Hannibal 03 - Clouds of War

by Ben Kane

  ‘I tell you, I’m right!’

  Urceus didn’t appear to hear. ‘And if someone other than Corax discovers that we’re gone? We’ll be executed! And even if it is Corax who finds out, our safety won’t be guaranteed.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  Urceus interrupted him angrily. ‘The other lads could easily be sentenced to the fustuarium too, for letting us go. Because they’d have to be in on it.’ He glared at Quintus.

  Quintus took a deep breath. He hadn’t expected this level of opposition. Perhaps Urceus was right? Pera was an unmitigated whoreson, but he had been stupid to win the horse race. Maybe it was best just to let the centurion’s star rise beyond reach. When Pera vanished, he could forget about him.

  Then Quintus pictured Marius’ face in the final moments on the jetty. He remembered how his friend had stayed to die, so that he could live, and his blood boiled with fresh anger. ‘What about Marius?’ He hurled the question at Urceus so accusingly that Placidus, who was the next man over, stirred. Quintus no longer cared.

  ‘What’s Marius got to do with it?’

  It was time to reveal what had happened. If he didn’t, his friendship with Marius would have meant nothing. He would let Urceus and, later, his comrades be the judges of what to do. ‘I’ll tell you,’ he said.

  By the time Quintus had finished his tale, he was aware that every man in the tent was listening. He wasn’t sure if it was Placidus who had woken the rest; it didn’t matter. Everyone in the contubernium, the soldiers who had been Marius’ friends, knew that the conspiracy in Syracuse might not have been betrayed if Pera had gone to Attalus. More importantly in their minds, Marius might well not have died. ‘Now you know why I want to do this,’ he said, breathing heavily.

  Urceus reached out to grip his shoulder. ‘I understand your motivation, but what I don’t comprehend is how doing this will avenge Marius. Pera might find out that it was us who measured the stones, but he won’t know why we did it.’

  Quintus could feel the weight of the others’ stares through the darkness. If he didn’t pitch his answer in the right way, he might lose them all. Help me, Fortuna, he prayed. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Jug, because our chance will come when we storm the walls at Galeagra. I’m going to seek out Pera and find a way to kill the cocksucker in the confusion. As he slips into oblivion, the last thing he’ll hear is my voice telling him what we did, and why, and that he was never going to get away with leaving me and Marius to die like dogs.’

  No immediate response was forthcoming, and Quintus’ heart sank. It was natural for his tent mates not to want to risk their lives on such a risky venture. Unease licked the base of his spine as a further thought occurred to him. If but a single one disagreed with what he’d just said, they could denounce him to Corax, or any officer. There would then be only one conclusion.

  ‘Forget it,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll go to Corax. Tell him what I’ve seen. He can do what he wants with the information.’

  ‘We’ll approach Corax after we’ve measured the wall,’ said Urceus.

  ‘Aye,’ said Placidus.

  Stunned, Quintus counted the growls of agreement that followed. There were four – with Urceus, that was everyone left in his diminished contubernium. His heart swelled with emotion, with pride that his comrades would do this. ‘Thank you,’ he muttered.

  By the time that they had reached the walls near Galeagra, Quintus was beginning to think that everything would go off as planned. They had waited until the cavalryman whose duty it was to check on their sentry post had come by and collected their tessera, the wooden tablet with the day’s password on it. It was almost unheard of for another inspection to take place after that, but to minimise the risk, Quintus and Urceus had waited about an hour before making their move. It was the middle of the night by the time their comrades had lowered them between the projecting wooden spikes and down the ramparts’ face to the ground below.

  Faces, arms and legs blackened with soot gathered from the fire, and without any arms or armour save a dagger each, they had tiptoed away until they were a good five hundred paces from the Roman fortifications. At this point, another sentry would be unlikely to hear them, but they had moved with caution nonetheless. It would have been foolish to use a torch, but fortune had favoured them with a clear sky, and a sliver of moon to add to the stars’ light.

  Five score paces from Galeagra, recognisable by its shape and the noise of lapping waves nearby, they had halted. Quintus wasn’t afraid to admit that he was scared now. Urceus’ stiff posture revealed the same emotion. If they made the slightest sound, the Syracusans would rain a barrage of missiles down on them. There was no telling if the darkness would be any protection. They would have to be as silent as cats creeping up on their prey.

  Quintus placed his lips against Urceus’ ear. ‘Can you see the gate?’

  Urceus pointed at a square that was blacker than the rest of the bottom of the wall.

  ‘We need to stand about thirty or forty paces to the right of that.’

  Urceus nodded. He motioned for Quintus to go first, that he would follow three steps behind.

  A metallic sound carried from the walls, and they froze. Quintus studied the ramparts with intense concentration. After a moment, he saw something moving slowly towards Galeagra – a sentry. Casting his eyes to and fro, he observed no one else atop that section. His mouth was bone dry. This was it. He couldn’t back out, or the risks that they’d taken would have been for nothing. Quintus took a step forward. Asking Somnus, the god of sleep, to render the enemy sentries drowsy, he began to walk towards the spot that Urceus had identified.

  After ten paces, he paused to look and listen. Not a thing. Quintus’ gut instinct told him that the sentry was gossiping with the soldiers in the tower. Ten more steps, and still he saw and heard nothing. At thirty paces it was the same, and at fifty. Quintus’ pulse was increasing steadily, but Urceus’ presence gave him strength. He forced himself onward, praying that there weren’t pits or other traps that he hadn’t spotted during the negotiations. When they were thirty paces out, the sentry reappeared on the rampart. Quintus stopped dead, indicated that Urceus do the same. This was when, break over, duty reasserted itself. At such times, it was Quintus’ ritual to gaze out from the Roman defences for long moments, until he was satisfied that nothing was awry. The Syracusan wasn’t quite as vigilant. Barely ten heartbeats later, he moved on. It didn’t take long for him to vanish from sight. Quintus waited, counting silently, until the man had returned. When he had gone again, Quintus beckoned Urceus towards him, bent to his ear once more. ‘We have a count of two hundred to get in and out. I’ll take twenty off that to be sure. You keep tally as well. Ready?’

  Urceus nodded. ‘Go,’ his lips framed.

  They were going to do this, Quintus told himself. Twenty. He slid his feet forward with cool purpose. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. All the while, his gaze moved from the ground to the ramparts and back, seeking obstacles that would trip him or make noise, and an unexpected sentry who might see them. A score of paces from the base of the wall, they met the defensive ditch, a ‘V’ shaped trench as deep as a man standing on another’s shoulders. Thirty, thirty-one. They both sat down on the edge. Quintus slid down first, using his heels as brakes. The bottom was lined with spiked branches, but he was able to stand upright and wave Urceus on. Forty-eight, forty-nine.

  Quintus looked up the wall, which towered over them now, and his stomach wrenched. In the darkness, it seemed even more insurmountable. Sentries would be able to spy on him too, yet they’d be out of his sight. Don’t dwell on that, he thought. Stay focused. Fifty-six, fifty-seven. He squeezed between two sets of branches, snagging his tunic in the process. Urceus came after. There was no need for words about what they had to do next; it had been discussed beforehand. Sixty-four, sixty-five. This was the riskiest part, but Quintus did not pause. If he did, his fear might gain the upper hand. Urceus stood with his back to the wall, as close as possi
ble to the inward face of the ditch, and made a bridge with his hands. Quintus placed his right foot in it and leaped up, placing his other foot on Urceus’ left shoulder and gripping his friend’s head for balance. When he was steady, he lifted his right sandal up so that he was crouched astride Urceus’ shoulders. Seventy-nine, eighty.

  Quintus was breathing heavily, from nerves and physical effort. Calm down. He inhaled deeply and held it for a count of four before letting the air out through his nostrils. Urceus moved a little beneath him. It was damn hard to carry a man like this, Quintus knew, but it was better this than he jump and miss his grip. He peered at the ditch, the surface of which was made of packed earth. Spiked branches had also been buried here, but some had broken off and not been replaced. Luckily, he was facing such a spot. Ninety, ninety-one. Gods, but the time was flying by. A trickle of panic entered his mind. Ninety-three, ninety-four. Raising his arms, Quintus launched himself up and forward. As he hit the bank, a protruding stone drove into his tunic, striking him just under the ribcage. The pain was excruciating, and Quintus had to bite his lip, hard, to stop himself crying out.

  Somehow he remembered to reach up with his hands and grab whatever came within reach. His left hand found a branch; with his right, he sank his fingernails into the earth as deep as he could. Thankfully, his feet found a little purchase below him. There was no way of knowing if his weight would prove too much for his precarious holds, but he didn’t have time to check. One hundred and two, one hundred and three. Gritting his teeth, Quintus slid first one sandal up to knee height, and then the other. They didn’t slip, so he pushed up with his thighs, reaching out at the same time with his right hand and gouging his fingers into the dirt. The branch creaked a little and his pulse hammered out an even faster rhythm in his ears. He let go of the wood and scrabbled for a grip with his left hand. Found it, and thrust up again with his legs.

  All of a sudden, he was up on the narrow strip of ground that ran along the base of the wall. He gave Urceus the thumbs up, but his friend’s response was to mouth ‘One hundred and eighteen’. Quintus’ exhilaration faded as fast as it had arrived. He moved to and fro along the wall, looking upwards to see where the most even blocks had been placed. One hundred and twenty-eight, one hundred and twenty-nine. Finding one, he stood close to it and placed a hand on the junction between it and the second course of blocks. It was almost two cubits in height, he judged. Standing back a little, Quintus carefully counted up to the battlements. There were eight slabs. He repeated the exercise, to be sure, reaching the same total. The wall was fifteen to sixteen cubits in height. One hundred and – he’d lost count. It was time to go. He was about to sit and repeat what he’d done to get down the other side, but Urceus’ urgent hand gestures stopped him dead. His friend’s fingers wiggled back and forth, telling Quintus that the sentry had come back sooner than anticipated. Acid roiled in his belly as he waited. For all that he expected a warning cry to ring out, there was no point staring upward. He could not see what Urceus could. After several nauseating moments, Urceus signalled him to move. Quintus slid down, uncaring that the back of his left thigh was gouged open by a sharp rock.

  ‘He’s gone into the tower. Only the gods know how long he will be,’ whispered Urceus in his ear. ‘We should keep moving, or we could be here all night.’

  Quintus nodded. This time, he made a bridge so that Urceus could get out of the ditch. With a helping hand from Urceus, he climbed out too. Together they studied the ramparts yet again. There was no sign of the sentry. Grinning at each other like madmen, they began walking back to their own lines. They had succeeded.

  When they reached the foot of their own fortifications, Quintus sent out the low whistle that they’d agreed beforehand. Placidus and the others sent the rope snaking down the wall a few heartbeats after. The friends went up it at speed, hand over hand, to the top. The questions started as their feet hit the walkway.

  ‘You did it?’ ‘No one saw you?’ ‘How high is the wall?’

  ‘Steady,’ replied Quintus, smiling. ‘Has anything happened here?’

  ‘There hasn’t been a soul about,’ said Placidus happily.

  ‘Eight blocks, each about two cubits high,’ announced Quintus. ‘Our ladders will need to be that long, plus a bit more to account for the ditch.’

  ‘Great news, brothers! All we have to do is find the right night and we can be up there before the molles know what’s hit them.’ Urceus looked like a small boy who’d been given the key to a shop selling pastries.

  Placidus clapped Quintus on the back. ‘You’re going to tell Corax?’

  ‘Yes. First thing. We just need this damn sentry duty to be over, and we’re there.’

  ‘Aye. Back to our positions, then. Your equipment is here, and a couple of damp cloths to clean yourselves off.’ Looking pleased, Placidus and the others headed off in both directions.

  ‘We’d best make a good job of this,’ whispered Urceus. ‘Otherwise it’ll be bloody obvious that we were up to something.’

  ‘We can check each other over now, and again when it’s getting light,’ said Quintus. ‘That should do the trick.’

  ‘You’re a mad fucker, Crespo, do you know that?’ Urceus gave him a rough clout. ‘But you’re a clever one too. Let’s hope that Corax likes our story.’

  ‘He will,’ Quintus declared with more confidence than he felt.

  Quintus was very relieved when the rest of their watch passed off without incident. The trumpet had barely sounded from the praetorium when he was at the foot of the ladder, urging Urceus and the rest down. ‘Get a move on! The sooner Corax hears, the better.’

  Urceus stopped with his foot on the first rung. His face changed.

  Quintus, who had his back to the camp, knew at once that there was someone behind him. Panicked, his mind went blank. Please, let it be Corax! He floundered for something to say. ‘H-he’ll want to hear that your twisted ankle is better,’ he stuttered at last.

  Urceus stiffened to attention, saluted. So did the rest of their comrades.

  When Quintus turned, his bowels went to jelly. It was Pera. What business had the bastard here? Quickly, he copied his friends. ‘Sir.’

  Pera didn’t acknowledge any of the salutes. Curling his lip, he sauntered closer. ‘So you turned an ankle, did you?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Urceus. ‘I slipped off the last few rungs of the ladder about a week ago. My own fault.’

  ‘And Corax will want to know that it’s all better, will he?’ Pera’s voice was honey-sweet.

  Urceus looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know about that, sir. My brother here was just taking the piss, sir.’

  Pera eyed Quintus as a snake might look at a mouse. ‘Is that what you were doing?’

  ‘Something like that, sir.’

  Pera lifted an eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t aware that Corax was such a caring soul. Things must be very different in your maniple to mine.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, sir,’ said Quintus humbly. Great Jupiter, I beg of you – make him leave.

  But Pera stayed right where he was, rocking back and forth a little on the heels of his polished leather boots. ‘Finished your sentry duty?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You will be glad to get some wine in your belly, I’d say.’

  ‘That’ll be good, sir, yes.’ What’s he playing at?

  ‘You’re filthy. Doesn’t Corax insist on a certain level of hygiene?’ Pera sneered.

  Quintus fought to stay calm. He wanted to check himself for patches of soot, but didn’t dare. ‘Aye, sir. He does.’

  ‘I have to disagree, if that’s how you look. Go on, then. Clear off, the lot of you.’ Pera walked away.

  Quintus let out a long, slow breath. He felt as if he’d just run ten miles in full kit.

  Urceus and the rest descended the ladder, their shields slung from their backs. Quintus kept a surreptitious eye on them. Placidus and one of the others had taken half of the rope each; to hide it, they had wound i
t around their waists, under their mail shirts. He exchanged a relieved look with each of them as they set off towards the maniple’s tent lines. To lighten the mood, he said, ‘Who’s preparing the food today?’

  The usual dispute began. It was another well-worn routine. The man whose turn it was would accuse someone else of trying to foist the duty on him. The accusation would be vigorously refuted, so the duty cook would drag a third man into it. The banter didn’t end until everyone in the contubernium had been named.

  Quintus was busy denying that he should have to make the day’s meals when they rounded a corner on to the avenue upon which their unit was stationed. Catching sight of Pera again, he stumbled over what he was about to say, before recovering his poise as best he could. ‘Don’t be stupid, Placidus,’ he said loudly. ‘We all know it’s your turn to cook.’ Then, as if he had just noticed Pera, he saluted. ‘Sir.’

  ‘You didn’t expect to see me again so soon,’ said Pera, falling in alongside them as they drew level.

  ‘No, sir.’ Quintus tried to sound nonchalant, but inside, he was panicking.

  ‘Is that ash I can see?’ asked Pera. Quintus felt real fear as the centurion wiped his fingertip on the back of Urceus’ neck, above his tunic. ‘It is. How curious!’

  A dull red flush coloured Urceus’ entire face. ‘Sir,’ he said.

  His answer sounded stupid, and everyone knew it.

  ‘Halt!’

  The tent mates obeyed. None dared look at another, but everyone could feel the fear.

  ‘It was only after I walked away that I thought it odd that you two should be so dirty, while your comrades were not,’ mused Pera. He jerked his head at Quintus and Urceus, and at a spot five paces away. ‘Fall out. Over here. Helmets off.’

  Helpless before Pera’s authority, the pair did as they were told.

  Pera came as close as a woman might, if she were in a seductive mood. His purpose was a lot less pleasant, however. Lifting the arms and necks of their tunics, he inspected their skin with intense interest. He pulled their ears back to check there, and even brushed at their hair. As a little cloud of soot floated away from his head, Quintus felt sick. He shot a look at Urceus, whose complexion had gone from red to grey.