Quintus turned. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m not just an escaped slave. What if someone recognises me as a Carthaginian?’
Quintus’ chuckle died away as he saw Hanno’s real distress. ‘You don’t have to worry,’ he said reassuringly. ‘There are plenty of dark-skinned slaves in Capua. Greeks, Libyans, Judaeans. No one knows the difference. And apart from Gaius, no one knows what you’ve done. Nor do they care. You’re a slave, remember? Most people won’t even notice you, let alone challenge you.’ He dismounted. ‘Follow me. Look miserable and don’t catch anyone’s eye.’
‘Very well,’ said Hanno, wishing that he had the comfort of a weapon to defend himself.
To his relief, things went smoothly. The sentries didn’t even look up as he shuffled after Quintus. It was the same on the streets, which, thanks to the fast-approaching sunset, were emptying fast. People were more interested in getting home safely than studying a young noble and his slave. Housewives with baskets full of food muttered a few words with each other rather than having a full-blown gossip. Stallholders were boxing up their unsold produce and loading it on to mules. Many of the shops were already boarded up for the night.
Before long, they had reached Martialis’ house. Quintus’ loud knock was answered at once by Gaius himself, who grinned at his friend as he pulled open the gate. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ He gave Hanno a hard glance, but did not speak.
All of Hanno’s doubts returned. He ducked his head awkwardly, telling himself that Gaius must be prepared to help. Why else were they here?
With several domestic slaves looking on, however, there was no chance of asking. One of them scurried past to take the horse’s reins, and Gaius threw an arm around Quintus’ shoulders. ‘Let’s go inside. Father can’t wait to see you. He ordered a piglet roasted in your honour.’ Gaius eyed the stable boy. ‘Make sure my friend’s slave gets fed. Find him a bed too.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Hanno’s unease abated a little when Quintus turned and gave him a wink. Hanno forced himself to relax as the gate shut, leaving him on the street. He followed the boy around the corner of the house to the stables, which were in a separate walled courtyard. The young slave proved to be as taciturn as he was ugly. They rubbed down, fed and watered Quintus’ mount in complete silence, which suited Hanno down to the ground. Next they entered Martialis’ kitchen through a door in the adjoining wall. Similar to Julius’ jurisdiction, it was a hot, busy place, filled with the clatter of pans and shouted orders. The rich smell of cooking pork filled Hanno’s nostrils and set his stomach rumbling. Keen to avoid attention, he found a quiet spot in the corridor that led to the pantry, where he sat down.
A few moments later, the stable boy appeared bearing two plates heaped high with bread, roast meat and vegetables. He shoved one at Hanno. ‘You’re in luck tonight. The piglet could feed twenty people, so the master won’t notice if his slaves also have a share.’
‘Thank you.’ Hanno seized the platter. This was a better feed than he’d had in months.
When they’d finished, the stable boy squinted at Hanno. ‘Do you play dice?’
Hanno did, but he felt as tense as the arm on a cocked catapult. So much was at stake tonight. ‘No.’
Looking vaguely disappointed, the slave shuffled off. ‘Come on. I’ll show you a place to sleep.’
Hanno was taken back to the stables, and shown a quiet corner near the door. ‘No lights can be left in here. Too great a risk of fire.’ The stable boy indicated his small oil light. ‘I’ll be taking this with me.’
‘Fine,’ replied Hanno.
With a shrug, the slave left him to it. As the flickering glow of the other’s lamp receded, Hanno was left in complete darkness. He didn’t mind about that. It was more the fact that, with Suniaton’s escape so close, he was about to spend several hours alone. After a while, he began to look forward to the occasional stamp of a hoof or a gentle whinny. The frequent noise of rats scurrying to and fro was less welcome, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to his reason for being there.
To Hanno’s annoyance, the evening dragged by more slowly than an entire week. He spent an age praying to the gods, asking for their aid in ensuring that Gaius helped to free Suniaton. Growing frustrated with the overwhelming silence that met each of his requests, Hanno tried to sleep. He had no luck at all. His spirits rose when the stable boy and two other slaves entered the building. Despite his frustration, time was passing. Pretending to be asleep, Hanno heard them clamber up the rickety ladder to the hay store over the horses’ stalls. Their incoherent mumbling led him to assume that they’d been drinking. Their oil light was extinguished almost immediately, and it wasn’t long before a cadence of snores from above filled Hanno’s ears. After what seemed an age, he felt his way over to the kitchen door, where Quintus had told him to wait.
When the door opened smoothly inwards, it caught Hanno unawares. ‘Who is it?’ he whispered nervously.
‘Pluto himself, come to carry you away,’ Quintus muttered. ‘Who do you think?’
Hanno shivered. Even mentioning the Roman god of the underworld felt like bad luck. He offered up another prayer to Eshmoun, asking for his protection.
Quintus was followed by Gaius, who was carrying a small, shuttered lantern. Both were wearing dark cloaks.
Hanno could take it no more. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Outside.’ Gaius led them to the stable door, where he lifted the locking bar and gently laid it on the floor. A waft of cool air hit their faces as he tugged the door open. Gaius padded out and checked the street. ‘All clear!’ he hissed an instant later.
Quintus shoved Hanno out first, and pulled the portal to behind them.
‘Come on, Gaius. Are you finally going to tell us what you’ve planned?’ asked Quintus.
Hanno’s stomach clenched into a knot.
‘I will,’ muttered Gaius, ‘but your slave should know something first.’
‘He’s not a slave any more,’ Quintus hissed. ‘I freed him.’
‘You and I know that that holds about as much water as a leaky bucket.’
Quintus did not reply.
Hanno’s breath caught in his chest. Gaius was clearly cut from different cloth to Quintus. He wanted to leave, but that would mean extinguishing whatever hope there was of freeing his friend. Gritting his teeth, he waited.
‘I was stunned when you first told me what you’d done, Quintus,’ Gaius whispered. ‘I said nothing of course. You’re my oldest friend. But you took a step too far when you asked me to help free another slave. That I could not do.’
‘Gaius, I—’ Quintus began. The poor light could not conceal the embarrassment in his voice.
‘I changed my mind, however, when I found out who owned the slave you were interested in.’ Gaius paused. ‘The official who died was none other than the biggest persecutor of Oscan nobility that this city has ever seen. His shitbag of a son is little better. Stealing … freeing … one of his slaves is the least I would do to the bastard.’
Hanno let out a long sigh.
‘Thank you, Gaius,’ whispered Quintus. He wasn’t going to question his friend’s motives at a moment such as this.
At once Gaius brought them into a little huddle. ‘I started off by spending days hanging around in the street where the official’s son lives. I found out little, but I did get to know the faces of everyone who lived in his house. Then my luck changed. About a week ago, I saw the major-domo coming out of a brothel in a different part of town.’
‘So what?’ demanded Quintus. ‘That’s hardly unusual.’
Gaius’ teeth flashed white in the darkness. ‘Except when I went inside and asked who he’d been fucking, the madam went all coy. I slipped her a few coins, and she soon changed her tune. It seems that the major-domo has a taste for young boys.’
‘Filthy bastard,’ muttered Quintus.
An image of Hostus popped into Hanno’s mind. His father’s enemy was known for a similar
taste in flesh. ‘It’s disgusting, but is it a crime?’ he asked. ‘It’s not in Carthage, unfortunately.’
‘The practice is frowned upon by many, but it isn’t against the law for citizens, like us,’ Gaius replied. ‘Slaves are a different matter, however. I doubt that the official’s son would be too pleased to find out about his major-domo’s habits. The madam said that he tends to get overexcited. Violent. She’s had to intervene a number of times to stop her boys from being badly injured.’
‘Fucking animal,’ said Quintus, looking revolted.
Hanno was just grateful that he and Suniaton hadn’t been sold to a similar fate. ‘So you’re blackmailing him?’
‘Basically, yes,’ Gaius answered. ‘He’s agreed to drug the slave who guards the door, which will give him a chance to let Suniaton out. Of course the poor bastard doorman will probably end up on a cross for letting another slave escape, but the major-domo doesn’t care about that. He’s only thinking of his own skin.’
‘And if he doesn’t play along?’ enquired Quintus. His words made Hanno’s stomach clench.
‘His owner will receive an anonymous letter detailing his sordid activities to the letter, and giving the brothel’s address should he wish to corroborate the details.’
‘Excellent,’ murmured Quintus.
For a moment, Hanno’s delight at Gaius’ plan was soured by the knowledge that an innocent slave would suffer, or even die, so that Suni might be free. He quelled the thought without remorse. He would kill to save his friend. How was this any different? ‘It sounds foolproof,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m not doing it for you,’ Gaius replied curtly. ‘I’m doing it because it gives me an opportunity to get back at the official’s son.’ He chuckled at the others’ confusion. ‘By sunset tomorrow, everyone in the town will have heard the rumour that he likes to screw young boys. Not the best way to start a political career, is it?’ He looked at Gaius, who gave a resigned shrug. ‘Best get moving now, though. Stay close.’
Telling himself that it didn’t matter what Gaius’ reasons for helping were, Hanno followed the two Romans through the darkened streets. The only living thing that they encountered was a scrawny dog, which raised its hackles and growled at the interlopers to its territory. It darted, yelping, out of the way when Gaius aimed a hefty kick at it, and it wasn’t long before they were crouched by the front door of a nondescript house, three shadows that could barely be seen. Apart from the chinks of light that escaped the wooden shutters of a flat on the opposite side of the lane, it was pitch black.
Checking the street yet again, Gaius rapped lightly on the door with his knuckles. There was no response from within, and Hanno began to panic. He glanced at the myriad of stars that lit the night sky. Eshmoun, he begged, do not forget Suniaton, your devoted follower, and son of your priest in Carthage. Great Tanit, have mercy.
His prayers were answered a moment later when, with a faint creak, the door opened inwards. ‘Who is it?’
‘Gaius.’
A short man emerged cautiously on to the street. Seeing Quintus and Hanno, he stiffened. Gaius was quick to jump in with the reassurance that they were friends, and the figure relaxed a fraction. His receding hair, long nose, and darting eyes made him resemble a rat, thought Hanno distastefully. It was no surprise that he fucked little boys. Yet this was the major-domo of the house, who was also about to set Suniaton free.
‘Well, where’s the Carthaginian?’ demanded Gaius.
‘Just inside. I’ll get him,’ the major-domo replied, bobbing his head. ‘And you’ll say nothing to my master?’
‘I give you my word,’ Gaius answered dryly.
The other nodded uneasily, knowing that this was all he’d get. ‘Very well.’
He scuttled from view, and Hanno felt a tinge of suspicion at his speed. There was a short delay before he heard the sound of shuffling feet. Then Hanno saw a stooped figure framed in the doorway, and he leaped forward. ‘Suniaton?’
‘Hanno?’ croaked the other.
Throwing his arms around Suniaton, Hanno clung to his friend like a drowning man. He was dimly aware of the door shutting and a bolt sliding across to lock it. Hanno didn’t care. Hot tears of joy scalded his cheeks; he felt moisture soak into his tunic as Suniaton wept too. For a moment, they just stood there, each revelling in the fact that the other was still alive. Abruptly, Suniaton’s knees gave way beneath him. Hanno had to stop him from falling. He studied Suniaton’s face. Gone was the round-faced young man he was familiar with. In his place stood a gaunt-cheeked, unshaven wretch with long hair. ‘You’re half starved,’ Hanno cried.
‘It’s not that,’ replied Suniaton. His eyes were deep pools of pain. ‘I’m hurt.’
Suddenly, Hanno understood the reason for Suniaton’s hunched posture. ‘How badly?’
‘I’ll live.’ Despite his brave words, Suniaton grimaced. ‘I got beaten in a fight two days ago. I’ve got several wounds, but the worst is a slash across the top of my right thigh.’
Gaius thumped on the door. ‘Treacherous bastard! You said nothing about this.’
To his surprise, the major-domo replied. ‘I was told only to bring him out at the appointed hour. No one said anything about whether he was well or not.’
‘You whoreson!’ hissed Hanno. ‘I should cut your balls off.’ He leaned his shoulder against the timbers and heaved.
Quintus intervened. ‘It’s not safe here.’ He moved to stand by Suniaton. ‘You take one arm, and I’ll take the other,’ he said to Hanno.
Hanno nodded. There was no point wasting time. The major-domo could take his own chances now. Only the gods knew whether the drugging of the doorman would fool his master. It mattered not at all. They had to get Suniaton back to Gaius’ house, where they could examine his wounds.
Fortunately, Suniaton was proved to be right about his injuries. Although he was in considerable pain, the clean sword cuts were not life-threatening. As far as Hanno could tell, they had been stitched reasonably well. Yet the worst wound concerned him greatly. The biggest muscle in Suniaton’s right thigh had nearly been severed. There was nothing they could do about it, and so they prepared to leave. They had to get to safety before dawn. Bidding farewell to Gaius, the pair heaved Suniaton up on to Quintus’ mount. Having bribed a sentry, they passed out of the town with relative ease. The horse’s movement caused Suniaton so much pain, however, that he soon passed out. Hanno could do nothing but support his friend as he walked alongside. He would ask Quintus to get some papaverum from Elira later. For now, he thanked Tanit and Eshmoun, and asked for their continued blessing. Hopefully, Suniaton just needed time. Hanno was desperate to head for Iberia, but he would not leave his friend behind now.
The war would have to wait.
Bostar eyed the figures on the other side of the Rhodanus. Although the deep, fast-flowing water was more than five hundred paces across at this point, the Volcae camp was easy to make out between the trees that dotted the far bank. There were scores of tents and lines of tethered horses, denoting the presence of hundreds of warriors. Sentries patrolled the water-line day and night. Given that the tribesmen normally lived on both sides of the river, their intent could not be more plain. They would pay dearly for their combative stance, thought Bostar. Hannibal had given him his orders not an hour since. Once he’d made an offering to the gods, it was time to go. His phalanx and the three hundred scutarii the general had insisted he also take were already assembled beyond the Libyans’ tent lines. Their destination, an island at a narrow point in the river, was a day’s march to the north.
Sapho’s voice made him jump. ‘Why couldn’t the stupid bastards be like the other tribes around here?’
‘Sell us boats and supplies, you mean?’ Bostar asked, trying to look pleased to see his brother. What was Sapho, who still had no idea of his mission, doing here at this early hour? Why did I mention it to Father? thought Bostar, panicking. He took a deep breath. Calm down. I asked him not to mention it to a soul.
He won’t have.
‘Yes. Instead, they’ll kill a tiny fraction of our troops before being annihilated themselves. Even simple savages such as they must know that our army can’t be stopped from crossing the Rhodanus.’
Bostar shrugged. ‘I suppose they’re like the Ausetani. Defending their territory is a matter of pride. It doesn’t matter how badly they’re outnumbered. Death in battle is not something to be ashamed of.’
‘Sheep-shagging inbreds,’ said Sapho with a derisive snort. ‘Why can’t they understand that all we want to do is cross this poxy river and be on our way?’
Bostar refrained from asking the obvious question: wasn’t the response of the Volcae how Sapho, or he, might act in a similar situation? ‘Never mind. Hannibal gave them their chance. Now, what was it that you wanted? I was about to take my phalanx out on a march,’ he lied bluffly, unable to think of what else to say.
‘Gods, your men must love you. Haven’t we done enough of that recently? That explains why you’re in full uniform at this hour.’ Sapho made a dismissive gesture. ‘It was nothing that can’t wait. Just that I noticed plenty of game trails leading down to the water’s edge. I thought I’d follow them beyond the camp. Would you like to come along?’
Bostar was completely taken aback by this. ‘What, and go looking for boar?’ he faltered.
‘Or deer.’ Sapho threw him a crooked, awkward grin. ‘Anything to vary our current diet.’
‘A bit of fresh meat wouldn’t go amiss,’ Bostar admitted ruefully. He felt torn. The proposal was clearly a bridge-building effort on Sapho’s part, but he couldn’t disobey Hannibal’s orders; nor could he reveal them. They were still top secret. What to say? ‘I’d love to, but not today,’ he managed eventually. ‘Who knows what time I’ll get back?’
Sapho wasn’t to be put off. ‘How about tomorrow?’ he asked cheerfully.
Bostar’s anguish grew. Great Melqart, he thought, what have I done to deserve this? He and his men would only be getting into position by the following evening. On the far bank. ‘I’m not sure …’ he began.