggle to cross became even more vicious.

  ‘Get your armour off,’ he ordered Deon. ‘You’ll float better.’

  ‘Look, sir.’

  Hanno’s gaze followed Deon’s outstretched arm. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There, sir, close to the soldier wearing the Boeotian helmet. Poor bitch.’

  Hanno stared, and finally saw the man Deon had described, perhaps three hundred paces away, and halfway between their position and that of the Romans. His heart nearly stopped. A woman was stooped over another, tugging, trying to pull her upright. She had black hair. Her shape was familiar. Claws of terror raked his guts. Aurelia was in Syracuse. It couldn’t be her. Could it? The woman glanced at the Romans, who were being marshalled into a line by their officers, and she threw a despairing look at the river. Hanno cursed savagely. It was Aurelia. ‘Go,’ he ordered. ‘Save yourself.’

  ‘You’re not going up there, sir?’ Deon’s voice was incredulous. ‘It’s suicide.’

  ‘That’s my woman. I have to.’ I cannot just leave her to die. ‘Go! May the gods protect you.’

  Deon’s eyes were full of respect as he saluted Hanno. He turned and was gone.

  Sword in hand, Hanno began running towards where he’d seen Aurelia. Oddly, there was a benefit to advancing into the maw of death. The tide of Syracusans thinned as he headed uphill, allowing him to move faster than before. Many of the retreating soldiers didn’t even notice what he was doing. There were disbelieving stares from some; a couple of men told him he was insane. Hanno didn’t bother to reply, keeping his focus on the woman’s shape.

  From above came the Latin
command, ‘Close order!’ Other voices repeated the cry. His belly roiled with fresh fear as shields clattered off each other: the Romans were about to advance. Hanno began to sprint. A mad cackle escaped his lips as he spotted the woman, who had somehow managed to lift her companion off the ground. If it wasn’t Aurelia, he would die for nothing. Of all the cruel jokes that the gods had played on him in his life, that would be the worst.

  As he closed in, however, he felt a heartbeat’s relief. It was Aurelia, and she was helping another woman, whose face was ashen in colour. This woman saw him first; she muttered something, and Aurelia’s head turned. Her mouth fell open in shock. ‘Hanno! How did you find us?’

  ‘Pure luck, and a soldier called Deon.’ What in all damnation are you doing here? he wanted to ask. Instead he demanded roughly, ‘Is Elira here as well?’

  ‘No. She wouldn’t come.’

  ‘She has more sense than you then.’ He glanced at Aurelia’s companion. ‘How badly are you hurt?’

  ‘FORWARD!’ bawled a voice in Latin. Hanno winced, but he did not look at the Romans.

  The woman had collapsed again. Her face was resigned. ‘I think my left leg is broken. I tripped, fell, at the top of the slope.’

  Hanno stared. Subcutaneous bleeding surrounded a nasty bulge on the inside of her left calf. Shit. ‘It’s definitely fractured.’

  ‘I’ve been telling Aurelia to leave me,’ said the woman in an odd, calm voice.

  Twin points of red marked Aurelia’s cheeks. ‘I can’t. It’s not right. She’s been helping me since we left Syracuse.’

  Hanno peered up the slope. The legionaries had begun to descend. The only thing in his and the women’s favour was that they were doing it at the walk. There were clear-headed officers in charge, he thought absently. No need to run down, risking life and limb. The Syracusans were going nowhere. Nor, at this moment, were they. He searched for moisture in his mouth, found none. ‘We have to go now, or we’re all dead,’ he croaked. ‘I’ll carry you.’

  ‘You can’t,’ said the woman.

  Hanno could see the fear – and hope – in her face. He reached out. ‘I can. I’ll sling you over my shoulder.’

  Her face hardened as she found new resolve. ‘If you take me, we have no chance. Without me, you might make it.’

  Aurelia looked horrified. ‘We can’t abandon you!’

  ‘You have to. Even on the other side of the river, you’ll have to move fast. I’ll slow you down.’

  Hanno glanced at Aurelia, hissed, ‘She’s right.’

  Aurelia hesitated, before gripping the woman’s arm in farewell. ‘The gods be with you.’

  ‘And with you.’ From the folds of her dress, she produced a dagger. ‘Maybe I can take one of them with me.’

  Hanno dragged Aurelia away. Half walking, half running, he guided her down the slope, over the mass of equipment, weapons and bodies. When Hanno looked back, the woman’s huddled shape had nearly been swallowed up by the wall of advancing Romans. It was a faint hope that she would die fast, but Hanno prayed for it anyway. It was the least she deserved.

  They reached the water’s edge a short distance from the ford, which had become impassable due to the number of men trying to cross. Hanno quickly took off his cuirass. Flanked by scores of others with the same idea, they managed to swim across. Once on the other side, like any prey that is being hunted, they looked behind them. The Roman line had almost reached the bottom of the slope. A moment later, there was a sickening crash as the legionaries struck the mass of Syracusans clustered by the ford. Hanno did his best to ignore the screaming that followed. He hoped that Kleitos in particular made it through what was to come. Urging Aurelia onward, he headed for the safety of the trees that fringed the valley’s eastern end. Dozens of soldiers ran alongside them. The same haunted look was on all their faces. No one spoke, because there was nothing to say.

  Hanno didn’t come to a halt until the muscles in his legs were trembling with exhaustion. Aurelia had made no complaint, but she too looked ready to drop. They were deep in the forest, and a good height above the valley, level with the cloud of vultures that waited in the air overhead. In the distance, sounds of combat – men’s cries, the clash of weapons – could still be heard, but they hadn’t seen another soul for some time. ‘Let’s rest a little,’ he said.

  Aurelia sank to the ground with a groan.

  Thank you for your protection, Baal Saphon, thought Hanno fervently. Stay with us.

  After a while, Aurelia lifted her head. ‘What should we do?’

  ‘Not so fast,’ said Hanno, finding his anger. ‘What in all the gods’ names were you doing in the followers’ camp?’

  She had the grace to blush. ‘The thought of not seeing you for only the gods know how long was too much to bear. What if you hadn’t come back at all?’

  ‘When were you going to seek me out?’

  ‘Once we made contact with Himilco. I didn’t want to interfere with your duties before that.’

  He wanted to shake her. ‘Your foolishness nearly got you killed! If Deon hadn’t seen you—’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She began to weep.

  His anger melted away. He had rescued her; they had got away. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he said, ‘You’re here now. We’re together.’

  In a crazy way, life had just taken a turn for the better, he decided. If they could avoid the Romans, safety in the town of Akragas – a natural target for Himilco to take – beckoned.

  Chapter XV

  ONE BRIGHT MORNING, Corax and Vitruvius summoned their men at dawn. This in itself wasn’t unusual, but the grim set to the centurions’ faces as they went from tent to tent told its own story.

  ‘I knew that things were too good to last,’ grumbled Urceus under his breath as he clambered from his blankets.

  ‘To be fair, we have had it easy enough since Hippocrates had his arse kicked,’ said Mattheus, yawning. ‘But it looked bad when Himilco and his bloody army arrived, eh?’

  There were rumbles of agreement from the rest, including Quintus.

  ‘But Marcellus knew what he was doing.’ As ever, Mattheus was ready to talk from the moment his eyes opened. ‘Why leave the safety of our walls when we could stay where we were and shout obscenities at the guggas. Off they went, soon enough, to try and ambush the new legion that had arrived from Italy.’

  There were a few guilty chuckles at this. No one would have wished the reinforcements ill, thought Quintus. Indeed, they were very welcome, but his and his comrades’ skins mattered more than those of soldiers whom they didn’t even know. ‘It was good, though, that Himilco missed catching them,’ he said. ‘Their commander’s decision to take the coastal road was smart, because our fleet was able to follow the legion as protection.’

  ‘Aye, they were a sight for sore eyes when they came marching in,’ declared Urceus. ‘Especially when the guggas arrived the following morning. Those were a tense few days, after, but Marcellus held his nerve, making us stay put behind our fortifications. When we refused to fight, Himilco couldn’t do much else but piss off.’ His face darkened again. ‘Things have been nice and quiet since. Why do I suspect that that’s about to change?’

  Quintus nodded grimly. Corax had a plan. He prayed that it wasn’t too risky. They would ultimately have to fight Himilco’s soldiers, but for the moment, manning the walls around Syracuse was preferable to just about any other duty.

  ‘You seem suitably pleased to see me on this bright morning,’ shouted Corax when they had assembled before him. Wrong-footed, his men glanced at one another, and the centurion chuckled a little at his own joke. ‘Marching up and down on sentry duty appeals, I know. But it won’t win the damn war on Sicily, will it?’

  ‘No, sir,’ a few men replied.

  Corax’s eyes glinted. ‘I’d like a little more enthusiasm than that.’

  ‘NO, SIR!’ they roared.

  Corax seemed a fraction happier. ‘We’ve all been wondering what that whoreson Himil
co’s next move would be. Word has come what it will be.’

  In a heartbeat, Corax had everyone’s attention. The defenders of Syracuse weren’t going anywhere, but the newly arrived Carthaginian force was free to move where it wanted. Part of their duty was to ensure that Himilco didn’t find this easy.

  Corax paused, and looked around. ‘Like to know where the dog is?’ he said at last.

  ‘YES, SIR!’

  ‘He’s taken his army to Murgantia, one of the towns we use as a grain store. It seems that when he arrived, the inhabitants rose against the garrison and delivered the place, and all of its supplies, to the Carthaginian cause.’

  Corax did not need to drum up a response to that. Angry shouts filled the air. He nodded in approval. ‘So when you don’t have enough flour to bake your bread this winter, you know whom to blame!’

  His men bellowed even louder.

  ‘Are we to march on Murgantia, sir?’ yelled Urceus.

  ‘Sadly, no,’ replied Corax. ‘Marcellus has seen fit to give this maniple another duty. Other towns are under threat as well. Have you heard of Enna?’

  ‘It’s in the middle of the island, and is loyal to us,’ said Quintus.

  ‘Correct, but it’s only loyal because of its Roman garrison. Its commander is a man called Lucius Pinarius, an able soldier who has done much to ensure that the town stays in Roman hands. For all of his hard work, however, intelligence has it that the inhabitants wish to switch their allegiance from Rome.’

  There was a rumble of fury from the hastati.