‘Me too,’ growled Urceus. ‘I’ve got fields that need tending back home, and a woman that needs ploughing.’
‘Sure you haven’t got that the wrong way round?’ Rutilus snickered, and had to dodge out of the way as Urceus’ ham-like fist swept through the air at him.
Quintus grinned. Life in the velites was harder than he’d imagined, but there was a camaraderie and a freedom that he hadn’t expected. Corax and his junior officers were in charge of half of the maniple’s forty skirmishers, while Pullo and his subordinates looked after the other half. Yet the officers didn’t direct them in battle, except from a distance. Nor did they accompany the velites out here, on patrol. Instead, the most experienced men took charge. Whether it was because their positions were unranked or because the velites came from the poorest section of society, Quintus did not know, but there was an appealing lack of formality between those who led and those who followed.
Fortunately, Macerio had no superiority over him. He too was an ordinary rank-and-filer. Their relationship had degenerated even further in the weeks since their brawl. They’d come to blows twice, but been separated each time by Big Tenner, their huge ten-man section leader. Since then, they had avoided each other as much as was possible when sharing a tent. Quintus knew, however, that it would only be a matter of time until they clashed again. As much as anything, the scar on Macerio’s cheek would see to that. He was grateful to be in the five-man sub-unit led by Urceus, with whom he’d become friendly, while Macerio was in Big Tenner’s lot. Little Tenner, the diminutive but charismatic leader of the century’s other ten-man section, was with his men some distance off to their right, while the remaining twenty velites were scouring the ground to their left. Sets of short, high-pitched whistles and runners kept the groups in occasional touch.
‘We move out. South, same as before. Keep your eyes peeled,’ said Urceus, rising. ‘Stay at the same height. Big Tenner’s men are working the slope below us.’
The undergrowth was too dense to see the rest of the velites, but Quintus glanced anyway. Macerio was out there somewhere, and he wouldn’t put it past the whoreson to lie in wait for him with a javelin. Such things happened in war from time to time, and if there were no witnesses, no one would ever be the wiser. The thought of that made him lick his lips and grip the light spear in his right hand a little tighter. Like the ones in his other hand, it had an ash shaft and a narrow, pointed head. Under Corax’s hard gaze, Quintus and his companions had spent hours throwing them at bundles of straw. He’d worked hard not to let his experience with a spear show; it appeared to have succeeded.
They wormed their way through the bush in a well-worked pattern, making little noise. Urceus took the centre; Quintus walked about twenty steps to his right, with Rutilus another score beyond that. The two others were in similar positions to Urceus’ left. For the most part, it was boring work. The chances of encountering any of the enemy were slim. The Carthaginians were some distance to the south, and all they were interested in was farms and estates, not empty countryside. Inevitably, perhaps, Quintus’ attention began to wander. Dead leaves rustled underfoot. A snake slithered away as his tread disturbed it from a sunny patch of earth. Lizards watched him with beady eyes before skittering to safety over the rocks. At last he looked up. He could see vultures, lots of them. His stomach turned, dragging him back to the present.
The Carthaginians’ savage tactics meant that vultures had become a common sight overhead, drawn by the rich pickings. There were so many corpses that Flaminius had ordered that, upon discovery, they were to be left unburied. It was a directive that greatly angered his soldiers. Urceus reckoned that that had been the consul’s intent, and Quintus was inclined to agree. He was increasingly eager to confront the enemy army in battle. Yes, it would be good to wait until they met up with Servilius and his legions, but if the right opportunity came about, it would be foolish not to take it. How many innocents had to die before Hannibal was stopped?
A series of short whistles, the signal that one of Big Tenner’s men was approaching. Without a word from Urceus, the five came to a halt. Despite the fact that the call had been from one of their own, each veles lifted his shield and readied a javelin. As Corax had drummed into them, they always had to be ready to sting like a bee and flit away like a fly, and to do the reverse with equal aptitude. Quintus glanced at Rutilus, who shrugged. ‘Who knows what it could be?’
The sight of Macerio sloping towards them made Quintus scowl. Macerio made straight for Urceus.
‘What is it?’ Urceus demanded.
‘Believe it or not, a party of Numidian cavalry.’
Urceus was as surprised as everyone else. ‘On the road?’
‘Yes. I saw them first.’ Macerio shot a spiteful look at Quintus, as if to say, ‘You wouldn’t have noticed them.’ Quintus pretended not to notice.
‘How many?’ Urceus asked.
‘Only six.’
A disapproving hiss. ‘They’re probably just outriders for a bigger party. We’d best not go near them.’
‘They’re on their own. They’re all pissed.’ The insolence in Macerio’s tone was just perceptible. ‘Maybe they got left behind when their unit was tearing apart a farm. Drank themselves stupid, only woke up this morning.’
‘Hmmm.’ Urceus looked tempted, and Quintus cursed silently. Why did it have to be Macerio who’d seen them?
‘Big Tenner agrees with me.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Urceus with a feral grin.
‘Has he sent for Little Tenner or any of the others?’ asked Rutilus.
‘For six men? There’s no need,’ Macerio retorted scornfully.
‘True,’ added Urceus. ‘It’ll piss off the others as well, when they discover that we got to blood our spears when they didn’t. What did you see, Macerio?’
‘One of their horses has gone lame, so they’ve stopped while its rider tends to it. If we move fast, we can spring an attack from in front and behind,’ Macerio announced with another triumphant glance at Quintus.
Fuck you, Macerio, thought Quintus. It’s not as if this turns you into an amazing general.
‘I like the sound of it! C’mon then, or we’ll miss the party.’ Urceus indicated that Macerio should turn around.
They began to run. A new urgency lent speed to their feet. A devilment took Quintus, and he placed himself right behind Macerio. It gave him immense satisfaction that the result was to make his enemy cast frequent looks over his shoulder. Down the slope they went, side by side at times, or making their own path through the dense vegetation. Skidding their heels on the dry earth. Avoiding branches that whipped past their faces. Cursing as a bird flew up, making its alarm call.
Big Tenner was waiting for them in a tiny clearing, his broad face twisted into a ferocious grimace. Of his three remaining men, two were visible, watching the road. ‘You sound like a herd of fucking cattle. A deaf man could hear you a mile away!’
Macerio flushed.
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ growled Urceus.
‘Just as well the shitbags are pissed, or they’d have been long gone.’ Big Tenner waved them closer. ‘Take a look.’
Urceus padded to a gap in the bushes and disappeared. An instant later, his head popped out. ‘Best come and see,’ he said to Quintus and the others. ‘Then we’ll all know what way the land lies.’
It didn’t take long to appraise the scene. Some thirty paces below them was a short straight section of the road that led south to Lake Trasimene. Under the shade of some tall strawberry trees opposite was a party of Numidian cavalry, all dismounted. As Macerio had said, there were six. Two were wrestling with a horse, one holding it by the bridle while the other repeatedly tried to lift its left back hoof. Their four companions were sitting in the road, their slouched positions and loud comments giving away much about their state. That, and the amphora that was passing from hand to hand, convinced Quintus that Macerio’s hunch was correct. It was a perfect opportunity to strike. They had numbers, sobriety and surprise on their side.