By the time he reached the peak, Quintus was vaguely aware of a bruised shin and a long, bleeding graze on one arm. To his left and right, the panting shapes of men emerged one after another. All his attention, however, was on the mass of enemy soldiers ascending from the plain. ‘Jupiter’s cock, they have moved fast,’ he swore.
Rutilus materialised by his side. ‘It will be a push to get to the saddle before them.’
‘We can do it, damn it!’ A glance back down the slope and Quintus’ unease lessened. The dark shapes of the legionaries were only a couple of hundred paces below them. The fight would just have started by the time they arrived. ‘Come on, lads,’ he cried, moving before his fear took a greater hold. Rutilus was more than equal to the challenge and took the lead once more. Quintus was determined not to be left behind. Neck and neck, they barged down the slope, trusting that their comrades were following. Afterwards, he would wish that he had checked. They were perhaps halfway down when someone gave him a tremendous shove in the back. He stumbled forward and his vision spun as he lost control. He saw stars, Rutilus’ back, burning torches and then the ground. His head slammed against a rock and Quintus knew no more.
He came to with someone slapping his face. Blinding pain was radiating from a spot above his left eye, and Quintus groaned.
‘He’s alive.’
‘Can you get up?’ The voice was low and urgent.
‘I think so.’ Strong arms raised him to his feet. Quintus was grateful that they didn’t let go of him at once. His knees shook from the effort of standing upright. It was odd, but he thought he could hear the bellowing of cattle.
‘You’re lucky that one of the lads saw you,’ said a burly hastatus. ‘What the hell happened? Did you trip?’
Macerio. It must’ve been he who pushed him, thought Quintus fuzzily. His wits were scrambled, but he knew better than to accuse a fellow soldier of something he had no way of proving. ‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Can you fight?’
He raised a trembling hand to his head, gingerly feeling where it hurt. His fingers came away sticky with blood. Quintus wiped them on his tunic. ‘Of course I can,’ he said. He looked down; confusion filled him. Then the bellowing he’d heard made sense. Hundreds and hundreds of cattle were stampeding across the saddle. A weird light flared from their heads.
‘Clever, eh?’ snarled the hastatus. ‘They’ve got torches tied to their horns. From a distance, each beast looks like two men.’
Quintus goggled. Around the sides of the herd darted the enemy: men armed with spears and little else. Other figures, which had to be Roman, were being massed at the bottom of the slope while others, the velites probably, hurled javelins at the Carthaginians. ‘It’s a trick, to get us out of the pass,’ he said stupidly. ‘Why didn’t we see it?’
‘Your lot did,’ replied the hastatus grimly. ‘They started shouting, but we couldn’t hear. The centurions kept us moving. At the top, we were packed like salted fish in a barrel. Even when we got the order that most men were to return to the river, it took an age to turn everyone around. That was when the second enemy unit hit us with a volley of javelins and slingshots. There was complete chaos.’ A bitter laugh. ‘They knew we’d charge for the saddle like a bunch of excited children.’
‘What’s happening now?’ asked Quintus as dread filled him.
‘There’s fighting on two fronts: here and on the other side of the peak. Meanwhile, Hannibal’s entire fucking host is marching through the pass under arms. Even if we do succeed in crossing the river again, it will be too late.’
‘That was his plan all along,’ muttered Quintus.
‘I’ll give that gugga bastard one thing,’ admitted the hastatus. ‘He’s damn clever.’
‘His luck will run out one day.’ Quintus tried to ignore his relief that Campania would be spared further pillaging. ‘Fabius will finish him.’
‘Aye, or Minucius, more likely,’ retorted the hastatus.
Rutilus wasn’t alone in thinking that Fabius was too cautious, thought Quintus. He, on the other hand, favoured Fabius, not least because Flaccus had been an arrogant fool. Hanno worried that Minucius was cut from the same cloth. ‘One of them will get lucky in the end,’ he said diplomatically.
‘Gods willing. Best go and lend a hand, eh?’ The hastatus punched him on the arm. ‘Take your time down the slope. You’re probably still seeing stars. One javelin more or less isn’t going to change the outcome.’ With a cynical laugh, he and his companion moved off.
Grateful for the respite, Quintus sat on a large boulder. His head was still killing him. The fighting below looked to be growing more vicious. The cattle continued to stream by. Was there no end to Hannibal’s tricks? he wondered. It appeared not. Yet this was no Trebia, no Trasimene. There would be some casualties, but not many thousands. This had not been a defeat, merely a case of being outmanoeuvred. It was a sting to Rome’s pride, not a blow to its vitals.
Far below, a man with blond hair lobbed a spear at the enemy. It was Macerio. I need to watch my back better from now on, thought Quintus soberly. Fortuna must have been smiling on him earlier. Macerio probably thought that the fall had killed him, or perhaps someone else had come upon the scene, preventing his enemy from finishing the job. Either way, it had been a lucky escape. Soon after, this truth was brought home to him even harder. On his way down to the saddle, he came across Rutilus’ body. That was upsetting enough, but the fact that his friend’s mortal wound was in his back made Quintus’ blood boil with rage. It would not be a coward’s injury; Rutilus was no lily-liver. The chances of an enemy striking such a blow were slim to none. Wounds in honourable combat tended to be on a soldier’s front, or side. No, it was far more likely that Macerio had turned on Rutilus after pushing him down the slope. It was a cowardly act that would be impossible to prove. Where is the devious bastard? Unsure that he was strong enough to fight but desperate for revenge, Quintus scanned the area. In the confusion of battle, there was no sign of the blond-haired man.
He forced himself to calm down. His best tactic would be to pretend nothing had happened, to lull Macerio into thinking that he had got away with it. Next time, though, he would be ready. And it would be Macerio who ended up dead, not him.
North of Capua
Dawn had come. Aurelia could tell. She had been lying awake for hours — if she had slept at all — and through her closed eyelids the light had been increasing for some time. Still she refused to open her eyes. By doing so, she would be forced to acknowledge that this was her wedding day. Lying rigid on the bed, taking only shallow breaths and thinking of everything but the celebrations to come, she could continue the pretence that she and Lucius were not to be husband and wife by the day’s end. That she would never see Hanno again. The thought of him brought tears to her eyes once more. Before his unexpected arrival on the night at the farm, she had been gradually reconciling herself to the idea of wedding Lucius. Since seeing Hanno it had been impossible. Her every waking moment, and many of those when she was asleep, had been consumed by passionate thoughts of him. The preparations for the wedding: being fitted for her bridal dress, ordering the orange veil that she would wear, deciding whom should be invited, had passed her by in a blur. Any time that she was forced to concentrate and things had seemed more real, Aurelia had told herself she was preparing to marry not Lucius, but Hanno. Yesterday, however, her efforts at denying what was happening had begun to unravel at last. Accompanied by her mother, Martialis and a party of slaves, she had travelled north of Capua to the house of one of Lucius’ relations. Because of the risk of marauding Carthaginian soldiers, it had been deemed too dangerous to hold the wedding at her family home as tradition dictated. Instead, it would take place in this villa, a house that she had never set foot in until the previous day. All night long, Aurelia had tried to deny the truth of what would happen in the coming hours. But the pretence was coming to an end. She tried to curse Hanno for appearing in her life, for opening her heart to feelings of love, but she couldn’t. May the gods protect you, wherever you are, she prayed.