‘I look forward to it,’ said Hanno, grinning.
By the time that he, Mutt and Bomilcar had consumed the contents of two small amphorae of wine, the moon had risen high in the night sky and Hanno was feeling decidedly the worse for wear. A warm, fuzzy feeling encased him, and he felt goodwill towards all men. Well, not towards the Romans, he thought blearily, but even they weren’t as bad as some made them out to be. He had spent more than a year living with Quintus and his family, had he not? They hadn’t been any different to him and his own family. Not evil. Not perfect, but decent, hard-working people. It wasn’t possible that they were different from the rest of their race. No, Hanno decided, many Romans were all right. Pera, the officer who had tortured him at Victumulae was an exception, clearly. The rest, however, just happened to be the enemy. A damn stubborn enemy too. ‘Why couldn’t the fools have admitted that they were beaten after Cannae?’ he muttered.
‘We should have marched on Rome then,’ said Bomilcar. ‘They would have surrendered.’
‘Would they?’ asked Mutt, letting out a contemptuous fart. He waited until the chuckles had died down before continuing. ‘I don’t think so. The only thing that will make them surrender is when every city, every ally they have, deserts them. When they’re on their own, with their backs to the wall, they will sue for peace.’
‘For that to happen, we need to defeat the enemy in both Iberia and Sicily,’ said Hanno grimly, already feeling the pressure of his mission. ‘That would free up two armies of ours to travel to Italy. Once they arrived, Rome’s allies would desert them like rats escaping a sinking ship.’
‘Aye, that’s about right,’ replied Mutt, taking a big mouthful from his cup.
When it hadn’t happened after Cannae, Hanno had begun to suspect that the path to total victory would be long and tortuous. Articulated now, the prospect of winning a war on three fronts sounded close to impossible. Stop thinking like that, he ordered himself. ‘We have to succeed, damn it!’
‘We will pray to the gods and do our best. A man can do no more, eh?’ Bomilcar held out his cup to Mutt for a refill.
That did not sit well with Hanno. Failure — or, at best, satisfaction with one’s efforts — was not something that he ever wanted to feel comfortable with. It smacked of mediocrity. An image of Aurelia came into his mind then, as she had been that night outside her home near Capua. His groin throbbed and for a moment, he forgot about Sicily, and duty. Shame at not having tried to contact her after their last meeting scourged him. Yet there had seemed no point. She was to be married, and they were from opposite sides in the war. The most practical thing would have been to try and forget her, yet Hanno hadn’t. Couldn’t. A wave of memories surged back. Gods, but how good it had been to kiss her. Why had he not sent her messages? They would never have got through, but he should have tried. Impulse seized him. He nudged Bomilcar. ‘Will you pass through Capua on your way north?’
‘It’s the last friendly city before Rome, so yes, probably. Why?’
Hanno didn’t answer immediately. He was being foolish, he thought sadly. Capua had come over to Hannibal some time since. Those who remained loyal to the Republic would have fled the city after that. He could not imagine Aurelia’s mother and father, and by extension, her husband, ever changing sides. She would not be in Capua. He let out a heavy sigh. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Bomilcar threw him a quizzical look, but said nothing. Mutt, on the other hand, chuckled knowingly. ‘It’ll be a woman. Mark my words.’
‘What makes you think that?’ Hanno demanded, worried that Mutt was about to mention his illegal forays before Cannae. Despite Bomilcar being a friend, the fewer who knew, the better.
Mutt gave him a glance as if to say, ‘You don’t need to worry.’ He winked at Bomilcar, and then regarded Hanno. ‘It’s the look in your eyes, sir. You’re like a moonstruck calf.’
Is it that obvious? wondered Hanno, grateful the darkness didn’t reveal the colour of his cheeks.
‘Who is she?’ asked Bomilcar.
Damn it, thought Hanno, what did it matter if Bomilcar knew? It wasn’t the act of a traitor to have feelings for a woman who happened to be one of the enemy. ‘She’s the sister of the Roman who bought me. Aurelia is her name.’
‘Is she pretty?’ Mutt’s face was eager.
‘Very.’ He pictured her as she’d been the night they had met at her family’s estate. Grown up — a woman, with woman’s curves. His erection stiffened, and he shifted position to hide it.
The others chuckled. ‘She must be good-looking, for you to remember her after this long,’ said Bomilcar.
Hanno was glad that Mutt didn’t say a word. He brooded on the fact that Aurelia would now have been married for some time. For all he knew, she had a child or two. It was all too possible that she had died in childbirth-Stop it. She’s alive, he told himself.
‘You want me to seek her out in Capua?’ asked Bomilcar in a low voice. ‘Give her a message?’
‘That’s good of you, but she won’t be there.’ Quickly, Hanno explained, before poking a stick into the fire in frustration.
‘Forget about her, sir. You’ll never see her again,’ advised Mutt. He raised his cup and gave it an appreciative caress. ‘Best give your love to this. You’ll never find a place where you can’t find some. Might be vinegary, or off, but it will still do the job.’
Hanno glared at Mutt. That’s what I thought when I escaped with Quintus, but then I did meet her once more. To extinguish the dream that he might do so again seemed too brutal. Everything else in his life was about war and death, and duty to Hannibal and Carthage. This one thing was his alone. ‘This is different,’ he muttered.
‘First love!’ said Mutt. ‘Oh, to be young again.’
Hanno threw the dregs from his cup over him.
Mutt shut up.
‘Tell me what you would say to Aurelia,’ urged Bomilcar. ‘I will try to find her in Capua. Even if I fail, I might hear word of where she has gone.’
Hanno sensed that Bomilcar was just humouring him, but he didn’t care. Was it not better that he carry a message of some kind — any kind — than nothing at all? His heart ached at the idea that Bomilcar might actually meet Aurelia. ‘Tell her … that I think of her often. Often. Tell her that with the gods’ help, we will see each other again one day …’ His voice died away.
No one spoke. Hanno glanced at Mutt, saw sympathy in his eyes. Bomilcar’s expression was also understanding. Even in the midst of a war, we don’t have to be unfeeling, Hanno thought. He took a swig of wine and stared out into the blackness.
‘If I find her, rest assured that I will tell her,’ said Bomilcar.
‘Thank you,’ replied Hanno gruffly.
The knowledge would make his journey to Sicily that little bit easier.
Chapter III
North of Syracuse, Sicily
Lifting a hand against the rising sun’s rays, a Roman legionary squinted into the distance.
A tall man with black hair, Quintus Fabricius was in a clearing, halfway up a small, tree-covered hill. Below his position, a road led south, to Leontini and, beyond that, Syracuse. It was empty of traffic. So it had been since he and his comrade Urceus had taken over from the previous sentries in the pre-dawn chill, several hours before. Satisfied, Quintus glanced casually around him. There was no great need to worry about attack from anywhere other than the south, but it paid to be vigilant. To his back, about a mile away, loomed the mass that was Mount Etna, its lower slopes covered in farms and vineyards. Northwards, the road ran up towards Messana, into Roman-held, secure territory. To the east, the sea was a deep, inviting blue. The mainland was only a mile or so across the strait; the mountains that ran down to the point of the ‘boot’ were clearly visible. There were no sails on the water yet — it was too early. Yawning, Quintus stood; he leaned his pilum and shield against the rock that had been his seat and walked up and down a few paces, stretching his muscles to get the blood flowing again.