by Ben Kane
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-’
Gaius was so excited that he didn’t hear her last words. ‘By your leave, I’ll go inside to make my offering.’
‘Of course.’ She watched him go, her heart thudding off her ribs. Surely, any chance she had of winning him over had just vanished.
‘Quite the dashing young soldier, isn’t he?’
She spun in shock. Phanes was watching her from the shadow of the colonnaded walkway that ran around the temple’s courtyard. How long he had been there, Aurelia didn’t know. She hadn’t noticed him on her way in. Despite the slaves who stood behind her, fear coursed through her, and she studied the gloom to either side.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve left Smiler and Achilles at home.’
‘How long have you been watching?’ He hadn’t been there when she went in, she was sure of it. What had he heard?
‘Long enough. I thought you spent all your time with Lucius Vibius Melito nowadays,’ he said slyly. ‘That’s Martialis’ son, isn’t it?’ He strolled forward. Sunshine glittered off his oiled hair.
‘What if it is?’ She wanted to leave, but her fear that he had noticed something between her and Gaius froze her every muscle.
‘A handsome lad, as you said.’
‘He looks good in uniform, like my brother. Like most men.’
‘You seem worried that he might be sent to war.’
‘He’s dear to me. I’ve known him since I was a child,’ she said casually. ‘He and my brother Quintus are best friends.’
‘May the gods protect him if he is sent north. Rome has lost too many sons in recent months,’ said Phanes, his tone oozing sincerity.
‘He’s Oscan, not Roman.’ She could not bear his calculating eyes on her any longer. ‘Mars will give our forces victory, and Gaius will be there to celebrate it,’ she declared, moving past him, and grateful for the slaves’ presence at her back.
‘My compliments to your lady mother,’ he called.
Aurelia didn’t deign to reply. She just wanted to get away.
Phanes launched his final barb.
‘Does Melito know your friend?’
Despite her best efforts, Aurelia stiffened. She forcibly relaxed her shoulders and turned with a surprised look. ‘But of course. He will miss Gaius too.’
Phanes nodded as if she’d given him the answer he expected. ‘I’m sure he will.’
She left him to it. All the way back from the temple, Aurelia’s unease grew. Phanes had put two and two together about her feelings for Gaius — why would he have made such a comment if he hadn’t? Had she done enough to allay his suspicions? Gods, don’t let him tell Lucius, she worried. If there was even a seed of doubt in Lucius’ mind about her intentions, he would never consent to a betrothal. If all things were equal she wouldn’t have minded that, but it would bring ruin down on her family. Curse him!
Eventually, Aurelia managed to achieve some sort of calm by telling herself that the Greek could not have read too much into the situation. She couldn’t quite shake her disquiet, however. Phanes probably had spies throughout Capua. As she neared Martialis’ house, she watched the people in the street sidelong: a boy selling fruit juice from a handcart; a stonemason and his apprentice repairing a wall; two old men gossiping in the warm sun; a woman selling trinkets from a small stall. Any one of them could be in his employ, she thought bitterly. As the Greek had already proved, even in Martialis’ house she was not beyond prying eyes.
Aurelia felt like a rat in a trap.
She made up her mind. From now on, she would have to avoid Gaius, and make much more of Lucius. She had to, for her family’s sake. It felt as if the last of her liberty had been taken away. Before, she had at least been able to play at being free to make her own decisions. Not any more.
Near Lake Trasimene
‘Tell me what you saw again,’ ordered Corax. The bright moonlight lit up his features but not his deep-set eyes, making him look even more forbidding. Quintus, who had been ordered to attend him along with Big Tenner and the rest of their section, was glad that the centurion was on his side.
‘As you know, sir, the ground opens out after the pinch point to the east of our camp,’ said Big Tenner.
‘Yes, yes.’
‘The area is half-moon shaped and about a square mile in area, sir. At the eastern end of it, another ridge comes down to the water’s edge. Hannibal has put his camp on the heights there, overlooking the road. We scouted along the shore towards the enemy for about half a mile, but then we started seeing groups of Numidians. If we’d gone any further, they would have ridden us down.’
‘You saw nothing on the hills to the north?’ asked Corax.
‘No, sir. On the way back, I even sent a five-man section to search the lower slopes. They didn’t find a thing.’ As Corax chewed on that, Big Tenner let out a little sigh. Quintus knew why. Tenner had reported when they’d returned to the camp, which lay just to the west of the entrance to the narrows. Then he had had to repeat it all to Flaminius himself. Now Corax was making him do it all over again. Behind Tenner, Quintus shifted on his haunches. Rutilus glanced at him as if to say, ‘How much longer will this take?’ Even in the poor light, Urceus looked downright pissed off. It was unsurprising. They had been scouting since early morning. All of them were tired, sunburned and thirsty. Quintus’ stomach rumbled with hunger, but he said not a word. Until their centurion dismissed them, they had to sit tight. Surely, though, the grilling would not go on for much longer.
‘What’s the whoreson planning?’ mused Corax. ‘He must be aware, like us, that Servilius is marching this way from Ariminum. If he stays where he is, with the lake hemming him against the hills, his army could be crushed.’
‘Knowing that, they’ll probably move off tomorrow, sir,’ Tenner ventured.
Corax barked a laugh. ‘Aye, I dare say you’re right.’ He gave the velites an approving nod. ‘You’ve done well today, all of you. You have earned a drink, and some food in your bellies.’ They rumbled in agreement, and he clicked his fingers. A servant hastened over. ‘Fetch an amphora of my second-best wine and a round of cheese to these lads’ tent lines.’
‘We’re grateful, sir.’ Tenner was grinning from ear to ear.
‘Thank you, centurion,’ the rest chorused.
‘Enjoy it, but don’t stay up too late,’ warned Corax. ‘You’ll need fresh heads in the morning. Flaminius is set on an early start. Dismissed.’
The velites trudged away, their spirits restored by Corax’s generosity. ‘He’s a good officer,’ muttered Quintus. ‘I wouldn’t mind standing in line with him.’
‘He’s just given us some food, not a promotion!’ said Rutilus. ‘It’ll be a year at the earliest, probably two, before you’re even considered for the hastati.’
‘I know, I know.’ Quintus buttoned his lip. Part of the reason he wanted to leave the velites was because of Macerio, whose latest tactic was to spread malicious rumours about him among the men. ‘Crespo pissed in the river. It fouled the water. That’s why men are falling sick.’ ‘Crespo would have fallen asleep on sentry duty if I hadn’t woken the dog up.’ ‘Crespo is a coward. He’ll run the first time we really have to fight the guggas.’ And so on. Quintus was sick of it. Fortunately, most of the men in his section didn’t believe the lies. They had been there during the ambush on the Numidians. But they seemed to have taken root with some of the other velites. If he moved to the hastati, he could start anew. Don’t be stupid. Macerio also stood to be promoted into the legionaries’ ranks. What was to say that they wouldn’t end up in the same unit, where the bullying would start all over again? Quintus clenched his jaw in frustration. It was a moot point anyway, because he was still a veles, and would remain so for the foreseeable future.
‘Forget about everything except that wine and cheese,’ advised Rutilus. ‘That and a dip in the lake before bed.’
Quintus smiled. The idea of filling his belly and, after it, washing off the day’s dust was so appealing that it was easy to obey.
Tomorrow was another day.
Following Hannibal’s orders, Hanno and his men had moved into position when there was scarcely any light in the sky. They and the rest of the Libyan spearmen were the bait in the trap for the Romans. They had been deployed on the slopes of the hill below their camp and across the road where it ran into the defile on the eastern side of the half-moon-shaped plain. The phalanxes were in full sight of anyone approaching from the west, and an open invitation for Flaminius to seek battle. More than an hour had passed since they had blocked the passage east, and the skyline was paling fast. Hanno studied the eastern horizon for the hundredth time. Red, pink and orange mixed in a glorious riot of colour. Normally, he would have taken the time to appreciate such a beautiful dawn. Today, though, his gaze quickly returned to the west.
Sudden delight filled him. No one could have predicted this! Everything was vanishing beneath a blanket of grey. It was as if the Carthaginian gods had decided to act in unison, favouring Hannibal, he thought, watching the thick, oily banks of fog that were creeping in off the lake. Already some of the flat ground had been covered; it would not be long before the low hills were also encased. It was fortunate that the area had been reconnoitred the previous day; that Hannibal had ordered everyone into position so early. By now, the entire army should have been deployed.
Hanno had seen glints from sunlight flashing off metal a few times as the Gauls moved on to the slopes opposite, and the Numidians on to the hills to the north, but that had been it. His guts clenched with excitement and fear. He hardly dared admit it, but he even felt a touch of elation. Before, their ambush might have been revealed if the Romans had sent in scouts in advance of the legions. With the arrival of the fog, however, the enemy had no chance of noticing the waiting Carthaginian soldiers, scouts or not. Don’t be over-confident, he told himself. Everything could still go wrong. If the Gauls did something stupid before the majority of Flaminius’ army had marched through the pinch point, they would only catch a fraction of the enemy’s number in their trap. He prayed that Hannibal’s trust in the Ga
uls, his most undisciplined men, would be repaid in full. Bostar had told him of the tribal chiefs’ joy at being given such an important task, as they had at the Trebia. To them, the possibility of suffering heavy casualties was as nothing compared to the honour of leading the attack. Yet that didn’t mean some fool among the Gauls wouldn’t give the game away by yelling a war cry too soon.
The gaming pieces were in place. The contest was about to begin. It was pointless worrying about it, but Hanno did anyway. Restless, he walked along the front rank of his spearmen, nodding, smiling, murmuring names, telling them that victory would be theirs. They gave him fierce grins in return. Even Mutt’s doleful face cracked into a smile as he approached. It had been the same since Victumulae. Hanno’s fingers felt under the strip of cloth that protected his neck from the edge of his cuirass. He could trace the outline of the ‘F’ still; he would be able to until his dying day. Perhaps the torture and pain had been worth it. His survival against all the odds at Victumulae had turned him into a sort of good-luck charm for his men, and those of the other phalanxes. Apparently, some of them maintained that he couldn’t be killed. Tanit grant that that be true for today at least, he thought wryly.
‘Ready, sir?’ asked Mutt.
‘As I’ll ever be. This is the worst bit, eh? Waiting.’
‘Aye,’ grumbled his second-in-command. ‘Let’s get it over with and have done.’
Hanno clapped Mutt on the shoulder and moved on. At the edge of his phalanx, he glimpsed Bostar, who was talking to Sapho and their father. Seeing him, they beckoned.
‘Father.’ He nodded at Sapho and Bostar. ‘Brothers.’
Malchus’ gaze moved across the trio. ‘This is a proud day, my sons.’
They all smiled, but Bostar and Sapho did not look at each other.
‘Who’d have thought that we would ever be standing in northern Italy as part of a Carthaginian army?’ asked Malchus. ‘That another Roman army would be about to walk into our trap?’
