One bright morning, Corax and Vitruvius summoned their men at dawn. This in itself wasn’t unusual, but the grim set to the centurions’ faces as they went from tent to tent told its own story.
‘I knew that things were too good to last,’ grumbled Urceus under his breath as he clambered from his blankets.
‘To be fair, we have had it easy enough since Hippocrates had his arse kicked,’ said Mattheus, yawning. ‘But it looked bad when Himilco and his bloody army arrived, eh?’
There were rumbles of agreement from the rest, including Quintus.
‘But Marcellus knew what he was doing.’ As ever, Mattheus was ready to talk from the moment his eyes opened. ‘Why leave the safety of our walls when we could stay where we were and shout obscenities at the guggas. Off they went, soon enough, to try and ambush the new legion that had arrived from Italy.’
There were a few guilty chuckles at this. No one would have wished the reinforcements ill, thought Quintus. Indeed, they were very welcome, but his and his comrades’ skins mattered more than those of soldiers whom they didn’t even know. ‘It was good, though, that Himilco missed catching them,’ he said. ‘Their commander’s decision to take the coastal road was smart, because our fleet was able to follow the legion as protection.’
‘Aye, they were a sight for sore eyes when they came marching in,’ declared Urceus. ‘Especially when the guggas arrived the following morning. Those were a tense few days, after, but Marcellus held his nerve, making us stay put behind our fortifications. When we refused to fight, Himilco couldn’t do much else but piss off.’ His face darkened again. ‘Things have been nice and quiet since. Why do I suspect that that’s about to change?’
Quintus nodded grimly. Corax had a plan. He prayed that it wasn’t too risky. They would ultimately have to fight Himilco’s soldiers, but for the moment, manning the walls around Syracuse was preferable to just about any other duty.
‘You seem suitably pleased to see me on this bright morning,’ shouted Corax when they had assembled before him. Wrong-footed, his men glanced at one another, and the centurion chuckled a little at his own joke. ‘Marching up and down on sentry duty appeals, I know. But it won’t win the damn war on Sicily, will it?’
‘No, sir,’ a few men replied.
Corax’s eyes glinted. ‘I’d like a little more enthusiasm than that.’
‘NO, SIR!’ they roared.
Corax seemed a fraction happier. ‘We’ve all been wondering what that whoreson Himilco’s next move would be. Word has come what it will be.’
In a heartbeat, Corax had everyone’s attention. The defenders of Syracuse weren’t going anywhere, but the newly arrived Carthaginian force was free to move where it wanted. Part of their duty was to ensure that Himilco didn’t find this easy.
Corax paused, and looked around. ‘Like to know where the dog is?’ he said at last.
‘YES, SIR!’
‘He’s taken his army to Murgantia, one of the towns we use as a grain store. It seems that when he arrived, the inhabitants rose against the garrison and delivered the place, and all of its supplies, to the Carthaginian cause.’
Corax did not need to drum up a response to that. Angry shouts filled the air. He nodded in approval. ‘So when you don’t have enough flour to bake your bread this winter, you know whom to blame!’
His men bellowed even louder.
‘Are we to march on Murgantia, sir?’ yelled Urceus.
‘Sadly, no,’ replied Corax. ‘Marcellus has seen fit to give this maniple another duty. Other towns are under threat as well. Have you heard of Enna?’
‘It’s in the middle of the island, and is loyal to us,’ said Quintus.
‘Correct, but it’s only loyal because of its Roman garrison. Its commander is a man called Lucius Pinarius, an able soldier who has done much to ensure that the town stays in Roman hands. For all of his hard work, however, intelligence has it that the inhabitants wish to switch their allegiance from Rome.’
There was a rumble of fury from the hastati.
‘Pinarius has sent word to Marcellus, asking for reinforcements.’ Corax paused, and let his words sink in. ‘This maniple is to be part of the force sent to answer Pinarius’ request. Our duty will be to reinforce the garrison of Enna and to follow Pinarius’ orders in all things.’
‘Until when, sir?’ called a voice.
‘Until Pinarius judges that we are no longer needed.’
The soldiers glanced at one another, uncertain what to feel. The duty could either be soft beyond compare — being quartered in a town offered far more luxuries than in a siege camp, women being foremost among them — or dangerous in the extreme. If Himilco arrived to take Enna, they could be trapped, killed even.
‘How many other soldiers, sir?’ shouted Urceus.
‘One other maniple will march with us, that of Centurion Pera.’ Corax’s voice gave away nothing, but his eyes were flat and angry.
‘The same cocksucker whom Crespo beat in the horse race, sir?’ called a voice from the very back of the maniple. Titters of laughter met the comment, and Quintus thought he saw the corner of Vitruvius’ lips twitch.
‘Just this once, I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear that,’ snapped Corax, but with less iron than might have been expected. ‘Pera is known to you, clearly. He’s an experienced centurion, and I will not tolerate any disrespect towards him. Is that fucking clear?’
‘YES, SIR!’ they shouted.
Quintus could not believe his bad luck. Of all the centurions in the damn army, why did Pera have to be picked to accompany them on their mission? He shot a look at Urceus and mouthed the word ‘Bastard’, but there was nothing else he could do.
Corax nodded in satisfaction. ‘We leave within the hour. Enna is just over eighty miles from here, and I want us there in four days. Travel light. Take only enough food for the march. Dismissed!’
The hastati scrambled to obey.
Quintus’ comrades were already dreaming out loud of the inns and whorehouses that they would frequent in Enna, but his mind was filled with the image of Pera’s grinning face. He would have to be on constant lookout for trouble.
‘Not quite what we imagined, is it?’ asked Quintus, catching the eye of a local Enna man. His friendly nod was ignored; Quintus was sure that the man made an obscene gesture as he turned abruptly down an alleyway rather than walking past him and Urceus.
‘No, it’s fucking not,’ growled Urceus, kicking out at a scrawny mongrel, which had bared its teeth at him. It yelped and ran before his sandal could connect with its flesh. ‘Even the dogs dislike us.’
Quintus grinned sourly. Barely a week had passed, yet from the innkeepers to the shop owners, the whores to the wine merchants, no one in Enna seemed well disposed towards the Romans. They did not refuse them business — that would have been downright foolish given the legionaries’ own angry mood — but it was done with a surly, discontented air. ‘They didn’t want Pinarius’ men here, so it’s no surprise really that they don’t like us either.’
Hearing a noise above, Urceus looked up. A respectable-looking matron was staring at them with clear disapproval from the second floor of a large house. ‘Want to suck my cock?’ he shouted in awful Greek. Shocked, the matron withdrew and slammed the shutters. ‘They can all go to Hades,’ said Urceus, spitting. ‘They pledged their allegiance to Rome, and that’s that, whether they like it or not.’
Quintus found himself in agreement as he was forced to walk around a particularly large pool of human urine and faeces. Every street was the same. Usually only the poorest townsfolk disposed of their waste in this fashion, and even they tended to use the dungheaps situated in the tiny lanes between buildings. Not so in Enna. The inhabitants didn’t dare to show their dislike openly to the Roman garrison, so they did it like this.
There were other ways too. Quintus wasn’t alone in having smelt the whiff of urine from a jug of wine in the dingy inns that lined the back streets. These occurrences had resulted in a number of innkeepers having their premises ransacked by irate legionaries. This in turn had seen vociferous complaints to Pinarius from the town’s leaders, and that had resulted in an order not to frequent such establishments on pain of a whipping, or worse. Of course this had not stopped the soldiers from doing so — Quintus and his comrades thought that Pinarius had merely issued the order for appearances’ sake — but it had seen the number of violent incidents decrease. The innkeepers knew that if they served wine that had not been tampered with, their establishments wouldn’t be smashed up beyond repair.
Reaching a fork in the street, he came to a halt. ‘Which way to the agora?’
Urceus peered left and right, scowling. ‘I don’t think it matters. Both of them will get us there, won’t they?’
‘True.’ Enna’s strong position on a hilltop, contained within walls, meant that the city was quite small. The buildings sprawled beyond the fortifications, along the sides of the road that wound its way up from the fertile valley below, but the beating heart of it — the central agora, the temples, the rulers’ palatial houses and offices and the best shops — lay within the protective circle of its imposing ramparts. ‘It’s not hard to find one’s way around, even when you’re pissed.’ He headed left.
Urceus chuckled. ‘We’ll have to find that inn we were in last night. What was it called again?’
‘It’s down this way, I think. The Harvest Moon.’
‘That’s the one. The owner was far less sour than the other arseholes here, wasn’t he? And that barmaid with the big tits definitely liked me.’
‘Ever the optimist, Urceus. She smiled at you once!’
‘That’s enough to give a man hope. Better that than the reception we’ve had in most places.’
‘True, but I still wouldn’t trust a single one of them. I’m glad that Pinarius ordered us to remain armed at all times.’
‘Aye. I wouldn’t want to walk around here alone.’
Fifty paces further on, a small wooden sign had been nailed to the wall of a house on the corner of an alley. It depicted a crudely daubed sheaf of wheat beneath a full moon; below it were the Greek words ‘INN’ and ‘GOOD WINE. PRICES REASONABLE’.
‘There it is!’ cried Urceus. ‘Fancy a quick cup?’
‘We’re on duty.’
‘So what? I can’t see an officer, can you?’
Quintus walked past the sign.
Urceus grumbled a little, but he did the same.
Quintus had gone perhaps a dozen steps when a short cry — of pain — reached his ears. It was followed by a burst of laughter. He glanced at Urceus.
‘That came from the direction of the Harvest Moon,’ said Urceus.
The sound was repeated, and again the laughter rang out.
‘It might be some of our lads in trouble,’ Urceus began.
‘Come on,’ said Quintus. ‘If it’s just locals, we can always leave them to it.’
Even though it was the middle of the day, little light penetrated into the narrow alleyway, which lay between a pair of three-storey buildings. Broken pottery, animal bones and other refuse crunched beneath their sandals. ‘Gods, I don’t remember it being this filthy,’ said Quintus. He sniffed. ‘Or smelly.’
Urceus winked. ‘It’s amazing how a man’s thirst before he has a drink and the glow of happiness around him afterwards make him unaware of everything else around him.’
‘Please! Leave her alone!’
The anguished plea sent them pounding towards the entrance of the Harvest Moon. A group of locals, tradesmen from the look of their calloused hands and stained tunics, stood outside. They didn’t seem happy. ‘More fucking Romans,’ Quintus thought he heard one say.
‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded in Greek.
The locals were surprised to be addressed in their own language. ‘Some of your lot are getting fresh with the barmaid. We protested, so they told us to leave or they’d gut us,’ replied the man who’d muttered the insult. ‘No doubt you’ve come to join in.’
‘Watch your damn mouth!’ Quintus snapped. ‘How many of them are there?’
‘Five,’ came the answer.
Quickly, Quintus translated for Urceus. ‘Can they be our men, do you think?’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ said Urceus, as a scream reached them.
They barged in through the doorway, shields at the ready, Quintus in the lead. It was much as he’d remembered it. The room was rectangular, and poorly lit by small oil lamps set in alcoves. A mixture of sand and reeds covered the dirt floor. Simple tables and benches served as its furniture. A bar made of planks stood at the back; on the wall behind, the prices of various wines had been scrawled. There was no sign of the proprietor; Quintus decided he was probably hiding in the back.
Five legionaries were gathered around a table off to one side; their backs were to Quintus and Urceus. Laughs and lewd jokes passed to and fro between them; under the banter, a woman’s moaning could be heard. Quintus peered. Between the soldiers, he could make out the barmaid spreadeagled on the table. Her dress had been shredded from her body, and her arms and legs were tied with lengths of rope. One of the legionaries put a hand to her crotch and set her to fresh wailing. ‘Shut up, bitch!’ snapped another of her tormentors, cuffing her across the head.
‘They’re not from our maniple,’ Quintus whispered to Urceus. ‘Are they Pinarius’ or Pera’s men?’
‘They’ve got to be Pera’s. Pinarius’ soldiers wouldn’t ignore his orders so blatantly, would they?’
‘I don’t fucking know. Do we leave, or get involved?’ Quintus wanted to help the girl, but he didn’t want Pinarius on his back, nor to give Pera another reason to hate him.
The decision was taken from him by Urceus. ‘What’s going on?’ he shouted in a good imitation of Corax.
A stunned silence fell. The legionaries turned. Their shock didn’t last more than two heartbeats, however. ‘What does it look like, idiot?’ demanded one, a fat-lipped man with a deep tan. ‘We’re each going to take a turn with this whore.’
‘She’s no whore,’ snarled Urceus. ‘As you’d know if you had even asked her.’
Fat Lips glanced at his comrades. ‘Do you hear this prick? We should have asked this slut if she’d let us fuck her!’
They all laughed, but their eyes weren’t a bit friendly.
‘This is against orders. Your commanding officer will hear of this,’ said Quintus in a loud voice. He had already noticed that the legionaries’ shields and javelins were stacked together by the door — behind him and Urceus. That was a small blessing.
‘Centurion Pera told us to do as we wished, as long as no one complains,’ drawled another of the legionaries, a slight man with a cast in one eye. ‘We was planning to cut her throat afterwards. She won’t say a word then, will she?’
His companions chortled. The barmaid must have spoken some Latin, because she began to cry.
‘You can either join us, or piss off and leave us to it,’ said Fat Lips. ‘The choice is yours.’
‘I see,’ said Quintus nonchalantly, although his heart was thumping so hard he wondered if the legionaries could hear it. ‘What shall we do, brother?’ he asked Urceus.
‘I’m not leaving her to be raped and murdered,’ muttered Urceus. ‘Are you?’
Trouble beckoned whatever they did, thought Quintus. But he couldn’t stand by and let an unfortunate woman be killed like this — especially as these were Pera’s men. ‘No.’
‘Javelins first?’
‘Aye. I’ll aim at Fat Lips. You take Squint Eye. We can deal with the others once they’re down.’
The ceiling was just high enough for the pair to raise their pila overarm as they would in battle. ‘Back away from the girl,’ ordered Quintus.
‘You want her all for yourselves? Greedy bastards!’ said Fat Lips, but his fingers were straying to his sword hilt.
‘I reckon we can take these whoresons,’ said Squint Eye, leering. Fat Lips sniggered; their companions began to sidle away from the table.
The tension in the room rose several notches, and Quintus readied himself to fight. ‘Take another step and my pilum will end up in your chest,’ he shouted at Fat Lips. ‘My comrade will take your cross-eyed friend, and we can sort out the rest with swords. It shouldn’t be too hard, given that none of you fools have shields.’
No one moved for a heartbeat. Two. Three. In the background, the barmaid sobbed. From outside came the murmur of angry voices — the customers who’d been evicted by the legionaries.
Fat Lips glowered, but moved his hand away from his gladius. His companions looked similarly pissed off, but none reached for their weapons, which relieved Quintus. It was one thing to threaten one’s own men and entirely another to injure or kill them.
‘You’re being sensible. Good. I want you to walk past us, one by one, nice and slow. Anyone who does something stupid will get a javelin point in the eye. When you’re in the alley, you can piss off.’
Fat Lips’ gaze flickered to Squint Eye. ‘What about our shields and pila?’
‘Do you think we’re stupid, you arse-humping mollis?’ retorted Urceus. ‘Come back and get them later.’
With filthy looks, the five legionaries shuffled past the friends. Quintus didn’t relax when they’d left the inn. Leaving Urceus to tend to the barmaid, he moved to the door and watched them walk up the alley, talking angrily between themselves and throwing frequent glances over their shoulders. The group of locals watched with evident surprise. Quintus hoped that they spread the news of what he and Urceus had done, that some good came of this.
‘Are they gone?’ called Urceus.
‘I think so. We’d best go too, in case they come back with some of their friends.’
Together they moved the legionaries’ shields and javelins. As he left with the last ones, Quintus saw the proprietor, a sallow-faced, middle-aged man, emerge from the shadows behind the bar. ‘Lock your door until tomorrow morning at the earliest,’ he said. ‘If those soldiers come back, I couldn’t vouch for your safety.’
The innkeeper nodded. ‘Thank you, sir. She’s my daughter.’
‘It’d be best if she didn’t show her face in here for a while. Male servers are less likely to be molested.’
‘I understand.’
Quintus turned to go.
‘Sir?’
He turned.
‘I can never repay you for what you just did, but should you and your comrade ever visit this inn again, the wine will flow all night.’
Urceus smacked his lips, and Quintus grinned. ‘One day, we hope to take you up on that.’ He beckoned to Urceus, and they ducked out of the door.
‘Gods, but her tits are fantastic,’ said Urceus the instant that they were outside. ‘And as for her-’
‘Hades below, do you think of nothing else?’ asked Quintus, laughing. ‘We could have ended up dead.’
‘What better thing to think of then than a body like hers? A man could die happy having seen that.’
‘Come on, Priapus! We’d best get back, or Corax will start wondering where we are.’ They kept their shields raised as they emerged on to the larger street, but there was no sign of the legionaries. ‘Do you think they’ll go to Pera?’
‘I doubt it. Rats like that go to ground when they’re exposed.’
‘All the same, it’d be wise to tell Corax,’ said Quintus, thinking of the dressing down he’d received after the horse race. ‘We want him on our side in case those pieces of shit do bend Pera’s ear.’
Urceus grimaced. ‘Aye, I suppose.’
For all that they had done as Pinarius had ordered, Quintus felt the same reluctance to confess their actions to Corax. Their centurion valued them as good soldiers, but that didn’t mean that he would refrain from punishing them if he deemed it appropriate. It was a shame that they hadn’t had a quick drink before leaving the inn, he thought. An extra bit of courage would have done no harm.
In the event, Corax did not really punish them. He called them fools: busybodies who couldn’t ignore business that wasn’t theirs. He also banned the entire maniple from visiting drinking establishments of any kind for the foreseeable future, but he left it at that.
To the friends’ relief, Pera did not make an appearance in the two days that followed. Tensions in Enna remained high. Rotten fruit and vegetables were hurled at patrols by assailants hidden on the rooftops. The sewers serving the houses requisitioned for the garrison mysteriously blocked. Much of the grain that had been set aside for the legionaries had to be replaced after unidentified individuals broke into the warehouse where it was stored and spoiled it with a mixture of cheap wine and rancid olive oil. Each morning, building after building had fresh graffiti cursing the Romans, or depicting them being defeated by the Carthaginians. Deputations of the town’s rulers went daily to Pinarius’ quarters to make complaints about his men’s heavy-handed behaviour and his continued refusal to hand over the keys to the city gates, which they had requested.
Corax told his men that Pinarius had had enough of trying to please Enna’s rulers. ‘We’re not to do anything stupid, like smashing up taverns or killing without reason, but neither are we to take any shit from the inhabitants. Anyone who is caught engaging in criminal acts against the garrison is to be dragged before Pinarius. Suitable punishments will include flogging, amputations and, if necessary, crucifixion.’
Despite this tough stance, the legionaries’ morale was affected by the hostile atmosphere. It was hard to live in a place where the normal rules of war did not fully apply, and where everyone wanted them gone. Gossip ran riot between the maniples that Himilco and his army were about to arrive at the gates, that the priests of the Palikoi, twin local gods, had been preaching against them, that the strong winds and heavy rain one night was a sign from Jupiter that they were to be punished.
By the time that he and Urceus came off duty the day after the storm, Quintus was feeling thirsty. The stock of wine he’d had was gone — donated to his comrades to placate them for Corax’s ban on visiting taverns. He paced up and down the small room that had been allocated to his contubernium, part of an apartment in a cenacula-like building close to Pinarius’ headquarters and the agora.
‘Sit down, will you?’ growled Marius. ‘The noise of your damn hobs is giving me a headache.’
Quintus ignored him, and kept walking back and forth. The evening meal was over; they’d washed it down with water from the public fountain. The locals used that themselves, so no one had fouled it, but it wasn’t wine. The day had been long and hot, and the inhabitants even more surly than usual. Gods, but what he’d give for a drink!
‘What’s got into you?’ asked Urceus from his bed. Carpenters had been given the task of building bunks and now every contubernium had a set in their room. After months of living in tents, it felt properly luxurious.
‘My tongue is hanging out for some wine.’
‘Not for some pussy?’ asked Mattheus. ‘That’s what I’d like!’
‘I’d like both!’ said Marius, and everyone laughed.
‘Have some of mine.’ Mattheus tapped the small amphora that protruded from beneath his bunk. ‘There’s still a drop left.’
‘Thanks, but I can’t,’ said Quintus. ‘That stuff’s like liquid gold, what with the ban.’
‘Stop whingeing, then,’ advised Marius with a shrug. In some ways, he had taken Wolf’s place as the one who wasn’t afraid to say what he thought. He was friendlier than Wolf had been, but more dangerous, Quintus had decided. His skill with sword and shield was impressive; Quintus was glad that they were on the same side.
‘I’m not whingeing.’ Quintus aimed a half-kick at Marius, who had to roll to the far side of his bunk to avoid being hit. ‘I’m planning something.’
Marius rolled right back to the near edge, his eyes agleam. ‘What kind of something?’
Quintus glanced around and saw that he had the attention of every man in the room. ‘It involves wine, as you might have guessed. And an inn — one where we will be welcomed.’
‘The only place you’ll find a place like that is back in Italy,’ declared Mattheus scornfully.
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ said Quintus, deciding that he was going to defy Corax’s order. He could almost hear the wine at the Harvest Moon calling him.
‘Bullshit!’ said Mattheus. ‘Who in this armpit of a town is going to give us free wine?’
Disbelief radiated from everyone else apart from Urceus, who was grinning. ‘The other day …’ and Quintus launched into a quick explanation of what had happened. There was a uniform rumble of approval when he was done.
‘The innkeeper must love you,’ said Marius, chuckling. ‘We’re in for a right session!’
Quintus had known that Corax wasn’t around. He, Vitruvius and the optiones were in Pinarius’ quarters, attending the daily debriefing on the day’s events. The hastati who were guarding the door of the house that Quintus’ contubernium was stationed in — two soldiers of their own century — weren’t taken in by their story of going for a walk. ‘Fresh air, is it?’ one had asked, grinning. ‘Eight of you, battle ready at this time of night?’ Smiling, Quintus had told them to shut their damn mouths and get out of the way. Advising them that the wine, whores or both had better be worth whatever punishment Corax devised for them all, the pair of sentries had stood aside.
It was just after sunset, and the streets were empty apart from an occasional leper or stray dog. Even in small towns, people didn’t like to be abroad once the light went from the sky. The seven men that Quintus had taken with him — his entire contubernium — didn’t carry torches. It wasn’t far to the Harvest Moon, and they didn’t want to attract any more attention than they already would with their hobnailed sandals. Quintus heard the rattle of shutters above as they tramped down the main thoroughfare; he felt the unfriendly stares of those who watched from their houses. Sick of the inhabitants’ antipathy towards him and his comrades, he ignored the sounds. Let them come if they dislike us that much, he thought fiercely. We’re fully armoured, and they’ll get a sharp iron welcome from my gladius.
They reached the entrance of the Harvest Moon without incident, however. The door was shut and barred from within. Not a chink of light came from behind its shuttered windows. Undeterred, Quintus hammered on the timbers.
There was no response.
‘You’ve brought us on a fool’s errand, Crespo,’ said Marius. ‘It’s shut. There’s no one at home, or if there is, he ain’t opening for business tonight.’
Quintus banged on the door again.
Nothing.
His comrades stamped unhappily from foot to foot.
‘Let us in!’ cried Quintus. This time, he used the iron butt spike of his javelin on the door. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. ‘Open up, I say!’
‘Or we’ll burn your tavern to the ground,’ said Urceus with a snigger.
The others chuckled, and Quintus was glad that they were his comrades, and were still sober. In different circumstances, especially if their blood was up, they might well be capable of such a thing. He used his javelin butt a second time. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
At last he heard movement within. Feet shuffled up to the door, stopped just the other side. There was silence for a moment. He’s probably terrified, thought Quintus. We might be Pera’s men, returned for our revenge. ‘You have nothing to fear,’ he said in Greek. ‘It’s the two soldiers who saved your daughter.’
A heartbeat’s pause, and then a short laugh. ‘You must be thirsty!’ Iron grated off iron as the bolt was thrown back, and the door opened a fraction, revealing the innkeeper’s face. He gasped at the sight of so many legionaries, and Quintus quickly said, ‘It’s all right, they’re my tent mates. I’m not alone in being thirsty, you see.’
The innkeeper didn’t look too happy, but he pulled open the door nonetheless.
Quintus, Urceus and the rest barrelled in, and the door slammed shut behind them. The room — empty of customers — was even more dimly lit than before, but the hastati didn’t care. Setting aside their shields and pila, they sat themselves down at a couple of benches near the bar.
‘What have you got for us to drink?’ cried Marius, slapping his hand on the wooden top.
‘Your finest vintage!’ added Mattheus, leering.
‘After what your friends did, I’m more than happy to give you an amphora of my best wine,’ replied the innkeeper.
‘Excuse my friends,’ said Quintus. ‘We’ll drink whatever you give us.’
‘Only the best for the men who saved my daughter’s virtue.’ He hurried off behind the bar, and Quintus shot a reproving look at Urceus, who was already waxing lyrical about the girl’s attractions.
The wine produced by the innkeeper, whose name was Thersites, was delicious. The hastati raised their cups in appreciation, and he half bowed, clearly pleased. They set to with a vengeance, and before long the small amphora had been drained. Another was brought forth from the back, and it too was of fine quality.
Quintus felt a tinge of guilt. ‘We’ll beggar him if this keeps up,’ he said behind his hand to Urceus.
‘No chance! He’s been in the trade for years; anyone can see that. The next amphora that comes out, or maybe the one after that, will be the cheap stuff. We won’t be able to tell by then, and he knows that.’
Urceus’ simple explanation made Quintus feel a little foolish. Even after years spent with ordinary soldiers, his privileged upbringing still showed him up on occasion. He began to watch Thersites like a hawk each time he appeared with fresh wine. Sure enough, the fourth amphora was newer looking than the previous ones. He nudged Urceus. ‘It’s clean, so it’s from the most consumed stock — in other words, the cheapest.’
Urceus gave him a solemn wink. ‘It’ll do us fine, though, eh?’
‘Aye.’ Despite his best efforts, Quintus found it impossible to taste the difference between the fresh wine and that which they had drunk up to that point. ‘It tastes good to me,’ he said ruefully.
Urceus clapped him on the shoulder. ‘That’s because you’re half pissed.’
‘True.’ He gazed around at their comrades and took in their flushed faces and loud voices. ‘We’d best not have too much more, or Corax will string us up by the balls.’
‘One more, for the road, and to ask the gods that we leave the shithole they call Enna soon!’ declared Urceus, clinking his cup off that of Quintus.
Quintus drank deep, relishing the warm feeling as the wine slid down his throat.
At that point, Thersites emerged with a platter of bread, cheese and olives. The hastati descended on it with eager cries, Quintus among them. Another amphora of wine immediately followed, and he forgot about getting back to their quarters. Neither Urceus nor his comrades spoke up. The occasion was fast becoming one of those all-night affairs, when tomorrow is another day and the only thing that matters is the banter and the next drink.
Late on in the night, Quintus’ fuddled gaze chanced upon Thersites. Something made him look again. The innkeeper appeared troubled. Assuming that he and his friends were the cause, he lumbered over to the bar.
‘More wine?’ Thersites was already reaching for the amphora on the rack behind him.
‘I’ve had enough for the moment. You seem unhappy. Do you wish us to leave?’
‘No, no. You can stay as long as you wish.’
The wine had washed away Quintus’ inhibitions. ‘What is it then?’
Thersites stared at him, as if in assessment, before saying, ‘You’re a decent man. So is your friend.’
‘We try to do the right thing,’ he admitted.
‘And these men are your friends, so they must be the same.’
‘I suppose,’ said Quintus.
‘The town’s leaders tell us that all Romans are bloodthirsty killers, who are incapable of any kindness.’
‘Well, that’s not true,’ replied Quintus, bristling.
‘I’ve never really believed it. Having met you and these others, I now know it to be a lie. You are men, the same as us.’ Thersites lowered his voice. ‘Nor are the Carthaginians all good, as they would have us believe.’
Quintus suddenly felt very sober. ‘They talk of the Carthaginians in that way?’
Thersites’ eyes were dark pools of concern. ‘Yes. Our leaders want the town to switch allegiances, as so many others have done of recent weeks. Remember the old days, they say, before Rome took Sicily for itself. Things were so much better then. Carthage is a more gentle master.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘As far as I remember, those times were no different to the years before this war began. Powers such as Rome and Carthage care nothing for places such as Enna, as long as the taxes are paid and the grain supplies flow.’
‘What do you want, Thersites?’
A long sigh. ‘I want peace. Peace, so I don’t have to lie awake at night worrying about my two daughters being raped, or my inn being burned down around our ears.’ He made a placating gesture. ‘I refer not just to Romans. Carthaginian soldiers are more than capable of such things, I know.’
Quintus thought of his family estate, which had had to be abandoned because of Hannibal’s incursions into Campania. Thersites was probably unable to leave Enna, as his mother and Aurelia were powerless to return home. The whole of Sicily was in conflict; thousands of innocent people were affected in the same way. ‘War is a tidal wave that sweeps everything in its path away,’ he said heavily. ‘And there is nothing we can do about it other than try not to drown.’
‘We can do other things,’ ventured Thersites. He hesitated, and Quintus saw the fear in his eyes.
‘Speak,’ he urged.
‘Keeping Enna in Roman hands would avoid a battle within its walls, which is what will happen if the town’s leaders get their way. They want the keys to the gate so that they can admit Himilco’s troops in the middle of the night. Pinarius is far too clever to hand the keys over, however, and our leaders are talking now of a siege by the Carthaginians, during which we could help them over the ramparts or some such madness. I’ve heard the stories from other towns where that happened. It wouldn’t matter that we were coming over to Carthage. The place would be sacked, and the population murdered.’
‘You want to prevent that? Even if it means that Enna remains in Roman hands?’
‘I don’t care who rules us if things can remain peaceful. If it means that a massacre can be prevented. One day, if you have children, you will understand.’
In his mind’s eye, Quintus saw the battlefield at Cannae as they had fled. Most Roman families had lost a son there that terrible day. Feeling old, he nodded. ‘I think I already do.’
There was silence for a moment.
‘Why are you telling me this, and not Pinarius or another officer?’
Thersites’ smile was knowing. ‘Every wall here has eyes and ears. I couldn’t go within a hundred paces of Pinarius’ quarters without being taken for a traitor. Do you trust your commanding officer?’
‘With my life.’
‘And Pinarius?’
‘He’s a bit stiff, but he’s supposed to be a straight type.’
‘I thought that too.’ Thersites licked lips that had gone dry. ‘If I gave you the names of the main conspirators, could you pass them on to your commander?’
Quintus shot a look at his companions and was relieved that they seemed oblivious to his conversation with Thersites. ‘I could, yes.’
‘Would he be able to guarantee safety for me and my daughters? I think that the remaining leaders will want to side with Rome, and they can sway the townsmen. Some men may wish me ill if they suspect what I’ve done, however.’
Quintus swallowed. He couldn’t lie. ‘I don’t know. I’m only an ordinary soldier, but I swear to you that I will do my best to ensure that that happens.’
Another sigh. ‘I can ask for no more.’
The loud banter and laughs from behind him died away. Quintus was aware of a pulse beating behind his eyeballs, of the rough wooden counter under his fingertips, of the fear writ large on Thersites’ face.
‘Simmias and Zenodoros are the two most active voices in Carthage’s cause. Along with Ochos.’
‘Simmias? The merchant who supplies us with grain?’ asked Quintus in disbelief. He had always seemed pleased to deal with the legionaries.
‘One and the same.’ Thersites began reeling off more names, and Quintus raised a hand to stop him. ‘I’m too drunk,’ he said. ‘You must write them down.’ Thersites looked horrified.
‘You need not sign the parchment. I’ll hand it to my centurion myself,’ Quintus promised.
‘Ho, innkeeper! More wine!’ bellowed Marius.
‘Of course!’ replied Thersites. In an undertone, he said to Quintus, ‘I’ll give it to you the next time you go to empty your bladder.’
Already wishing that he hadn’t drunk as much — reporting something this momentous to Corax, or more particularly, Pinarius, would not look good when hungover — Quintus made his way back to the table. No one even noticed him return, which suited him. For the moment, it was best that few people knew what he’d just been told.
He set about downing beakers of water in an effort to wash out the wine he’d drunk, and, when his head was a little clearer, and the piece of parchment from Thersites was safely stowed in his leather purse, Quintus began the lengthy process of persuading his comrades to leave the inn. He needed some rest, but he wasn’t prepared to leave them behind — apart from Thersites’ revelation, he wanted to make sure none tried to have a look at the innkeeper’s daughter.
By the time that they eventually returned to their quarters, Quintus was drained, but sleep proved evasive. Shafts of light were coming through the gaps in the shutters when he managed to succumb. It seemed that he’d only been asleep for a moment before the optio was banging on their door and ordering them to get up, if they didn’t want their arses kicked back to Syracuse.
Quickly, Quintus told Urceus what Thersites had told him. ‘I wasn’t dreaming,’ he hissed, opening his hand to show his friend the parchment.
‘Vulcan’s fucking balls,’ said Urceus, who looked as bad as Quintus felt. ‘You’ve got to tell Corax.’
‘That’s what I’m about to do.’
‘Fuck it,’ growled Urceus. ‘That’ll be more punishment duty. Rather you than me, though.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Quintus sourly. He had the presence of mind to stick his head in a bucket of water and don his clean tunic before seeking out Corax. He still felt like shit, but hopefully he didn’t look too bad. Hopefully.
The door to the centurion’s quarters, an entire apartment on the first floor, was ajar. Through the doorway, Quintus could see Corax sitting at a table, wolfing bread and honey. His servant, a monosyllabic slave, waited upon him. As Quintus was about to knock, Corax’s head turned. ‘Crespo — is that you?’ he barked.
‘Yes, sir.’ Quintus knocked, feeling foolish.
‘Stop loitering outside. Come in.’ Corax appraised him as he approached, and Quintus cringed inwardly, wishing again that he had been more temperate the previous night.
He came to a halt a few steps from Corax and saluted. ‘Sir.’
There was a short silence, during which Quintus could feel beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. Of course, he had to ignore them, while Corax’s eyes traced their complete path.
‘You wished to see me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Strange. You look as if you were on the piss last night.’
‘Sir, I, er …’ Quintus floundered. What was the point lying? he decided. Corax wasn’t blind or lacking a sense of smell. ‘Yes, sir.’
Corax’s lips pressed together for a moment. ‘This, despite my orders?’
‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’
‘You didn’t come here to confess what you’d done, though.’
‘No, sir.’ Quintus proffered the piece of parchment, which he’d been clutching unseen in his right hand.
‘What is that?’
‘It’s a list of names, sir, of those who are plotting to turn the town over to the Carthaginians.’
At this, Corax looked decidedly more interested. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘From an innkeeper, sir.’
Corax’s eyebrow rose — Quintus hoped it wasn’t in disbelief — and he said, ‘Not the proprietor of whichever hole you were drinking in?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘This better be good, Crespo,’ warned Corax, his voice hard. ‘Explain everything — fast.’
At this stage, Quintus decided that wiping the sweat from his brow made no difference. That done, he related again how he and Urceus had saved Thersites’ daughter; how the innkeeper’s offer of free wine had been too much to ignore. Recounting how the sentries had let them out with barely a question, he thought that Corax’s lips twitched. This was the centurion’s only reaction until he had finished the entire tale, however. When he was done, Corax stretched out his hand. ‘Give it here.’
Quintus hurriedly obeyed. His stomach churned as Corax read it. If the centurion didn’t believe him, his entire contubernium was in for severe punishment. Even if he did, there would be a price to pay.
‘Do you believe this Thersites character?’
‘I do, sir.’
Corax ran a finger along his lips, thinking.
Quintus sweated some more.
After what seemed an eternity, Corax fixed him with his deep-set eyes. ‘One thing I’ve learned over the years, Crespo, is that an honest soldier isn’t necessarily the same as one who is good in battle. The reverse also applies. A good fighter isn’t guaranteed to be a decent, honest type. For a soldier to be both is a rare thing indeed. Now we both know that you joined the hastati under false pretences, which means that you’re a liar.’ He paused, waiting to see if Quintus would try to deny the accusation. Quintus bit his lip, and Corax continued, ‘So why should I believe this crazy, wine-fuelled story of yours? Can you imagine Pinarius’ reaction if I dragged you before him and this turned out to be a big, steaming pile of bullshit?’
‘He wouldn’t be happy, sir.’
‘Ha! Pinarius does not suffer fools gladly.’
Another silence, during which Quintus felt it important to keep his eyes locked with Corax’s.
‘What punishment do you think is merited for what you and your idiot tent mates have done?’
‘A whipping to start with, sir-’
Corax interrupted before he could continue. ‘How many lashes?’
‘Twenty at least, sir.’
‘Or thirty,’ added Corax coldly. ‘What else?’
Quintus tried not to think about the degree of pain from that many lashes. ‘Latrine duties, probably, sir. Extra sentry duties too. Rations of barley rather than wheat.’
Corax nodded in satisfaction. ‘That would be about right.’
Quintus locked his knees, trying to ignore the nausea that was washing up from his protesting stomach. His attempt had failed. He, Urceus and the rest would suffer Corax’s punishment, and it was down to the gods how many legionaries would die when the Carthaginians came stealing into the town some dark night in the near future.
‘You may be a liar, but you’re also no fool. And only a fool would come to me with such a madcap story when the consequences of revealing that he had disobeyed orders were so severe.’
‘Sir?’
‘I believe you, Crespo.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Quintus, feeling even more stupid.
‘You’re not going to escape punishment, but if the pieces of shit on Thersites’ list confirm what he told you, I will look at your case with a more lenient eye. Before we go to Pinarius, though, you’re taking me to Thersites. I want to assess him for myself.’ Corax pushed the table away and stood. ‘Breastplate,’ he said to the slave.
Quintus dived in before his instincts prevented him from doing so. ‘Your pardon, sir, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
Corax didn’t look pleased, but he waved his slave back. ‘Explain.’
‘Thersites said that everyone is watching everyone else. If a senior Roman officer goes to Thersites’ tavern for no apparent reason, suspicion might fall on him. By the time Pinarius acted, he could be dead.’
‘I wouldn’t shed too many tears at that,’ retorted Corax. ‘He’s not Roman.’
Quintus rallied his courage. ‘No, sir, but I promised to do what I could for him and his family. And his friends.’
‘So, you take it upon yourself to disobey orders, and you also bestow Roman citizenship on half of Enna,’ said Corax, his nostrils flaring.
Quintus didn’t dare to respond. I tried, he thought.
‘Put that back on its stand, damn it!’ Corax gestured at his slave, who retreated, breastplate still in hand. ‘Fetch my old cloak. The one with the hole in the back.’ To Quintus, he said archly, ‘Satisfied?’
Quintus studied the worn, hooded cloak that the slave had produced from a chest. ‘It looks perfect, sir.’
‘Good. I suggest that you take me to Thersites with all haste. There’s to be a public meeting later this morning. Pinarius has called the bluff of the town’s leaders and demanded that every adult male gather in the agora. A vote will be taken as to whether the keys to the town should be handed back to its people. It could be quite a volatile situation, clearly, so the entire garrison is to be present. Pinarius feels certain that those in favour of staying loyal to Rome will win, if only because the majority will be afraid to voice their opinion before our very eyes. Up to this point, I agreed with Pinarius, but what you’ve told me changes everything. They might riot. Even if the whoresons don’t, it matters little if they vote for Rome today while planning to open the gates to our enemies the next night.’
Quintus nodded, wishing even more fervently that he had not drunk so much. Despite his efforts, bloodshed of some kind was not just possible that day, but likely.