Hannibal: Clouds of War (12 page)

Tempsanus sighed, looking apologetic. ‘I am sorry, my lady, but I will not allow it.’

Aurelia was ready. ‘Nothing in life is as important as those whom we care for,’ she said passionately. ‘I am not from Rome. What have I here? Other than my son and a few slaves, nothing! If you will not take me, I shall find my own way to my husband’s side.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I will go to Ostia and find a ship that’s sailing south.’

‘No captain will take you!’

‘For the right money, anything can be bought,’ Aurelia retorted. ‘Someone will be willing to afford us passage.’

‘You can’t do that,’ said Tempsanus, with genuine alarm. ‘For all you know, they might plan to steal your money, or sell you as slaves! Worse, perhaps.’

‘The gods will protect us,’ Aurelia declared breezily.

‘No. You cannot do this, my lady. As much as anything, Lucius would never forgive me.’

‘It’s none of your concern, Tempsanus. You are to leave today, is that not so? Once you’ve left, I will follow on behind. You can’t stop me.’ She gave him her most determined stare.

There was a short pause before resignation began to set into Tempsanus’ eyes and Aurelia knew that she had won.

‘Very well,’ he said with a sigh. ‘May Fortuna watch over us.’

‘And let Lucius still be alive when we reach Rhegium.’ He would recover faster with her there to care for him, she thought, and while he did, she could dream of seeing her brother again.

And Hanno.

Chapter V

HAVING TAKEN LEAVE
of his brothers – parting from Bostar had been especially hard – Hanno had travelled to the western coast of Bruttium. In a tiny fishing village, he had found a crusty old sailor called Alcimos, in whose small boat he now found himself. Hannibal had ordered Hanno to make his journey as secret as possible, and his general didn’t have many ships at his disposal anyway. It was therefore best to arrive in Syracuse unannounced. There would be spies everywhere in the city; it was even possible that they’d try to kill Hanno before he met with Hippocrates and Epicydes. Making his own entrance, without any warning, gave him the best chance of success.

As Alcimos steered the little craft out to sea, Hanno stared at the coastline of Italy, and thought of his men and, most especially, Mutt. Their farewell had been far more difficult than Hanno had anticipated. The two had never shared that many secrets – it was only recently that Hanno had mentioned Aurelia to Mutt – but their experiences in combat had forged a strong bond between the two men.

‘You’re going then,’ Mutt had said.

‘Yes.’ Hanno had shifted from foot to foot, feeling awkward and stupid. ‘It’s time.’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘Look after the men.’

Mutt’s brows had lowered. ‘You know I’ll do that.’

‘Yes,’ Hanno had replied, too fast. ‘Take care.’

‘I will, sir. You too.’ Mutt’s eyes had met his for a moment, before they flickered away.

‘Gods damn it!’ Hanno had stepped forward and enveloped Mutt in a bear hug. After a slight hesitation, Mutt’s arms had come up to grip his back. ‘I’ll miss you,’ Hanno had muttered. ‘You’re an excellent officer.’

‘So are you, sir.’ Mutt had released his grip; quickly, Hanno had done the same. Mutt had gazed at him, without smiling, as was his way. ‘The gods protect you, sir. You’ll need it, where you’re going.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Fortune seems to favour you, that’s for sure, sir.’ Mutt’s excuse for a smile had appeared. ‘The gods grant it always be that way.’

‘And the same for you.’ Hanno had wanted to say more, but didn’t have the words.

Mutt’s eyes had been understanding. ‘Go on, sir.’

‘May we meet again.’

‘I hope so, sir. One day.’

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Hanno had walked away. When he’d glanced back, Mutt’s hand had been raised in farewell.

Tears stung Hanno’s eyes at the memory, and he was glad that Alcimos was looking the other way.

He studied the horizon, searching it for sails, but saw nothing. Hanno had been a little surprised to see signs of the war on the sea. A Roman liburnian, one of the fastest ocean-going craft, had rowed north the day that they’d set out. He’d had no idea what it was doing until Alcimos muttered something about ‘official messages’ being sent to the Senate in Rome. Hanno had fantasised about taking the liburnian, and its communications, to Hannibal, but even if it had been possible, this was not his mission. They had been passed several times by Roman triremes, powering south to join the fleet being assembled near Syracuse. On the first occasion, Hanno had been very nervous. From a distance, he looked the same as any other fisherman – deeply tanned and clad in only a loincloth – but the vessel was so tiny that there was really nowhere to conceal his gear. Even the most cursory of searches would find his gear and sword under a pile of netting.

The trireme hadn’t even slowed down. The lookout had seen them, and called down to the deck; Hanno had seen the captain at the helm raise a hand to his eyes and stare in their direction, but that had been it. Each of the other warships had treated them in the same manner. So too had the great transports, of which there had been many, lumbering empty down the coast to Rhegium where they would be used to ferry soldiers, equipment and supplies across the straits to Messana. Eventually, Hanno had grown more relaxed about the sight of a sail. Thanks to the number of Roman ships on the waves, pirates in these parts were now rare. The fact that he was soon to go ashore wrenched him back to stark reality. This part of Sicily was possibly in Roman hands – Hanno had no idea how the war here had been going of recent days – and from the moment his feet hit the beach, danger would beckon.

A sense of melancholy stole over him. If anything went wrong from hereon in, there would be no salvation. Mutt and his soldiers, his brothers and Hannibal were all a long way away. Until he gained the walls of Syracuse, everyone he met was likely to be an enemy. He threw up a prayer to Tanit, the goddess who protected Carthaginians and their homes, asking for her help, and clutched Hannibal’s ring through the fabric of his undergarment.

‘We’re nearing the shallows. I don’t want to linger,’ said Alcimos. ‘Ready?’

‘Yes.’ Hanno glanced over the side. The water was crystal clear, and the rocky bottom was no deeper than his height. The shore was only a hundred paces distant. He fumbled in the leather bag that contained his clothing, sword, dagger, money and food. He took a gold piece from his purse; it was worth far more than the cost of his passage, but he had been given plenty by Hannibal, and Alcimos was a good man. ‘Here.’ Sunlight glittered off the coin as he proffered it.

Alcimos’ eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Take it, and forget that you ever saw me.’

It disappeared into Alcimos’ gnarly hand and for the first time since they’d met, a broad smile creased his weather-beaten face. ‘I am blind to you, my Carthaginian friend.’ With the ease of long practice, he furled the small sail. At once the boat slowed in the water; only the slight swell kept it moving towards the beach. ‘It’s chest deep. In you go. I’ll pass you your bag.’

It would be so easy for Alcimos to sail away with his possessions, thought Hanno, but a man had to trust sometimes. There was no simple way to get in other than jump, so that’s what he did. Knowing that the water would be cold made little difference as he went in. It took Hanno’s breath away, and he was grateful that his feet soon touched the bottom. When he looked up, Alcimos was holding out his bag. Hanno felt ashamed that he had even considered him capable of treachery. ‘My thanks,’ he said, placing it on his head to keep it dry.

‘May your gods keep you from harm. With luck, you’ll make Syracuse before sunset.’

Hanno nodded gratefully. ‘Let your return voyage to Bruttium be swift.’

‘I’ll take that, and full nets too, if I can.’ Alcimos was raising the sail again.

By the time that Hanno had waded ashore, the fisherman and his boat were five score paces offshore and more. As if he were already fulfilling his promise to forget Hanno, Alcimos didn’t look back. Hanno blocked the feeling of loneliness that rose in his chest. His mission had begun. Hannibal was relying on him. A glance up and down revealed that the beach was still empty; apart from Alcimos’ craft, so too was the sea around. Hanno delved in his bag again. A few moments later, he had clad himself in a worn labourer’s chiton. A neck cloth covered the scar on his neck, and a thin strip of leather served as his belt, and to hold his dagger at his waist. His intention, as he walked towards Syracuse, was to look like just another homeless peasant, carrying his worldly possessions on his back. If he was stopped by a Roman patrol, well …

Don’t even think about it. It won’t happen.

Willing his hope to be true, Hanno struck inland, off the beach.

Hanno’s troubles began when he’d reached the Hexapyla gate, the main entrance on Syracuse’s northern wall. He’d arrived outside the city the evening before, having seen no Roman patrols. The sun had been right on the horizon when the Hexapyla had come into sight, however, and he’d heard the guards calling to each other as they began to close the great wooden doors. Travellers seeking entrance to a city at such a time were far more likely to fall under suspicion, even more so when there was a war on. Despite the fact that he carried Hannibal’s ring and letter of introduction, he
looked
like a ragged-arse peasant without an obol to his name. It wasn’t impossible that he would be accused of stealing the items, and his sword, but until he had the ear of a sympathetic or alert officer, it paid to be cautious. Frustrated and hungry, he had found a discreet spot under a tree some distance from the road, and there he had curled up in his woollen cloak.

After a poor night’s sleep, he had risen stiff and cold the following morning. Careful monitoring of the traffic on the road towards the city allowed him to approach the Hexapyla at the same time as a good number of others. The Romans might be near at hand, but people needed to enter and leave. Farmers and merchants had produce to sell, and labourers their time to offer. There were other travellers too, groups of soldiers returning from patrol, and conscripts from the surrounding countryside, answering Syracuse’s summons. Hanno tagged along behind a group of the latter, hoping that the guards wouldn’t pay him any heed.

His tactic didn’t work. Most of the sentries were enjoying rude banter with the conscripts, but one eagle-eyed individual saw that Hanno was on his own. ‘You there!’ he barked in Greek.

Hanno considered running for it, into the city, but it seemed unwise. Ignorant of Syracuse’s layout, he risked immediate capture as a ‘spy’. The wise thing to do was to stay calm and see what happened. He should have nothing to fear. That knowledge didn’t stop his pulse from beating a pounding staccato at the base of his throat. He looked up, casually, vacantly. ‘Me, sir?’ he said, answering in the same tongue.

‘That’s right, fool.’ The guard’s thick black eyebrows met in a frown. ‘I’m not looking at anyone else, am I?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Come here. Quickly!’ A man in middle age, he wore a dented bronze cuirass and a Boeotian helmet in similarly poor condition. He was armed with a sword and a long thrusting spear. Hanno had seen his type before. Given a little bit of power, and without an officer present, the guard liked to act as if he were Zeus Soter himself. Prick him hard enough, and he’d deflate like a goatskin bladder of wine. For all that that appealed, Hanno wasn’t in a position to do so. Appease the cocksucker and get into Syracuse, he thought.

‘Now, I said!’

As fast as he could, Hanno threaded his way past a farmer in a mule-drawn wagon who had just been waved inside. ‘Sir?’ he asked, avoiding eye contact.

‘Name?’

Hanno’s mouth opened to say ‘Alcimos’, but Thick Eyebrows jabbed him in the chest with a finger. ‘Cat got your tongue, peasant?’

Furious, Hanno decided it
was
time to reveal who he was. ‘Hanno,’ he said, pitching his voice so that the people walking in behind him could not hear. Some could be Roman spies, and he had no wish for it to be known that a Carthaginian was entering Syracuse in disguise.

‘What’s that? Speak up!’

Hanno leaned forward. ‘My name is Hanno; I am a Carthaginian officer. I’ve been sent by Hannibal Barca, with messages for your generals, Hippocrates and Epicydes.’

Thick Eyebrows looked incredulous for a moment, then he laughed. ‘And I’m fucking Appius Claudius Pulcher, propraetor. What’s that on your back?’

‘My things. Clothing, food, a sword.’

‘A sword?’ Shoving Hanno backwards, Thick Eyebrows levelled his spear. ‘Alarm! I’ve got one with a weapon!’

Shouts of panic rose as the travellers around Hanno broke and ran, both into and out of the city. Within a few heartbeats, he was alone within a ring of grim-faced guards, all of whom were threatening him with spears. Hanno dropped his bag, threw his dagger down and raised his hands in the air. ‘I’m unarmed,’ he said loudly. Thick Eyebrows was shouting that they should kill him there and then; a good number of his comrades appeared to agree. Thankfully, the rest seemed fearful but indecisive. Beyond them, people were crowding in to see what was happening. ‘A spy! A spy!’ he heard a man say.