Hannibal: Fields of Blood (15 page)

‘I thought you were enjoying a swim.’

It was an odd time to make a joke, thought Hanno. He was so desperate, however, that the thought vanished. ‘Can you reach this?’ He shoved his spear in Sapho’s direction.

Using his own weapon to probe for secure footing, Sapho moved a few steps towards him. Before long, he was able to grab the spear’s tip. ‘Hold on!’

Hanno had rarely felt so relieved as he did when he felt his sandal suck free of the mud at the bottom. Drowning was not the way he wanted to die. The damp soggy ground beneath his feet felt wonderful. ‘Thanks.’

‘Anything for a brother. You all right?’

‘Just wet, but that’s nothing new.’

Sapho clapped him on the shoulder, and they moved on, using their spears to assess the water’s depth with even more care than before. Fortunately, the ground became a little drier for some distance, allowing them to close in on the boat. At about two hundred paces, Hanno reckoned that its occupant hadn’t been disturbed by the noise of his immersion. The craft had not moved at all. The figure within was busy leaning over the side, adjusting what looked like a fishing net. Hanno’s pace picked up. Perhaps another thirty paces later, his foot came out of the mud with an extra loud sucking noise. He cursed and ducked down, but it was too late. The figure stiffened, stared in their direction and straightaway began pulling his net out of the water.

Shit, thought Hanno. This was what he’d worried would happen.

‘He’ll be long gone before we can get close,’ observed Sapho dourly.

‘I know.’ Hanno cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Help!’ he shouted in Latin.

The fisherman’s urgency did not waver.

‘Come on,’ said Hanno. ‘The instant that he’s taken in that net, he’ll be gone.’

Half walking, half swimming, they managed to narrow the gap by half before the last strands of the net had been heaved aboard. The fisherman seized his oars and set them in the rowlocks. Leaning forward, he began to row.

Utter frustration took Hanno. ‘Please,’ he roared. ‘Help us, please! We mean you no harm.’

The figure stared at them, hesitated and then renewed his efforts at the oars.

‘We can pay you! Silver. Gold. Weapons!’

A glance over his shoulder. The oars went still in the water.

Hanno shot a look at Sapho and pushed a dozen steps closer. ‘We need a guide. Can you help?’

‘A guide?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ He made it another ten paces. ‘To lead us through the floodplain to the south. Do you know the way?’

A short laugh. ‘Of course.’

Now Hanno could see that the fisherman was in fact a boy of about ten years. Scrawny, with lank hair, he looked wary and ill fed. A tunic full of holes was his only garment. ‘Can you take us? You will be well rewarded, I swear it. How does a bag of silver sound?’

‘What need have I of silver?’ retorted the boy. ‘It’s of no use to me here.’

‘How about a spear like this?’ asked Hanno. With a flash of inspiration, he raised his weapon in the air. ‘It’s good for hunting.’

The boy scowled. ‘Maybe. Arrows are more useful, though.’

‘I can give you arrows,’ promised Hanno. ‘As many as you want!’

For the first time, there was a hint of warmth. ‘Really?’

‘I swear it to you on my mother’s grave.’

There was no immediate answer. Hanno let the boy think. Then he said, ‘Can I come closer?’

‘Just you. Not the cruel-looking one.’

Sapho, who didn’t speak much Latin, was oblivious. Hanno hid his surprise at the comment. ‘Wait here,’ he said to his brother. He moved towards the boat. At about twenty paces, the boy signalled him to halt. ‘No nearer.’

He did as he was told. ‘My name is Hanno. What’s yours?’

‘Sentius. Mostly, though, I’m just called “Boy”.’

Hanno sensed that however hard his life in Quintus’ household had been, it had been nothing compared to this boy’s existence. ‘I’ll call you Sentius, if that’s all right?’

A nod. ‘Show me the spear.’

Hanno held it out with both hands. ‘It’s for thrusting. You could use it for fishing, or maybe hunting deer.’

Sentius’ eyes studied the spear greedily. ‘Give it to me. Butt first.’

Ignoring Sapho’s hiss of dismay, Hanno waded to the side of the boat and handed it over. He wasn’t remotely surprised when Sentius whirled it around and aimed the tip at his face. All the same, he couldn’t stop his stomach from clenching with nerves.

‘I could kill you now.’ The spear jabbed forward. ‘Your friend wouldn’t be able to do a thing. I’d be gone before he ever got close to me.’

‘True,’ said Hanno, forcing himself to stay where he was, forcing himself to think of Hannibal’s reaction when he returned with a guide. ‘But if you did, you wouldn’t get the arrows you want.’

‘I want two hundred at least.’

‘Fine.’

‘And a dozen spears,’ added Sentius quickly.

‘If you can lead my general’s army out of this place, you’ll have them, I guarantee.’

A short pause.

Sentius had not agreed yet, which bothered Hanno. ‘Is there anything else you want?’

‘They say that great beasts accompany your soldiers. Creatures taller than a hut, with long noses and long white teeth. They can crush men underfoot like beetles.’

‘Elephants,’ said Hanno.

‘El-e-phants,’ Sentius repeated, his voice full of awe.

Joy filled Hanno.
This
was what would finally win the boy over. He knew it in his gut. ‘That’s right. Sadly, we only have one left. Would you like to see him, up close? His name is Sura.’

A dubious glance. ‘Is it not dangerous?’

‘Only when his rider orders him to attack. Otherwise, he is quite gentle.’

‘You can show me the el-e-phant?’

‘I can do better than that. You can even feed Sura if you wish. He especially likes fruit.’

Sentius looked amazed.

‘Have we a bargain?’ Hanno shoved out his right hand.

Sentius didn’t take it. ‘You will stay with me?’

‘I won’t leave your side the whole time you are with us,’ Hanno promised. ‘May the gods strike me down if I prove false.’

Sentius’ eyes flashed. ‘I will strike you down. With your own spear!’

Hanno pulled open his tunic, exposing his chest. ‘You can drive it in right here.’

At last Sentius seemed satisfied. He stuck out a grubby paw. ‘It’s a deal.’

Hanno smiled as they shook hands. Sentius hadn’t guided them to dry ground yet, but he would. Their suffering would soon be at an end. The price of ten score arrows, a dozen spears and a chance to feed Sura was cheaper than Hanno could have imagined. Surely, neither Sapho nor Hannibal could fail to be impressed.

‘Did you hear about the ox that escaped from the Forum Boarium the other day?’ asked Calatinus. It was evening, and they had finished their duties. Their comrades had gone in search of some wine, leaving the two friends alone in the tent.

‘No. They get out of the pens all the time. A slave forgets to push home the bolt and the gate opens,’ said Quintus dismissively. ‘I’ve seen it happen in Capua.’

‘It doesn’t matter how the beast got out. It’s what it did afterwards. For some reason, it ran up a set of stairs on the outside of a three-storey
cenacula
.’

Quintus sat up on his blankets. ‘What?’

‘You heard,’ said Calatinus, pleased that he had Quintus’ attention at last.

‘Who told you?’

‘A lad I know in another troop was talking to one of the messengers from Rome who arrived yesterday. Apparently, the crazy brute went all the way to the top of the building! The residents were terrified, and their screams sent it even madder. It jumped over the bannisters and fell to the street, where it crushed a child to death.’

‘Gods,’ muttered Quintus, picturing the gory scene.

‘I wouldn’t mind if that’s all that had happened,’ Calatinus went on gloomily, ‘but it’s just one of a litany of things. A shrine in the vegetable market was struck by lightning the same day. Among the thunderclouds overhead, men saw the ghostly shapes of ships. A damn crow even flew down to the temple of Juno and perched on the sacred couch.’

‘Did the messenger see any of these things?’ demanded Quintus, thinking of how his father rubbished such tales. ‘Or was it someone’s aunt’s cousin who did?’

Calatinus gave him a withering look. ‘So many people witnessed the ox throw itself off the balcony that it cannot be anything but true. The messenger saw the lightning bolt strike the temple with his own eyes, and the ships in the sky.’

Quintus didn’t like that, but he wasn’t going to admit it. ‘And the crow?’

‘He didn’t see that,’ Calatinus admitted.

‘Well, then. Even if it did land on the couch, it was probably just sheltering from the rain.’

Calatinus half smiled. ‘Maybe so. You know I wouldn’t pay these things much notice, but they’re happening all over. It rained rocks in Picenum a little while back.’

‘Come on! Rocks?’

It was as if Calatinus hadn’t heard him. ‘The priests at Hercules’ spring saw flecks of blood in the water last week. That can mean but one thing.’

Despite himself, Quintus felt uneasy. People were superstitious – they would easily assume divine hands directing the most ordinary events, but priests were less gullible. They knew whether the gods were involved or not, at least that was what most believed. His father was a little more cynical; Quintus remembered the comments Fabricius had made about the priests after his son had killed a bear to celebrate reaching manhood, and again before the Trebia, when ominous signs had occurred thick and fast. It had been easier then to dismiss the stories as mere rumours, thought Quintus unhappily. But the defeat by Hannibal had almost been a fulfilment of the bad omens. If they were recurring aplenty, did that not mean the gods were still unhappy? That the Carthaginians were about to win another victory?
Stop it!
‘I’d wager that Gaius Flaminius doesn’t worry too much about such nonsense,’ he said as confidently as he could.

Calatinus risked a glance outside. ‘That’s as may be. But what new consul leaves Rome before he’s been officially elected to office?’

‘He was just doing that to piss off the Senate. Flaminius has a grudge against many of the senators because of the way they treated him six years ago over his triumph celebrating his victory over the Insubres.’

‘Who cares?’ cried Calatinus. ‘This is no time to risk angering the gods. And that’s what he surely did by leaving the capital before the proper ceremonies have been carried out.’

Quintus didn’t reply. He felt the same way. If that had been the only thing that Flaminius had done, it wouldn’t have felt so bad. Ignoring the Senate’s demands that he return to Rome wasn’t the end of the world, but Quintus had not liked hearing the story of the calf chosen to be sacrificed when Flaminius arrived at Arretium. To everyone’s horror, it had slipped out of the priest’s grasp after just one, non-fatal strike of the knife. Even when it had been recaptured, no one had had the courage to kill it. The second calf chosen had died without protest, but the whole experience had left a bad taste in men’s mouths.

‘No doubt that’s why his horse threw him when we were about to move out the other day,’ said Calatinus. ‘And why that standard stuck in the ground.’

‘I think that telling the
signifer
to dig up the damn standard if he was too weak to pull it out was the right thing to say,’ said Quintus, forcibly rallying his spirits. ‘Flaminius is a brave man and a good leader. The soldiers love him. It’s not as if we’re sitting around on our hands. We’re trailing Hannibal until the right opportunity presents itself. We’re lucky that we were posted to Flaminius’ cavalry. Imagine still being stuck in Ariminum. Surely you’d rather be following a general who wants to fight?’

‘Gnaeus Servilius Geminus is no coward!’ barked a familiar voice.

Both men looked around, surprised and embarrassed. Calatinus jumped up and saluted, while Quintus glowered.

‘I don’t think that’s what Quintus meant, sir,’ protested Calatinus.

Fabricius’ gimlet stare turned. ‘Well?’

‘I wasn’t saying that Servilius is a coward,’ muttered Quintus.

‘I’m glad to hear it!’ Fabricius’ tone was sarcastic. ‘It’s not down to you, a stripling cavalryman, to stand in judgement on a consul. Servilius is doing what he was ordered to by the Senate, and that is to guard the east coast in case Hannibal should march that way. Just as Flaminius has been chosen to protect the west coast in the event that the gugga does the opposite.’

‘It feels wrong just to let Hannibal and his army ravage the countryside. I’m sick of seeing farms that have been burned to the ground and had all of their inhabitants butchered,’ said Quintus, letting his anger against his father flare alongside his outrage at what the Carthaginians were doing.

‘So am I.’ Calatinus’ tone was heartfelt.

‘Oh, for the eagerness of youth! Fear not,’ said Fabricius with a wink, ‘for Flaminius hopes to catch Hannibal between his army and that of Servilius. If he succeeds with that, we shall carve up the guggas like the Gauls at Telamon.’

Quintus’ spirits rose at that idea, but his father’s next words struck him like a punch in the solar plexus.

‘If it works, Calatinus, you should see action as well.’

Quintus gaped at Fabricius. No, not now, he thought. Please! Beside him, Calatinus’ surprise was also palpable. ‘I don’t understand. My arm is better. I’m ready to fight.’

‘It’s nothing to do with your wound. You’re to return home at once. Calatinus and seven others are to be posted back to serve with Servilius’ horsemen.’

Quintus was stunned into silence.

‘In Ariminum? Why, sir?’ asked Calatinus, looking confused.

‘Flaminius has had word from Servilius. He wants men who have fought Hannibal’s cavalry before. Too many of us were assigned to Flaminius’ units. Servilius has been left short, and he needs riders who can instruct his men in Carthaginian tactics. We agreed on a figure of eight men. I suggested the candidates.’

‘Why can I not go as well?’ demanded Quintus hotly. ‘I am old enough now! Besides, I have taken the oath.’

‘Hades, will you never learn to curb your tongue? I see your mother in you more and more,’ snapped Fabricius. ‘I’ve spoken to Flaminius. You’re going home, and that’s an end to it.’ He saw something in Quintus’ eyes and pointed a stern finger. ‘Technically, you will still be in the cavalry. You could be called up again – but only if you have demonstrably matured. If I hear otherwise, I’ll be sure to have your military oath annulled.’