After that, the advance had slowed, as the physical toll of their efforts struck home. Quintus had hated Corax then, because they had been allowed the briefest of rests before the centurion had ordered them to continue uphill. Yet it had been the right decision. Their formation had been the only one thus far to succeed in breaking through the enemy line. If they’d stayed, they would have died. So they had slogged through the hills for at least a mile, until there was no sign of the enemy. Corax had ordered a halt then, just as men began to drop with exhaustion. The site, a small exposed hilltop, gave them a bird’s-eye view of what was happening by the lake. It wasn’t pleasant viewing, but once he’d made Urceus as comfortable as possible, Quintus could not tear his eyes away from it. Rutilus stood beside him, also transfixed.
‘Most of them have been driven on to the shore,’ announced a voice by his elbow.
Quintus glanced around, surprised to see Corax. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said with a sigh. ‘They’re being hounded by Gauls and Numidians alike.’
‘Poor bastards,’ said Rutilus.
‘Their lines were broken long ago; the units will all be mixed up with one another. Most of their officers are probably dead or injured. They’re surrounded, confused, panicked.’ Corax scowled. ‘Fuck it all. There’s nowhere for them to go but into the lake.’
Quintus peered down at the battlefield again. Was it his imagination, or was there a strange tinge to the shallows near the fighting? He blinked in horror. No, the water was turning red. His overwhelming thirst vanished for a moment. Even if he’d been able to drink his fill from the lake at that very instant, he wouldn’t have. ‘What will happen to them, sir?’
‘To the ones down there? They’re dead meat. Nothing we can do about it either. Going back down there would get every one of us killed, double quick.’
Quintus and Rutilus exchanged a sober but relieved look. If a man such as Corax said it was all right not to play the hero, then who were they to argue? Quintus prayed that his father was safe — that the cavalry hadn’t had time to pass through the pinch point before the ambush began. And at least Calatinus wasn’t present.
‘What we’ve got to concentrate on is not letting the same thing happen to us. My guess is that the guggas will be after us as soon as they can get organised.’
‘Ready to leave when you are, sir.’ Rutilus stuck out his chin.
An approving look. Corax eyed Quintus’ scutum. ‘How do you like the feel of that?’
‘It’s heavy, sir, but I can manage it.’ Another silent prayer, this time one of thanks that his arm had fully recovered.
‘And you?’ The centurion looked at Rutilus.
‘Same, sir.’
‘Picked them up from lads who’d gone down, eh?’
Quintus nodded.
‘Did you have to use them?’
‘No, sir. We were at the back,’ Quintus replied, expecting Corax to tell them off twice over.
‘It was good thinking to arm yourselves with them. Those little round things you velites carry aren’t worth the steam off my piss when you’ve got to slug it out with other infantry. Hang on to them for the moment.’
Quintus and Rutilus grinned in surprise. ‘Yes, sir!’
‘You and your mates did well earlier too,’ said Corax in a tone of gruff approval. ‘It’s no easy thing to keep running up a slope with those bastard slingers raining death down on you. Keep that type of behaviour up, and you’ll both make hastatus sooner rather than later.’
‘Thank you, sir!’
‘Make the most of this break. We’re leaving soon. We need to get as far from here as possible by sunset.’
‘Will we make it, sir?’ Quintus asked.
‘If the gods wish it, yes.’ With a tight nod, Corax moved off.
Quintus’ pride had been stirred by the centurion’s praise, but his final words had turned it to ash in his dry mouth. He could see the same emotion writ large on Rutilus’ face. He lifted his gaze to the heavens, searching for inspiration. Surely the gods wouldn’t let them survive the hell they’d just been through only to see them slain by other Carthaginian troops? After a moment, he looked down, angered by the absence of a sign.
‘The damn gods never answer. Never,’ whispered Rutilus. ‘Even when you need them most.’
‘I know.’ Quintus felt bone-weary. ‘We’ll just have to soldier on.’
Chapter VIII
Capua
‘Aurelia.’
She clamped the pillow tighter against her head. Go away, she thought miserably. Mother has only sent you because she knows I won’t talk to her.
‘I know you’re in there,’ said Gaius.
Despite the pillow, Aurelia could hear every word he said.
‘Open the door. Please, Aurelia.’
With a sigh, she lifted her hand away from her head. ‘What do you want?’
‘To talk.’
‘Mother sent you,’ she accused.
‘She did ask, yes, but I wanted to talk to you too. I’m worried about you.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘No, you’re not.’ He knocked again. ‘I won’t go away until you let me in.’
She lay on her bed for a moment longer, before she got up and lifted the latch. Perhaps he could lift her mood.
‘You’ve been crying,’ he said, entering.
She wiped her reddened eyes. ‘What do you expect? Hannibal has defeated our armies yet again. Thousands of our soldiers have been killed. If Flaminius was killed, it stands to reason that Father and Quintus could have been slain too. And I’m — I’m supposed to be getting married?’ Her tears began again in earnest.
‘Come here.’ He took her in his arms, which is what she’d wanted him to do since the night at her house. But not in these dreadful circumstances. Aurelia didn’t fight him, though — she needed all the comfort she could get.
Three days before, a letter from her father granting his permission for her to wed Lucius had arrived. Aurelia had expected that. What she could never have envisaged was reading that Quintus had recently disappeared en route from Flaminius’ camp to Capua. Fabricius’ assertion that every effort was being made to find him had done little to ease her or her mother’s distress. It was too easy to assume that Quintus was dead, killed in a fall from his horse, by bandits or by an enemy patrol. Two days later — the previous morning — their lives had been turned upside down a second time when the shocking details of the battle at Lake Trasimene had reached Capua. Atia’s face had gone grey when she’d heard; she’d spent much of the time since on her knees at the temple to Mars. Gaius had been training on the Campanian plain, unaware, but the normally ebullient Martialis had been reduced to a brooding silence. Aurelia had been devastated. Deep in her gut, she knew that her father was among the thousands of dead. He had given his blessing to her betrothal, and then he had been killed in battle. It was as if the very gods were laughing at her.
‘The news from Trasimene was dreadful,’ Gaius began, which made her sob even harder, ‘but from what I’ve heard, most of our casualties were taken by the legionaries. Flaminius didn’t send any cavalry ahead of the vanguard, so they hadn’t passed through the narrows by the lake. From the moment that the fighting began, the press was so great that they couldn’t join in. When the tide turned, they were able to ride away without any difficulty.’