Several hours later…
Seeing Hanno’s familiar shape outlined by the glow of light that rose above the village rampart, Mutt grinned. He had checked on the sentries and the wounded, and ensured that the men who remained in camp weren’t getting into any mischief. Now, despite his determination to remain sober, he was looking forward to another drink. In the centre of the village, the noise of singing, music and general ribaldry had been growing ever louder, and the wine and food that had been carried out to the camp by half a dozen Gaulish boys had not lasted long. Stay calm, Mutt thought. Hanno might have changed his mind. I’m not getting away until he says I am.
Mutt walked over to greet him, curious to see if he was pissed. ‘Evening, sir.’
‘Mutt. Any sign of the enemy?’
‘I took a patrol on a circuit about half a mile out from the camp an hour ago, sir. The only creature we saw was an owl. Nothing else is moving out there.’
Hanno visibly relaxed.
‘How are things in the village, sir?’
Hanno laughed. ‘It’s fucking mayhem! I’ve never seen men get stuck into wine quite the way those tribesmen do. It’s like pouring water into barrels of sawdust! Naturally, our men are doing their best to keep up, but there’s enough wine to drown an army. The amount of food is incredible too. There are drinking and arm-wrestling competitions going on. Dancing. Music. I tell you, Mutt, we fell on our feet meeting Devorix. If he orders his men to cut our throats in the middle of the night, then I’m no judge of character.’
‘That’s good to hear, sir.’ Hanno still seemed sober, Mutt noted with pleasure. Despite the entertainment on offer, he hadn’t forgotten his position as commander.
‘It’s your turn now,’ announced Hanno.
Mutt’s spirits rose, but he just said, ‘Is that all right, sir?’
‘Piss off, Mutt, and enjoy yourself. Keep an eye out for any of the men fighting or suchlike. We don’t want trouble.’
‘I’ll watch them like a hawk, sir.’
‘In the morning, we’ll march an hour later than normal. No harm letting the lads have a little more sleep.’
‘Very good, sir,’ replied Mutt gladly. ‘Good night.’
Waving a hand in dismissal, Hanno walked off into the darkness.
Reaching under his cloak, Mutt touched the hilt of his small dagger for reassurance — no matter where he was, he didn’t like being unarmed. Then he headed for the main gate. A burning torch had been shoved into a metal bracket on either side, illuminating the entrance. At first, he could see no sign of a sentry, but then Mutt made out the shape of a warrior sprawled in the dirt just inside the ramparts. A jug lay on its side beside the man, who was snoring fit to wake the dead. Just as well that there are no sodding Romans nearby, he thought wryly.
Within the walls, the noise was much louder. Mutt could hear the deep voices of men chanting, and the pounding of a drum. Booooooooo. Someone was blowing a horn. Flutes and hand bells could also be discerned, mixed with laughter and shouted conversation. He followed the muddy track between the small huts, aiming towards the centre of the village. On the way, he was passed by a number of small boys, chasing each other and shrieking at the tops of their voices. A man and woman walked by, talking in low tones and with their arms entwined. The sound of people coupling carried from a nearby hut. A beady-eyed crone in ragged clothing glared at Mutt from the open doorway of a tumbledown shack, and he mouthed a prayer against bad luck. Just because Devorix had made them welcome didn’t meant that everyone here felt the same. The old woman was the nearest thing he’d seen to a witch for a while.
Emerging into a packed, central open area, Mutt felt his concerns ease again. A massive bonfire lit up the place as brightly as day. It looked as if every inhabitant of the village was here. Groups of men and women danced around the blaze, following the swirling tune played by a group of musicians. Three fire pits, with iron frames over, were being used to cook haunches of beef. Despite risk of being burned, hungry warriors were reaching in to slice off chunks of meat with their knives. The biggest crowd was around a pyramid of amphorae, however, in front of which tables and benches had been set up. Here scores of men were sitting, drinking, talking, laughing at jokes. It was also where the bulk of Mutt’s soldiers were. No surprise there, he thought.
He drew close to the revellers without being noticed, which gave him a useful chance to observe things. As was to be expected, his men were clustered together around half a dozen large tables. Scores of tribesmen manned the rest. The majority of those present seemed quite drunk, but Mutt could see no arguments, which pleased him. An occasional spearman had joined his men; at least two were arm-wrestling with soldiers. It looked as if another was trying to teach one of the spearmen a song. Yet more of his men were standing by the makeshift bar, which was nothing more than planks laid atop four planed down tree stumps. These individuals were deep in conversation with a bunch of Gaulish women. Judging by the giggles and fluttering of eyelashes that was going on, they were getting along fine despite the language barrier.
It was fine to have a drink, Mutt decided. He elbowed his way onto a bench full of his soldiers and shouted until someone handed him a brimming cup. He downed it in one, his eyes watering as the acidity of the wine hit his taste buds. ‘Melqart’s hairy arse, but that tastes like vinegar!’
‘That’s because it is vinegar, sir!’ yelled Bogu, to roars of laughter.
‘But it gets you pissed double quick, sir,’ said another man, grinning. ‘That’s what counts!’
They hammered their fists and cups on the table top in agreement.
Mutt saluted Bogu with another drink. ‘I’ll drink to that. Your health! The same to all of you. May you come through the war unscathed, with your cock and balls intact. And missing no more than one limb each.’
They loved that. Mutt let them laugh for a moment before adding, ‘One more thing — may Hannibal lead us to victory!’
Inevitably, the cry started up. The soldiers all around joined in at once. ‘HANN-I-BAL! HANN-I-BAL! HANN-I-BAL!’
Mutt smiled. This was going to be a good night, he could feel it in his bones.
A hand on his shoulder. ‘Can I join you?’
Mutt turned, recognised Aios. ‘Of course!’ He nudged the man to his right. ‘Move over.’
Aios squeezed himself into the tiny space, taking care not to spill his own drink. ‘Your soldiers are enjoying themselves, it seems.’
‘It’s impossible for them not to,’ said Mutt. ‘Thanks to your fine hospitality. Fires. Wine. Food. What more could a man want?’ He didn’t mention the women, always a source of potential trouble.
‘Let’s not forget women,’ said Aios, wrong-footing him.
‘Aye. They can be good company,’ Mutt replied awkwardly. ‘Is it all right with your chief if anything, err, happens?’ He indicated the group of women. ‘Will your menfolk not rise up in arms if some of my soldiers lie with them?’
A surprised laugh. ‘Why would that happen?’ He saw the incomprehension in Mutt’s face. ‘Our unmarried girls can couple with whomever they choose. No one cares.’
‘Really?’ Mutt twisted around to look again. Most of the women were passable-looking, and two were pretty by any man’s standards. ‘Maybe I should go over. See if I can get lucky.’ He wasn’t entirely joking. How long had it been since he hadn’t handed over coin to have a woman go to bed with him? Five years? No, it was more than that, he concluded regretfully. Army life meant that the only females he’d met were whores, or captives taken in war, who had no rights of their own.
‘Go on,’ encouraged Aios, using an elbow. ‘When they hear that you’re second-in-command, you’ll be in there!’
Aios wasn’t joking, realised Mutt, feeling even more tempted. He sat his arse back down on the bench, though, and took another swig of his wine. ‘Not tonight.’