Hannibal: Clouds of War (19 page)

‘You’re not wrong there. Gods grant that it is soon.’ Urceus made an obscene gesture at the defences. ‘Wait until we get up there, you whoresons!’

Quintus felt the same fury. If he lived long enough to reach the enemy, he would make them pay dearly for Wolf’s life: yet another comrade to be avenged.

Chapter VIII

‘
WE’RE NEARLY THERE
, boys!’ Corax’s shout could not be ignored. The centurion was pointing at the imposing stone walls that were looming above them, some 150 paces away. ‘Steady yourselves. Pray to your favourite deities. When the captain gives me the order, the crew will raise the ladder. The instant it hits that rampart, I want you scrambling up there as fast as you fucking can. Do you hear me?’

‘YES, SIR!’ they roared at him, their nerves, their desire for vengeance adding volume to their voices.

Whizzzz! Whizzzz! Whizzzz!
The noises came from straight ahead. Quintus had stood before enough enemy volleys to recognise the sound of arrows. His gaze shot to the top of the wall, took in the slits positioned below the actual ramparts. His stomach clenched. ‘They’ve got more artillery, sir,’ he yelled. ‘Short-range pieces!’

Corax had already seen. Bounding to the captain’s side, he bellowed in his ear. ‘Increase rowing speed. NOW!’

A flurry of missiles began to land all around them: in the water, skittering off the oars and slicing through the fabric of the mainsail. These ones were long iron arrows, and they were striking men aplenty too, ripping their flesh apart like a hot knife through cheese. A flautist had his jaw shorn off right in front of the captain. Keening like a grief-stricken madman, he ran to the edge of the deck and leaped into the sea. Shaken, the captain roared at the remaining flautist, and then at his counterpart on the other quinquereme.

He should have done it the other way around, thought Quintus in alarm. It took a few heartbeats for the captain’s demand to register and within that time, the oarsmen on Corax’s vessel had begun to row at ramming speed. The rowers on the second ship tried to take up the same rhythm, but they were a pace or two off the beat. As a result, the paired quinqueremes’ prows turned and aimed at a different part of the wall.

‘It’s higher in that section,’ hissed Quintus in dismay. ‘Will the damn ladder reach to the top?’

‘I fucking well hope so!’ snarled Urceus. ‘If it doesn’t—’

‘RAISE THAT LADDER!’ yelled Corax. ‘I want it in the air, and I want it there now. We’ll have fuck all time to get up it before the enemy start dropping rocks and the gods know what else on us. MOVE!’

The groups of sailors who’d been assigned to the task didn’t wait for confirmation from the captain. They went to work with alacrity. Grabbing the thick ropes that lay ready at their feet, they began hauling them through the pulleys that had been fastened to the timbers. The slack section sped through their hands, and the cable grew taut. For a moment, nothing happened. Shit, thought Quintus, it’s too heavy. Fear gave the crewmen extra strength, however. That, and Corax’s vine cane, which was slapping down on their shoulders.

The top of the ladder lifted a hand span from the deck, and then another.

‘Put some effort into it, you fucking maggots!’ roared Corax. ‘Our damn lives depend on it!’

The purple-faced sailors bent their backs and heaved. The ladder moved up again, until even a tall man couldn’t touch the end of it. It didn’t stop this time; the men lifting it had found their rhythm. Up it went now, silhouetted against the sky, directly overhead. Quintus had to squint as it flashed across the glaring orb that was the sun.

‘HOLD!’ bellowed Corax. ‘HOLD IT, I SAY!’

The ladder jerked to a halt.

Quintus’ eyes shot to the base of the wall, which was about fifty paces away.

The captain conferred with his counterpart, and they both ordered the flautists to slow their tune. The oarsmen obeyed at once, and the vessel slowed in the water.

Whizzzz! Whizzzz!
A pair of bolts shot in at an acute angle from the slits in the wall in front of them. One thumped into the deck by Corax’s feet, the other hit a sailor holding one of the ropes holding up the ladder. It passed straight through his body and drove into the belly of the man behind him. Both dropped to the deck, roaring in agony, and the ladder lurched to one side as its weight proved too much for their comrades.

‘The filthy dogs are aiming at the sailors on the ropes,’ Quintus spat.

‘Hades take them!’ cried Urceus.

‘Two men! I need two men here!’ Corax had leaped in and taken the place of one of the casualties. ‘I want a dozen more holding their shields up to protect the sailors. MOVE!’

None of them wanted to unsling their
scuta
from their backs, where they had put them in order to be able to climb the ladder. Putting them on again would be tricky when packed as tightly on the deck as they were. But if they didn’t obey Corax’s command, there would be hell to pay – and likely no ladder to climb. Quintus and Urceus shoved their way forward; Unlucky followed. With some of their comrades, they formed a line alongside the sailors. Quintus was near the front of the file, Urceus was right behind him and Unlucky to his rear.

Quintus swiftly undid one of the two straps that suspended his shield, and with the ease of long practice, twisted the opposite shoulder so that the scutum slipped around to the front.
Whizzzz! Whizzzz! Whizzzz! Whizzzz!
Heart thumping, Quintus grabbed the shield rim, and then the grip on the inside. He lifted the curved scutum up and over himself and the sailor to his right.

Thump! Bang! Bang! Thump!
The bolts landed. More screams, more choked sounds of pain, more bodies hitting the deck. Thankfully, none were close to Quintus. Because of the throng, he could not see the base of the walls. ‘How far have we to go?’ he yelled to no one in particular.

‘Almost there,’ Corax replied. ‘Hold steady, lads!’

Whizzzz! Whizzzz! Whizzzz!
Now Quintus could hear the cries of the defenders. He made out shouted orders in Greek, curses and demands for more ammunition. The air filled with agonised shrieking; there were splashes as men who’d been hit fell overboard. Quintus’ guts roiled, and he closed his eyes, offering up yet another beseeching prayer.
Mars, keep your shield over us still.

‘Urceus?’

A wave of relief washed over him when his friend replied. ‘I’m all right. You?’

‘So far, yes,’ said Quintus, grinning like a fool.

With a solid thump, the ram on their quinquereme struck the rocks that formed the breakwater at the base of the fortifications.

This is it, thought Quintus. This is fucking it. His eyes shot to those of the sailor whom he was shielding. In them, he saw utter fear, but determination too. ‘Do your job,’ the sailor muttered, ‘And I’ll do mine.’

Encouraged, Quintus nodded.

‘LOWER THAT LADDER!’ Corax cried.

The sailor beside Quintus began to let the rope slide between his fingers. Quintus watched it with a mixture of dread and fascination. When it went slack, the ladder would be resting against the enemy battlements. The artillery barrage would become even heavier, and he and Urceus would be stuck here, on the deck, which was not where he wanted to be.

Clunk.
Amid the crescendo of sound, Quintus somehow heard the ladder come to a halt.

‘UP! UP! UP!’ yelled Corax. ‘Fast as you can!’

If Quintus turned his head away from his shield, he could see beyond the sailor to a section of the ladder which extended from about his own height to ten paces above him. Already the wood was creaking and moving beneath the weight of men ascending it. A heartbeat later, he saw the first hastatus appear. It didn’t surprise him that it was one of the oldest and steadiest men in the maniple, a veteran who wouldn’t have flinched from Corax’s order to take the lead. Gods, but I’m glad that it isn’t me, thought Quintus. ‘Fortuna be with you,’ he shouted, but the soldier didn’t hear him. A scowl of determination twisted his face as he went up the rungs as fast as a man could with a scutum on his back and a long sword dangling from his right hip. A moment later, he vanished inside the hide framework that extended almost to the ladder’s top. Its purpose was to shield the attackers from enemy missiles, and it would now be put to the test.

Another hastatus immediately came into view, and then another and another. The rain of enemy bolts and stones was still hammering down, but Quintus couldn’t resist a look around the side of his shield, up at the wall. It towered above their position, an imposing rampart of stone blocks that was at least thirty paces in height. The defenders’ faces were clearly distinguishable: so too were their arms as they leaned out and hurled spears or loosed sling bullets at their foes. Quintus recalled again the Syracusan officer he had interrogated. Where was Kleitos? Looking down at him right now?
Twang!
went a catapult that he could actually see. He jerked back in reflex as it shot a bolt at the ladder.

‘Up you go, that’s it! Come on, brothers!’ roared Corax. ‘To the top!’

Five or so men fitted on the ladder. More than a score were waiting their turn at the bottom. He and Urceus wouldn’t have to move for a bit yet. Quintus’ head twisted. To their left, another pair of quinqueremes had come to rest; its crew were in the process of elevating its
sambuca
. Bolts and stones were hissing down in response. He saw a number of sailors killed, but the officers on board soon did as Corax had, rushing soldiers forward to protect the crew on the ropes. Hastati began swarming up the rungs the instant that it reached the ramparts. Quintus’ stomach lurched as he saw a group of defenders push a long, forked piece of wood out from an embrasure to one side of the point where the ladder met the defences. ‘Look out!’

Of course he was too far away to be heard, too far away to do anything but watch in horror as the fork made contact and was swiftly pushed outwards, forcing the ladder into a vertical position. There it stayed for a sickening moment before the Syracusans heaved again and tipped the ladder backwards. The hastati at the bottom were able to jump clear, but the rest were hurled to their deaths on the deck of their own ship, or in the sea. The ladder came to rest against the mast with one soldier still hanging on for dear life near the top. ‘Thank the gods,’ whispered Quintus. ‘Hold on.’

An enemy bolt lanced out from the walls and punched the hastatus clean off the ladder. He dropped into the water below without a sound.

Quintus swallowed and looked away. Forget him, he told himself. Concentrate on what’s happening here.
THUMP!
The force of the impact threw him back on his heels. Regaining his balance, Quintus gaped at the barbed head that had slammed through his shield. It had missed his left fist, holding the central grip, by two fingers’ width, and his head by less than that.

‘Are you hit?’ shouted Urceus from behind.

‘No! A bollock hair nearer and I would have been dead, though,’ Quintus gasped. He wouldn’t be able to hold up his shield for long, that was clear. The weight of the iron bolt was already telling on his arm muscles. With a few wrenches, he managed to tug the thing through his scutum and drop it to the deck. A large hole remained in the shield, but at least he was able to raise it aloft again.

‘Your comrades have a foothold up there, lads!’ roared Corax. ‘Keep climbing!’

Quintus peered around the edge of his shield again. To his delight, he saw that their centurion was correct. Somehow, a handful of hastati had reached over the battlements and secured the top of the ladder so that others could follow. His heart leaped. Perhaps they would make it after all?

His hopes continued to rise as two and then three more of his comrades clambered over the defences to join the fray. Corax continued to urge his men onwards, but they had seen what was going on. Now, they were eager to ascend.

A moment later, Quintus’ heart stopped. ‘What in fucking Hades’ name is that?’ he heard Urceus say. An outlandish-looking device was emerging over the edge of the ramparts. It was a long, broad piece of wood, about fifty paces in length. From its end dangled a chain and a great three-pronged hook. Even as he watched, the chain was lowered down, towards their ship. Quintus had never seen anything like this before, but he didn’t need to be told what it might do. ‘Fuck!’

‘Is it going to pick us up?’ growled Urceus.

‘I’d say so.’ Quintus looked at his mail shirt and cursed. The bloody armour would be the death of him. Urceus’ decision to wear a chest and back plate like Unlucky’s seemed more than wise now.

Corax had noticed the new weapon too. ‘Climb that ladder!’ he screamed. He blew his whistle to try and attract the attention of the soldiers on the battlements, but they were enmeshed in their own struggle for survival.

Plus, Quintus reckoned, those men were too far from the device to make a difference anyway. At least a hundred paces and scores of defenders separated them from its position. It couldn’t be taken. Perhaps the hooks could be cut off the arm? he wondered desperately.

The air was filling with shouts of dismay. Everyone had seen the iron claw.