Hannibal: Fields of Blood (21 page)

A moment later, he caught sight of the Numidian, a lithe figure in a sleeveless tunic clamped to his mount’s chest and belly. Quintus’ breath caught in his throat. If he threw at this angle and missed, his javelin would strike the black. But it couldn’t be helped. It was that or a second man would get away. He closed one eye, took aim and hurled his spear with all his force. It shot through the air and drove into the Numidian’s back with a meaty
thump
. A scream of agony, and the man’s grip failed. He dropped to the dirt. Freed of its load, the black galloped off. Quintus was relieved to see no signs of blood in its coat. If Big Tenner had thrown, he thought, the javelin would have skewered the Numidian and horse both.

Dragging out his gladius, he ran towards the Numidian. He had gone only a couple of strides when he felt a stinging sensation slice across the top of his left shoulder. A whoosh of air and the javelin had gone, driving into the ground by the Numidian’s feet. ‘Clumsy bastard! Watch where you’re throwing!’ Quintus shouted. He spun to see who had made such a stupid mistake.

From a short distance away, Macerio’s baleful gaze met his. Death was in his eyes.

Quintus could have sworn that the blond man was about to throw another spear, but then Urceus and Rutilus were shoving past, roaring curses at the Numidian, finishing him with savage thrusts of their swords. Without a word, Macerio trotted back to where the other enemy riders were being dispatched. At once Quintus’ attention was taken by Rutilus and Urceus, who came over to congratulate him on hitting the last Numidian. He let out a gusty sigh of relief. It was over. They had won. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he suddenly felt drained. Yet the combat had lasted mere moments. In that short time, five Numidians had been slain. Two horses needed their throats cut to end their suffering, but the others were long gone. Nonetheless, the ambush had been a resounding success. Around him, men were giving each other pleased, relieved looks.

Big Tenner remained focused. ‘No hanging about on the road,’ he barked. ‘Gods know who might come riding along. The Numidian who escaped might have friends nearby. Search the dead if you wish, quickly, and then let’s get out of here.’

Urceus made a beeline for the amphora, which was lying on its side, its contents leaking on to the earth. He peered inside. ‘There’s still plenty left,’ he announced with satisfaction. ‘That’s all I need.’

There were whoops as coins and rings were emptied out of purses found on the Numidians’ bodies. Quintus’ amusement was soured by the sight of the dead being rifled. But any valuables present were Roman by right, he thought.

Rutilus saw him looking. ‘Whoever owned that stuff is dead.’

‘It still seems like stealing.’

‘Come on! If our lads don’t take it, someone else will.’

Rutilus was correct, but that didn’t mean Quintus liked it one bit.

‘Time to move!’ Big Tenner clapped his hands. ‘In case you ladies had forgotten, we’ve still got a patrol to finish.’

With good-natured grumbles, they withdrew to the shelter of the trees. As each five-man section split up again, insults were thrown, ridiculing various individuals’ poor javelin throws and the fact that one of the enemy had escaped. The amphora that Urceus had swiped was passed about. Quintus’ comrades were grinning from ear to ear, but unhappiness settled over him like a wet blanket as he watched Macerio vanish into the trees. He had only seen the look in the blond man’s eyes by chance, but he had not missed its meaning. Macerio had tried to murder him. Frustration mixed with Quintus’ anger. He had no way of proving what had happened. An accusation would result in Macerio denying everything. Killing him before he tried again would work, but Quintus didn’t have the stomach for slaying a man in cold blood – even someone like Macerio. Better to keep quiet, and stay alert. Urceus’ amphora was thrust at him, but he refused it with a word of mumbled thanks. From now on, brooded Quintus, he would need to make sure that he had company all the time. It was bad enough having the Carthaginians to worry about without having an enemy in his own camp.

Yet that was his new reality.

Chapter VII

Capua

FROM THE FIRST
time that they had met formally, Aurelia had liked Lucius well enough. He was attentive and courteous; he clearly found her attractive. Once this had become clear, her mother had postponed their departure for the farm. A week had become two; that time had since been extended to a month. Aurelia didn’t mind. This was infinitely better than living at home, where, since Quintus and Hanno had left, nothing ever happened. Every day, there had been something new and exciting to look forward to.

Typically for a Roman man, Lucius was poor at compliments, but she had never been given so many gifts. A smile of pleasure, and a little guilt, traced her lips as she touched the jet and carnelian necklace at her throat. It had been hers from the moment she’d made a casual comment while walking with Lucius through the city. Her little jewellery box, formerly bare, was now overflowing with earrings and bracelets. She had a stunning fan made from the tail feathers of an exotic bird called a peacock; he had even tried to buy her a little monkey as a pet. With her mother as chaperone, she and Lucius had walked around the forum, taken a boat trip along the River Volturnus and watched chariot-racing at the local amphitheatre. They had been to the theatre twice, and taken an overnight trip to the coast. The time since the confrontation with Phanes had been a veritable whirlwind of activity. There was even talk of visiting the island of Capri. While she wasn’t sure that she wanted to marry Lucius, Aurelia was having the time of her life. Why was it then that she wasn’t enjoying herself more? Agesandros wasn’t around to upset her. Atia had sent him back to manage their estate.

Aurelia knew well the reasons for her disquiet. Every night she thought about them until her head hurt. First was the fact that she didn’t find Lucius that attractive. He was a decent, likeable man, but he was so . . . what was the word she was looking for? Earnest. That was it, she thought. He was too
earnest
. Well meaning, intelligent, well educated, good-looking in his own way. Sadly, all those qualities didn’t stop him from being a bore. She’d initially had that thought when, during their boat trip, Lucius had begun expounding on the fish life in the River Volturnus. At the time, Aurelia had pretended to be fascinated, shoving away the idea and berating herself afterwards for even allowing it into her head. Whether or not she wanted to know the differences between freshwater fish and those that dwelled in the sea, it was wrong to think ill of him. She had every reason to find him physically attractive – the way she did Gaius, and had Hanno. No matter how hard she tried, though, her feelings would not change. She regarded Lucius as a friend, but nothing more than that. It didn’t help that, staying in Martialis’ house, she saw Gaius every day. If anything, her crush on
him
had intensified.

Her second problem was that her mother had taken a real shine to Lucius. It turned out that Atia’s father had been friends with his grandfather; the pair had served together in the first war against Carthage. Not only were his family cultured, they were also big landowners, with estates given over mainly to the production of olives. As Atia had whispered approvingly to Aurelia during a dinner with Lucius and his father, ‘The olive crops haven’t suffered like the wheat has of recent years. Olive oil is like liquid gold if you have enough of it, and they do.’ She had tried to tell her mother that she wasn’t interested, but Atia was having none of it. ‘You like him; he wants you. I understand that he’s been under considerable pressure from his father to marry. It’s time that he provided his family with an heir. That’s more than enough grounds for a marriage. Where there is friendship, love can grow,’ she had said firmly. ‘Lucius is a good man, from good stock. Your father would approve.’

‘Father doesn’t know a thing about him,’ Aurelia had protested. ‘He has to give his approval before any match can be made.’ Her hopes had plummeted with her mother’s answer.

‘I’ve already sent a letter to your father, telling him that Lucius is the perfect husband for you. If all goes well, we could hear back within a month or two, and the betrothal can be formalised.’

Defeated, Aurelia had lapsed into a gloomy silence that even Lucius could not lift. Furious, Atia had taken her home, pleading a headache. The lecture she had delivered at Martialis’ house afterwards still rang through Aurelia’s mind. Lucius was no older man, no Flaccus; he was of a similar age to her. He was not arrogant, or pompous, as Flaccus had been. He lived nearby, not in Rome, so she would be able to see her family regularly. He wasn’t interested in serving in the army – and there was nothing wrong with that – instead, he had decided to study law, after which he would enter politics. Lucius’ career choice meant that he would not, unless things grew far worse, have to leave as other young nobles would. There was little risk that he would die in battle, as her father and Quintus might. Why was she continuing to try and sabotage her planned betrothal, a god-granted path to salvation of the family’s fortunes? If she succeeded, Atia ranted, she would be condemning her own family to penury and worse. Was that what she wanted? Did she wish for a man like Phanes to assume the ownership of their estate?

Aurelia had been reduced to tears by the effectiveness of her mother’s words. She’d wanted to run to Gaius – the only friend she had in Capua – and throw herself into his arms, and tell him of her feelings. She had wanted to run away and take ship to Carthage, there to find Hanno. The latter was nothing but a dream – Hanno wouldn’t even have been there – but she could have chosen to go to Gaius’ room. Yet she had not. She had wiped her face, and agreed to her mother’s demands, telling herself that marriage to a man such as Lucius could be a good thing. Plenty of women had to live with worse matches than she. Best to count her blessings, and accept her lot.

The day after, trying to take her mind off the whole affair, Aurelia had asked permission to pay a visit to the temple of Mars, there to pray for her father and Quintus. With a new betrothal looming, she felt their absence more than ever. To her relief, Atia had reluctantly acquiesced, with the stipulation that two of Martialis’ male slaves accompany her for security. ‘Phanes has given me a month’s grace, but I still wouldn’t trust him, or any of the other leeches, not to harass you in the street, or worse,’ she said with a scowl. ‘If you see as much as a hair on his head, turn around and head in the other direction.’

Promising that she would, Aurelia set out. She stopped to buy a plump hen at the market – a suitable offering – before making her way to the temple. All went well within. The priest, a young, intense man with a beard, commented on the bird’s healthy plumage and bright eyes, and its apparent lack of fear. It died without a struggle, and its organs were free of blemishes of any kind. Mars had accepted her gift, and would keep his shield over her father and her brother, the priest assured her. Aurelia wasn’t as religious as she ought to be; she often forgot to say her prayers or kneel at the lararium in their house, but the ritual and his words gave her a good deal of comfort that morning.

Her spirits high, she slipped the last coin that Atia had given her to the priest and prepared to leave the temple. At that moment, Gaius entered in full army uniform: Boeotian helmet, bronze cuirass, linen pteryges and leather boots. He was a magnificent sight, and her stomach fluttered. Suddenly shy, she ducked her head so as not to be seen.

‘Aurelia? Is that you?’

She made a show of adjusting her necklace before looking up. ‘Gaius! What a surprise.’

‘I could say the same thing, seeing you here.’

‘You’re very handsome in your uniform,’ she ventured.

He grinned, looking boyish. ‘Do you think so?’

Aurelia wanted to pay him more compliments, but she could feel a tell-tale flush beginning on her cheeks. ‘I came here to ask Mars to grant Quintus and Father his protection,’ she said quickly.

His face grew serious. ‘I thought as much.’

‘The priest was happy with the sacrifice, and the omens were good.’

‘Mars be thanked! I shall include them in my prayers too, as always.’

She wanted to kiss him, but all she said was, ‘You’re a good man, Gaius.’

‘Quintus is my best friend, and your father has always been kind to me. It’s the least I can do.’

‘What brings you to the temple, and in uniform too?’

‘You’ve heard how Hannibal’s rabble has been laying waste to Etruria?’

She nodded, grateful that Capua was hundreds of miles from the conflict. It didn’t bear thinking about what might happen if the war came further south. ‘It’s dreadful.’

‘I won’t tell you some of the things I’ve heard,’ he said with a frown. ‘But the good news is that the consul Flaminius is shadowing the enemy. He’s trying to push Hannibal into a position where he and Servilius can strike him from both the rear and the front.’

‘That is worth praying for,’ she said, determining to ask the gods more often that Rome was victorious.

‘It’s not just that.’ He gave her a conspiratorial wink. ‘There are rumours that the local contingent of socii troops is to be mobilised.’

Shocked, she didn’t take in his meaning at once.

‘Soon I might be sent north, with my unit. Aren’t you pleased for me?’

Aurelia felt lightheaded. How could she be pleased? She wanted to rage and scream, to beg him not to leave her as well. ‘It’s so dangerous. Quintus and Father, they—’

‘They’re still alive, despite the setbacks our forces have suffered. The gods protect brave men such as they. With any luck, they’ll do the same for me.’ His eyes were bright with courage and enthusiasm.

‘I will miss you, Gaius.’
If only you knew how much.

‘I’m not going yet. But when I do, your new friend will keep you company. I’ve heard all about him from your mother.’ Another wink. ‘You won’t even notice I’ve gone.’

Aurelia felt even worse. He didn’t seem jealous of Lucius. ‘I shall pray for you,’ she whispered.
What if he never comes back? I have to say something, I have to.
‘Gaius, I—’