‘You’ve got some balls, boy.’ Corax’s gimlet eyes pinned Quintus, but he didn’t back down. After what seemed a long time, the centurion nodded. ‘As long as his information is useful, he can go free. Tell the sewer rat that I’ll be watching him, though. If I suspect the slightest treachery, the smallest lie, I will cut his damn throat myself.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Quintus turned to Kleitos. ‘Tell us what you know. If it’s of use to us, my centurion guarantees that you will be set free.’
‘How can I trust you?’
‘You have his word, and mine,’ said Quintus. There was silence for a moment. He could see Kleitos was warring with himself. ‘There’s no glory in dying just because your men have to,’ he urged.
‘What would you know?’
‘I was at Cannae,’ replied Quintus soberly. ‘You must have heard of the slaughter that day. By the time the sun was going down, there was barely a Roman alive. Those of us still living had given up hope, but not my centurion. He led us out, and we fought our way to safety. Our reward for that was to be sent in disgrace to Sicily. For all that, I’d rather be here, breathing, than for my bleached bones to be lying in the mud in Italy.’
Kleitos threw him a look of grudging respect. ‘Very well. We were sent out to scout the area; to see if there were any Roman forces moving south yet. Hippocrates and Epicydes know that Marcellus will advance on the city; they want to know when.’
Quintus explained to Corax, who said in poor Greek, ‘That sounds reasonable. Go on.’
‘Are there more of your troops nearby?’ demanded Quintus.
‘Nowhere close.’
This pleased Corax. ‘What is the current strength of the garrison in Syracuse?’
Quintus translated.
Kleitos scowled; then, oddly, he smiled. ‘What does it matter if you know? You will never take the city. Upwards of thirty thousand men are under arms within the walls.’
‘Thirty thousand?’ repeated Corax, who had understood the number. ‘How many of those are professional soldiers?’
Quintus asked the same in Greek.
‘More than two-thirds. There will be time to train the rest when the siege begins,’ replied Kleitos proudly. ‘In addition, the slaves freed by Hippocrates and Epicydes number perhaps five thousand. Those are being armed and trained as well.’
Corax took a moment to digest that, but he didn’t comment further.
That many defenders would mean fierce resistance to any attack. Quintus had never thought it was going to be easy, but this was bad news.
‘What about catapults and the like? How many of those are there?’ asked Corax.
‘Catapults?’ Kleitos had recognised the word. ‘I don’t know exactly, but it’s a lot. Scores and scores of them, from small ones up to the beasts that can throw a stone the size of a temple altar.’ He winked. ‘We have no shortage of ammunition.’
Corax frowned when Quintus told him that. ‘It’s to be expected, I suppose,’ he growled. ‘A city like Syracuse isn’t going to have stood there for hundreds of years without strong defences. It will have its own wells, and enough food to last many months. That’s without supplies coming in from the sea, which will be difficult for us to prevent. It might be a long siege.’ He eyed Kleitos. ‘But Rome will prevail in the end.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ answered Kleitos when Quintus had interpreted. ‘Carthage will soon come to our aid.’
The word ‘Carthage’ and the tone of Kleitos’ reply needed no explanation, although Quintus did so. Corax grinned when he was done, which made him look even more fearsome. ‘One day, we’ll see who was right, and I wager my left bollock that it won’t be him. Tell the dog that. Then he can go.’
‘I’ve no wish to take just one of your centurion’s balls,’ said Kleitos. He smiled but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes, which promised something else altogether.
Quintus didn’t bother translating. ‘You’re free.’
Kleitos inclined his head at Corax, who returned the gesture. ‘Can I have my blade?’ he asked, indicating a fine kopis on the ground nearby.
Quintus had to admire his bravery. ‘He wants his sword, sir.’
‘He must swear not to attack any of my men for a day and a night,’ said Corax.
Quintus went and picked it up. Its blade was covered in blood. Roman blood, he thought angrily. Warily, he approached Kleitos. He had never returned a weapon to an enemy. ‘You must take an oath not to harm any of us for a day and a night.’
‘I swear before Zeus Soter not to do so,’ said Kleitos, reaching out for the kopis.
Quintus hesitated for a heartbeat. They stared at each other over the sword.
‘May he strike me down if I break my oath,’ said Kleitos in a firm tone.
Quintus handed it over.
Kleitos’ eyes smouldered. ‘If we meet again, I will kill you. And your centurion.’
‘You can do your best. We’ll be ready for you,’ retorted Quintus angrily. ‘Now, go.’
Without another word, Kleitos strode past, over the bodies of his men, towards Syracuse.
‘A courageous man,’ observed Corax. ‘If all the defenders of Syracuse are like him, the siege might take longer than Marcellus thinks.’
Chapter IV
‘We see G-anny?’
Aurelia smiled. As ever, Publius’ reedy voice mangled the word ‘Granny’. Her mother hated it. No matter how many times Aurelia told her that he would eventually learn to say it, Atia had to correct him. She gazed down at him fondly, squeezing his hand. ‘Yes, dear. We’ll see Granny soon. It’s not far now.’
It was mid-morning, one of the safest times of day to be out in Rome, and this part of the Palatine was a respectable area. That didn’t stop Aurelia’s grey eyes from roving the crowded street, searching for trouble. The brutal attack she’d suffered in Capua before Publius’ birth, two and a half years prior, had left a lasting scar. Elira, her Illyrian slave, padded at her back — company and a buffer to criminals at the same time. Agesandros was walking a step or two ahead of her. Aurelia had been mistrustful, even fearful, of her father’s Sicilian overseer since the death of Hanno’s friend Suni, but on the capital’s filthy streets, she was glad of his presence.
It wasn’t that odd that he was also here. When they had first had to abandon their farm, and then to leave Capua itself, Agesandros had been left with no real role. He’d been with the family for many years, however. Almost by default, he had become a servant cum bodyguard for Aurelia’s mother, Atia. During the chaotic, terrible weeks after Cannae, when it became clear that Fabricius would not be coming home, he had become indispensable to Atia. Nowadays, with mother and daughter living in Rome, he barely left Atia’s side. Aurelia, who resided at her husband Lucius’ house nearby, could not protest to her still-grieving mother about that. It wasn’t as if she had to see him every day, and at times like this, he provided security.
Aurelia studied Agesandros as he walked. He was as bandy-legged and wiry as he had been all her life. The only discernible sign of ageing was the patch of silver hair above each ear. The cudgel in his right hand dangled nonchalantly, but Aurelia knew how fast Agesandros could spin it through the air. There would be a dagger secreted about his person too, of that she had no doubt. Nearing fifty, he was still an intimidating, ruthless presence. Men tended to get out of his way, which made their journey much easier. It struck her again that he was moving faster than he would usually, yet her son was growing heavy in her arms. ‘Agesandros, stop. I need to rest for a moment.’
His head turned. Aurelia thought she caught a twitch of impatience in his lips, but it had gone so fast she couldn’t be sure. ‘Of course. Over here.’ He gestured to their left. A few steps away, customers were sitting on stools at the counter of an open-fronted restaurant.
The smell of frying sausages and garlic hit Aurelia’s nostrils as she set down Publius with a relieved sigh. She wasn’t the only one to notice. ‘Sau-sage?’ her son piped. ‘Sau-sage?’