Hannibal Enemy of Rome (2011) Read online

  At last Quintus understood, and a happier expression replaced the sullen one.

  Hanno hoped that Quintus and Aurelia would take him along too. Agesandros could not do a thing to him while he was with them. Moreover, he had come to enjoy the outings.

  ‘Do you still think this is a good idea?’ asked Atia when the children were gone.

  Fabricius grimaced. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You said yourself that no one suitable is interested in finding a bride at the moment.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Maybe we should leave it for six months or a year?’

  His frown deepened. ‘Where’s the benefit in that? Don’t tell me that you’re having second thoughts?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘You are!’

  ‘Do you remember our reason for getting married, Fabricius?’ she asked gently.

  A guilty look stole on to his face. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Is it so surprising, then, that it’s hard for me to think of forcing Aurelia into an arrangement against her will?’

  ‘It’s difficult for me too,’ he objected. ‘But you know why I’m doing it.’

  Atia sighed.

  ‘I’m trying to better our family. I can’t do that with a huge debt hanging over my head.’

  ‘You could always ask Martialis for help.’

  ‘I might owe thousands of didrachms to a moneylender in Capua, but I’ve still got my pride!’ he retorted.

  ‘Martialis wouldn’t think any less of you.’

  ‘I don’t care! I wouldn’t ever be able to look him in the eye again.’

  ‘It’s not as if you gambled the money away on chariot racing! You needed the money because of the terrible drought two years ago. There’s no shame in telling him that we had no crops to sell.’

  ‘Martialis isn’t a farmer,’ said Fabricius heavily. ‘He might understand if my problems were about property, but this …’

  ‘You could try,’ Atia murmured. ‘He’s your oldest comrade, after all.’

  ‘A friend is the worst possible person to borrow from. I’m not doing it.’ He fixed her with his stare. ‘If we don’t want the farm to be repossessed in the next few years, the only way forward is to marry Aurelia into a wealthy family. That knowledge alone will keep the moneylender off our backs indefinitely.’

  ‘Maybe so, but it won’t make the money appear from thin air.’

  ‘No, but with the gods’ favour, I will win more recognition in this war than I did in the last. After it’s over, I’ll secure a local magistrate’s job.’

  ‘And if you don’t?’

  Fabricius blinked. ‘It’ll be down to Quintus. With the right patronage, he could easily reach the rank of tribune. The yearly pay that position brings in will make our debts seem like a drop in the ocean.’ He leaned in and kissed her confidently. ‘You see? I have it all worked out.’

  Atia didn’t have the heart to protest any further. She couldn’t make Fabricius go to Martialis, nor could she think of another strategy. She smiled bravely, trying not to think of an alternative, but entirely possible scenario.

  What if Fabricius didn’t come home from the war? What if Quintus never achieved the tribuneship?

  Over the following weeks, it became the siblings’ daily norm to go to the clearing. Pleased by the constant stream of mushrooms, hazelnuts, and the occasional deer brought down by Quintus’ arrows, Atia did not protest. Because Aurelia had given Hanno the credit for their haul, he was allowed to accompany them. To Hanno’s surprise, Aurelia’s skill with the gladius was slowly improving, and Quintus had begun teaching her to use a shield. Not long after that, he brought two genuine swords with him. ‘These are just to give you an idea of what using the real thing feels like,’ he said, as he handed one to Aurelia. ‘I want no funny stuff.’

  Hanno eyed the long, waisted blade in Aurelia’s hand with unabashed pleasure. It wasn’t that different to the weapon he’d owned in Carthage.

  Quintus saw his interest and frowned. ‘You know how to use one of these?’

  Hanno jerked back to the present. ‘Yes,’ he muttered unwillingly.

  ‘How?’

  ‘My father used to train me.’ Hanno deliberately made no mention of his brothers.

  ‘Is he a soldier?’

  ‘He was,’ lied Hanno. The less Quintus knew, the better.

  ‘Did he fight in Sicily?’

  Hanno nodded reluctantly.

  Quintus looked surprised. ‘So did mine. He spent years in the cavalry there. Father says that your people were worthy enemies, who only lacked a decent leader.’

  No longer, thought Hanno triumphantly. Hannibal Barca will change all that. With an effort, he shrugged at Quintus. ‘Maybe.’

  Quintus’ mouth opened to ask another question.

  ‘Let’s practise!’ interjected Aurelia.

  To Hanno’s relief, the moment passed. Quintus responded to his sister’s demand, and the two began sparring gently with the gladii.

  Hanno headed off to check their snares. Shortly afterwards, and some distance from the clearing, he found the trail of a wild boar. He hurried back with the news as fast as his manacles would let him. Because of its rich flavour, boar meat was highly prized. The creatures were secretive too, and hard to find. An opportunity to kill one should not be passed up. Hanno’s news immediately stopped Quintus practising with Aurelia. Sheathing the gladii, he rolled them up in a blanket and stuffed them into his pack. ‘Come on!’ he cried, sweeping up his bow.

  Aurelia rushed after him. She was as keen as any to bring a boar back to the house.

  Within a hundred paces, Hanno had fallen well behind. ‘I can’t go any faster,’ he explained when the young Romans turned impatiently.

  ‘We might as well give up now, then,’ said Quintus with a scowl. ‘Or you can just stay here.’ He had the grace to flush.

  Despite this, Hanno clenched his fists. I found the damn trail, he thought. Not you.

  There was a short, uncomfortable pause.

  ‘I can help,’ Aurelia announced suddenly. From inside her dress she produced a small bunch of keys. Kneeling by Hanno’s side, she tried several on one of his anklets before it fell apart.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ demanded Quintus.

  Aurelia ignored him. Smiling broadly at Hanno, she opened the other. She couldn’t help thinking how like the statue of a Greek athlete he looked.

  Incredulous, Hanno lifted his feet one after another. ‘Baal Hammon’s beard, that feels good.’

  Quintus stepped forward. ‘How in Hades did you get those keys?’

  Aurelia swelled with pride. ‘You know how Agesandros likes to drink in the evenings. He’s often snoring before Vespera. All I had to do was creep in and take an impression of each in wax, and get the smith to make them for me. I told him that they were for Father’s chests, and gave him a few coins to make sure he told no one.’

  Quintus’ eyes widened at his sister’s daring, but he still wasn’t happy. ‘Why did you do it?’

  Aurelia wasn’t going to admit the real reason, which was that she had come to abhor Hanno’s fetters. Most slaves didn’t have theirs removed until they’d been around for years and were no longer deemed a flight risk, but a small number were never trusted. Naturally, Agesandros had persuaded Fabricius that Hanno fell into this category. ‘For a day like this,’ she challenged, lifting her chin. ‘So we could hunt properly.’

  ‘He’ll run away!’ Quintus cried.

  ‘No, he won’t,’ Aurelia retorted hotly. She turned to Hanno. ‘Will you?’

  Caught off guard by the bizarre situation, and stunned by Aurelia’s action, Hanno stuttered to find an answer. ‘N-no, of course not.’

  ‘There!’ Aurelia gestured in triumph at her brother.

  ‘You believe that? He’s a slave!’

  Aurelia’s eyes blazed. ‘Hanno is trustworthy, Quintus, and you know it!’

  Quintus matched her gaze for a moment. ‘Very well.’ He lo
oked at Hanno. ‘Do you give your word not to run away?’

  ‘I swear it. May Tanit and Baal Hammon, Melqart and Baal Saphon be my witnesses,’ said Hanno in a steady voice.

  ‘If you’re lying,’ muttered Quintus, ‘I’ll hunt you down myself.’

  Hanno stared stolidly back at him. ‘Fine.’

  Quintus gave him a curt nod. ‘Lead on, then.’

  Relishing the freedom of being able to run for the first time in months, Hanno bounded off towards the spot where he’d seen the boar’s spoor. Of course he thought of escape, but there was no way Hanno would break the vow he’d just made.

  Frustratingly, the boar proved elusive to the point of exasperation.

  An hour later, they had still not laid eyes on it. The animal’s trail had led them to a point where the forest thinned as it climbed the mountain slope above, and there it had disappeared. A large area of bare rock meant that their chances of finding it again were very slim.

  Quintus looked at the darkening sky and cursed. ‘We’ll have to give up soon. I don’t fancy spending the night here. Let’s spread right out. That’s probably our best option.’

  While Aurelia walked off to Quintus’ left, Hanno moved slowly to the right. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, but saw nothing at all for a good two hundred paces. His gaze wandered to the slopes above them. Much of the ground was covered in short scrubby grass, and fit only for sheep or goats.

  Hanno frowned. Some distance above them, and partially obscured by a scattering of juniper and pine trees, he could see a small wooden structure. Smoke rose lazily from a hole in the apex of its roof. Latticed fencing around it revealed the presence of sheep pens. It didn’t surprise him. Like most landowners, Fabricius’ flocks wandered the hills during the spring and summer, accompanied by solitary shepherds and their dogs. Makeshift huts, and enclosures for the animals, were situated regularly across the landscape, shelter in case of bad weather and protection against predators such as wolves. To his astonishment, however, Hanno heard the sound of bleating. He looked up at the sky. It was early for the animals to be back from pasture. He glanced at Quintus, who was still casting about for signs of the boar. Aurelia was visible beyond. She too appeared oblivious.

  Hanno was about to give a low whistle, when something stopped him. Instead, he trotted back towards the two Romans.

  Quintus grew excited as he saw Hanno approach. ‘Seen something?’

  ‘The sheep up there are penned in,’ said Hanno. ‘A bit soon, isn’t it?’

  Quintus raised a hand to his eyes. ‘By Jupiter, you’re right,’ he admitted, annoyed that he hadn’t noticed first. ‘Libo is the shepherd around here. He’s a good man, not one to avoid work.’

  Hanno’s stomach clenched.

  ‘I’m not happy.’ Quintus took off his pack and emptied it on the ground. He unrolled the cloak. Carefully shoving one gladius into his belt, he handed the other to Aurelia, who had caught up with them. ‘You probably won’t need it,’ he said with a falsely confident smile. Bending the stave with his knee, Quintus slipped his bowstring into place. There were ten arrows in his quiver. Plenty, he thought.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Aurelia demanded.

  ‘Probably nothing,’ replied Quintus reassuringly. ‘I’m just going to take Hanno and check out that hut.’

  Fear flared in Aurelia’s eyes, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. ‘What shall I do?’

  ‘Remain here,’ Quintus ordered. ‘Stay hidden. Under no circumstances are you to follow us. Is that clear?’

  She nodded. ‘How long should I wait?’

  ‘A quarter of an hour, no more. If we haven’t reappeared by then, return to the farm as fast as you can. Find Agesandros, and tell him to bring plenty of men. Well armed.’

  At this, Aurelia’s composure cracked. ‘Don’t go up there,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s just fetch Agesandros together.’

  Quintus thought for a moment. ‘Libo could be in danger. I have to check,’ he declared. He patted Aurelia’s arm. ‘Everything will be fine, you’ll see.’

  Aurelia saw that her brother was not to be swayed. She took a step towards Hanno, but stopped herself. ‘Mars protect you both,’ she whispered, hating the way her voice trembled.

  And Baal Saphon, thought Hanno, invoking the Carthaginian god of war.

  Leaving Aurelia peering from behind a large pine, the two young men began to ascend. Quintus was surprised by the imperceptible change that had already taken place in their relationship. Although they could see no human activity above, both were instinctively using the few bushes present for cover. As soldiers would. Don’t be stupid. He’s a slave. ‘It’s bandits,’ Quintus muttered to himself. ‘What else can it be?’

  ‘That’s what it would be in the countryside around Carthage,’ replied Hanno.

  Quintus cursed. ‘I wonder how many there are?’

  Hanno shrugged uneasily, wishing he had a weapon. It wasn’t surprising that Quintus had given the other gladius to Aurelia, but it grated on him nonetheless. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  Quintus’ lips had gone very dry. ‘What if there are too many for me to take on?’

  ‘We try not to shit ourselves, and then crawl out of there on our bellies,’ Hanno answered dryly. ‘Before going to get help.’

  ‘That sounds like a good plan.’ Despite himself, Quintus grinned.

  The rest of the climb was made in silence. The last point of cover before the shepherd’s hut was a stunted cypress tree, and they reached it without difficulty. Recovering their breath, each took turns to peer at the pens and the miserable structure alongside, which was little more than a leanto. His lips moving silently, Quintus counted the sheep. ‘I make it more than fifty,’ he whispered. ‘That’s Libo’s entire flock.’

  Be logical, thought Hanno. ‘Maybe he’s ill?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Quintus replied. ‘Libo is as hard as nails. He’s lived in the mountains all his life.’

  ‘Let’s wait a moment then,’ Hanno advised. ‘No point rushing into a situation without assessing it first.’

  Hanno’s observation made Quintus bridle. Slaves do not advise their masters, he told himself angrily. Yet the Carthaginian’s words were wise. Biting his lip, he drew a goose-feathered arrow from his quiver. It was his favourite, and he’d killed with it many times. Never a man, he thought with a rush of fear. Taking a deep breath, Quintus exhaled slowly. It might not come to that. Nonetheless, he picked out three more shafts and stabbed them into the earth by his feet. Suddenly, an awful thought struck him. If there were bandits about, and he was outnumbered, his bow was the only advantage he had. That might not be enough. Quintus was prepared for the potential danger he’d placed himself in, but he hadn’t really considered his sister. He turned to Hanno. ‘If anything happens to me, you’re to run down and get Aurelia the hell out of here. Do you understand?’

  It was too late to say that Quintus should have given him a sword, thought Hanno angrily. It would have been two of them against however many bandits might be in the hut. He nodded. ‘Of course.’

  It wasn’t long before there was movement inside the building, which was perhaps twenty paces away. A man coughed, and cleared his throat in the manner of someone who has just woken. Quintus stiffened, listening hard. Hanno did likewise. Then they heard the rickety door on the far side of the hut being thrown open. A short figure wearing a sheepskin waistcoat over a homespun tunic stepped into view. Stretching and yawning, he pulled down his breeches and began to relieve himself. Glancing sunlight lit up the yellow arc of his urine.

  Quintus cursed under his breath.

  Despite the other’s reaction, Hanno had to ask. ‘Is that the shepherd?’ he whispered.

  Quintus’ lips framed the word ‘No.’ Carefully, he fitted his favourite arrow to his bowstring and drew a bead on the stranger.

  ‘Could it be another shepherd?’

  ‘I don’t recognise him.’ Quintus drew back until the goose feathers at the base of the arrow nea
rly touched his ear.

  ‘Wait!’ Hanno hissed. ‘You have to be sure.’

  Quintus was again angered by Hanno’s tone. Nonetheless, he did not release: he too had no desire to kill an innocent man.

  ‘Caecilius? Where are you?’ demanded a voice from inside the hut.

  The pair froze.

  With a final shake, the man pulled up his trousers. ‘Out here,’ he replied lazily. ‘Taking a piss on the shepherd. Making sure he’s still dead.’

  There was a loud guffaw. ‘Not much chance of the whoreson being anything else after what you did to him.’

  ‘You can’t talk, Balbus,’ added a third voice. ‘He screamed the most when you were using the red hot poker.’

  Quintus threw Hanno a horrified glance.

  Balbus laughed, a deep, unpleasant sound. ‘What do you think, Pollio?’ There was no immediate answer, and they heard Balbus kicking someone. ‘Wake up, you drunken sot.’

  ‘The point of my boot up his arse should do the trick,’ Caecilius bellowed, heading for the door.

  Desperately, Hanno turned his head to tell Quintus to loose before it was too late. He barely had time to register the arrow as it flashed past his eyes and shot through the air to plant itself in the middle of Caecilius’ chest. With a stunned look, the bandit dropped to his knees before toppling sideways to the dirt. He made a few soft choking sounds and lay still.

  ‘Well done,’ whispered Hanno. ‘Three left.’

  ‘At least.’ Quintus did not think about what he had done. He notched another shaft and waited. The layout of the hut was such that if the remaining bandits merely looked out of the doorway, they would see Caecilius’ body without exposing themselves to his arrows. Jupiter, Greatest and Best, he begged silently, let the next scumbag come right outside.

  Hanno clenched his teeth. He too could see the danger.

  ‘Caecilius? Fallen over your own prick?’ demanded Balbus.

  There was no answer. A moment later, a bulky-framed man with long greasy hair emerged partially into view. It took the blink of an eye for him to notice his companion’s body, to take in the arrow protruding from his chest. A strangled cry left Balbus’ throat. Frantic to regain the safety of the hut, he spun on his heel.