Hannibal: Clouds of War (16 page)

Agathocles’ eyebrows rose; then he scowled. ‘You’ll do that anyway, or I’ll have the skin flogged from your back.’

‘The horse that’s rewarded for obeying makes a far better steed than the one that’s whipped,’ replied Aurelia. She licked her lips, scarcely believing what she was about to say. ‘I could do the same for
you
. So could my slave.’

Agathocles’ eyes shot to Elira, and Aurelia’s heart lurched in her chest. Elira had every right not to play the part that she’d just been given. Another owner might treat her more kindly. Aurelia could have wept when Elira flashed a seductive smile at Agathocles and said, ‘You won’t regret it, sir. I swear it.’

Agathocles studied Aurelia again, and Elira. He gave a brusque nod. ‘Go and stand by my men.’ Even as she gave silent thanks, he grabbed her by the throat. ‘Your brat best know how to keep quiet. If Hippocrates hears him, you’ll wish that he’d never been born.’

‘He’s a good boy,’ whispered Aurelia, genuinely terrified now. ‘No one will know he’s even there.’

He waved her away.

A monumental wave of shame and disgust washed over Aurelia as she, Publius and Elira made their way towards the soldiers.
I’m no better than a whore. And a whoremistress, to treat Elira so.
Yet part of her was glad. She had managed to keep Publius by her side. For the moment.

Despite the fact that Kleitos was Hippocrates’ and Epicydes’ man, Hanno still found him likeable. After finding Hanno a small but well-furnished room in one of the barracks, with a window that overlooked the courtyard, Kleitos had insisted that they visit an inn. ‘Your weapons can wait, but this cannot,’ he’d declared, offering a brimming cup of wine to Hanno. ‘To friendship, and to Syracuse’s alliance with Hannibal and Carthage!’ Hanno had responded with gusto, and they had had several drinks, each time swearing friendship between their two peoples, and victory over the Romans. Kleitos, thought Hanno, was a friend in the making, and a more decent individual than his masters.

Well lubricated, the two had then gone to the garrison’s armoury. There Kleitos had demanded the finest kit for ‘one of Hannibal’s best men’. Hanno knew that word of his arrival would spread fast, but Kleitos’ declaration made sure that everyone in the city would know it by the next morning. Part of him didn’t care. The Syracusan soldiers were delighted by his presence, and asked repeatedly how many men he’d brought with him. His previously prepared answer, that forces from Carthage would soon arrive on the island, seemed to satisfy.

Hanno chose a plain but serviceable bronze breastplate, and an Attic helmet. Kleitos was amused by his request for a Roman scutum and
gladius
. ‘What’s wrong with our Greek equipment?’

‘You may laugh, but we found out the hard way at Trasimene what happens when phalanxes meet Roman infantry. Hannibal had us arm ourselves afterwards with the weapons and armour taken from the enemy dead. We retrained to fight in blocks, as the legionaries do. It worked too.’

Kleitos’ face grew thoughtful. ‘No one can argue with what Hannibal did at Cannae. Still, it’s a different war here. We’re defending a city, not engaging the legions face-to-face.’

‘That day will come,’ said Hanno fiercely. Making improvements such as this was part of what Hannibal had sent him here to do. ‘And when it does, the Syracusans will have more chance of victory fighting as the Romans do, rather than the way they always have.’

‘Something tells me that Hippocrates in particular would not want his entire army retrained.’

‘I could just start with the soldiers of one phalanx.’

‘Hmmm. Let’s talk more about it, over some wine.’

‘What about my duties?’

Kleitos laughed. ‘They can wait. The Romans aren’t here yet, and Hippocrates and Epicydes won’t bother their arses asking what you’ve done. Seeing the best inn in Syracuse is far more important.’

‘If you’re sure …?’

‘I am. I order you to come with me. All we need to do is dump your kit in your room.’

It had been a long time since Hanno had been in a friendly city, with no concerns other than getting pissed. He grinned. ‘Well, if you put it like that …’

A short time later, they were wending their way down a street that led to Ortygia and the small harbour. Kleitos returned the greeting of a man in charge of a party of naked female slaves, but kept walking. Hanno gave them a casual glance as they strode by, but they were all staring at the ground. Poor wretches, Hanno thought. ‘A friend?’ he asked.

Kleitos shook his head in denial. ‘Agathocles? No. He’s an arse-licking busybody. Works for Hippocrates, finding him women. For, you know …’

Hanno gazed after the line of miserable women, his dislike of Hippocrates increasing. Don’t think about it, he told himself. You’re here to aid him and his brother in the fight against Rome. Everything else is irrelevant. Yet an unpleasant taste remained in his mouth. ‘How far is it to this inn of yours?’ he demanded. ‘I’m parched.’

‘Ha! That’s what I like to hear. It’s just around this corner.’

Hanno increased his pace. After a skinful of wine, he’d have forgotten his worries.

Mixed feelings continued to batter Aurelia in the two days that followed her arrival into Hippocrates’ part of what had been Hiero’s palace. There was overwhelming relief that she and Publius were together, and that Elira was with them. They had been supplied with fine clothing and plenty of food and drink. She had made use of the baths more than once. Publius enjoyed them too, although Aurelia was careful to take him early in the morning, before anyone else made use of the facility. Guards prevented them from leaving the set of interlinked rooms, but they did not offer any violence, sexual or otherwise. For the most part, the other occupants, four beautiful women, ignored them. There were occasional barbed comments, and plenty of hostile looks, but that was all. Physically at least, they wanted for nothing.

Mentally, it was a different matter. She belonged to Hippocrates now, and her only purpose was to serve as his concubine. It was not a matter of ‘if’ she would have to attend him, but ‘when’. It was the same with Agathocles, who whispered frequent lewd suggestions to her. This made every moment, every hour of waiting, of not knowing when she would be summoned, pure torture. The longer it dragged on, the worse she felt.

It wasn’t just that of course. Her promise in the market to send Hippocrates to Elysium and back would have been relayed to him already, of that Aurelia was certain, and she was terrified she would fail this test. Her experiences of lovemaking had been with Lucius, and bar one or two occasions, they had been short-lived encounters absent of passion. Lucius’ wellbeing, which had so concerned her, now rarely crossed her mind.

Desperate, Aurelia sought Elira’s advice one afternoon when Publius was napping. Their relationship had changed since their enslavement. Elira still deferred to her, but with less respect than before. Whether that had anything to do with her promise to Agathocles, Aurelia had no idea. She had apologised abjectly for it; Elira had brushed her off, saying that she would have done the same if she’d had a child.

Aurelia was much relieved when Elira readily gave her some new tips and techniques to try. ‘Once you learn what men like, they’re easy to please,’ Elira liked to pronounce. Aurelia hoped that it was so with Hippocrates. After Elira’s fruity description about to how keep a man from reaching climax, she even managed to find some humour in the situation. ‘Like that? You’re not serious.’

‘I’m telling you, they love it. Just try it and see.’

Aurelia giggled, but it didn’t take long for brutal reality to sink in again. How life could change, she thought miserably. If someone had told her a month ago that she’d be in Syracuse, a prisoner
and
concubine to one of its rulers, she’d have called them insane. Yet here she was.

As was so often the case, Publius saved the moment. He woke up and crawled across the bed to her, sleepily demanding a cuddle. Aurelia clutched him to her, wishing that she could transport them both away to safety.

The reprieve didn’t last. Agathocles came later that day. Aurelia was to be ready by sunset. She was to dress in a seductive manner. Hippocrates would receive her on the roof of the palace. ‘Disappoint him and you’ll pay,’ he advised in a steely voice. ‘Or more likely your son will.’

Aurelia flashed him a confident smile. ‘There’s no need for threats.’

‘We’ll see about that later. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you owe me either.’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Aurelia lied, caressing his face and wondering how she was going to get through the impending degradations with not one hideous man, but two. When Elira later offered her a cup of wine laced with a little poppy juice – obtained from one of the other women – she didn’t refuse. She had avoided it since the news from Cannae had shattered her world, but needs must. The pleasant, numbed feeling that it granted might help to block out the worst of what was to come.

Elira helped her to get ready, giving opinions on which dress to wear, the best way to style her hair, and which perfume to apply. Under normal circumstances, Aurelia would have enjoyed the experience – since having Publius, and with Lucius away, occasions to dress up had been rare – but the reason behind it threatened to drag her spirits into the abyss. She supped more wine and poppy juice, grateful to feel disembodied, able to look down on the surreal situation as if it weren’t she who would have to go through with it.

A short while after the first watch had been sounded, Agathocles arrived. Telling Publius that she would kiss him good night when he was asleep, Aurelia left him in Elira’s care. Elira gave her a reassuring look; Aurelia clutched on to the encouragement for dear life. Someone cared about her, thought of her as something other than a piece of meat. She was grateful that Agathocles did not try to engage her in conversation as they walked down a long passageway, past a number of sentries, finally reaching a set of stairs.

‘Remember what I said,’ warned Agathocles, his foot on the bottom step.

Aurelia didn’t trust her voice, so she nodded.

The view at the top took her breath away. It wasn’t the patterned mosaic underfoot, the fruit trees and cultivated vines, the murmuring fountain with Poseidon astride a dolphin at its centre; the staircase had brought them out on the edge of the palace’s roof, where they were able to look out to the east, over a harbour full of ships, and the bright, sunlit sea beyond. Aurelia fancied that she could even see the coastline of Italy in the far distance. Her heart bled; she had to force her legs to keep moving, following Agathocles towards the figure that lay on a couch near the fountain.

‘General.’ Agathocles bowed from the waist.

‘Yes?’ Hippocrates sounded irritated.

‘The woman you wanted. The Roman. I have brought her.’

‘Leave us.’

‘General.’ Agathocles performed obeisance again. With a stony glance at Aurelia, he walked away.

‘Approach.’

Her mouth was dry; she could feel sweat trickling down her back. Aurelia walked the few steps to Hippocrates’ couch. He was a slim man, perhaps twenty-nine or thirty years old. A close-shaven black beard couldn’t conceal his slender features. There the softness ended, however. His lips were thinned; his eyes glittered black and cold. She made sure to meet them for a moment before dropping her gaze. ‘I am at your disposal.’ The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

‘Agathocles said you were a looker.’

She didn’t know how to reply. Did he agree with the sentiment or not? ‘Sir.’

‘You are, I suppose, in an unusual way. I hope that your reputation is deserved. Get undressed.’

Aurelia couldn’t stop her gaze from flashing to the guards, the nearest of whom was only fifteen or so paces away. What did it matter? she thought. Many more people than these had seen her naked at the slave market. Doing her best to appear graceful, she slid the top of her dress off her shoulders. Slowly, she let it fall to her waist. There she paused, aware of Hippocrates’ keen eyes upon her. Swaying her hips, she walked to stand over him. He stared up at her, his lips open. He wasn’t ugly, Aurelia decided. It was a tiny consolation. When his hands reached up to pull her dress down further, she didn’t resist. Instead, she smiled.

Gods, help me through this, she asked. Gods, help me and Publius.

Chapter VII

EVEN AT A
distance of more than half a mile, Syracuse could impress. Its wall filled the whole southern horizon, the limestone blocks that formed it turned golden by the setting sun. Westward from the sea’s edge it ran, across the coastal plain and up on to higher ground beyond, where it disappeared into the orange haze. According to the messengers who carried orders between the Roman camps, it extended for a good twenty miles around the city. Quintus and his comrades had only seen this section, opposite the vast camp that their legion had built on its arrival, but it was more than enough to impress. Assaulting it by land or sea would be no easy matter.

Quintus, Urceus and their tent mates were standing on the packed-earth rampart a short distance from their unit’s tent lines. A sentry would move them on soon, but until then the view was worth it.