Hannibal 03 - Clouds of War

by Ben Kane

  ‘Why Mama tied up?’ asked Publius, his bottom lip jutting.

  Aurelia was glad that the guards didn’t speak Latin. ‘It’s part of the game, my love,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘We have to go to a special place now, and find our clothes.’

  ‘Where?’ demanded Publius.

  ‘I don’t know, love. Follow me.’ Let it not be far, please.

  To her relief, she heard one of the others say that the slave market was only a quarter of a mile away. The officer and several of his soldiers led off, carving a path through the busy streets, and the rest took up the rear. Bizarrely, the experience wasn’t as horrific as Aurelia had expected, because few people even noticed their passage. It was yet more bitter medicine to swallow: slaves weren’t worth looking at. They were the lowest of the low.

  Publius was happy to trot alongside at first, but as the crowd grew denser, it became difficult for him to match the adults’ pace. At one stage, Aurelia had to stop to allow him to catch up. The rope that connected her to the next woman went taut, unbalancing her. Aurelia’s tearful apology to the soldiers and a promise not to do it again were enough – just. All she got was a heavy cuff around the ear. From then on, she made Publius walk in front of her, which forced him, complaining, to maintain their speed.

  Before long, they arrived at the marketplace. Aurelia was grateful for this tiny reprieve. Publius’ limits wouldn’t be tested further, in this at least. A gate in the outer wall, and the strong smell of the sea, revealed the site to be adjacent to one of the city’s harbours. Seagulls screeched and cried overhead, concentrating on the food stalls that lined one side of the roughly rectangular space. Lines of slaves filled the central area, separated according to sex, age and also by owners. They were all the colours and races under the sun: fair-complexioned Romans, Gauls and Germans, brown-skinned Greeks and Egyptians. There were Nubians, black as pitch, and even a pair of yellow men with black hair and slanted eyes – Seres, Aurelia thought they were called. The slaves were old, middle-aged, in the prime of life, stripling youths, children, and babes that were still at the breast. Every single one was naked; most bore the same numbed, blank expressions. Some of the women and children were crying, but their vendors were quick to silence them with threats or blows, or both.

  ‘Is this where we get our clothes back, Mama?’

  ‘No, my darling. First, we have to go with someone to find them.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  Publius’ attention had already moved on. Seeing a heavily built man chewing on a piece of grilled fish, he announced, ‘I’m hung-y! I want fish.’

  ‘Shhhh, my love,’ Aurelia urged, but fortunately none of the soldiers heard. After a little negotiation, the women were made to stand in a line close to a podium that stood in the very centre of the market. She managed to distract Publius by getting him to draw in the dust at their feet.

  Time passed in a haze of fractured images. The purchase by an officer, for a few coins each, of a handful of old, sick-looking men. Every soldier in the garrison was needed for the city’s defence, the officer told the slaver. The wretches were to be set cleaning out a section of the sewers that had blocked. If they died on the job, it wouldn’t matter. A mother and her small son being sold separately; the screams of distress from both as their buyers forced them off in different directions. A raddled-looking man, perhaps a brothel-owner, mauling every young woman he could find, including Aurelia and Elira. She breathed again when his attention settled on a blonde Goth and her companion, an auburn-haired, full-breasted woman. He bought both, along with one of the youngest girls in Aurelia’s group.

  The one constant, and oddly what kept Aurelia sane, was Publius’ whingeing. He was hungry, he wanted to go home, he wanted to cuddle with Aurelia, then Elira. Where was his daddy? Aurelia managed to keep him from wailing or crying, and Elira, who was beside them, played her part too. Yet desperation began to steal over Aurelia as tell-tale red marks appeared on Publius’ cheeks, and his voice grew a little shrill. He was tiring. Their ploys would not work for much longer. The guards were beginning to look irritated. She had seen at least one crying child ripped from its mother and sold to the first bidder, just to get rid of it.

  ‘Agathocles! It’s good to see you.’

  Aurelia’s head turned. The officer who’d captured them was talking to a thin, well-dressed man with neat black hair. From the smiles and easy conversation, the two knew each other. A pair of soldiers, Agathocles’ bodyguards, stood nearby.

  ‘What are you looking for this morning? More women?’

  ‘Aye. Hippocrates has grown jaded with the last crop.’ Agathocles gave an expressive shrug. ‘You know what he’s like. Never happy.’

  ‘What have you become, brother?’ The officer lowered his voice. ‘Procuring fresh meat for Hippocrates? You should have joined the army, like me.’

  ‘Don’t start! You’re here, selling slaves on the generals’ behalf, aren’t you? There’s nothing to choose between us.’ Agathocles clapped the officer on the shoulder. ‘Let’s see if you have anything worth taking to Hippocrates this morning.’

  ‘There’s a Roman matron down the line. She’s reasonably attractive,’ said the officer, and Aurelia’s blood ran cold. ‘So is the Illyrian who was her female slave.’

  Aurelia’s spirits lifted a fraction. She glanced at Elira, saw the same hope flare in her eyes. Fortuna, watch over us in this moment, Aurelia prayed. If we’re together, it won’t be as bad.

  Agathocles selected one of the first women in the line, but he passed on the rest without a second look. ‘You haven’t many beauties here today, my friend.’ He came to a halt before Aurelia and looked back at the officer. ‘Perhaps I was being a little hasty.’

  ‘I told you. Hippocrates will like that one. She’s haughty.’

  Agathocles caught Aurelia’s chin with one hand and turned her head from side to side. She tried not to show her outrage, but he noted the tension in her neck. ‘You don’t like that, eh?’ he said in Latin.

  Aurelia didn’t reply.

  He let her go and in the same instant, backhanded her across the face. ‘I asked you a question, you Roman bitch!’

  Publius began to cry, and Elira tried to comfort him. ‘I don’t mind you touching me, no,’ Aurelia whispered.

  ‘Liar.’ His smile was all teeth. ‘My friend has the right of it. Hippocrates will enjoy breaking you, more especially because you’re Roman.’

  ‘She’s a noblewoman,’ called the officer.

  ‘Even better. I’ll take her.’ One of his hands lingered on her breasts.

  ‘And my child,’ said Aurelia at once.

  Agathocles laughed. ‘Hippocrates is many things, but he’s no pederast!’

  Aurelia sensed that in this place of desolation and broken hearts, pleading would make no difference. I cannot lose Publius! She pitched her voice so that Publius couldn’t hear. ‘If you take my son as well, I will pleasure Hippocrates as he has never been before.’ She prayed that the techniques taught to her by Elira when she’d first got married, and used successfully on Lucius, still worked.

  Agathocles’ eyebrows rose; then he scowled. ‘You’ll do that anyway, or I’ll have the skin flogged from your back.’

  ‘The horse that’s rewarded for obeying makes a far better steed than the one that’s whipped,’ replied Aurelia. She licked her lips, scarcely believing what she was about to say. ‘I could do the same for you. So could my slave.’

  Agathocles’ eyes shot to Elira, and Aurelia’s heart lurched in her chest. Elira had every right not to play the part that she’d just been given. Another owner might treat her more kindly. Aurelia could have wept when Elira flashed a seductive smile at Agathocles and said, ‘You won’t regret it, sir. I swear it.’

  Agathocles studied Aurelia again, and Elira. He gave a brusque nod. ‘Go and stand by my men.’ Even as she gave silent thanks, he grabbed her by the throat. ‘Your brat best know how to keep quiet. If Hipp
ocrates hears him, you’ll wish that he’d never been born.’

  ‘He’s a good boy,’ whispered Aurelia, genuinely terrified now. ‘No one will know he’s even there.’

  He waved her away.

  A monumental wave of shame and disgust washed over Aurelia as she, Publius and Elira made their way towards the soldiers. I’m no better than a whore. And a whoremistress, to treat Elira so. Yet part of her was glad. She had managed to keep Publius by her side. For the moment.

  Despite the fact that Kleitos was Hippocrates’ and Epicydes’ man, Hanno still found him likeable. After finding Hanno a small but well-furnished room in one of the barracks, with a window that overlooked the courtyard, Kleitos had insisted that they visit an inn. ‘Your weapons can wait, but this cannot,’ he’d declared, offering a brimming cup of wine to Hanno. ‘To friendship, and to Syracuse’s alliance with Hannibal and Carthage!’ Hanno had responded with gusto, and they had had several drinks, each time swearing friendship between their two peoples, and victory over the Romans. Kleitos, thought Hanno, was a friend in the making, and a more decent individual than his masters.

  Well lubricated, the two had then gone to the garrison’s armoury. There Kleitos had demanded the finest kit for ‘one of Hannibal’s best men’. Hanno knew that word of his arrival would spread fast, but Kleitos’ declaration made sure that everyone in the city would know it by the next morning. Part of him didn’t care. The Syracusan soldiers were delighted by his presence, and asked repeatedly how many men he’d brought with him. His previously prepared answer, that forces from Carthage would soon arrive on the island, seemed to satisfy.

  Hanno chose a plain but serviceable bronze breastplate, and an Attic helmet. Kleitos was amused by his request for a Roman scutum and gladius. ‘What’s wrong with our Greek equipment?’

  ‘You may laugh, but we found out the hard way at Trasimene what happens when phalanxes meet Roman infantry. Hannibal had us arm ourselves afterwards with the weapons and armour taken from the enemy dead. We retrained to fight in blocks, as the legionaries do. It worked too.’

  Kleitos’ face grew thoughtful. ‘No one can argue with what Hannibal did at Cannae. Still, it’s a different war here. We’re defending a city, not engaging the legions face-to-face.’

  ‘That day will come,’ said Hanno fiercely. Making improvements such as this was part of what Hannibal had sent him here to do. ‘And when it does, the Syracusans will have more chance of victory fighting as the Romans do, rather than the way they always have.’

  ‘Something tells me that Hippocrates in particular would not want his entire army retrained.’

  ‘I could just start with the soldiers of one phalanx.’

  ‘Hmmm. Let’s talk more about it, over some wine.’

  ‘What about my duties?’

  Kleitos laughed. ‘They can wait. The Romans aren’t here yet, and Hippocrates and Epicydes won’t bother their arses asking what you’ve done. Seeing the best inn in Syracuse is far more important.’

  ‘If you’re sure …?’

  ‘I am. I order you to come with me. All we need to do is dump your kit in your room.’

  It had been a long time since Hanno had been in a friendly city, with no concerns other than getting pissed. He grinned. ‘Well, if you put it like that …’

  A short time later, they were wending their way down a street that led to Ortygia and the small harbour. Kleitos returned the greeting of a man in charge of a party of naked female slaves, but kept walking. Hanno gave them a casual glance as they strode by, but they were all staring at the ground. Poor wretches, Hanno thought. ‘A friend?’ he asked.

  Kleitos shook his head in denial. ‘Agathocles? No. He’s an arse-licking busybody. Works for Hippocrates, finding him women. For, you know …’

  Hanno gazed after the line of miserable women, his dislike of Hippocrates increasing. Don’t think about it, he told himself. You’re here to aid him and his brother in the fight against Rome. Everything else is irrelevant. Yet an unpleasant taste remained in his mouth. ‘How far is it to this inn of yours?’ he demanded. ‘I’m parched.’

  ‘Ha! That’s what I like to hear. It’s just around this corner.’

  Hanno increased his pace. After a skinful of wine, he’d have forgotten his worries.

  Mixed feelings continued to batter Aurelia in the two days that followed her arrival into Hippocrates’ part of what had been Hiero’s palace. There was overwhelming relief that she and Publius were together, and that Elira was with them. They had been supplied with fine clothing and plenty of food and drink. She had made use of the baths more than once. Publius enjoyed them too, although Aurelia was careful to take him early in the morning, before anyone else made use of the facility. Guards prevented them from leaving the set of interlinked rooms, but they did not offer any violence, sexual or otherwise. For the most part, the other occupants, four beautiful women, ignored them. There were occasional barbed comments, and plenty of hostile looks, but that was all. Physically at least, they wanted for nothing.

  Mentally, it was a different matter. She belonged to Hippocrates now, and her only purpose was to serve as his concubine. It was not a matter of ‘if’ she would have to attend him, but ‘when’. It was the same with Agathocles, who whispered frequent lewd suggestions to her. This made every moment, every hour of waiting, of not knowing when she would be summoned, pure torture. The longer it dragged on, the worse she felt.

  It wasn’t just that of course. Her promise in the market to send Hippocrates to Elysium and back would have been relayed to him already, of that Aurelia was certain, and she was terrified she would fail this test. Her experiences of lovemaking had been with Lucius, and bar one or two occasions, they had been short-lived encounters absent of passion. Lucius’ wellbeing, which had so concerned her, now rarely crossed her mind.

  Desperate, Aurelia sought Elira’s advice one afternoon when Publius was napping. Their relationship had changed since their enslavement. Elira still deferred to her, but with less respect than before. Whether that had anything to do with her promise to Agathocles, Aurelia had no idea. She had apologised abjectly for it; Elira had brushed her off, saying that she would have done the same if she’d had a child.

  Aurelia was much relieved when Elira readily gave her some new tips and techniques to try. ‘Once you learn what men like, they’re easy to please,’ Elira liked to pronounce. Aurelia hoped that it was so with Hippocrates. After Elira’s fruity description about to how keep a man from reaching climax, she even managed to find some humour in the situation. ‘Like that? You’re not serious.’

  ‘I’m telling you, they love it. Just try it and see.’

  Aurelia giggled, but it didn’t take long for brutal reality to sink in again. How life could change, she thought miserably. If someone had told her a month ago that she’d be in Syracuse, a prisoner and concubine to one of its rulers, she’d have called them insane. Yet here she was.

  As was so often the case, Publius saved the moment. He woke up and crawled across the bed to her, sleepily demanding a cuddle. Aurelia clutched him to her, wishing that she could transport them both away to safety.

  The reprieve didn’t last. Agathocles came later that day. Aurelia was to be ready by sunset. She was to dress in a seductive manner. Hippocrates would receive her on the roof of the palace. ‘Disappoint him and you’ll pay,’ he advised in a steely voice. ‘Or more likely your son will.’

  Aurelia flashed him a confident smile. ‘There’s no need for threats.’

  ‘We’ll see about that later. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you owe me either.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Aurelia lied, caressing his face and wondering how she was going to get through the impending degradations with not one hideous man, but two. When Elira later offered her a cup of wine laced with a little poppy juice – obtained from one of the other women – she didn’t refuse. She had avoided it since the news from Cannae had shattered her world, but needs must. The pleasant, numbed f
eeling that it granted might help to block out the worst of what was to come.

  Elira helped her to get ready, giving opinions on which dress to wear, the best way to style her hair, and which perfume to apply. Under normal circumstances, Aurelia would have enjoyed the experience – since having Publius, and with Lucius away, occasions to dress up had been rare – but the reason behind it threatened to drag her spirits into the abyss. She supped more wine and poppy juice, grateful to feel disembodied, able to look down on the surreal situation as if it weren’t she who would have to go through with it.

  A short while after the first watch had been sounded, Agathocles arrived. Telling Publius that she would kiss him good night when he was asleep, Aurelia left him in Elira’s care. Elira gave her a reassuring look; Aurelia clutched on to the encouragement for dear life. Someone cared about her, thought of her as something other than a piece of meat. She was grateful that Agathocles did not try to engage her in conversation as they walked down a long passageway, past a number of sentries, finally reaching a set of stairs.

  ‘Remember what I said,’ warned Agathocles, his foot on the bottom step.

  Aurelia didn’t trust her voice, so she nodded.

  The view at the top took her breath away. It wasn’t the patterned mosaic underfoot, the fruit trees and cultivated vines, the murmuring fountain with Poseidon astride a dolphin at its centre; the staircase had brought them out on the edge of the palace’s roof, where they were able to look out to the east, over a harbour full of ships, and the bright, sunlit sea beyond. Aurelia fancied that she could even see the coastline of Italy in the far distance. Her heart bled; she had to force her legs to keep moving, following Agathocles towards the figure that lay on a couch near the fountain.