Fields of Blood h-2

by Ben Kane

  ‘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 fathe
r’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.’

  In that moment, Quintus absolutely hated his father.

  Fabricius rounded on Calatinus. ‘Are you going to protest too?’

  ‘No, sir. I’d rather not leave, but if those are your orders, then I shall follow them.’

  ‘Fine. As you were.’ Fabricius ducked out of the tent without another word.

  Furious, Quintus watched him go. Curse him to Hades!

  ‘By all the gods, that was unexpected,’ muttered Calatinus.

  ‘For you maybe, but not for me,’ said Quintus bitterly. ‘At least you have a chance of getting to close with Hannibal. I’ll be stuck at home, with the women.’

  ‘Being around your father isn’t good for you. All you do is clash off one another. Maybe a period away from him will do you some good. Who’s to say that the war will end soon anyway? Hannibal seems to be a shrewd leader. I’d wager that we’ll still be fighting him in twelve months. Your father won’t be able to deny you a place in the cavalry forever. Just keep your nose clean at home. Make sure your mother is happy.’

  Quintus didn’t bother arguing. In his mind, his father would prevent him from ever serving again. That had made up his mind for once and for all. If ever there had been a perfect opportunity to approach Corax about joining the velites, it was now. That way, he could stay in Flaminius’ army, close to Hannibal. His father would never know. He won’t send me home, Quintus thought furiously. I’ll be my own master. Learn to fight as an infantryman.

  It was a good feeling.

  Capua

  Aurelia’s spirits lifted as they left the temple of Mars. She hadn’t begrudged visiting to pray for Flaccus’ soul the first time, but it seemed a bit much to have to do it again and again. Her mother said that it was important, however, and Aurelia was playing it safe by not arguing. To be fair, she was sorry he was dead. The one and only time that she had met Flaccus, he had seemed personable. She had even fallen a little for his looks, and his air of confidence and power. But then he had gone to Rome, taking her father, and she had not seen him again. There had been one letter, and then nothing. Aurelia felt a twinge of remorse. There would have been more communications, but the war had been more important than writing to her, a mere child. Soon after, Flaccus had been killed. It was sad, but she wasn’t going to spend her life grieving over a man she had not known at all.

  Their duties done, they could soon visit Gaius and Martialis, his father. Her heart leaped. Gaius had been away, training with his unit, on the previous occasion they had been to Capua. Aurelia loved Martialis, but seeing him instead of his son was not the same. How she hoped he would see past her status as Quintus’ sister today. She was wearing her best dress, all of her jewellery, and even a hint of perfume filched from a vial belonging to her mother. With a little luck, it would go unnoticed, but Aurelia was careful not to go too near Atia, whose sense of smell was impressive. So too was her ability to see through Aurelia’s actions.

  ‘That went well, I thought,’ said Atia.

  ‘Yes,’ mumbled Aurelia. How could one judge? she wondered. It wasn’t as if the statue of Mars responded in any way, to anyone. It just stood there, imperious and regal, glaring down at the long, narrow room that formed the centrepiece of the temple.

  Atia turned with a frown. ‘I hope that your prayers for Flaccus were sincere?’

  Aurelia caught the first warning sign fast. Best not to start an argument before they had even seen Gaius. ‘They were heartfelt, Mother,’ she lied, using her most sincere voice.

  Atia’s face relaxed. ‘His soul will rest easier knowing that he is still remembered. You remembered to ask the gods to watch over Father and Quintus?’

  ‘Of course!’ This time, Aurelia’s reaction was entirely unfeigned.

  ‘Good. To the market, then. There are things I forgot to tell Agesandros to get.’

  Aurelia’s eyes darted towards the crowd at the mention of the overseer, but, to her relief, there was no sign of him. With luck, they wouldn’t see Agesandros until later, at Martialis’ house. Buying everything on Atia’s list would take time. Not as long as it normally would, however. She had noticed on their last visit that her mother had not ordered as much food as usual; today it had been the same. Aurelia didn’t ponder the thought for long; already her head was full of images of Gaius. Smiling as he saw her. Resplendent in his uniform. Offering her his arm so that they might go for a walk. Complimenting her on her appearance. Stooping to brush his lips against hers. .

  ‘Spare a coin, young lady!’

  Aurelia blinked, and flinched in horror. A beggar clad in rags stood before her. His leathery palm and the shiny nubs where his fingers should have been waggled under her nose. The disfigurement didn’t end there. The man had almost no nose, just two gaping holes under his inflamed, weeping eyes. His skin was scaly like that of a snake and lay in odd, disturbing angles. Round swellings peppered his face, small things no bigger than a fingernail to lumps the size of a peach stone. Aurelia had seen lepers on countless occasions, but at a distance. They were normally kept outside Capua by the guards at the gate. She had never been this close to one. She recoiled, fear twisting her guts that the disease might transfer to her. ‘I have no money.’

  ‘A wealthy young lady like you?’ The leper’s tone was unctuous but disbelieving. The stump of a hand waved at her again. ‘Even the smallest coin would help, if it please you.’

  ‘Get away from my daughter!’

  The leper shrank back from Atia, fawning.

  ‘Aesculapius keep us from such a fate.’ Atia’s hand beckoned. ‘Step around him.’

  Aurelia couldn’t help but look at the leper again. Although she was repulsed by his appearance, she felt a deep pity for him too. To be condemned to a slow, living death — she could think of few things that were worse. ‘Please, Mother. Give him something.’

  Atia studied her for a moment; then she sighed and reached for her purse. What difference will a single coin make to our problems? ‘Here.’ A hemidrachm flashed in the air. The leper reached up for it, but was unable to catch it with his ruined hands. The small piece of silver dropped to the dirt, and he scrabbled after it, calling down the blessings of the gods on both of them.

  Looking down, Aurelia gaped. He had no toes left on his left foot. Where his right foot had been, there was just a scarred bump of flesh loosely covered with a rag.

  ‘Come on, child. That will see him fed for a few days at least.’ Atia’s voice was kind.

  They walked away, fast. The leper vanished into the crowd.

  ‘I won’t get his disease, will I
?’ Aurelia’s initial fear had returned.

  ‘With the blessings of the gods, no. He didn’t touch you, and you weren’t close to him for long enough.’ Atia cast a look over her shoulder. ‘The men on the gate must have been half asleep this morning to let a creature like that inside the walls.’ Her nose twitched; fearing that her mother had smelled her perfume, Aurelia took a step away. A moment later, Atia glided on, and Aurelia thanked the gods for a lucky escape.

  They stopped first at a potter’s and then at a wine merchant’s premises. There Atia began haggling with the owner over the quality of the most recent wine she had ordered. Aurelia soon grew bored. The earrings and necklaces displayed in the entrance to a jeweller’s shop opposite caught her eye, and she stepped outside to take a closer look. As she did, a short, balding man in a fine Greek chiton brushed against her. He muttered an apology; her mind on the array of trinkets, she took little notice.

  The jeweller, a beady-eyed Egyptian, was quick to see Aurelia’s interest. ‘Can I be of service?’

  She gave him a smile. ‘I’m just looking.’

  ‘Please, my shop is yours. Try on anything you like.’

  Aurelia sighed. She had no money of her own. She threw a wistful glance at Atia, but there was no point in asking. Her answer would be that the jewellery Aurelia was wearing — a pair of gold pendants decorated with beads of blue glass, and a simple gold ring decorated with a red garnet — was more than adequate. Until her wedding day, her mother would not be purchasing her any more. Sudden mischief took her. The shopkeeper didn’t have to know that she wouldn’t be buying. ‘I like this,’ she announced, pointing to a necklace hung with dozens of small tubular red and black stones.

  ‘Carnelian and jet, that is,’ said the jeweller. ‘From Parthia. Beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Want to try it on?’ His hands were already undoing the clasp. ‘It will suit your complexion. Your husband will love it, and it won’t cost him the sun and moon.’

  Aurelia didn’t disabuse him. Gaius might like it, she thought. She was about to allow him to place it around her neck when she heard raised voices. Her head turned. Inside the wine merchant’s, she could see the short man who’d bumped into her facing her mother, who looked furious. Her curiosity was roused. ‘Thank you. Maybe another time.’ She walked out, ignoring the protests of the perplexed jeweller.