It was sunset, and on the southern ramparts of Akragas, Hanno and Aurelia walked hand in hand. The whole city was bathed in the glorious, golden light of autumn as they wandered eastward along the wall from the fifth gate, Hanno’s officer’s uniform keeping the regularly placed sentries away. The smell of incense from the nearby massive sanctuary to Demeter and Persephone was thick in the air, and the chants of the devotees within mixed with the cries of the vendors outside, selling wine, trinkets and autumn fruits.
Ten stadia to the south, fishing boats were putting to sea from the city’s busy port. Nearer to the walls, hundreds of tents belonging to Himilco’s soldiers sprawled to either side of the shrine of Asklepios. From the edge of the camp, an elephant bugled. A short distance from Hanno and Aurelia loomed a magnificent temple, a number of which had been built in a line along the ridge that formed Akragas’ southern limit. But it was the second, the one built in honour of Olympian Zeus, that drew Hanno’s admiring gaze. The city’s residents loved to boast that it was the biggest Doric shrine in existence, but it was a shame, he reflected, that his people’s annexation of Akragas had prevented it from being finished.
‘An obol for your thoughts,’ said Aurelia.
He smiled. It had become one of their little phrases. ‘Carthage is my home, and I will always love it. But this place’ — he gestured to his left, from the grid of streets covering the two confluent hills that formed the city’s backbone, then down the slope, over the agora and the grand bouleuterion, to the temples — ‘it’s just magnificent. It has stolen my heart.’ He smiled down at her. ‘As you have.’
Her fingers entwined further with his. ‘Don’t you think that it’s also because we’re here?’
‘You could be right,’ he admitted, grinning.
It had only been a month since Himilco’s and Hippocrates’ decision to end the year’s scrappy, inconclusive campaign and march west to Akragas, once again a major Carthaginian stronghold on the island. It had become a halcyon time for them, so it felt far longer. That didn’t mean Hanno had forgotten the Roman ambush on Hippocrates’ force, or the days that had followed it. Gathering up more than a dozen survivors, he and Aurelia had headed west, towards the area where Himilco was supposed to be. They’d had to take constant care to avoid enemy patrols. Soon after that, they’d had their first encounter with Carthaginian scouts — what a joyful occasion for Hanno that had been. By that stage, his band of stragglers had swelled to more than fifty. Among them, to his pleasure, had been both Kleitos and Deon, and a few more of his men.
His reunion with Hippocrates had been far less amicable. Hanno had struggled to contain his contempt at Hippocrates’ flight from the valley, while Hippocrates’ disdain for his very presence had seemed to have grown. Once Hippocrates had established that Himilco spoke passable Greek, he had left Hanno out of their meetings. Hanno had tried speaking directly to Himilco, but it seemed that Hippocrates had earned the Carthaginian general’s trust. Hanno’s annoyance at being excluded from the two men’s meetings had been eased by the knowledge that Aurelia was safe. With the war effectively suspended, Hippocrates had thrown himself into the city’s brothels, where, by all accounts, he indulged his taste for the most attractive whores available. He was far too busy to bother with Hanno, or the Roman woman he’d once forced into his bed.
There were other reasons to be cheerful. By way of reward for escaping the ambush, Hippocrates had set him and Kleitos the task of regrouping the survivors into a few full-strength units outside Akragas. Pleasingly, Hanno had also been able to send word to Hannibal on a Phoenician merchant ship. The setback of the ambush on Hippocrates had not prevented him from joining forces with Himilco’s vast army, Hanno had written. In the spring, they would smash Marcellus’ legions apart.
‘You’ve got to concede that the city is stunning. Rome doesn’t even come close,’ Hanno said. ‘Nowhere in Italy does.’
‘And Carthage?’ she retorted.
‘It’s grander, but not as beautiful.’
Her eyes danced with mischief. ‘Somewhere that’s better than Carthage? How can that be possible?’
‘Hmmm.’ Hanno tried not to feel annoyed as she laughed, and failed. Aurelia was so much better at accepting perceived criticism of all things Roman than he was of anything to do with Carthage. Not wanting to spoil the mood, he diverted himself by admiring another of his favourite temples, the one dedicated to the goddess Hera. It lay on its own inside the southeast corner of the walls, and was a good spot to sit as it grew dark. Remembering the excellent inn near the third gate, which lay close to Hera’s shrine, his good mood returned. They could eat there before returning to their rooms in the quarter that lay a short distance to the north.
Discipline in Akragas was far laxer than it had been in Syracuse, allowing Hanno to spend almost every night with Aurelia. These precious hours were filled with love and laughter. No wonder it felt as if he were on extended leave, he thought with only a trace of guilt. The slow pace of life seemed to be doing Aurelia good too. Her sorrow was still there, but Hanno was finding it harder to spot. He was glad for her. What she had been through — losing three family members in quick succession — was truly horrendous. While her decision to follow him had been rash, he was no longer angry about it: he simply wanted her to experience some happiness. Hanno did his best to add to that, wooing her as he might have done if they had met in more normal circumstances.
‘It is a wonderful place,’ she said happily. ‘I could live here forever.’
‘Your Greek is coming along. It won’t be long before the locals think you’re one of them.’
‘Now you’re teasing me,’ she said, nudging him.
He grinned. ‘Doing my best to, anyway.’
They walked on in companionable silence, enjoying the sun’s heat on their backs. Hanno’s eyes drifted to the lines of smoke rising from the vast camp that filled the flat ground below the walls. Thousands of soldiers there would be preparing their evening meal. Somewhere on the island, he hoped that Quintus would be doing the same. He felt a pang for Mutt and his Libyans, back in Italy, and hoped that they were alive and well. It seemed likely that they were. The summer had seen little action, so the stalemate on the Italian peninsula continued. Hannibal still needed a port large enough to allow reinforcements to flow from his homeland, while the Romans’ every effort focused on chipping away at his allies: the cities and towns of southern Italy.
I’m not missing much, Hanno told himself. I’m doing my duty here. If Hippocrates and Himilco don’t see fit to use me, what can I do? The excuse — for that’s what it felt like — salved his conscience, but Hanno knew that by the time spring came around, he’d be raring for some action. Hannibal was also relying on him. He would try once more to gain Himilco’s ear. Aurelia glanced at him and smiled, and his heart twisted. What would happen to her then?
As they sat by the temple to Hera, his worries slipped away. Aurelia had gone inside, promising to return soon. In all likelihood, she was praying about women’s matters, but he wondered with a certain joy if it could be about marriage. The notion wasn’t so shocking, thought Hanno. Life was short and, in these times, even more uncertain than normal. Either or both of them could be dead before the next year’s campaign ended. A devilment took him. He’d ask her when she emerged. Kleitos was the only friend they had in the city, but that didn’t matter. Marriage wasn’t about having a large wedding feast, but about him and Aurelia, and their love.
Hanno’s excitement vanished when Aurelia came out looking sad. How could he have forgotten about her husband Lucius? That she was so near to her brother, yet so far? Again Hanno cursed the war for interfering in his life. In peacetime, it would have been possible to find a merchant ship travelling to Rhegium and to pay its captain to enquire there after the health of a certain Lucius Vibius Melito. It was not so now. Rhegium was in enemy territory. There was absolutely no way of finding out if Lucius had died of his injuries, and Hanno doubted that Aurelia would even consider marriage unless she were certain.
He had asked so many times if she was grieving that it felt intrusive to do so again, so Hanno put an arm around her instead. Without saying where they were going, he guided them to the inn, which was called the Grape and Grain. By the time they reached it, Aurelia had not spoken, but her mood had lifted a little. She seemed happy to go in for a drink. Hanno was thirsty for some of the locally produced wine, which was better than any he’d had in an age. Kleitos had laughed when Hanno had begun praising the stuff to him one night. ‘You wouldn’t have had reason to know, but the vineyards in the hills around Akragas are renowned,’ he’d said. ‘They make the best wines in Sicily.’
Now, ordering a large jug of the best vintage in the place, he poured them both a measure.
Looking Aurelia in the eye, he raised his cup. ‘To us.’
At last, the smile that made his belly flutter returned. ‘To us,’ she said.
By the time winter arrived, Hanno and Aurelia’s life had settled into a smooth routine. To all intents and purposes, they lived as man and wife. His duties as an army officer kept him busy during the day, allowing her to run their small household. With Elira left behind in Syracuse, Hanno had mentioned buying a slave to do the menial tasks, but Aurelia had rejected the offer out of hand. ‘Do you think I’m too grand to peel a vegetable or empty a chamber pot?’ she’d asked. Hanno had coloured.
‘Perhaps.’
She’d cuffed him then, gently. ‘Well, I’m not. I changed Publius’ underclothes myself from the first day. You wouldn’t believe what comes out of a baby’s bottom.’ A wistful look had entered her eye, and she’d added, ‘I have little enough to do when you’re not here. Keeping the place in order gives me a purpose.’
In retrospect, this had seemed obvious to Hanno, and so he began to take more pleasure in the aromatic herbs that Aurelia hung from the walls, the coloured blankets that covered the bed, and from her amusing descriptions of the markets and shops in the city. He was less impressed with some of her attempts at cooking, but had the good sense to smile and tell her that the food was delicious.
When Kleitos came calling late one blustery afternoon, with an offer to take them out to dine, Hanno accepted with alacrity. Too late, he remembered that Aurelia had already begun preparing the evening meal. ‘That is, if you would like to as well,’ he said to her.
Her lips pursed; she lifted her reddened hands from a bowl of muddied vegetables. ‘I’m nearly finished cleaning these.’
‘They can wait until tomorrow, surely?’ Kleitos darted to her side and kissed her palms. ‘Get yourself clean, and let someone else do the hard work. Consider it a little repayment from me to you both, for being such good company.’
Hanno threw Aurelia a meaningful glance. He’d told her often about how hard Kleitos was finding life in Akragas. At first, it had been because there were few Syracusans of the same rank left among Hippocrates’ men, and the local commanders and Himilco’s officers were quite clannish. Then the news of the massacre at Enna had reached the city. By most accounts, fewer than a hundred of its inhabitants had survived. Among them, no doubt, had been Kleitos’ lover. Kleitos had since been plunged into a spiral of impotent anger and overwhelming grief. His main way of dealing with it had been, and still was, to consume vast amounts of wine. He’d poured his heart out to Hanno during an all-nighter, but that had not alleviated his sorrow. This evening might be another chance for the poor bastard to unburden himself a little, thought Hanno.
Aurelia understood. She pretended to frown, before smiling. ‘You’ve won me over, Kleitos.’
He peered at her handiwork. ‘And saved you from the joys of preparing a somewhat mouldy cabbage and some extra-muddy carrots for the pot.’
Everyone laughed.
‘Where are you taking us?’ asked Hanno as he helped Aurelia don her heavy woollen cloak.
‘A place near the sanctuary to Demeter and Persephone, called the Ox and Plough. It’s an inn that I’ve not tried before, but its spit-roast lamb is reputed to be the best in Akragas.’
‘And the wine?’ Old habit made Hanno strap a dagger on to his belt. Kleitos was also wearing one and he’d placed a small cudgel by the door upon entering. Akragas was a friendly city, but after dark it was much the same as anywhere else. ‘Is it any good?’
‘Never fear, my friend. Its cellar is also respected.’
Hanno threw on his own cloak, a green hooded affair that he’d bought as the poor weather drew in. ‘Lead on, then!’
Aurelia wasn’t so eager. ‘Is there nowhere closer?’
‘Are you worried about kleptai?’ Kleitos enquired. He saw her blank look. ‘Thieves.’
‘Well, yes. The longer we have to walk, the more risk that we meet some, especially on the way back.’
Hanno rummaged beneath their bed and came up holding the stout staff he’d found when they had moved in. ‘I’ll take this as well. Happy?’
She nodded reluctantly.
Kleitos’ teeth flashed as he picked up his cudgel. ‘I’d like to see the kleptai who’d take me and Hanno on!’ Aurelia looked less than impressed, and he added, ‘The Lenaia festival is also being held at the moment, so you have little to fear. The kleptai are the same as the rest of us, too busy getting pissed to think about much else.’
‘I haven’t heard of the Lenaia,’ Aurelia said.
‘It’s held at the temple of Dionysos, and is celebrated by all married women. The whores-’ Kleitos looked embarrassed. ‘My apologies. I should have said hetairai. Courtesans. They are involved too.’
‘What do the women get up to?’ There was a mischievous glint to Aurelia’s expression and Hanno hid his amusement. She did know something about the Lenaia.
Kleitos coughed. ‘The proceedings start with a procession led by various priests, which is followed by the sacrifice of a goat. Some say that the women tear it to pieces, although I’ve never believed that myself. Maybe in the past, but not now.’
‘And after that?’
‘I couldn’t really say.’
Hanno grinned. He’d never seen Kleitos so discomfited.
Aurelia giggled. ‘Are you embarrassed, Kleitos?’
‘A little.’ He threw a glance at Hanno. ‘Damn, but you picked a spirited one, didn’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t have her any other way,’ replied Hanno, smiling. Nonetheless, he was relieved when Aurelia gave up on her interrogation. According to his soldiers, who were congregating in inns near the temple complex, there was far more to the Lenaia. After the women had finished drinking and celebrating, men would be allowed into the sanctuary, whereupon priests and priestesses supervised an all-night orgy. It was one thing to consider that he, Hanno, might partake (if Aurelia hadn’t been part of his life), but the notion that she might also set a jealous fire in his blood.
The rain and wind that they encountered on their journey put paid to any further conversation about the Lenaia, or anything else. If it continued, Hanno reflected, it would be further protection from any ill fortune befalling them on the way home. His lanolin-soaked cloak kept out the worst of the water, but he was still glad to reach the inn. ‘This lamb had better be worth it,’ he grumbled.
‘I’m paying, so what do you care?’ retorted Kleitos.
A quartet of muscled, gormless-looking men flanked the entrance. The lead one did his impression of a smile, which would have terrified most children, but told the three that they were being allowed in.
Kleitos held open the door, releasing a cacophony of noise and a blast of warm, fuggy air. ‘Get your arse inside and stop complaining. Find us a table.’
As Hanno entered, he slipped his free hand under his cloak to the hilt of his dagger. Old habits die hard, he thought, scanning the packed room. There were casual glances from the nearest customers, but no one else seemed interested, which was reassuring. The patrons were a mixture of well-to-do types, from local merchants to officers from the garrison, Hippocrates’ forces and Himilco’s army. There were some women present, although they looked to be whores. When Hanno spotted two men leaving a small table by the left wall, not too near the bar, he made a beeline for it. Kleitos and Aurelia arrived a moment later. ‘Sit here,’ he said to her, indicating the single stool. ‘Kleitos and I will take the bench against the wall.’
‘I won’t be able to see what’s going on,’ she complained.
‘Maybe so, but we will. And fewer people will notice you.’ Hanno had no need to explain further. Despite the peaceful atmosphere, the mix of customers was a recipe for potential violence.
‘Relax,’ said Kleitos, slapping his knee. ‘Every man here is likely to have his mind set on one thing only. The Lenaia.’
Hanno could see that Aurelia was on the point of quizzing Kleitos again. ‘Let’s get some wine in,’ he said loudly. Alert to danger, he scrutinised the room again.
Most customers appeared to be listening to a group of musicians with lyres and flutes, who had arrived accompanied by a singer with a reasonable voice. Others were eyeing a pair of heavily made-up whores who were working the crowd, batting away men’s roaming hands and murmuring promises in their ears. Relaxing a little, Hanno caught the eye of a barmaid.
The wine that she brought soon after was excellent. Hanno began to enjoy himself. The company was convivial, the nearby fire’s heat relaxing. Even Aurelia consumed more than normal. Kleitos drank as if he were dying of thirst, downing cup after cup of wine. Two more jugs of wine were ordered, and an hour or more had passed before they got around to ordering some of the famed roast lamb. A massive plate of it finally arrived, swimming in juices, and bordered by hunks of fresh, flat bread. They devoured it in complete silence, like small children who’ve unexpectedly been given a whole pastry.
‘Gods, but that was tasty. This place’s reputation is well deserved,’ said Hanno. ‘Well done, Kleitos.’
‘It was good, eh?’ Wiping his lips, Kleitos burped. His eyes shot to Aurelia’s. ‘My pardon.’
‘Stop worrying about me,’ she ordered. ‘I grew up listening to my brother fart and belch at every opportunity.’
Kleitos grinned. ‘If you hadn’t spoken for Aurelia, my friend-’
‘I’m a lucky man,’ said Hanno, moving to kneel beside Aurelia.
‘You’re not the only one who’s lucky,’ she replied, leaning her head on his shoulder.
Kleitos’ eyes grew sad.
‘You will find another woman,’ said Aurelia gently. ‘It’s obvious from a mile away that you’re a decent, good man.’
‘Maybe, one day.’ Kleitos poured himself more wine. He raised the overflowing cup. ‘But for now, my lover is this.’
An awkward silence followed; Hanno and Aurelia waited to see if Kleitos wanted to talk further, but he didn’t.
‘If the truth be told, I’m ready for bed.’ Hanno stifled a yawn and glanced at Aurelia, who nodded. ‘I’m no longer in your league when it comes to drinking, Kleitos.’
‘Who said you ever were?’ retorted Kleitos, but with an affectionate grin.
‘That sounds like a challenge, yet it’s one I’ll have to answer another time.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘I am.’
‘I’ll walk back with you.’
‘Don’t you want to stay on for a while?’
‘Aye. I’ll return when I’ve seen you to your door.’
‘The Lenaia is calling him!’ said Aurelia with a wink.
‘Maybe it is,’ Kleitos admitted, the wine having banished his earlier embarrassment. ‘These type of events don’t come around too often, especially during a war. A single man must make the most of his opportunities, eh?’
Aurelia got to her feet. ‘Come on. We mustn’t delay Kleitos.’
Chuckling, Hanno led the way towards the door. The others followed, but Hanno didn’t notice that after a few steps, Kleitos had stopped to talk with an officer he knew. Aurelia’s shocked gasp also took him by surprise. ‘Don’t touch me!’ she cried in Greek.
‘I’ll do as I damn well please,’ said a man’s voice. ‘You’re good-looking for a whore, I have to say. Why don’t you and I go somewhere more private?’
Hanno spun, taking in Aurelia’s outraged face and, over her shoulder, a pox-scarred local soldier in a wine-spattered tunic whose hand still rested somewhere on her. In two steps, he had moved around Aurelia to stand chest to chest with her assailant, who looked none too happy.
‘What’s your problem?’ the soldier snarled.
‘She’s no whore, and she’s with me,’ growled Hanno. ‘Piss off.’
Pox Face’s lip curled. ‘I think she’d prefer my company.’
‘Come away, Hanno. Leave it.’
He caught the warning tone in Aurelia’s voice; his eyes flickered to a nearby table. Pox Face had three friends, all of whom were watching proceedings with an intense, predatory interest. Where the fuck is Kleitos? Finally, he saw him, deep in conversation about fifteen paces away. Hanno cursed inside. If it came to a fight, that distance was as far as the moon. He decided that diplomacy was a better route to take. ‘She’s my wife, friend.’
‘You’re full of shit. No one takes their wife into a place like this during the Lenaia.’ He leered. ‘Unless you’re planning to take her to the orgy afterwards!’
‘Why don’t we get started now?’ asked one of his friends, standing up. Pox Face and the others laughed.
Hanno’s fingers tightened on his cudgel, which was down by his side. If he brought it up quickly, he could down Pox Face with one blow. He’d probably take the first of his friends too, but only the gods knew what would happen when the last two reached him. Plenty of the customers were armed; they could well be too.
‘Let’s keep things friendly, eh?’ Kleitos’ voice had never been more welcome to Hanno’s ears. His friend loomed behind the soldier who’d stood up; he pressed the tip of his knife into side of the man’s neck. ‘You can do what you like with the ladies at the sanctuary, but as you’ve been told, this one is spoken for.’
Pox Face’s head turned; he saw Kleitos. His gaze wandered to his other friends.
Hanno seized his chance. Drawing his dagger, he nudged it against Pox Face’s belly. The prick brought Pox Face’s attention — fearful now — back to him at once. ‘There’s no need for trouble,’ he said softly. ‘We were just leaving. Sit back down and have a drink with your comrades, and we can forget that this ever happened.’
Pox Face wasn’t without balls. ‘And if I don’t?’
‘I’ll bury this to the hilt in your guts. My friend will cut your mate’s throat. After that, we’ll sort out the others. Do as you wish. It’s your choice.’
Pox Face studied him, as if memorising his features. Then, breathing heavily through his nose, he took a step backwards. ‘I need a drink,’ he announced.
A wave of relief washed over Hanno. Kleitos was a hard man; he was no slouch either, but fights in places like this were always risky. It would have taken little for a mass brawl to start, and with drink on board, men grew vicious. Sliding a knife between someone’s ribs and slipping off into the confusion was easily done in such a crowded space.
Kleitos released his man, and joined Hanno. Casting warning looks at the soldiers, they headed for the door with Aurelia between them.
‘Your woman’s no Sicilian, is she?’
The question made Hanno turn. ‘What’s it to you?’ he demanded.
‘She’s not dark-skinned enough to be a Carthaginian either, like you,’ said Pox Face knowingly. ‘Where’s she from? I want to be able to ask for one like her in the whorehouse.’
‘Go fuck yourself!’
The festival of Lenaia departed as quickly as it had arrived, although that didn’t stop Kleitos from telling Hanno about it for days afterwards. It seemed that he’d had the time of his life, with two women simultaneously, one a priestess and the other a local noblewoman. Hanno wasn’t sure he believed Kleitos, but it made a good story. Moreover, it seemed to have lifted Kleitos’ mood.
In the weeks and months that followed, life inside the city returned to its peaceful ways. Lengthening days, buds on tree branches and warmer weather announced the arrival of spring. Hanno was glad to see the back of winter; after months of relative inactivity, he was chafing to get out of the city. Yet the knowledge that a new campaigning season would soon begin was not altogether welcome. Much of the time, it sat like a lead weight in his belly. If he and Aurelia weren’t to be parted for months on end, taking her with him was the only option, but to do so would expose her to all kinds of danger. It had been pure luck that she’d escaped harm among the camp followers accompanying Hippocrates’ patrol. In a vain hope that the issue would go away, he avoided mentioning it. Aurelia did not bring it up either, but it was clear from her ill humour that the prospect was also affecting her adversely. Ten days passed in this unhappy fashion, with neither caring to address the burning issue.
Matters came to a head one afternoon, but not as either of them might have expected. Hanno had been out since before dawn, drilling his soldiers, but he’d returned earlier than his new norm. Aurelia wasn’t in their rooms; he assumed she was out shopping for the evening’s meal. She still hadn’t returned when he’d come back from a quick trip to the public baths. Unconcerned, for she had been befriended by a couple of women neighbours, he lay down on the bed for a short rest. Soon, he’d drifted off.
He was dragged from the depths of an unpleasant dream by the sound of sobbing. Aurelia was standing inside the door that led to the landing, which in turn gave on to the stairs to the street. He was at her side in an instant. She fell into his arms, weeping. ‘Everything will be all right, my love,’ he murmured, sure that her upset was to do with the upcoming campaign. ‘I’ve been thinking. I’ll buy a male slave, a strapping type who can fight. He’ll travel with you, be your protector when I can’t be with you.’
Her sobbing eased. She looked up, her tear-stained face full of confusion. ‘That’s not why I’m upset.’
‘Oh,’ said Hanno, feeling worried and a little foolish. ‘What is it then?’
‘It was someone on the street, just now. Do you remember that soldier who accosted me that time in the Ox and Plough? The one-’
‘Yes, yes, I remember the cocksucker.’ Pox Face. He called you a whore. ‘You’ve seen him again?’
‘By chance, yes. I nearly walked into him as I came out of the baker’s down the street. He recognised me at once.’
Hanno felt a white-hot rage pulse behind his eyes. ‘Did he touch you?’
‘He tried mauling me, but he seemed a little drunk. I managed to slap him off.’
‘The goat-fucking whoreson. I’ll teach him a lesson he’ll never forget.’ Hanno scooped up his cudgel. As an extra precaution, he strapped on a belt and dagger.
‘Hanno.’
Her sombre tone refocused his attention. ‘Yes?’
‘I shouted at him, and he realised from my accent that I was a Roman. Then h-he …’ She hesitated for an instant. ‘… mentioned something about his commander recently having drinks with Hippocrates, who was bemoaning the loss of a female slave back in Syracuse. A Roman woman. “I thought of you when I heard it,” he said, smirking. “The whole thing’s probably a coincidence, but it’s worth carting you before Hippocrates to see if you’re his missing piece of meat.”’
‘Did he see you enter the house?’
‘Yes. I couldn’t stop him from following me. I’m sorry, I was frightened.’ She began to cry again.
‘It’s all right.’ Despite his reassuring words, Hanno had broken out in a cold sweat. This changed everything. A beating was no longer sufficient. ‘Was he on his own?’
‘I think so.’
That was some consolation at least. ‘Stay here. Bolt the door after me, and don’t open it to anyone but me or Kleitos.’
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked, her voice trembling.
‘Sort it out,’ Hanno replied grimly. He went down the stairs two at a time, pushing past an errand boy, who dropped his basket of vegetables. Caution overtook Hanno at the entrance, and he peered out from the safety of a doorjamb. There was no one standing opposite, and his worry soared. Let him still be close by, please. The only people he could see to the left, however, were a couple of housewives chatting outside the baker’s. To the right, a builder and his apprentice were unloading a small cart full of bricks. Pox Face had vanished. The first trace of panic rippled in Hanno’s chest. If the soldier managed to speak with Hippocrates-
He quelled the thought, taking a moment to deliberate. Would Pox Face continue drinking, perhaps in the company of his fellows, or would he want to find out immediately if his discovery would reap any reward? Or would he do something altogether different, such as find a brothel? His heart battered the inside of his ribcage as he vacillated. Baal Saphon, help me, please, he prayed. Guide me.
When the answer came out of nowhere, it was so simple that he laughed out loud. He’d head for Hippocrates’ residence, which lay about five stadia away. If Pox Face was going in that direction, Hanno would soon catch him up. If he had sought out his comrades and more wine, however, there’d be a lag period that would grant Hanno the time to return from Hippocrates’ house and glance inside every hostelry for half a dozen streets around.
That was the plan, anyway.
He set off at a brisk pace, fighting his urge to run. It would be stupid to squander the only opportunity to silence Pox Face because his sandals’ iron hobs had given him away. There was no question of intimidating his quarry. To be sure Hippocrates heard nothing, he had to murder him. At any other time, Hanno would have avoided slaying someone who was in effect one of his own. With his and Aurelia’s survival at stake, he didn’t give it a second thought.
At each alley or side street, Hanno slowed long enough to look for anyone with Pox Face’s slight build. On one occasion, he followed a man thirty paces into a narrow lane to find that he had wasted his time. Hoping that the delay wouldn’t cost him dearly, he ran for a bit to regain the ground he’d lost. Eventually, Hippocrates’ house, a grand affair lent to him by one of the city’s leaders, drew near. Hanno had passed scores of people, male, female, young, old, rich and poor, without as much as a sign of Pox Face. His initial optimism began to fade, but he rallied his courage. Maybe Pox Face had gone into a tavern to boast about whom he’d seen?
It was worth going right to Hippocrates’ gate, Hanno decided. If Pox Face had reached the entrance, he could still be there. A lowly soldier would not be admitted without some kind of delay. There might be a chance to distract him, to force him into an alleyway.
The junction with the street upon which Hippocrates’ residence was situated was no more than a hundred paces away when Hanno spotted a slight figure in a military tunic ahead of him. His mouth went dry, and he began to walk faster, stealing through the other passers-by to within a dozen steps of the man. Frustration filled him. Even at this short distance, he couldn’t be sure from behind that it was Pox Face. Hanno ventured closer, his nerves taut as wire, wondering if he should act. But what if he killed the wrong man?
The gods smiled on him then. A woman laughed from a first-floor balcony, and his quarry’s head turned, looking for the sound’s source. In the process, he revealed his cheek, covered in characteristic pockmarks. Hanno exulted, but he had to act quickly — the junction was less than fifty paces away. His eyes darted left and right, spotted an alley that ran between a derelict building and a block of apartments. He had no idea if it would be empty, but he’d run out of time. It would have to do.
Drawing his dagger and holding it unobtrusively by his side, he ran forward. Too late, Pox Face heard Hanno’s footsteps. His face registered first alarm, then recognition of Hanno, and last of all pure fear. He didn’t make a sound, though, because Hanno had an iron grip on his left shoulder and a blade jammed up against his liver. ‘Call for help, and you’re dead,’ Hanno muttered. ‘Disobey me, and you’re dead. Understand?’
Pox Face nodded.
‘Left. Into the alley.’ They’d drawn level with its mouth.
Pox Face hesitated, and Hanno jabbed the dagger’s tip into his flesh. ‘Move. I just want to talk to you.’
In the depths of terror, men clutch at the shortest of straws. Pox Face ducked inside the darkened space, which was no more than four paces wide. Broken pottery crunched underfoot. The air was fetid, laced with the smell of human piss and shit, and the rotten food that had been flung from above. Hanno glanced up and was glad to see none of the apartments’ residents framed in the windows. He stopped Pox Face fifteen paces in. ‘That’s far enough.’
‘Don’t kill me, please.’ Pox Face turned his head a little to try and catch Hanno’s eye. ‘Please.’
Hanno had been about to use his dagger, but at such close range, he’d cover himself in blood. That wouldn’t do. He had to be able to emerge from the alley and walk away without raising suspicion. ‘Shut up.’ Keep him thinking that he might live. ‘Where were you going?’
‘Nowhere. I-’
Pox Face didn’t get a chance to continue his lie. Releasing his grip on the other’s shoulder, Hanno threw his left arm around Pox Face’s neck and squeezed as hard as he could. Pox Face made a horrible, choking sound and fought back like a man possessed. He tried kicking backwards, smacking Hanno painfully on the knee a couple of times. His hands reached back, pulling at Hanno’s hair, his ears, his arm. Tightening his grip, Hanno buried his face in Pox Face’s smelly tunic to avoid getting a finger in the eye. All the while, he kept the knife ready as a last resort.
For a small man, Pox Face possessed considerable strength. Hanno had lost a few clumps of hair and had a bleeding ear before his opponent’s struggling weakened. At last, though, his arms fell to his sides. He went limp in Hanno’s grasp. Suddenly worried that there might be witnesses, Hanno glanced at the alley’s mouth. There was no one there. Dropping his dagger, he threw Pox Face to the ground and rolled him over. His victim’s eyes flickered and opened. Hanno met his gaze as he placed his hands around Pox Face’s neck and began to choke him again. Pox Face’s hands came up and pawed ineffectually at him.
‘Thought that you’d sell out my woman, did you?’ Hanno hissed, digging his thumbs right into Pox Face’s Adam’s apple. ‘You piece of filth!’
He had killed many men, but never by strangling. It wasn’t pleasant, but Pox Face had to die silently. Hanno watched, unmoved, as the other’s face suffused with blood, as his engorged tongue poked out from between his lips. Pox Face’s reddened eyeballs bulged from their sockets. They stared at Hanno with a mad, pleading intensity. ‘Rot in hell,’ he grated, digging in with his thumbs. There was a low crunch as the cartilage in Pox Face’s throat gave way. His tongue retracted a little into his mouth, and the light went from his eyes. Hanno didn’t let up. He didn’t take his hands away until there had been no movement from his victim for another twenty heartbeats. Carefully, he felt for a pulse in Pox Face’s purpled neck, and again over his heart. Nothing. Hanno let out a long, slow breath. He had done it.
The danger wasn’t over, however. Noises from the street reminded him that there were people very close by. Replacing his dagger in its sheath, he brushed back his hair, dabbed at his bloody ear, palmed the sweat from his face. Hanno waited until he was stepping into the street before adjusting his tunic in the manner of a man who has been emptying his bladder. A carpenter crouched over a half-sawn plank looked up, and then returned to his work. No one else appeared to notice. With a little luck, thought Hanno, Pox Face’s body wouldn’t be found for a few days. By then, the rats would have been at him; it would be a miracle if he could even be identified. Hippocrates would remain unaware of Aurelia’s presence in the city.
Hanno’s step was light as he strode down the street, but scarcely thirty paces later, a familiar voice cried, ‘Ho! Is that my Carthaginian officer I see?’
Hanno felt sick. Of all the bad luck. He turned and saluted. ‘It is I, sir.’
Hippocrates drew near, with several of his cavalry officers close behind. Their breastplates glistened; their helmets and scabbards had been polished. They were going somewhere important. ‘What are you doing here?’ Hippocrates gave him a disapproving glance. ‘And in such a state? You’re filthy — and your ear’s bleeding.’
Hanno ignored the curling lips of the officers at Hippocrates’ back. ‘I was just taking a stroll, sir. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Tripped up, and landed on my head in the dirt.’ He gave silent thanks as Hippocrates all but ignored his reply. Evidently, the general hadn’t seen him until that very moment, had no idea of what he’d been up to.
‘Walk with me,’ Hippocrates ordered. ‘I was going to summon you later.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Hanno looked around for the carpenter, the only person to witness him leaving the alley. To his immense relief, the man had vanished. Where, it didn’t matter.
‘The year’s campaign is about to start.’
‘Yes, sir. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘As I’d expect,’ came the sharp retort. ‘Recent intelligence suggests that the Roman legions encamped around Syracuse won’t be moving any time soon. Himilco and I intend to give them a nasty surprise.’
‘That sounds good, sir!’ Part of Hanno was delighted, part dismayed. He tried again not to worry about Aurelia.
Hippocrates’ expression grew spiteful. ‘Sadly, you won’t be part of the attack.’
‘I don’t understand, sir,’ said Hanno, fighting a sudden feeling of dread.
‘My brother Epicydes must know of our plan, so that he can launch a simultaneous assault on the enemy. You will carry word to him inside the city.’
Now, Hanno struggled to conceal his pleasure. Getting through the Roman lines would not be without danger, but if he could take Aurelia with him, this would be a way to remove her from the twin dangers of being a camp follower, and having her identity revealed for a second time. It was also a chance to get away from Hippocrates, and if he could send word, Hannibal would be pleased to learn of this development.
‘Have you nothing to say?’
‘As ever, I will follow your orders to the last detail, sir,’ replied Hanno stolidly, praying that in his message Hippocrates wouldn’t try to poison Epicydes’ mind towards him.
Hippocrates looked disappointed. ‘Entering Syracuse will prove risky,’ he warned. ‘The blockade is much tighter than when we broke out. Epicydes must receive my letter, so I will send a number of messengers. One of you will make it,’ he added with a touch more vitriol.
‘At least one of us, sir,’ said Hanno, giving thanks to the gods.
And if I have anything to do with it, he thought, two will.