Hannibal 03 - Clouds of War

  The boar grunted and lashed its head from side to side, making the men carrying him stagger. ‘Stupid fucking beast,’ said one of them, throwing a kick at it, but his blow missed. The boar resumed its squealing, alternating the sound with deep grunting. Kleitos laughed again, and Hanno had to smile. Hopefully, the Roman sentries would be terrified by the unearthly racket.

  They made good progress along the causeway, which was straight, and wide enough for two wagons to pass abreast. It was a case of moving at speed, thought Hanno. Get in, get the job done, get out. That’s all they had to do. His eyes scanned the road before them yet another time. Nothing. Out over the waves to his left, a night bird called. It was answered by another, and then another.

  ‘Here,’ said the priest suddenly.

  Hanno looked. It was as well that the old man was with them. He would never have spotted the tiny path that led off the causeway towards the sea.

  With a great deal of sweating and muttered curses, the deer and boar were manhandled down the gravel bank that formed part of the road’s foundation. Kleitos and the priest followed, leaving Hanno and five of the soldiers to keep watch. ‘How far away will you be?’ he called after them.

  ‘About a hundred paces, apparently,’ replied Kleitos.

  ‘I’ll put two men on the path then, thirty-odd steps apart. If I hear anything, you’ll know about it at once.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Kill the boar first if you can.’

  ‘I’ll mention it to the priest.’ With that, Kleitos was gone.

  ‘Gather round,’ Hanno ordered. His five men obeyed with alacrity. They were experienced soldiers, with well-maintained equipment and weapons. Following Kleitos’ orders, all metalwork they wore – helmets, shield rims, armour, greaves – had been smeared with mud to render it less visible. ‘Clearly, we don’t want to see as much as a Roman’s pubic hair out here.’

  They smiled, reassuring Hanno. Scared men didn’t have a sense of humour.

  ‘If we’re going to, though, we’ll need to know about it as fast as possible. Who’s the fastest runner among you?’

  ‘Me, sir,’ said a wiry soldier with a thick black beard.

  ‘And the second?’

  The wiry soldier glanced at his companions. ‘Him.’ He indicated a man with a Gorgon’s face on his shield, who grinned.

  ‘Head out along the causeway, both of you. Count out the distance carefully. I want one man five hundred paces from here, and the other at two hundred and fifty.’ The lead soldier would be damn close to the Roman siege wall. Hanno waited to see if there’d be any protest, but the pair didn’t even flinch. Good, he thought. ‘You’ll hear some sounds from the enemy line. Sentries talking, moving to and fro – you know. I don’t care about any of that, unless you think it’s a patrol. If that happens, you run back here like the wind itself. Clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ they both replied.

  ‘Off you go.’

  They vanished into the blackness while the other two clambered down on to the path. Hanno tried to listen to the progress of the first pair, but the boar’s complaints put paid to that. Offer the stupid creature up soon, please, he pleaded silently. Ordinary legionaries might be panicked by the noises, but an officer or a steady veteran would eventually realise what was going on. But there’d be no hurrying the priest. Proper ritual would have to be observed before the sacrifice could take place.

  He and the remaining soldier waited in silence. A hundred heartbeats dragged by, then another hundred. Hanno felt sweat trickling down his forehead, but he didn’t wipe it away. It was better if the other man remained unaware of his nerves. Damn it, how long does it take to say the necessary words?

  The boar’s shrieking took on a new urgency, and an even greater volume. Squeal! Squeal! Squeal!

  It stopped.

  Hanno found that he could breathe again.

  ‘Let’s pray that the goddess likes the offering,’ hissed the soldier beside him.

  And that they can kill the deer fast, Hanno wanted to add. Instead he said, ‘She will.’

  With the boar silenced, they could now listen out for the enemy. Hanno had hoped that this would make his task easier, but he twitched at every sound. The soldier seemed more unsettled as well. Time moved even slower than it had before and, to Hanno’s consternation, the clouds were clearing overhead. A myriad of stars appeared, improving the visibility beyond measure. By the time another three hundred heartbeats had pounded by, Hanno wanted nothing more than to find out from Kleitos what was taking so long. He stayed put, however, worried that to do so might affect how Artemis took the sacrifices.

  Thudding feet on the track pushed everything from his mind. Hanno’s worries surged as the two soldiers he’d sent out came charging out of the blackness. They skidded to a halt before him. ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  ‘They’re coming, sir,’ said the fastest one, panting. ‘I heard a gate creak open and men moving outside. They weren’t walking in step, and had no torches.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘If I had to guess, I’d say more than us, sir. They’re moving steadily, but not that fast.’

  ‘How far were you from the Roman fortifications, could you see?’

  ‘Not exactly, sir. Three hundred paces, maybe four?’

  Hanno cupped a hand to his lips. ‘Pssst!’

  The first man on the path came trotting in. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Tell Kleitos that he’d best hurry. We’ve got company. Potentially lots of it. Move!’

  The soldier saluted and hurried off.

  ‘Form a line across the road,’ hissed Hanno at the rest.

  Four of them were able to block the causeway, but they wouldn’t be able to hold it if the enemy came in any strength. It was as if the men with Hanno knew that. He could sense their rising fear as the moments passed without any sign of their messenger, or Kleitos. ‘Remember, brothers, that the Romans have no idea what’s been happening out here. They will be shitting themselves. We’ll let them come within a couple of hundred paces, and then I want you to start screaming, to make a racket that would wake the dead. Pretend that your throat’s being cut, or your balls cut off with a blunt knife. Lay down your spears beside you now, and draw swords. Hammer them off your shields when the time comes. Got it?’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ ‘Good idea, sir.’ They liked his suggestion, he could tell.

  They were joined by the pair of soldiers from the path soon after. ‘The priest has to kill the last deer yet, sir,’ one explained. ‘Kleitos said they’d come when that was done.’

  Clenching his jaw, Hanno settled down to wait a little longer. Perhaps eighty heartbeats had gone by when the unmistakeable sound of men moving along the causeway reached his ears. He leaned towards the man nearest him, the fastest runner. ‘Hear that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Go and take a look. Be careful.’

  Without hesitation, the soldier did as he was told.

  I must find out his name, thought Hanno. He’s a brave one.

  There was still no sign of Kleitos or the priest by the time that the lookout came tearing back. ‘They’re picking up speed, sir. There are thirty or forty of them, right enough.’

  A half-century, Hanno decided.

  ‘There’s a pair of scouts a short distance in front of them too. They’re why I had to come back.’

  ‘How far behind you are they?’

  ‘A hundred and fifty paces, sir, no more.’

  Hanno glanced down the path. No Kleitos. He cursed. If the enemy scouts saw them, they would alert the rest. If the Roman commander then ordered a charge, it would smash the Syracusans apart. It’d be sheer luck if any of them survived.

  They would have to implement his plan on just the two men in front of the Roman patrol, and before he and his soldiers were seen. Hanno had no idea if it would cause panic among the main body of the enemy, but his options had been reduced to one. Damn it, he thought, where was Kleitos?

  ‘Prepare yoursel
ves,’ he whispered. ‘I want your shouts to be heard on the bloody mainland. I’ll give you the signal by raising my right hand.’

  Hanno left it until his nerves could take it no more, until he could smell his men’s sweat. He could hear the scrape of sandals off the causeway’s surface, and he fancied he could see two shapes creeping towards them. Lifting his hand, he screamed with all his might, an unintelligible roar that hurt his throat. ‘AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!’

  His five men bellowed, roared and yelled beside him. They clattered their swords off their shields in a staccato rhythm, as maniac blacksmiths might beat a piece of metal.

  They kept it up for only the gods knew how long.

  At last, Hanno signalled them to halt. Sucking air into their chests, his men fell silent. Hanno listened. For a moment, he heard nothing. Then, the sound of sandal leather slapping off the ground at speed. Men were running – away. Exhilaration filled him, and he glanced at the fastest runner. ‘D’you hear that?’

  ‘Aye, sir. They must have imagined that Hades was sitting here on the road with Cerberus by his side!’

  ‘Good job, brothers.’ They weren’t out of danger yet, thought Hanno. What happened next depended on the mettle of the Roman officer in charge.

  The arrival of Kleitos and the rest was most welcome. Hanno scanned his and the priest’s faces. ‘Did the sacrifices go well?’

  ‘Aye,’ replied the priest in a satisfied tone. ‘All the beasts died easily, even the boar. Their livers and intestines were unblemished, and the goddess accepted the libation of blood.’

  How the priest could have seen enough to determine that the animals’ organs were free of disease, Hanno had no idea. And as for the libation – well, it was nigh-on impossible for blood not to pour out of an upturned cup. To say anything, however, would be counterproductive. The soldiers who’d witnessed the offerings seemed delighted. The news that Artemis was pleased would spread through the city like wildfire, and that had to be good.

  ‘The Romans sent out someone to take a look, did they?’ asked Kleitos.

  ‘Yes.’ Swiftly, Hanno explained what he’d done.

  ‘Ha! The screaming was an excellent idea. No doubt they’re running for their wall with brown sticky arses,’ said Kleitos. The soldiers guffawed. Even the priest smiled.

  ‘I hope so,’ answered Hanno.

  ‘Let’s head back. We’ve finished what we came to do.’

  Kleitos’ men were still forming up when there was a shout in Latin, not a hundred paces away. ‘FORWARD!’

  Everyone froze. The Romans couldn’t have entirely broken, Hanno realised in alarm. Now, they would have to fight. It was that or flee, which was as quick a path to Hades as any. Roman legionaries were lethal in the pursuit. He glanced at Kleitos. ‘We’d best make a stand, eh?’

  ‘I knew this might come in handy,’ muttered Kleitos, unslinging the package on his back. He pulled at the leather thongs that bound it tight.

  Hanno watched, bemused, as the distinctive shape of a carnyx, a Gaulish vertical trumpet, was revealed. ‘Where in all the gods’ names did you get that?’

  ‘There’s an old merchant from Gaul with a premises near my barracks. Before the siege, he used to import wine from his homeland. These days, he deals in whatever’s hard to obtain in the city. I buy cheese and wine from him. This normally hangs on his wall.’

  Hanno remembered Trasimene, and the fog, and how the hideous booming of hundreds of carnyxes had sent panic tearing through the Romans. Hope rose in his chest. It might do so again now. ‘Can you play it?’ he asked.

  ‘Let’s see. I had one go, which wasn’t to the Gaul’s liking, although it was loud enough.’ Kleitos stepped forward and raised the carnyx to his lips.

  ‘AT THE DOUBLE!’ roared the voice in Latin. Hobnails crunched off the surface of the road. The jingle of mail became audible. Hanno gestured urgently at his friend.

  Parr-parr. Kleitos coughed a little, and replaced it against his mouth. Booooooooo. Parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Zzzeyrrp. Booooooooo.

  ‘Shout! Scream, as if we are a hundred men!’ hissed Hanno at the soldiers.

  They took his meaning at once, bellowing at the tops of their voices, and clattering their blades off their shields. Fifteen of them made far more noise than five had. Spurred on, Kleitos blew and blew until it seemed the tongue might fly out of the beast’s mouth at the top of the carnyx. Parr-parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Zzzeyrrp. Booooooooo. His efforts were like a strangled version of the noise made by the instruments that Hanno had heard before. For all that, they were deafening. What they would sound like when coming out of the pitch-black night, he had no idea. With any luck, they would be bowel-churningly frightening.

  Parr-parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Zzzeyrrp. Booooooooo. Parr-parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Zzzeyrrp. Booooooooo.

  Hanno peered into the gloom, preparing for the arrival of a large number of Roman legionaries. He waited, heart thumping in his chest. And waited. Around him, the men continued to shout and roar, but Hanno could sense that they too were increasingly uneasy.

  At last Kleitos had to stop to draw breath. He lowered the carnyx, looked at Hanno. ‘Well? Are the stinking dogs coming? Or have they run?’ He wiped his brow and lifted the instrument again. Parr-parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Zzzeyrrp. Booooooooo.

  Hanno’s stomach knotted. He knew what Kleitos meant. Someone had to advance to see if their enemies had fled, risking instant death if the legionaries had not been scared off. Fuck it, he thought. With a white-knuckle grip on his sword, he slid his feet forward. Step by sweating step, he moved towards the Roman fortifications. Five paces. Ten. Fifteen, and then twenty. Behind him, Kleitos blew as if his life depended on it. His soldiers’ clamour went on unabated. The combination made a horrendous din, but Hanno would have preferred to stay close to it rather than to walk away, into the mouth of death.

  At fifty paces, he stopped. There was something large lying on the road. Hanno crept closer, ready for a trap. Finding a scutum, he laughed out loud. Two steps away, he saw a pilum. ‘They ran,’ he said. ‘They bloody ran!’ Fear gone, he strode forward another fifty paces along the causeway. There wasn’t a Roman in sight. One more scutum, and a few pila, but no flesh-and-blood legionaries.

  Parr-parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Zzzeyrrp. Booooooooo. Kleitos’ efforts on the carnyx continued, but they were faltering somewhat.

  Hanno grinned. He should return with the good news before Kleitos collapsed. He trotted back. The news made Kleitos laugh so hard that he had a coughing fit. ‘It’s almost a shame that the wine is being given out for nothing at the moment,’ he said, recovering. ‘I wouldn’t have had to open my purse for a day or two.’

  ‘Longer than that,’ Hanno observed, wiping tears of amusement from his own eyes. ‘To think of taking the carnyx was pure genius.’

  ‘It wasn’t a bad idea, eh?’

  ‘Truly, the gods are on our side this night,’ added the priest with a pleased look.

  Hanno bowed his head in respect. It did indeed seem as if the divine powers had given their approval. Thank you, Great Huntress. Thank you, Baal Saphon. With your help, we can smash Marcellus’ legions when Himilco arrives, and end the war on Sicily.

  Upon Kleitos’ order, they began a quick march back to Syracuse, making no effort to be quiet. It was unlikely that the legionaries would be rallied, but as Kleitos said to Hanno, it would be a shame to suffer any casualties because they had dawdled too long. ‘Let our suffering be in the form of pounding heads and cold sweats from the wine we drank tonight,’ he declared.

  ‘I think I’ll join you in the pursuit of that,’ said Hanno happily. After what had just happened, the hangover would be worth it.

  Chapter XXIII

  QUINTUS AND URCEUS were in the same spot below Galeagra as they had been on their spying mission a week before. This time, it was with an altogether different purpose. Corax was with them; so too was the entire maniple. Five other maniples of hastati were manoeuvring into position
behind: almost a thousand soldiers all told. Pera’s unit was among them. Ten ladders that had been constructed secretly were with Corax’s troops. Marcellus had believed Corax, thought Quintus triumphantly. Marcellus had questioned him for two hours and more, Corax had told Quintus later, but he had accepted his story. As if to show the gods’ favour, a newly arrived Syracusan deserter had mentioned the forthcoming festival of Artemis, which would last for three days. To placate the city’s restless inhabitants, who were angered by the growing shortage of food, Epicydes had let it be known that unlimited wine would be available, gratis, during the entire festival.

  It had been clever of Marcellus to delay their attack until the second night of festivities, Quintus decided. Everyone who had abstained on the first night would want to catch up with what they had missed out on. The ones with sore heads would be adopting the hair-of-the-dog approach. And the ones who didn’t drink? Well, there were few people indeed who could refuse free wine. If there had ever been a good opportunity to attack Syracuse, this was it. It was all thanks to him. Marcellus didn’t know that, but Corax did. He’d even taken Quintus aside and thanked him afterwards.

  ‘If this works, I’ll personally find enough wine for you and the rest to get pissed for a week,’ he’d also said.

  ‘I will hold you to that, sir,’ Quintus had replied, laughing.

  Quintus didn’t feel quite so humorous now. He was crouched before the defensive ditch, weighed down by his equipment, and by the knowledge that when Corax gave the signal, he would be the first to move to the base of the wall. The men behind him – Urceus and his other tent mates, and after them the remainder of the maniple – were carrying the twenty-cubit-long ladders. Once they had reached him and they had listened out for enemy activity, it would be Quintus who went up the first ladder. Urceus and his comrades would follow him, and then Corax and the rest.