Hannibal 03 - Clouds of War

  ‘How in Hades’ name did the bastards know where we were?’ asked Marius.

  ‘Someone must have talked.’

  They chewed on the rancid fat of that for a moment. The danger they had been in until that point was as nothing to what it would be in the hours that followed. Epicydes would ransack the city to find them, and all of the conspirators. ‘The boat is our best bet,’ said Quintus. ‘Our only bet,’ he added grimly.

  ‘But what then?’ hissed Marius as they headed in the direction of the fishermen’s jetty. ‘I can’t sail, or swim. Can you?’

  ‘I can swim, but I’ve never sailed.’

  Marius mouthed a curse.

  ‘Come on. It’s our best chance,’ urged Quintus. ‘If necessary, I can help you.’

  ‘If Pera can’t swim, he’ll order you to help him instead.’

  ‘I’ll leave the cocksucker to sink.’ Waking him up had repaid the debt, Quintus decided.

  Marius gripped his arm in gratitude.

  They began to see parties of soldiers everywhere as they threaded their way through the streets – far more than usual. Quintus tried to tell himself that it was nothing more than coincidence but that idea was crushed when he saw one of the men whom they’d recruited being dragged from his house.

  ‘I’m innocent, innocent, I tell you!’ shouted the captive.

  ‘Not according to what Attalus says,’ retorted the officer in charge.

  Quintus’ head turned at the name. Had Attalus found out that he hadn’t been included in the conspiracy and betrayed it out of pique? Panic flared in Quintus’ guts as his captors headed in their direction. If the prisoner saw them, and said as much as a single word—

  He shoved Marius into a street-side restaurant.

  ‘This is no time to eat,’ snarled Marius, but his outburst was quelled by Quintus’ warning look. They took a seat at a nearby table and ordered soup from a serving girl. Quintus told Marius in an undertone what he’d seen.

  ‘You mean this is Pera’s fault?’ Marius said indignantly. ‘We should have left the stupid bastard behind.’

  ‘Let’s concentrate on getting out of here,’ warned Quintus, but he still felt a stab of pleasure at Marius’ solidarity. They kept an eye on the street as they waited. To their relief, the soldiers and their prisoner moved on without halting.

  The soup appeared and they shovelled it down. Quintus slapped a coin on the counter and they set off again, studying the crowds with apparently casual eyes. Although they saw more soldiers, the friends spotted no other conspirators, which allowed them to pass unrecognised. They didn’t see Pera. Quintus hoped that the centurion had been taken captive, that he would never see him again. Sweat drenched him as they neared the little gate in the wall that gave on to the jetty. He could sense the same tension in Marius. If the guards here had been alerted – by Pera, or by their own side – they were dead men. In silent consensus, they stopped by Arethusa’s spring, a source of fresh water since antiquity. The place was a hubbub of householders coming and going with buckets. It was easy to pretend to be two passers-by, slaking their thirst.

  ‘What do you think?’ whispered Marius.

  Quintus stared as he raised his cup, provided by an old crone in return for a copper. There were four soldiers by the gate, the usual number. That was good. So too was the fact that their spears were leaning against the wall. They didn’t look any more alert than normal, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a trap. Then one of the guards wandered out through the gate, saying that he was bursting for a piss. The most senior of the soldiers, a man whom Quintus knew by sight, didn’t stop him. ‘They don’t know anything yet,’ he said, explaining. ‘I’d bet my life on it.’

  ‘That’s what you are betting, and mine with it,’ retorted Marius sourly, but he didn’t argue further. ‘What’s our story for going to the boat at this hour?’

  ‘The old man found a leak last night. He wants us to take a look and sort it out if we can.’

  ‘That tale isn’t out of the realms of possibility, I suppose. And some of the guards know us by sight at this stage, which is something.’

  ‘Let’s hope that Pera hasn’t already ballsed it up for us by spinning a different yarn.’

  Marius frowned. ‘What if they don’t believe us?’

  ‘We will have to kill them all,’ Quintus grated, ‘quietly enough that the men on the walls above don’t hear us. Then we stroll to the boat. If Pera’s there, he’s there. If not, there’s no point waiting for him. We can force a fisherman to sail us across the harbour.’

  ‘Jupiter’s hairy arse,’ muttered Marius. ‘I’m not even going to think about the catapults.’

  ‘Good,’ said Quintus, trying also not to imagine what it would be like helping Marius swim to safety. ‘Come on.’

  ‘If I don’t make it but you do—’ Marius began.

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Let me finish. Tell Urceus that I did screw a Syracusan girl.’

  Quintus felt a smile push its way on to his lips. ‘Very well. But you can tell him yourself.’

  ‘With the gods’ help. I’ll have to admit that I was lying afterwards, though, or else Vulcan will hammer my cock to a pulp.’

  Any trace of humour fell away as they approached the entrance, a narrow affair that was actually a tunnel protected by a gate at each end. Soon Quintus’ pulse was hammering so fast that he worried it was audible. The fourth guard hadn’t returned, which left three. The most senior was squatting on his haunches, playing dice with one of the others. The last man was the one monitoring who came and went. He eyed Quintus sourly, which wasn’t any different to his normal manner. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘The chief found a leak in the boat last night,’ mumbled Quintus, mimicking the Syracusan accent as best he could. ‘He wants us to sort it out.’

  ‘Ha! He sends you to do the dirty work while he sleeps, is that it?’

  ‘Pretty much.’ Quintus hawked and spat.

  ‘It’s always the same old story.’ He rolled his eyes at the senior guard. ‘On you go.’

  Quintus felt overwhelming relief. He nodded his thanks and together, he and Marius stepped towards the tunnel that led through the wall to the jetty.

  ‘Just a moment,’ said a voice, and Quintus’ fear resurged. He half turned, saw the senior guard getting to his feet. Quintus warned Marius with his eyes. ‘Yes, sir?’ he asked humbly.

  ‘Bar their path, you damn idiot!’ barked the senior guard at the man who’d let Quintus by. ‘When their friend went through a little while back, he was going on about renewing the sail. Someone’s telling lies!’

  ‘I’ll take the leader,’ said Quintus in Latin to Marius. He leaped for the spears leaning against the wall. Grabbing one, he used it to skewer the senior guard through his padded cuirass. While he was doing that, Marius was stabbing the second man to death. Together they dispatched the last soldier before Quintus finished off his first opponent with a thrust to the neck.

  The fight took barely fifty heartbeats. The instant that it was over, Quintus became aware of being watched. Every single person by Arethusa’s spring was staring at them in complete shock. ‘Shit! They’ll alert the men on the walls. Let’s go.’

  ‘Look,’ growled Marius.

  Quintus’ heart sank. A group of soldiers had appeared on the other side of the fountain. There were far too many to fight. ‘Go!’

  They barged into the tunnel, spears in hand. The narrow space echoed to their pounding feet and heavy breathing. It was perhaps thirty paces to the far side. Before they reached it, however, a shape loomed in the entrance. The last guard, thought Quintus.

  ‘Pericles?’ called the man. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Quintus replied from behind a hand. He readied his spear. Great Jupiter, do not let the new soldiers shout out, he asked silently.

  ‘You’re in a damn hurry. Have you got the shits?’ asked the guard with a snigger.

  Quintus ran him through and pushed past. Marius sta
bbed him again for good measure. He fell, gurgling on his own blood. Quintus glanced back down the tunnel. No one was visible – but he could hear raised voices. ‘It’s a shame that we can’t seal the outer door.’

  ‘That’s the least of our worries,’ replied Marius, shoving him onward.

  They emerged on to the rocks that sprawled below the base of the walls. The jetty poked out at sea level, a rickety arrangement of planking with ten or more fishing vessels tied up to it. A couple of fishermen were pottering about on their boats, and on the old man’s craft, Quintus spotted Pera. With him was another figure, who appeared to be untying the mooring rope.

  ‘Fucking Pera,’ Quintus said.

  ‘The piece of shit isn’t waiting for us!’

  ‘We can still make it!’

  They scrambled down the rocks and thumped on to the planks, which swayed beneath them. ‘Sir!’ Quintus called out in a low voice. ‘Wait!’

  When Pera saw them, he muttered to the fisherman – a man Quintus didn’t recognise – who pulled the last of the rope into the boat.

  Quintus had no breath to curse, but rage filled him that Pera would desert them so deliberately. They began to sprint, with Quintus in the lead. He had covered half the distance when there was an almighty crack from behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he was horrified to see Marius half disappear through a hole in the rotten timbers. He skidded to a halt, noticing soldiers emerging from the tunnel. Fuck!

  Quintus glanced at the boat. It had only moved a length away from the jetty; the fisherman hadn’t yet run up its sail. They might still catch it by swimming. He lay down and reached down towards Marius, swearing because of the splinters in the broken planks. ‘Grab my hand!’

  ‘I’m hurt,’ groaned Marius as Quintus hauled him up.

  ‘Up, up on your feet. We can look at you on board,’ said Quintus. His gaze slid down below Marius’ waist. So much blood and bone poking through the skin was really bad news, especially now that they needed to swim. His eyes lifted; he saw the soldiers already at the end of the jetty. He tried to grab Marius, but his friend pushed him away. ‘Leave me.’

  ‘No!’ Quintus made another effort to pick him up, but there was nothing wrong with Marius’ arms. He resisted fiercely.

  ‘I’m done, Crespo! If you don’t go, we’ll both die. Where’s the point in that?’

  Quintus wanted to weep, but Marius was right. The first soldier was no more than twenty paces away.

  ‘Get me up on my feet. I’ll hold them back so that you can jump.’

  Quintus’ throat was closed with emotion. All he could do was nod. With an arm around Marius’ shoulders, he managed to lift his friend upright. Marius roared with pain as he tried to stand on his injured leg. He took a deep breath, fixed Quintus with his eyes. ‘Give me your spear.’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Save yourself. Pera will pull you on board if you get to the boat. Go!’

  ‘I will.’ Quintus gripped Marius’ arm hard. Then he turned and fled.

  ‘Come on, you stinking Greek arse-humpers!’ he heard Marius shout in Greek. ‘One Roman is worth ten of you any day!’ The Syracusan soldiers roared abuse in reply.

  Quintus felt the timbers move as they advanced on to the jetty, but he didn’t look back. He couldn’t. There was an open space at the end of the planking and he hared towards it. The boat’s sail was up now. Despite the shelter provided by the walls, there was some breeze to fill it. He would have one chance before the craft was beyond his reach.

  Quintus slowed up enough to plunge into the sea head first, with his arms outstretched. He was no expert, but he’d often seen the men who dived for shellfish off the coast of Campania. The water was shockingly cold. Kicking out with his arms and legs, Quintus shot above the surface in a great spray of droplets. The boat was perhaps fifteen paces from him, and picking up speed fast. Pera was watching him, his face inscrutable. Quintus swam for the vessel with all of his strength. From the jetty came the sound of men fighting. Marius was still alive, then. Despite his growing distance from the vessel, new determination filled Quintus. His comrade’s sacrifice must not be in vain.

  Quintus’ sense of time and space vanished. He felt the sting of salt in his eyes, the burn of it at the back of his mouth, and his limbs powering him along. Ahead, he saw only the boat. Finally, incredibly, he was almost within reach of it. With a huge effort, he swam close enough to touch its hull. The fisherman saw him, and Quintus prayed that it was he who reached out a hand. But it was Pera whose face appeared over the side, whose hand bore an oar like a weapon. Shocked, Quintus swallowed a mouthful of water and flailed backwards, trying to get away. He’s going to brain me.

  ‘Two people rowing would give us more speed,’ said a voice – the fisherman.

  Disappointment flickered in Pera’s eyes; he changed his grip on the oar and extended it to Quintus. ‘Grab a hold!’

  Still wary, Quintus obeyed. To his relief, Pera pulled him in and held out his other hand. They shared a look – of mutual dislike, even hatred – before Quintus lifted his arm from the water towards Pera’s.

  ‘Quickly, quickly,’ urged the fisherman as Quintus landed sprawling on the deck. ‘The artillerymen won’t sit about!’

  Quintus’ gaze shot not to the ramparts but to where Marius had stood. He saw only a bloody corpse. You died well, brother, he thought sadly. Several enemy soldiers had run to the end of the jetty, from where they hurled their spears. None had the range to reach the boat, nor, it seemed, did they know how to sail. Not a man among them climbed into any of the other fishing craft. Heartened by this, Quintus made obscene gestures at them. ‘Fuck you, you whoresons!’

  ‘Don’t waste your breath.’ An oar was shoved at him. ‘Take this and row,’ ordered Pera.

  ‘Sir.’ Quintus took the oar, little more than a length of wood with one end that was slightly thicker than the other, and lowered it into the crude rowlock, and thence into the water.

  ‘On my count. One. Two. Three. Pull!’ said Pera. ‘One. Two. Three. Pull!’

  With the wind filling the sail, their efforts helped the boat to travel over the waves at a respectable clip. It was two thousand paces to the far side, but at four hundred, they’d be out of range of the enemy artillery. Quintus judged that the boat had already travelled a quarter of that distance. He eyed the ramparts nervously. Still no activity there.

  ‘I can’t remember the last time there was an east wind in this harbour,’ said the fisherman. ‘It never happens.’

  ‘Fortuna must have sat on Eurus’ cock today,’ Pera pronounced. ‘He’s in a good mood.’

  Quintus had to smile, for all that he hated Pera. Eurus, the Greek god of the east wind, was regarded as the bringer of ill fortune, yet it was thanks to him that the boat was moving so fast.

  Whizzzz!

  The all-too-familiar sound made Quintus’ gorge rise. There was a blur of movement some distance off to his right, and a splash as a large arrow scythed into the sea.

  ‘Row! Row!’ yelled the fisherman.

  Quintus and Pera bent their backs. Their oars rose and fell in near unison, over and over.

  It was as if the first missile had been a sign to the other artillerymen. Whizzzz! Whizzzz! Whizzzz! Whizzzz! The air filled with the deadly noise, and the water around the boat was struck again and again as the arrows landed. One hit the deck by the base of the mast, and another punched a hole in the sail, but that was the only damage. A second volley came close on the heels of the first, but again the little boat and its occupants escaped serious damage.

  Just as suddenly as it had begun, the volleys ended. Quintus felt nervous rather than pleased. They were at the limit of the bolt-throwers’ range, which meant that the stone-throwers would be next. They began shooting an instant later, yet this barrage too was desultory. About half a dozen rocks were loosed before the boat was left alone to complete its voyage.

  Perhaps their ammunition was too valuable to waste on a couple of spies, thought Quintus.
He didn’t wait for Pera’s command. Lifting his oar from the water, he slumped down beside it on the deck. The centurion glared, but then he too did the same. They sat in silence. Quintus couldn’t put Marius’ death from his mind, nor the image of Pera ordering the fisherman to move off from the jetty without them. His grief morphed into white-hot anger. ‘You were going to leave us behind, sir.’

  ‘Bullshit. I thought you had been caught.’

  ‘Even when we were on the jetty, sir?’

  ‘It was imperative to get the boat out into the harbour. I assumed you could both swim,’ snapped Pera.

  ‘Marius couldn’t, sir.’ He wanted to add, ‘If you’d also been there, we might have saved him,’ but didn’t dare.

  ‘Well, we’ve all heard the tale of how you saved a comrade from drowning. You would have been able to get out to the boat!’

  Quintus didn’t answer. What point was there? Pera would deny every accusation, and even more so when they got back to their own kind. There, Quintus’ lowly status would render his testimony worthless. I should have left the prick to be discovered by the soldiers, he brooded. If I had, the guards at the gate wouldn’t have been suspicious of us, and Marius would still be alive. Right then and there, Quintus considered killing Pera. As before, it was the presence of another that stopped him. To ensure that he didn’t talk afterwards, Quintus would have to murder the fisherman in cold blood – and that he was not prepared to do.

  ‘I wonder who it was that told Epicydes of our plan?’ mused Pera.

  That detail came crashing back, and again Quintus had to bite his lip. The officer in charge of the soldiers with the captive had mentioned Attalus. It couldn’t be coincidence, Quintus decided. This was no longer just about Marius’ death, and how Pera would have left them both to die. The whole damn conspiracy – Marcellus’ great plan to end the siege – had gone up in flames because Pera had not been prepared to win over one more man. Gods, but what would Marcellus do if he found that out?

  Quintus eyed Pera sidelong. The centurion hadn’t heard what he had, or he wouldn’t be wondering how their efforts had come to nothing. Yet Quintus couldn’t say a word about that either, or Pera would try to murder him for the second time. A mixture of fury and frustration stung him. It would be best to keep his mouth shut entirely.