Fields of Blood h-2

by Ben Kane

  ‘Sore.’ Maybe she had been hasty in deciding that her wound was minor. ‘My back. Is it-?’

  ‘The surgeon attended to it. A long cut, but not deep. He’s stitched it up. It will heal in two to three weeks, he says.’

  Aurelia’s head felt heavy as she nodded. ‘How can I be so tired? I’ve only just woken up.’

  ‘You lost quite a lot of blood,’ chided Lucius. ‘Fortunately it was Calavius, the chief magistrate himself, who came to your aid. Thanks to him, the surgeon arrived soon after you did.’

  It took a moment for that to register. ‘I see.’

  ‘It’s a wonder that the baby didn’t come early.’

  She touched her stomach, reassuring herself. ‘How long have I been asleep?’

  ‘A day and a night.’

  ‘Gods above,’ she muttered.

  ‘What were you thinking to go out as you did?’ he asked, his anger spilling forth again.

  ‘You did not protest when I told you I was going.’

  He didn’t acknowledge her words. ‘You should have taken more slaves with you.’

  Why is he being like this? she wondered. ‘That would not have stopped what happened. I went into the shop alone apart from Elira, as I always would. The man followed me inside. Did Elira not tell you?’

  ‘What if you had lost the baby?’ His voice was accusing.

  Ah, that’s why he is so upset, she thought bitterly. The child is more important than I am. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘But you could have.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she repeated, angry now. ‘But if Elira hadn’t intervened, I would have been raped.’

  That seemed to bring him to his senses. A heavy sigh. ‘Thank all the gods that that didn’t happen. What I can’t understand is why someone would pick you out like that.’

  ‘There are men like that everywhere. It was just my bad luck to catch his attention,’ said Aurelia with a shudder.

  ‘It wasn’t one of Phanes’ apes, was it?’

  The name triggered something in Aurelia’s memory. ‘Maybe. He said something about thinking twice before having an honest businessman threatened.’ Lucius looked at her blankly, so she told him about the attack on Phanes in the temple.

  ‘Who in Hades ordered that — your mother?’

  ‘No! She came to me, asking if I knew who it could have been.’ Don’t let him ask any more questions, she prayed. It was better if Lucius didn’t even know of Hanno’s existence.

  To her relief, he let it go. He was silent for a time, tapping a finger off his lips in thought. ‘Phanes has to be the most likely culprit. I will have my men pay him a visit. It doesn’t do any harm to let sewer rats know their place from time to time.’

  The way he said ‘visit’ made Aurelia smile. She could no longer control her drowsiness, however. Her eyes closed. All she wanted to do was sleep.

  ‘The surgeon says it would be best if you stayed here until your time arrives.’

  She roused herself with an effort. ‘Why?’

  ‘He thinks that another journey in this heat might bring on your labour prematurely. Staying here will be more relaxing for you.’ Lucius seemed content with this notion.

  Aurelia was also pleased. Although she was unused to the house, Capua was very familiar to her. ‘That’s fine,’ she murmured. ‘The baby will be born here.’ Her eyelids closed again. It might have been her imagination, but she fancied that she could feel Lucius stroking her hair as she slipped away into oblivion.

  In the event, staying in Capua proved to be a blessing in disguise. Atia could visit much more easily than before; indeed once she knew Aurelia’s intentions, she moved into the house for the duration. Having her mother on hand proved a great comfort to Aurelia, for her nervousness about the birth was growing as it drew ever closer. Her anxiety wasn’t helped by her worries over her father and Quintus. Everyone was obsessed with the impending battle against Hannibal — no, the impending victory over him — that surely must come soon. Two weeks after the attack in the perfumer’s, the two new consuls passed Capua on their way south. Forty thousand troops, citizens and socii, marched and rode with them. The populace turned out in droves to witness the spectacle.

  Aurelia’s wound had healed well enough for her to travel by litter with Lucius to the city ramparts, the best local vantage point. She would remember the sight to her dying day. The massively long column that extended from north to south as far as the eye could see. (By all accounts, it had been passing Capua since daybreak; men said that the tail wouldn’t go by until mid-afternoon.) The sound of thousands of studded sandals striking the ground in unison, which filled the air with an ominous thunder. The soldiers’ rhythmic chanting. Winding through the din, the blaring of trumpets. Sunlight flashing off the metal standards that marked out each legion, maniple and century. The trails of dust rising from the cavalry units, which were dwarfed by the orange-brown clouds that hung in the air over the entire host. Marching through the dirt sent up by the men in front must be horrific, she thought, especially in addition to the incredible heat and the mass of heavy armour and weapons that each man carried.

  Aurelia had seen her father dressed in his uniform before; had wept as he rode away. She’d done the same when first Quintus, and then Gaius, had left. Yet seeing the army brought home the hideous reality of war in a way that truly unnerved her. Hannibal’s host was nowhere near as large as the Roman one would be when the consuls reached the other legions. But there was no avoiding the fact that when battle was joined, many thousands of men would die. More even than at the Trebia or at Trasimene. If that was the case, what chance had her father and brother of surviving? A dark gloom cast its shadow over her. Lucius’ excited comment about perhaps joining the army hadn’t helped. Aurelia hoped that her protestations had convinced him not to pursue the idea, that his father would disabuse him of the notion. For all that she didn’t love him, he was a decent man and her future lay with him. He must not go to war too.

  She’d had enough of watching the martial display. ‘I want to go back to the house,’ she said, touching Lucius’ arm.

  ‘Soon.’ His eyes roamed eagerly over the column. ‘Look, there’s another legion standard. A minotaur, I think.’

  Aurelia resolved to ask him again in a moment. After what had happened, she didn’t want to return to the house alone. She also wanted his arm to lean on when negotiating the steps to street level. By now, her stomach was so large that she waddled rather than walked. Physical activity of any kind was uncomfortable. How much longer will it be? she wondered, rubbing her belly. Her discomfort now outweighed her fear — just. It would do no harm to call in to the temple of Bona Dea on the way back, she decided. Her offerings to the goddess of fertility and childbirth had been frequent, but there was no harm in making another.

  ‘You’re hot.’ Lucius wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. ‘My pardon. You mustn’t stay out for long in these temperatures. Let’s return to the house.’

  Aurelia gratefully took his arm. They walked the short distance to the staircase that they’d ascended. A sentry saluted; a friend of Lucius’ called out a greeting. The wife of another wished Aurelia well, and subjected her to a barrage of advice. Her smile of acknowledgement faltered as an intense pain radiated from her lower belly. It passed within a few heartbeats; the other woman did not notice. Muttering a goodbye, Aurelia walked a few more steps. Another wave hit her then, and she stopped dead, taking deep breaths to try and move through the agony.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Lucius.

  ‘It’s nothing. I’m fine.’ She tried to straighten, but another contraction — she recognised it as that this time — surged in and she gasped.

  ‘Is it the baby? Is the baby coming?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she admitted.

  To his credit, Lucius remained very calm. His friend’s wife was called over and asked to wait with Aurelia. He hastened down the steps, returning with two of his slaves, who helped her down to the waiting litter. The midwife was sent
for. He held her hand and whispered soothing words all the way back to the house. Surrendering her to the care of her mother and Elira, he went to offer prayers at the lararium.

  Aurelia remembered only fragments of the hours that followed; it was terribly hot and humid in the bedroom, and the sheets beneath her were drenched in sweat, making the hard bed she lay on feel even harder. Bizarrely, the bladders filled with warm oil at her sides felt comforting. Atia sat close by, rubbing creams on her belly and talking to her. Between regular internal examinations on Aurelia, the midwife busied herself by praying and readying her supplies on a table: olive oil to use as a lubricant, sea sponges, strips of cloth and wool, tinctures of herbs and pots of ointment. As time passed, Aurelia’s contractions grew closer and closer together, exhausting her. She was aware of crying out with each wave of pain. At one stage, she heard an anxious Lucius at the door; he was banished by Atia.

  At last the midwife’s examination revealed that Aurelia’s cervix was sufficiently dilated. She and Atia helped her to the birthing chair. This had armrests for her to grip on to; it supported her thighs and bottom, leaving a ‘U’ shaped gap between her legs, access for the midwife. Aurelia’s fear reached new heights as she eased on to it, but Atia’s encouragement and the urgent cries from the midwife, who was crouched on a stool before her, helped her to go on. To keep breathing; to push when she was told to.

  In the end, the baby emerged with less difficulty than she’d imagined. It came in a rush. Mucus, blood and urine spattered on the floor. The midwife gave a happy cry; so too did Atia. Aurelia opened her eyes to see a purple-red bundle topped by a thatch of spiky black hair being lifted to her breast. ‘Is it alive?’ she gasped. ‘Is it healthy?’

  A mewling cry answered, and her heart filled. ‘My baby,’ she whispered as the midwife placed him on her chest.

  ‘It’s a boy,’ said Atia. ‘Praise be to Bona Dea, Juno and Ceres!’

  ‘A boy,’ whispered Aurelia, filled with elation. She had done her job, in part at least. She kissed the top of his downy head. ‘Welcome, Publius. Your father is looking forward to meeting you.’

  ‘Well done, daughter,’ said Atia, her tone warmer and gentler than usual. ‘You’ve done a fine job.’

  After a little while, the midwife tied off and cut the cord. With some help, Aurelia walked the few steps to the second, softer bed where she lay down to rest and to feed Publius. It was strange that she’d had doubts about being pregnant, she thought, gazing adoringly at her son. The discomfort of the previous few weeks and the pain of her labour were already dimming in her mind. It all seemed worthwhile now. Lucius in particular would be ecstatic. As long as Publius thrived, his family bloodline had been secured.

  As sleep took her, Aurelia felt more content than she had done in an age.

  She didn’t think about Hanno.

  Chapter XVII

  Cannae, Apulia

  Urceus cleared his throat and spat. The glob of moisture vanished in the dust before their feet. He wiped sweat from his brow. ‘Gods, but it’s so hot. So dry. There isn’t a fucking blade of grass left in the entire camp.’

  ‘Hardly surprising. It hasn’t rained for weeks,’ said Quintus with a wink, ‘and sixty thousand soldiers tramping the whole area every day don’t help either.’

  Urceus threw him a baleful glare. ‘Smart arse. I’d ask for wind, but the damn breezes here only cause dust storms. I never thought I’d say it, but the sooner autumn comes, the better.’

  ‘It won’t be for a while yet.’

  ‘All the better that matters will come to a head soon.’

  ‘They didn’t today, though,’ mused Quintus. Their encampment was no more than a mile from that of Hannibal. They and upwards of ten thousand other soldiers had only just returned from several hours spent in the hot sun, arrayed in battle lines before their own ramparts, the consul’s response to Hannibal’s entire army being ready for a full battle. The initial tension had been unbearable. Prayers had been audible throughout the ranks, men had joked in over-loud voices or found none too plausible reasons to piss where they stood. Once it had become apparent that the enemy was not going to attack them and that Paullus wasn’t going to mobilise all the legions, an air close to euphoria had descended. Suddenly, their thirst and the strength-sapping heat were the only things that had mattered. The order to return to camp had been greeted with universal delight.

  ‘How come Paullus didn’t accept Hannibal’s offer of battle?’ muttered Urceus, before sucking at his water carrier like a babe that hasn’t been fed for a day.

  ‘No one likes to have the ground chosen for him,’ replied Quintus. ‘A lot of posturing goes on before battles. Moving camps, marching one’s army close to the enemy, setting ambushes. They’re all designed to provoke a response.’

  ‘Quite the veteran, eh?’ Urceus’ voice was half sarcastic and Quintus wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Talking knowledgeably about tactics — a topic he’d studied with his father — was a sure way to rouse suspicion about his true identity. He breathed a sigh of relief as Urceus went on, ‘Been listening to Corax, have you?’

  He pulled a sheepish grin. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Corax is probably right. It’s not as if we can just march away after spending this much time within striking distance of the guggas. That would be catastrophic for the army’s morale. We’d be the laughing stock of Italy, the consuls know that. Fabius’ stalemates were fine for a time, until enough legions had been raised and our defeats forgotten a little. But now the Republic needs a victory, and an emphatic one at that.’ He eyed Quintus speculatively. ‘Hannibal’s as keen for a fight as we are, though. He’s not afraid.’

  Quintus thought of Hanno, whose passion to fight against Rome had been palpable from the moment he’d felt it safe to reveal it to Quintus. The desire of Hannibal, a general who had led his troops on an epic journey to Italy, had to be even more overwhelming. If Rome had been roundly defeated in that war, been forced to pay vast reparations and had also lost a huge chunk of its territory to Carthage, I would probably feel the same way, he decided. ‘This is what Hannibal has been wanting since Lake Trasimene,’ he said, ignoring the tickle of fear that caressed his spine. ‘His army has been waiting for us these past two months. That’s why he moved his camp from Cannae to this side of the River Aufidius, and offered battle today. Refusing to play his game shows him that he can’t have it all his way.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Urceus. ‘Things might be different tomorrow with Varro in charge, though.’

  The tradition that each consul led the army on alternate days was as old as Rome itself, but when the two men were very different characters, problems could arise. Quintus asked that that would not happen during this campaign. ‘He does seem more fiery than Paullus,’ he admitted.

  ‘The clash with the gugga cavalry and infantry when we were marching south proved that,’ Urceus added. ‘The only reason Varro ordered the withdrawal was because the sun was about to set. I can’t see Paullus acting like that.’

  Quintus grinned at the memory. The enemy ambush had seen some fierce fighting. Although it had been inconclusive, it had given the men of Corax’s and Pullo’s maniple a real hunger for victory. The same attitude appeared prevalent throughout the whole army. ‘He’s just a little more cautious than Varro, that’s all. After what happened at the Trebia and Trasimene, there’s nothing wrong with that. I’ve heard it said that Hannibal’s supplies will run out in a couple of days. If we do nothing, he’ll have to break camp, which could grant us an opportunity to attack. Paullus is probably just waiting for that.’

  ‘But there’s no need to wait! We’ve got an army nearly twice the size of Hannibal’s now! More than fifty thousand legionaries can’t go wrong, my friend. Our men broke through the enemy lines at both the Trebia and Trasimene, remember? As long as neither consul does anything stupid, we’ll simply flatten the guggas when it comes to a fight.’

  Quintus relaxed a little. It was impossible not to agree with Urceus
. Everyone was of the same opinion. As Calatinus had told him, they might have slightly fewer horse than the Carthaginians, but the task facing their cavalry was simple. The enemy horse had to be contained, that was all, while the infantry smashed a great hole in Hannibal’s main line. Once that was done, the cavalry battle would largely become superfluous. ‘We can sit back and just watch you lot sweating in the sun,’ Calatinus had joked. It was easy enough to picture the legionaries wheeling to complete the massacre of the Carthaginian foot soldiers. Even if by that stage Hannibal’s riders had gained the upper hand in their clash with the Roman horse, thought Quintus, they would be able to do little more than harass the legionaries. ‘Victory will be ours!’ he said, feeling the certainty in his belly grow.

  ‘Victory will be ours,’ repeated Urceus. ‘And it could well be tomorrow.’

  Hanno’s muscles were weary as he followed the messenger to Hannibal’s tent. Although there had been no battle, it had taken most of the day to leave their position and form up opposite the Roman encampment; to wait there, their challenge unanswered; and then to return whence they had come. He questioned the messenger, one of Hannibal’s scutarii, but the man claimed not to know why their general had summoned him. His tiredness fell away as they neared Hannibal’s great pavilion at the centre of the camp. A crowd stood before it, perhaps thirty-five men from all sections of the army. There were Numidian officers, Gaulish, Balearic and Iberian chieftains. With a thrill of excitement, Hanno recognised Hannibal’s brother Mago, and his cavalry commanders Maharbal and Hasdrubal. His father was present too, with Bostar, Sapho and the other phalanx commanders.

  Gods, I’m not the last one here, am I? Hanno’s face reddened as they joined the group. His discomfiture soared when Hannibal, clad in a simple purple tunic, saw him amidst the throng.

  ‘Welcome, son of Malchus,’ said Hannibal. ‘One of the men who has kept this army fed of late.’