‘Is this where we get our clothes back, Mama?’
‘No, my darling. First, we have to go with someone to find them.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
Publius’ attention had already moved on. Seeing a heavily built man chewing on a piece of grilled fish, he announced, ‘I’m hung-y! I want fish.’
‘Shhhh, my love,’ Aurelia urged, but fortunately none of the soldiers heard. After a little negotiation, the women were made to stand in a line close to a podium that stood in the very centre of the market. She managed to distract Publius by getting him to draw in the dust at their feet.
Time passed in a haze of fractured images. The purchase by an officer, for a few coins each, of a handful of old, sick-looking men. Every soldier in the garrison was needed for the city’s defence, the officer told the slaver. The wretches were to be set cleaning out a section of the sewers that had blocked. If they died on the job, it wouldn’t matter. A mother and her small son being sold separately; the screams of distress from both as their buyers forced them off in different directions. A raddled-looking man, perhaps a brothel-owner, mauling every young woman he could find, including Aurelia and Elira. She breathed again when his attention settled on a blonde Goth and her companion, an auburn-haired, full-breasted woman. He bought both, along with one of the youngest girls in Aurelia’s group.
The one constant, and oddly what kept Aurelia sane, was Publius’ whingeing. He was hungry, he wanted to go home, he wanted to cuddle with Aurelia, then Elira. Where was his daddy? Aurelia managed to keep him from wailing or crying, and Elira, who was beside them, played her part too. Yet desperation began to steal over Aurelia as tell-tale red marks appeared on Publius’ cheeks, and his voice grew a little shrill. He was tiring. Their ploys would not work for much longer. The guards were beginning to look irritated. She had seen at least one crying child ripped from its mother and sold to the first bidder, just to get rid of it.
‘Agathocles! It’s good to see you.’
Aurelia’s head turned. The officer who’d captured them was talking to a thin, well-dressed man with neat black hair. From the smiles and easy conversation, the two knew each other. A pair of soldiers, Agathocles’ bodyguards, stood nearby.
‘What are you looking for this morning? More women?’
‘Aye. Hippocrates has grown jaded with the last crop.’ Agathocles gave an expressive shrug. ‘You know what he’s like. Never happy.’
‘What have you become, brother?’ The officer lowered his voice. ‘Procuring fresh meat for Hippocrates? You should have joined the army, like me.’
‘Don’t start! You’re here, selling slaves on the generals’ behalf, aren’t you? There’s nothing to choose between us.’ Agathocles clapped the officer on the shoulder. ‘Let’s see if you have anything worth taking to Hippocrates this morning.’
‘There’s a Roman matron down the line. She’s reasonably attractive,’ said the officer, and Aurelia’s blood ran cold. ‘So is the Illyrian who was her female slave.’
Aurelia’s spirits lifted a fraction. She glanced at Elira, saw the same hope flare in her eyes. Fortuna, watch over us in this moment, Aurelia prayed. If we’re together, it won’t be as bad.
Agathocles selected one of the first women in the line, but he passed on the rest without a second look. ‘You haven’t many beauties here today, my friend.’ He came to a halt before Aurelia and looked back at the officer. ‘Perhaps I was being a little hasty.’
‘I told you. Hippocrates will like that one. She’s haughty.’
Agathocles caught Aurelia’s chin with one hand and turned her head from side to side. She tried not to show her outrage, but he noted the tension in her neck. ‘You don’t like that, eh?’ he said in Latin.
Aurelia didn’t reply.
He let her go and in the same instant, backhanded her across the face. ‘I asked you a question, you Roman bitch!’
Publius began to cry, and Elira tried to comfort him. ‘I don’t mind you touching me, no,’ Aurelia whispered.
‘Liar.’ His smile was all teeth. ‘My friend has the right of it. Hippocrates will enjoy breaking you, more especially because you’re Roman.’
‘She’s a noblewoman,’ called the officer.
‘Even better. I’ll take her.’ One of his hands lingered on her breasts.
‘And my child,’ said Aurelia at once.
Agathocles laughed. ‘Hippocrates is many things, but he’s no pederast!’
Aurelia sensed that in this place of desolation and broken hearts, pleading would make no difference. I cannot lose Publius! She pitched her voice so that Publius couldn’t hear. ‘If you take my son as well, I will pleasure Hippocrates as he has never been before.’ She prayed that the techniques taught to her by Elira when she’d first got married, and used successfully on Lucius, still worked.
Agathocles’ eyebrows rose; then he scowled. ‘You’ll do that anyway, or I’ll have the skin flogged from your back.’
‘The horse that’s rewarded for obeying makes a far better steed than the one that’s whipped,’ replied Aurelia. She licked her lips, scarcely believing what she was about to say. ‘I could do the same for you. So could my slave.’
Agathocles’ eyes shot to Elira, and Aurelia’s heart lurched in her chest. Elira had every right not to play the part that she’d just been given. Another owner might treat her more kindly. Aurelia could have wept when Elira flashed a seductive smile at Agathocles and said, ‘You won’t regret it, sir. I swear it.’
Agathocles studied Aurelia again, and Elira. He gave a brusque nod. ‘Go and stand by my men.’ Even as she gave silent thanks, he grabbed her by the throat. ‘Your brat best know how to keep quiet. If Hippocrates hears him, you’ll wish that he’d never been born.’
‘He’s a good boy,’ whispered Aurelia, genuinely terrified now. ‘No one will know he’s even there.’
He waved her away.
A monumental wave of shame and disgust washed over Aurelia as she, Publius and Elira made their way towards the soldiers. I’m no better than a whore. And a whoremistress, to treat Elira so. Yet part of her was glad. She had managed to keep Publius by her side. For the moment.
Despite the fact that Kleitos was Hippocrates’ and Epicydes’ man, Hanno still found him likeable. After finding Hanno a small but well-furnished room in one of the barracks, with a window that overlooked the courtyard, Kleitos had insisted that they visit an inn. ‘Your weapons can wait, but this cannot,’ he’d declared, offering a brimming cup of wine to Hanno. ‘To friendship, and to Syracuse’s alliance with Hannibal and Carthage!’ Hanno had responded with gusto, and they had had several drinks, each time swearing friendship between their two peoples, and victory over the Romans. Kleitos, thought Hanno, was a friend in the making, and a more decent individual than his masters.
Well lubricated, the two had then gone to the garrison’s armoury. There Kleitos had demanded the finest kit for ‘one of Hannibal’s best men’. Hanno knew that word of his arrival would spread fast, but Kleitos’ declaration made sure that everyone in the city would know it by the next morning. Part of him didn’t care. The Syracusan soldiers were delighted by his presence, and asked repeatedly how many men he’d brought with him. His previously prepared answer, that forces from Carthage would soon arrive on the island, seemed to satisfy.
Hanno chose a plain but serviceable bronze breastplate, and an Attic helmet. Kleitos was amused by his request for a Roman scutum and gladius. ‘What’s wrong with our Greek equipment?’
‘You may laugh, but we found out the hard way at Trasimene what happens when phalanxes meet Roman infantry. Hannibal had us arm ourselves afterwards with the weapons and armour taken from the enemy dead. We retrained to fight in blocks, as the legionaries do. It worked too.’
Kleitos’ face grew thoughtful. ‘No one can argue with what Hannibal did at Cannae. Still, it’s a different war here. We’re defending a city, not engaging the legions face-to-face.’