They took his meaning at once, bellowing at the tops of their voices, and clattering their blades off their shields. Fifteen of them made far more noise than five had. Spurred on, Kleitos blew and blew until it seemed the tongue might fly out of the beast’s mouth at the top of the carnyx. Parr-parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Zzzeyrrp. Booooooooo. His efforts were like a strangled version of the noise made by the instruments that Hanno had heard before. For all that, they were deafening. What they would sound like when coming out of the pitch-black night, he had no idea. With any luck, they would be bowel-churningly frightening.
Parr-parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Zzzeyrrp. Booooooooo. Parr-parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Zzzeyrrp. Booooooooo.
Hanno peered into the gloom, preparing for the arrival of a large number of Roman legionaries. He waited, heart thumping in his chest. And waited. Around him, the men continued to shout and roar, but Hanno could sense that they too were increasingly uneasy.
At last Kleitos had to stop to draw breath. He lowered the carnyx, looked at Hanno. ‘Well? Are the stinking dogs coming? Or have they run?’ He wiped his brow and lifted the instrument again. Parr-parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Zzzeyrrp. Booooooooo.
Hanno’s stomach knotted. He knew what Kleitos meant. Someone had to advance to see if their enemies had fled, risking instant death if the legionaries had not been scared off. Fuck it, he thought. With a white-knuckle grip on his sword, he slid his feet forward. Step by sweating step, he moved towards the Roman fortifications. Five paces. Ten. Fifteen, and then twenty. Behind him, Kleitos blew as if his life depended on it. His soldiers’ clamour went on unabated. The combination made a horrendous din, but Hanno would have preferred to stay close to it rather than to walk away, into the mouth of death.
At fifty paces, he stopped. There was something large lying on the road. Hanno crept closer, ready for a trap. Finding a scutum, he laughed out loud. Two steps away, he saw a pilum. ‘They ran,’ he said. ‘They bloody ran!’ Fear gone, he strode forward another fifty paces along the causeway. There wasn’t a Roman in sight. One more scutum, and a few pila, but no flesh-and-blood legionaries.
Parr-parr-parr. Parr-parr-parr. Zzzeyrrp. Booooooooo. Kleitos’ efforts on the carnyx continued, but they were faltering somewhat.
Hanno grinned. He should return with the good news before Kleitos collapsed. He trotted back. The news made Kleitos laugh so hard that he had a coughing fit. ‘It’s almost a shame that the wine is being given out for nothing at the moment,’ he said, recovering. ‘I wouldn’t have had to open my purse for a day or two.’
‘Longer than that,’ Hanno observed, wiping tears of amusement from his own eyes. ‘To think of taking the carnyx was pure genius.’
‘It wasn’t a bad idea, eh?’
‘Truly, the gods are on our side this night,’ added the priest with a pleased look.
Hanno bowed his head in respect. It did indeed seem as if the divine powers had given their approval. Thank you, Great Huntress. Thank you, Baal Saphon. With your help, we can smash Marcellus’ legions when Himilco arrives, and end the war on Sicily.
Upon Kleitos’ order, they began a quick march back to Syracuse, making no effort to be quiet. It was unlikely that the legionaries would be rallied, but as Kleitos said to Hanno, it would be a shame to suffer any casualties because they had dawdled too long. ‘Let our suffering be in the form of pounding heads and cold sweats from the wine we drank tonight,’ he declared.
‘I think I’ll join you in the pursuit of that,’ said Hanno happily. After what had just happened, the hangover would be worth it.
Chapter XXIII
Quintus and Urceus were in the same spot below Galeagra as they had been on their spying mission a week before. This time, it was with an altogether different purpose. Corax was with them; so too was the entire maniple. Five other maniples of hastati were manoeuvring into position behind: almost a thousand soldiers all told. Pera’s unit was among them. Ten ladders that had been constructed secretly were with Corax’s troops. Marcellus had believed Corax, thought Quintus triumphantly. Marcellus had questioned him for two hours and more, Corax had told Quintus later, but he had accepted his story. As if to show the gods’ favour, a newly arrived Syracusan deserter had mentioned the forthcoming festival of Artemis, which would last for three days. To placate the city’s restless inhabitants, who were angered by the growing shortage of food, Epicydes had let it be known that unlimited wine would be available, gratis, during the entire festival.
It had been clever of Marcellus to delay their attack until the second night of festivities, Quintus decided. Everyone who had abstained on the first night would want to catch up with what they had missed out on. The ones with sore heads would be adopting the hair-of-the-dog approach. And the ones who didn’t drink? Well, there were few people indeed who could refuse free wine. If there had ever been a good opportunity to attack Syracuse, this was it. It was all thanks to him. Marcellus didn’t know that, but Corax did. He’d even taken Quintus aside and thanked him afterwards.
‘If this works, I’ll personally find enough wine for you and the rest to get pissed for a week,’ he’d also said.
‘I will hold you to that, sir,’ Quintus had replied, laughing.
Quintus didn’t feel quite so humorous now. He was crouched before the defensive ditch, weighed down by his equipment, and by the knowledge that when Corax gave the signal, he would be the first to move to the base of the wall. The men behind him — Urceus and his other tent mates, and after them the remainder of the maniple — were carrying the twenty-cubit-long ladders. Once they had reached him and they had listened out for enemy activity, it would be Quintus who went up the first ladder. Urceus and his comrades would follow him, and then Corax and the rest.
Corax had set them this task. ‘It was your observation that made this possible.’ He’d chuckled wryly. ‘But you lot weren’t ever going to get away with such a dereliction of duty. Abandoning one’s sentry post is inexcusable, whatever the reason. If you survive the attack, however, I’ll forget what happened — this once.’
That was fair enough, thought Quintus. His bladder twinged; irritated, he did his best to ignore it, and his churning guts. It was as if he hadn’t emptied his bladder and bowels before they left the camp. He had, twice. Everyone had been at it: packing out the latrine trenches and making overloud jokes. I’ll forget about it when the fighting starts, he told himself, trying not to imagine what would happen if he never got that far. If a Syracusan sentry heard him climbing the ladder-
Corax materialised out of the blackness and put his face close to Quintus’. ‘Ready?’ he mouthed.
Quintus nodded.
Corax pointed at the wall. ‘Go,’ he meant.
With a final look at the ramparts, Quintus set about getting down into the ditch. The process was nerve-racking. He felt as if a warning cry would issue from above at any moment, or that a massive rock would be dropped on his head. Maybe the lunatic with the carnyx, he who had so terrified a patrol on the south side of the city the night before, would even appear. Nothing of the sort happened, but that didn’t make Quintus feel any better. With gritted teeth, he and Urceus took the first ladder from Placidus’ hands. When more men had joined them in the ditch, they passed it over the bundles of sharp-ended branches. Quintus took a moment then to listen for sentries. Apart from some singing a little way off, he heard nothing. Without further ado, they lifted the ladder up and laid it against the wall. Despite their best efforts, there was a soft noise on impact. They froze, but no challenge rang out.
Quintus burned to ascend at once, but their orders were not to begin the assault until at least five of the ladders were in place. They just had to stand there, hearts pumping, as the rest of their maniple copied what they had done. Eventually, it was done. Hastati packed the ditch like fish in a pool. Scores of others were visible at the edge of the trench, waiting their turn. Pera was out there somewhere too. Gods grant that he comes within reach of my blade later, thought Quintus bitterly. He was determined to utilise the chaos granted by the sack of a city to take his revenge. Urceus agreed with him. If the chance came, they would kill Pera.