A barrage of hammering on the front door nearly made her jump out of her skin. Lucius’ voice demanding entry reassured her that it wasn’t a demon come to claim them, but her stomach still roiled as Statilius ran to let his master in. Lucius appeared a moment later. He was soaked to the skin and his cheeks were haggard, as if he’d been out in the weather all day.
Aurelia walked to meet him, cradling Publius, who mercifully fell silent. Nausea clawed the back of her throat, but she fought it away. Neither husband nor wife said a word as they neared one another. Close up, Aurelia saw that Lucius had been crying. His face was stricken. ‘They lost, didn’t they?’ she said, uttering the unthinkable, which had been in her mind since the commotion began. ‘Hannibal won.’
His nod was mechanical, as if he’d been drugged.
If Aurelia hadn’t been holding Publius, she would have fallen. Calm. You must stay calm, she thought. ‘Tell me.’
‘Two messengers presented themselves at the gates just after sunrise, demanding an audience with the magistrates. An announcement was made in the forum after that meeting. All kinds of rumours are flying about, but I managed to speak with an official whom I know. He’s level-headed, so his account is as reliable as can be expected. Two days ago, it was Varro’s turn to lead the army. He was determined to start a battle, even though Paullus wanted to wait until a better location could be found.’ Lucius spoke in a monotone. ‘Varro crossed the River Aufidius and drew up the legions in one great bloc. Hannibal’s army followed and formed up opposite. Our soldiers advanced on the middle of the enemy line, with the cavalry in support on the wings. Varro’s intention was to smash the guggas apart with one decisive blow, before annihilating their broken remnants. Our horse had to hold the flanks. Except everything went wrong. Hannibal’s horsemen attacked on both sides. They put the citizen cavalry to flight almost at once, while the socii riders were bogged down by his infernal Numidians. We had such superiority of numbers of infantry that that shouldn’t have mattered — in theory. The trouble was, Hannibal had a master plan that Varro didn’t see. His weakest troops were standing in his centre and in a formation slightly bowed towards our soldiers. When the fighting began, the enemy was driven back slowly. But as the legionaries drew level with the rest of his men, Hannibal had his wings — which were made up of his Libyan veterans — swing around to attack the legions’ sides. Much of his cavalry fell upon our rear at the same time.’
Aurelia felt cold all over. ‘Where were our horsemen by this time? The citizens, especially?’
‘Driven off, or killed.’ His eyes caught hers. ‘I’m sorry, Aurelia.’
Father! Gaius! She had to lean against a pillar to hold herself upright. Lucius’ gaze was steady and it helped her to gain control. ‘Go on. I want to know everything. How many dead?’
‘No one knows for sure. One of the tribunes sent a group of riders to inform the Senate as the sun fell. Apparently, Varro escaped to Venusia with a few thousand men. More still fled to Canusium. There were stragglers all over the countryside. It will take days to calculate the losses.’
‘How many?’ she demanded again.
‘Thirty thousand, perhaps more,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s what the messengers think.’
Aurelia reeled. It felt as if someone had punched her in the solar plexus. ‘Quintus is dead too, then.’ She could control her emotions no longer. Clutching Publius to her as if he’d be stolen too, she let the sobs come. Alarmed, he also began to wail. Lucius moved towards her, but she waved him away. ‘How can the gods do this to me?’ she screamed. ‘Take three of the most important men in my life in one sweep? Curse them for being faithless! Curse them for never listening to our pleas!’
‘Aurelia! You cannot say such things! It will bring misfortune upon us.’ Lucius was appalled.
‘Misfortune?’ she shrieked. ‘How could anything be worse than what you’ve just told me? This for the gods!’ She hawked and spat on the floor. Even as she did it, Aurelia regretted it. But it was too late.
‘Be silent, wife! Control yourself, or I shall be forced to do so for you.’ The veins on Lucius’ neck stood out like purple ropes. ‘Is that clear?’
Aurelia was stunned by the level of his anger. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘To your room! Attend to my son. That is your damn job, not calling down the anger of the gods on this family, this house.’
Weeping, Aurelia fled before his fury. What madness had possessed her to speak as she had? She was but a mere human, condemned to accept whatever was handed out to her, good or bad, by the all-powerful deities. Defying them would make no difference, and would in all likelihood make things worse. Yet part of her could not help thinking: How could things be any worse? Father is dead. Quintus is dead. Gaius is dead. Our army has been destroyed. She would never know, but no doubt Hanno had also been slain. Hannibal and his army could now visit whatever fate they wished upon the Republic.
Publius stirred in her arms, and her heart lurched her back into reality. Here he was, more precious than any of the other people or things in her life. She began silently to beg forgiveness of the gods. Do not take my child from me, please. Forgive my transgression, which was made in the depths of despair. Such words will never pass my lips again. I shall make generous sacrifices in expiation. Aurelia prayed long and hard and as earnestly as she had ever done in her life.
It was only when she had finished and settled a sleeping Publius in his cot that Aurelia dared to allow her grief to resurface. She lay on her bed and sobbed into the pillow, wishing that Lucius would come to comfort her. It was a faint hope, which disappeared as the hours passed. Elira crept in at one point, but Aurelia, angry that it was not Lucius, shouted at her to get out and not come back. Thoughts of Hanno did not help either. He was a fantasy figure, whom she would never meet again, let alone conjure into an appearance here.
Eventually her tears dried up, not because she felt any better but because she had none left to shed. When she emerged, red-eyed and exhausted, Statilius informed her that Lucius had gone to find out more news. The sounds of distress from the streets had eased, but only a fraction. Aurelia expressed an interest in going to the forum, but the major domo regretfully told her that the master had left orders that no one should leave the house before his return.
She had no energy left to defy Lucius’ command, no strength to ask for Elira or that a messenger be sent to her mother, no capacity to do anything other than retire to her room. There Publius was beginning to cry again. Sinking even deeper into misery, Aurelia tended to him as best she could. Somewhere in her consciousness, she was aware that caring for her baby would provide a way through the pain, but it was of scant comfort in that dark moment. Utterly drained, she fell asleep some time later, fully clothed, on her bed.
During the evening, the sound of Lucius’ arrival roused her from her torpor but she did not dare go out. Ears pricked, hopeful, she fed the baby and waited for her husband to come to check on her. He didn’t. The snub shouldn’t have hurt, Aurelia reasoned. After all, she didn’t love him. Yet the gesture cut as sharply as a knife. He was her husband. An ally, when she had so few. Fresh tears flowed. The last thing that Aurelia thought before falling asleep again was that it would be a relief never to wake up.
There was to be no such blessing. Publius woke not long after with colic. She spent the rest of the night in a semi-catatonic state, nursing him, walking him and snatching a few moments of rest whenever he closed his eyes.