by Ben Kane
She paced to and fro, wondering who was this visitor with knowledge of her family. With a sudden dart of fear, she thought of Phanes, the moneylender her mother had talked about. Before Cannae, he had made their lives a misery. She dismissed the idea. He wouldn’t have the balls to come here. Nevertheless, Aurelia was relieved to see that the man following the Thracian was not Phanes. He had the same dark complexion, but his black hair was tight and curly, not in oiled ringlets. Aurelia didn’t recognise him. Composing herself, she took up a position by the lararium, asking the household gods to watch over her.
The Thracian stopped a few paces from her. ‘He had a knife, mistress, but he gave it up easy enough. Nothing else on him, apart from a purse.’
Aurelia nodded her approval. ‘Remain here.’
The Thracian stepped to one side, allowing the visitor to approach. He bowed courteously. ‘Have I the honour of addressing Aurelia, daughter of Gaius Fabricius?’
‘And wife of Lucius Vibius Melito. You do, yes. Who are you?’
He looked up, revealing deep blue, wary eyes. ‘My name is Timoleon. I am an Athenian merchant.’
‘I know no Athenian merchants. Perhaps you have come to see my husband? He is not here—’
‘I am here to see you, my lady. I bring you a message.’
Aurelia felt a familiar flutter of fear in her belly. This could not be more bad news from Rhegium. Could it? ‘From whom?’
‘A friend.’ He cast a sideways glance at the Thracian.
Aurelia understood. ‘Return to the atrium,’ she ordered. The Thracian looked unhappy. ‘You’ve got his knife, haven’t you?’ she cried. ‘If I need you, I will call out. Go!’
With a final glare at Timoleon, he shuffled off.
‘Approach,’ Aurelia directed.
Timoleon drew near. ‘Thank you, my lady. My real name is Bomilcar.’ He paused. ‘It’s Carthaginian.’
Aurelia’s throat tightened. ‘Hanno sent you?’ she whispered.
‘I am here on … other business, but Hanno asked me to seek you out if I could.’
‘D-does he not think that I am still in Capua?’ she stammered.
A slight upturn of his lips. ‘With the city gone over to Hannibal? He knows that you and your family will always remain true to Rome.’
She felt her cheeks grow warm, and not just because Hanno had guessed where her loyalties lay. She thought of their embrace, the kisses that they had shared on the night of their chance encounter. ‘How did you find me then? How could you know where I had gone?’
‘I didn’t. My mission was to come to Rome, and while I was here, I made some enquiries. As you might imagine in a city of this size, they came to nothing. I gave up eventually. Two nights ago, however, I fell into conversation with a group of stonemasons who were drinking at my inn. One of them happened to mention that he’d been commissioned to erect a tomb to a lady named Atia, the wife of a man called Gaius Fabricius. He didn’t know much more, but I gambled that there wouldn’t be too many individuals by that name in Rome. It was easy enough to persuade him to tell me where your mother lived. A bronze coin placed in the hand of a slave there gave me your name and address, and here I am.’
‘You are a resourceful man.’ As Bomilcar smiled in recognition, Aurelia gave thanks for his persistence. ‘Is Hanno well?’
‘He is. Hale and hearty. He commands a phalanx of Libyan spearmen. Hannibal favours him too.’
Even the mention of Rome’s worst enemy and his soldiers, who had laid waste to half of the Republic, could not stop a creeping joy stealing over her. Hanno was alive and in good health! The gods had not abandoned her completely. ‘What message did he give you?’
‘He asked me to tell you that he thinks of you often. Often.’ Bomilcar let those words sink in before adding, ‘He said, “Tell her that with the gods’ help, we will see each other again one day.”’
Aurelia felt her knees grow weak. ‘I hope so. One day,’ she murmured.
Bomilcar smiled. ‘May my gods and yours see that it happens. Now, with your permission, I must go.’
Aurelia had to stop herself from crying out: ‘No!’ She longed to ask Bomilcar more, to get him to tell her everything about Hanno, yet she held her peace. Bomilcar was an enemy spy, in the heart of enemy territory. ‘You have risked much to come here. I offer you my heartfelt thanks, and the blessings of this household. Go in peace, and may your return journey be swift and safe.’
He gave her a grateful nod.
‘Can you take Hanno a message from me?’
His face grew sorrowful. ‘Alas, my lady, I cannot.’
‘Why?’
‘I am not at liberty to say.’
‘I swear, upon my mother’s grave, that I will not tell a soul,’ she beseeched.
A wary look, a sigh. ‘Hanno has gone to Syracuse.’
‘On Sicily?’ Her heart leaped. Rhegium was close to the island, where Quintus was. Now Hanno would be there too.
‘That is already too much information. I cannot tell you any more.’
‘Very well. Thank you,’ she said, bowing her head.
‘Farewell.’
When she looked up, Bomilcar was gone. An aching hole opened in Aurelia’s heart, and she longed to run after him. The encounter had been too brief, yet to delay Hanno’s friend would endanger his life. Receiving a message from Hanno out of the blue was enough good fortune, she told herself, and it gave her even more reason to go to Rhegium, to Lucius’ side. Aurelia felt only a little guilt. There was no chance of seeing Hanno or Quintus – how could there be? – but it would be comforting to be so close to them, even if it was for but a short while. No one else would know her underlying purpose; to all intents and purposes, her journey would look like that made by a devoted wife.
The main obstacle in her way was Tempsanus, but Aurelia had a feeling that she knew how to get around him.
‘You can say what you wish,’ said Aurelia, the next morning. ‘You are going to delay leaving until the feast in honour of my mother has been held in eight days’ time. Then I’ll be coming with you. So will my son, my body slave and my father’s old overseer, who has just been manumitted.’
‘The delay—’ he began.
‘Is acceptable.’ It was what she’d told herself repeatedly. Aurelia was not prepared to leave her mother’s funeral unfinished. ‘The day and hour of our arrival will not influence Lucius’ recovery. Only the gods can do that.’
Tempsanus sighed, looking apologetic. ‘I am sorry, my lady, but I will not allow it.’
Aurelia was ready. ‘Nothing in life is as important as those whom we care for,’ she said passionately. ‘I am not from Rome. What have I here? Other than my son and a few slaves, nothing! If you will not take me, I shall find my own way to my husband’s side.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I will go to Ostia and find a ship that’s sailing south.’
‘No captain will take you!’
‘For the right money, anything can be bought,’ Aurelia retorted. ‘Someone will be willing to afford us passage.’
‘You can’t do that,’ said Tempsanus, with genuine alarm. ‘For all you know, they might plan to steal your money, or sell you as slaves! Worse, perhaps.’
‘The gods will protect us,’ Aurelia declared breezily.
‘No. You cannot do this, my lady. As much as anything, Lucius would never forgive me.’
‘It’s none of your concern, Tempsanus. You are to leave today, is that not so? Once you’ve left, I will follow on behind. You can’t stop me.’ She gave him her most determined stare.
There was a short pause before resignation began to set into Tempsanus’ eyes and Aurelia knew that she had won.
‘Very well,’ he said with a sigh. ‘May Fortuna watch over us.’
‘And let Lucius still be alive when we reach Rhegium.’ He would recover faster with her there to care for him, she thought, and while he did, she could dream of seeing her brother again.
And Hanno.
Chapter V
HAVING TAKEN LEAVE of his brothers – parting from Bostar had been especially hard – Hanno had travelled to the western coast of Bruttium. In a tiny fishing village, he had found a crusty old sailor called Alcimos, in whose small boat he now found himself. Hannibal had ordered Hanno to make his journey as secret as possible, and his general didn’t have many ships at his disposal anyway. It was therefore best to arrive in Syracuse unannounced. There would be spies everywhere in the city; it was even possible that they’d try to kill Hanno before he met with Hippocrates and Epicydes. Making his own entrance, without any warning, gave him the best chance of success.
As Alcimos steered the little craft out to sea, Hanno stared at the coastline of Italy, and thought of his men and, most especially, Mutt. Their farewell had been far more difficult than Hanno had anticipated. The two had never shared that many secrets – it was only recently that Hanno had mentioned Aurelia to Mutt – but their experiences in combat had forged a strong bond between the two men.
‘You’re going then,’ Mutt had said.
‘Yes.’ Hanno had shifted from foot to foot, feeling awkward and stupid. ‘It’s time.’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Look after the men.’
Mutt’s brows had lowered. ‘You know I’ll do that.’
‘Yes,’ Hanno had replied, too fast. ‘Take care.’
‘I will, sir. You too.’ Mutt’s eyes had met his for a moment, before they flickered away.
‘Gods damn it!’ Hanno had stepped forward and enveloped Mutt in a bear hug. After a slight hesitation, Mutt’s arms had come up to grip his back. ‘I’ll miss you,’ Hanno had muttered. ‘You’re an excellent officer.’
‘So are you, sir.’ Mutt had released his grip; quickly, Hanno had done the same. Mutt had gazed at him, without smiling, as was his way. ‘The gods protect you, sir. You’ll need it, where you’re going.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Fortune seems to favour you, that’s for sure, sir.’ Mutt’s excuse for a smile had appeared. ‘The gods grant it always be that way.’
‘And the same for you.’ Hanno had wanted to say more, but didn’t have the words.
Mutt’s eyes had been understanding. ‘Go on, sir.’
‘May we meet again.’
‘I hope so, sir. One day.’
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Hanno had walked away. When he’d glanced back, Mutt’s hand had been raised in farewell.
Tears stung Hanno’s eyes at the memory, and he was glad that Alcimos was looking the other way.
He studied the horizon, searching it for sails, but saw nothing. Hanno had been a little surprised to see signs of the war on the sea. A Roman liburnian, one of the fastest ocean-going craft, had rowed north the day that they’d set out. He’d had no idea what it was doing until Alcimos muttered something about ‘official messages’ being sent to the Senate in Rome. Hanno had fantasised about taking the liburnian, and its communications, to Hannibal, but even if it had been possible, this was not his mission. They had been passed several times by Roman triremes, powering south to join the fleet being assembled near Syracuse. On the first occasion, Hanno had been very nervous. From a distance, he looked the same as any other fisherman – deeply tanned and clad in only a loincloth – but the vessel was so tiny that there was really nowhere to conceal his gear. Even the most cursory of searches would find his gear and sword under a pile of netting.
The trireme hadn’t even slowed down. The lookout had seen them, and called down to the deck; Hanno had seen the captain at the helm raise a hand to his eyes and stare in their direction, but that had been it. Each of the other warships had treated them in the same manner. So too had the great transports, of which there had been many, lumbering empty down the coast to Rhegium where they would be used to ferry soldiers, equipment and supplies across the straits to Messana. Eventually, Hanno had grown more relaxed about the sight of a sail. Thanks to the number of Roman ships on the waves, pirates in these parts were now rare. The fact that he was soon to go ashore wrenched him back to stark reality. This part of Sicily was possibly in Roman hands – Hanno had no idea how the war here had been going of recent days – and from the moment his feet hit the beach, danger would beckon.
A sense of melancholy stole over him. If anything went wrong from hereon in, there would be no salvation. Mutt and his soldiers, his brothers and Hannibal were all a long way away. Until he gained the walls of Syracuse, everyone he met was likely to be an enemy. He threw up a prayer to Tanit, the goddess who protected Carthaginians and their homes, asking for her help, and clutched Hannibal’s ring through the fabric of his undergarment.
‘We’re nearing the shallows. I don’t want to linger,’ said Alcimos. ‘Ready?’
‘Yes.’ Hanno glanced over the side. The water was crystal clear, and the rocky bottom was no deeper than his height. The shore was only a hundred paces distant. He fumbled in the leather bag that contained his clothing, sword, dagger, money and food. He took a gold piece from his purse; it was worth far more than the cost of his passage, but he had been given plenty by Hannibal, and Alcimos was a good man. ‘Here.’ Sunlight glittered off the coin as he proffered it.
Alcimos’ eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Take it, and forget that you ever saw me.’
It disappeared into Alcimos’ gnarly hand and for the first time since they’d met, a broad smile creased his weather-beaten face. ‘I am blind to you, my Carthaginian friend.’ With the ease of long practice, he furled the small sail. At once the boat slowed in the water; only the slight swell kept it moving towards the beach. ‘It’s chest deep. In you go. I’ll pass you your bag.’
It would be so easy for Alcimos to sail away with his possessions, thought Hanno, but a man had to trust sometimes. There was no simple way to get in other than jump, so that’s what he did. Knowing that the water would be cold made little difference as he went in. It took Hanno’s breath away, and he was grateful that his feet soon touched the bottom. When he looked up, Alcimos was holding out his bag. Hanno felt ashamed that he had even considered him capable of treachery. ‘My thanks,’ he said, placing it on his head to keep it dry.
‘May your gods keep you from harm. With luck, you’ll make Syracuse before sunset.’
Hanno nodded gratefully. ‘Let your return voyage to Bruttium be swift.’
‘I’ll take that, and full nets too, if I can.’ Alcimos was raising the sail again.
By the time that Hanno had waded ashore, the fisherman and his boat were five score paces offshore and more. As if he were already fulfilling his promise to forget Hanno, Alcimos didn’t look back. Hanno blocked the feeling of loneliness that rose in his chest. His mission had begun. Hannibal was relying on him. A glance up and down revealed that the beach was still empty; apart from Alcimos’ craft, so too was the sea around. Hanno delved in his bag again. A few moments later, he had clad himself in a worn labourer’s chiton. A neck cloth covered the scar on his neck, and a thin strip of leather served as his belt, and to hold his dagger at his waist. His intention, as he walked towards Syracuse, was to look like just another homeless peasant, carrying his worldly possessions on his back. If he was stopped by a Roman patrol, well …
Don’t even think about it. It won’t happen.
Willing his hope to be true, Hanno struck inland, off the beach.
Hanno’s troubles began when he’d reached the Hexapyla gate, the main entrance on Syracuse’s northern wall. He’d arrived outside the city the evening before, having seen no Roman patrols. The sun had been right on the horizon when the Hexapyla had come into sight, however, and he’d heard the guards calling to each other as they began to close the great wooden doors. Travellers seeking entrance to a city at such a time were far more likely to fall under suspicion, even more so when there was a war on. Despite the fact that he carried Hannibal’s ring and letter of introduction, he looked like a ragged-arse peasant without an obol to his name. It wasn’t im
possible that he would be accused of stealing the items, and his sword, but until he had the ear of a sympathetic or alert officer, it paid to be cautious. Frustrated and hungry, he had found a discreet spot under a tree some distance from the road, and there he had curled up in his woollen cloak.
After a poor night’s sleep, he had risen stiff and cold the following morning. Careful monitoring of the traffic on the road towards the city allowed him to approach the Hexapyla at the same time as a good number of others. The Romans might be near at hand, but people needed to enter and leave. Farmers and merchants had produce to sell, and labourers their time to offer. There were other travellers too, groups of soldiers returning from patrol, and conscripts from the surrounding countryside, answering Syracuse’s summons. Hanno tagged along behind a group of the latter, hoping that the guards wouldn’t pay him any heed.
His tactic didn’t work. Most of the sentries were enjoying rude banter with the conscripts, but one eagle-eyed individual saw that Hanno was on his own. ‘You there!’ he barked in Greek.
Hanno considered running for it, into the city, but it seemed unwise. Ignorant of Syracuse’s layout, he risked immediate capture as a ‘spy’. The wise thing to do was to stay calm and see what happened. He should have nothing to fear. That knowledge didn’t stop his pulse from beating a pounding staccato at the base of his throat. He looked up, casually, vacantly. ‘Me, sir?’ he said, answering in the same tongue.
‘That’s right, fool.’ The guard’s thick black eyebrows met in a frown. ‘I’m not looking at anyone else, am I?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Come here. Quickly!’ A man in middle age, he wore a dented bronze cuirass and a Boeotian helmet in similarly poor condition. He was armed with a sword and a long thrusting spear. Hanno had seen his type before. Given a little bit of power, and without an officer present, the guard liked to act as if he were Zeus Soter himself. Prick him hard enough, and he’d deflate like a goatskin bladder of wine. For all that that appealed, Hanno wasn’t in a position to do so. Appease the cocksucker and get into Syracuse, he thought.
