At times, he wished that he’d never ridden to the farm, never met her, not discovered Suni’s fate. Somehow, though, the pain was worth it. Deep in Hanno’s heart, an ember of hope still burned that, one day, he might meet Aurelia again in happier circumstances. It was so fragile, so small that he scarcely dared acknowledge its existence. But it helped him to go on. That, and the burning desire to bury his sword in the hearts of men such as Agesandros and Pera.
Chapter X
The Volturnus valley, northeast of Capua, autumn
The entrance to the valley was about half a mile wide. The forested peaks on either side formed a tunnel for the wind that scudded constantly across the Campanian plain from the sea. At the height of summer, it would have provided welcome relief from the heat, but the season had changed early. Once it got dark, temperatures dropped fast and the breeze just added to the chill. Cloaked and wearing two tunics, Quintus was grateful that he had a fire to crouch over. The blaze at which he and his comrades were warming themselves was just one of many strung across the valley’s entrance. A few hundred paces to his right, the line of light — and the valley itself — was split by the dark band of the River Volturnus, which ran down to Capua and the west coast. To be illuminated and in such an exposed position felt most uncomfortable, but that was Fabius’ precise intention. Although Quintus felt a little like a piece of iron upon the anvil just before the smith is about to strike, the dictator’s decision made perfect sense.
With the harvest taken in, and Campania stripped bare, Hannibal needed to march his army to the east once more. There were few routes out of the area, and Fabius had covered them all. Strong forces had been posted, weeks before, astride the Via Appia and the Via Latina, and at the mouths of a number of passes. Quintus was one of four thousand legionaries and velites to be posted here, in the perfect place to block one of the larger paths to the east. This, while Fabius’ main strength continued to shadow Hannibal’s army, up and down the edge of the Campanian plain, sticking to the mountain slopes and avoiding battle at all times. The two weeks Quintus had spent here had dragged beyond belief. Less than fifteen miles from Capua and a similar distance from his home, he had been unable to do a thing about it. Even a day’s leave was out of the question, and, thanks to the quadrupling of the sentries at night, desertion was downright dangerous. If truth be told, that wasn’t why Quintus had stayed. Although he’d longed to slip away for a night or two, to try and see his mother and Aurelia, a loyalty to Rutilus and Corax, and even his new comrades, had held him back. If he had missed a big battle, he would never have forgiven himself. At this stage, his loved ones had to be safe inside Capua. From the gossip Quintus had heard, the countryside was empty, abandoned. This news had given him much solace. Hannibal wasn’t about to lay siege to Capua. As long as the farm hadn’t been raided in the weeks prior, his mother and sister were fine.
Whether he and his comrades would be was another matter. Hannibal’s host was camped not two miles distant, on the plain. He had seen it with his own eyes, an immensely long column that had taken the entire afternoon to arrive. Now, a thousand pinpricks of light in the distance marked the enemy fires. Quintus’ stomach clenched at the sight of it. Would the Carthaginians attempt to break through this pass? And if so, when? Those were the questions on every man’s lips.
‘There are a lot of them, eh? At least we’re not alone. The rest of the army is close by,’ said Rutilus as he stamped in from the vantage point fifty paces to the front.
‘I know,’ muttered Quintus. ‘It doesn’t feel like it, though.’ It was hard to believe that Fabius, his four legions and an equal number of socii troops were nearer than the enemy. Their encampment was on a hill less than a mile away.
‘It certainly doesn’t.’ Rutilus spat in the direction of Hannibal’s forces.
‘They’d get here quick enough if we’re attacked,’ declared Quintus with a confidence he didn’t quite feel. ‘It takes hours to form an army up to march. Hannibal’s men are no different.’
‘So you think Fabius will actually fight?’ asked Rutilus with a snicker.
Quintus knew what his friend meant. After an entire summer of marching and training, training and marching, and chewing on the dust left by the marauding Carthaginians, most soldiers were champing at the bit to fight the invaders of their land. Trebia was a distant memory; even Trasimene didn’t seem such a terrible defeat when one considered that they had been outnumbered nearly two to one. Apart from the time spent in the field, the main reason for this newfound confidence was that Fabius and Minucius, his Master of the Horse, now led more than forty thousand men. ‘That’s more than enough strength to smash the guggas,’ soldiers said to each other daily. ‘It’s time to teach Hannibal a lesson.’ Quintus had been brooding on it too. ‘This pass is easy to defend. If the enemy begins an assault, I think he will, yes. The time is right.’
‘Ha! I’m not so sure. Old “Warty” wants to avoid confrontation no matter where we are. He’s got no taste for battle. I’d wager my left bollock that-’
‘That what, soldier?’ Corax emerged from the shadows, his eyes glinting dangerously.
‘N-nothing, sir,’ replied Rutilus.
‘Did I hear you calling Fabius “Verrucosus”?’ Corax’s voice was silky. Deadly.
‘I, er. .’ Rutilus’ gaze flickered to Quintus and back to the centurion. ‘Yes, sir. You might have done, sir.’
Corax’s response was to punch Rutilus in the solar plexus, dropping him to the ground like a sack of grain. Rutilus’ mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water. He gasped in a choking breath. ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you this time,’ Corax growled. ‘But if I ever hear you insult our dictator in future, I’ll have you scourged within a pubic hair of your life. Do you understand?’
Unable to speak, Rutilus just nodded.
Corax wheeled on Quintus, who had to force himself not to flinch. ‘You’re not as much of a fool as your friend here.’
‘Sir?’ asked Quintus in confusion.
‘We’ve had our orders. If the guggas come at us, the entire army will march into battle.’ A wolfish grin. ‘No more moving out of the way.’
‘That’s great news, sir!’
‘I thought so.’ Corax threw Rutilus a baleful glare. ‘When you catch your breath, I want you back on sentry duty — for the rest of the night.’
Quintus began to relax — a fraction too soon.
‘You can go with him, Crespo. Make sure he doesn’t fall asleep.’
Quintus knew better than to protest. He glowered at Rutilus as the centurion walked away. ‘We’re going to freeze our balls off all bloody night thanks to you. Why couldn’t you just keep your big mouth shut?’
‘Sorry,’ Rutilus muttered. He didn’t grumble when Quintus told him to bring along the skin of wine that he’d been saving for a special occasion.
All the same, Quintus thought sourly, it would be a long time until dawn.
Despite the cold, it was possible for one of the pair to try to doze a little from time to time. Corax came to check on them once or twice, but by the third watch, it was clear that he’d left them to it. Quintus wasn’t sure if there was much benefit in closing his eyes and snatching a few brief moments of standing rest. He was so chilled that it was almost impossible to fall asleep. Every time he did, a gust of wind would sweep under his cloak, waking him anew. The wine helped, but it soon ran out. They traded dirty jokes for a while, but then they ran out of new material. Rutilus started droning on about Severus and how much they had in common. Quintus was still pissed off with Rutilus, though, and rudely said he wasn’t interested. He tried thinking about the warm bed in his old bedroom at home, but that made him even more grumpy. Imagining the battle that might take place the following day had a similar result. Infuriatingly, Macerio’s position was close to theirs and the blond-haired soldier spent his time making obscene gestures at Quintus or spitting in his direction. Quintus did his best to ignore the taunting, but it was hard. By the time a few hours had passed, he was in an utterly foul mood. His face and feet were numb, and so too were his lower legs, where his cloak didn’t reach. The rest of his body was a little better, but not by much. Stamping up and down was preferable to standing still. Staring at the fires to the rear didn’t just ruin his night vision, it made him feel far worse. With a fixed scowl on his face, he marched to and fro, his gaze fixed on the enemy’s camp.