Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Chapter X: Betrayal

The next morning Quintus had another hangover, and his memories of Flaccus’ facial expressions were hazy. Enough disquiet remained in his mind, however, for him to seek out his father. He found Fabricius closeted in his office with Flaccus. The pair were busily drawing up Aurelia’s betrothal papers, and looked irritated by the distraction. Fabricius brushed off Quintus’ muttered request for a word. Seeing his son’s disappointment, he relented slightly. ‘Tell me later,’ he said.

Glumly, Quintus shut the door. He had other things on his mind too. He had insulted Hanno cruelly and he was ashamed. The Carthaginian’s status meant that Quintus could treat him in any way he chose, but of course that was not the point. He saved my life. We are friends now, thought Quintus. I owe him an apology. Yet his quest to resolve this problem proved as frustrating as his attempt to speak with his father. He found Hanno easily enough, but the Carthaginian pretended not to hear Quintus’ voice when he called, and avoided all attempts to make eye contact. Quintus didn’t want to make a scene, and there was so much going on that he could not even find a quiet corner to explain. Fabricius’ decision to accompany Flaccus to Rome and thence to war meant that the place was a flurry of activity. Every household slave was occupied in one way or another. Clothes, furniture and blankets had to be packed, armour polished and weapons sharpened.

Quintus went miserably in search of Aurelia. He wasn’t sure whether he should mention anything about Flaccus. All he had to go on were two fleeting glimpses, observed while under the influence of too much wine. He decided to see what frame of mind Aurelia was in before saying a word. If she was still feeling positive about the marriage, he would say nothing. The last thing Quintus wanted to do was upset his sister’s fragile acceptance of her lot.

To his surprise, Aurelia was in excellent humour. ‘He is so handsome,’ she gushed. ‘And not that old either. I think we will be very happy.’

Burying his doubts, Quintus nodded and smiled.

‘He strikes me as being quite arrogant, but what man of his position isn’t? His loyalty to Rome is beyond doubt, and that is all that matters.’ Aurelia’s face grew troubled. ‘I felt so sorry for Hanno last night. The horrible names they were calling his people were so unnecessary. Have you spoken with him?’

Quintus looked away. ‘No.’

Aurelia reacted with typical female intuition. ‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing,’ Quintus replied. ‘I have a hangover, that’s all.’

She bent to catch his eye. ‘Did you argue with Hanno?’

‘No,’ he answered. ‘Yes. I don’t know.’

Aurelia raised her eyebrows, and Quintus knew that she would not leave it alone until he told her. ‘When I left with Gaius, it looked like Hanno had been eavesdropping outside the door,’ he said.

‘Is that surprising? We were talking about a war between his people and ours,’ Aurelia observed tartly. ‘What does it matter anyway? He was there in the room when Flaccus told us the most important part of his story.’

‘I know,’ Quintus muttered. ‘It seemed suspicious, though. Gaius wanted to challenge him, but I told him not to bother. That Hanno was just a gugga.’

Aurelia’s hand rose to her mouth. ‘Quintus! How could you?’

Quintus hung his head. ‘I wanted to say sorry straightaway… but Gaius wanted to talk,’ he finished lamely. ‘I couldn’t walk off and leave him.’

‘I hope you’ve apologised this morning,’ Aurelia said sternly.

Quintus could not get over Aurelia’s level of self-assurance. It was as if her betrothal had added five years to her age. ‘I’ve tried,’ he answered. ‘But there’s too much going on to get a quiet moment alone with him.’

Aurelia pursed her lips. ‘Father is leaving in a few hours. There will be plenty of time after that.’

Finally, Quintus met her gaze. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’

He had cause to rethink his opinion of Flaccus later that morning. With the betrothal agreement signed, the black-haired politician suddenly started to make much of his new brother-in-law-to-be. ‘No doubt this war with Carthage will be over quickly — maybe even before you’ve completed your military training,’ he declared, throwing an arm around Quintus’ shoulders. ‘Never fear. There will be other conflicts for you to win glory in. The Gauls on our northern borders are forever causing trouble. So too are the Illyrians. Philip of Macedon cannot be trusted either. A brave young officer like you could go far indeed. Perhaps even make tribune.’

Quintus grinned from ear to ear. While the Fabricii were of equestrian rank, their status was not so high that it was likely he’d reach the tribuneship. Under the patronage of someone really powerful, however, the process would be much more straightforward. Flaccus’ words did much to soothe Quintus’ disappointment at not accompanying his father. ‘I look forward to serving Rome,’ he said proudly. ‘Wherever it may send me.’

Flaccus clapped him on the back. ‘That’s the attitude.’ Seeing Aurelia, he pushed Quintus away. ‘Let me talk with my betrothed before I go. It’s a long time until June.’

Delighted by the prospect of a glittering military career, Quintus put down Flaccus’ powerful shove as nothing more than the excitement of a prospective bridegroom. Aurelia was turning into a beautiful young woman. Who wouldn’t want to marry her? Leaving Flaccus alone, Quintus went in search of his father.

‘Aurelia!’ called Flaccus, entering the courtyard.

Aurelia, who had been wondering what married life would be like, jumped. She made a stiff little bow. ‘Flaccus.’

‘Walk with me.’ He made an inviting gesture.

Twin points of colour rose in Aurelia’s cheeks. ‘I’m not sure Mother would approve…’

‘What do you take me for?’ Flaccus’ tone was mildly shocked. ‘I would never presume to take you outside the villa without a chaperone. I meant a stroll here in the courtyard, where everyone can see us.’

‘Naturally,’ Aurelia replied, flustered. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘The fault is all mine for not explaining,’ he said with a reassuring smile. ‘I merely thought that, with us to be wed, it would be good for us to spend a little time together. War is coming, and soon occasions such as this will be impossible.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She hurried to his side.

Flaccus drank her in. ‘Bacchus can make the most crab-faced crone look appealing, and the gods know I drank enough of his juice to think that last night. But your beauty is even more evident in the light of the sun,’ he said. ‘That is a rare quality.’

Unused to such compliments, Aurelia blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

They strolled around the perimeter of the courtyard. Awkward with the silence, Aurelia began pointing out the plants and trees that occupied much of the space. There were lemon, almond and fig trees, and vines snaking across a wooden latticework that formed an artificial shaded corridor. ‘This is such a bad time of year to see it,’ she said. ‘During the summer, the place is so beautiful. By the Vinalia Rustica, you can barely move for the fruit.’

‘I’m sure it’s spectacular, but I didn’t come here to talk about grapes.’ Seeing her embarrassment increase, Flaccus continued, ‘Tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?’

Anxious, Aurelia wondered what he’d want to hear. ‘I enjoy speaking Greek. And I’m better at algebra and geometry than Quintus.’

The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Are you indeed? That’s wonderful. An educated girl, then.’

She flushed again. ‘I suppose.’

‘You’d probably give me a run for my money. Mathematics was never my favourite subject.’

Aurelia’s confidence grew a little. ‘What about philosophy?’

He looked down his long nose at her. ‘The concepts of pietas and officium were being taught to me before I’d even been weaned. My father made sure that serving Rome means everything to me and my brother. We had to be schooled too, of course. Before we had any military experience, he sent us to study at the Stoic school in Athens. I didn’t enjoy my time there much, however. All they did was sit around and talk in stuffy debating chambers. It reminds me a little of the Senate.’ Flaccus’ face brightened. ‘Soon, though, I might be granted a senior position in one of the legions. I’m sure that will be more to my style.’

Aurelia found his enthusiasm endearing. It reminded her of Quintus, which made her think of what he might achieve once she had married into such an important family. ‘Your brother has already served as consul, hasn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Flaccus replied proudly. ‘He crushed the Boii four years ago.’

Aurelia had never heard of the Boii, but she wasn’t going to admit it. ‘I’ve heard Father mention that campaign,’ she said knowledgeably. ‘It was a fine victory.’

‘May the gods grant that I achieve the same level of success one day,’ Flaccus said fervently. His gaze went distant for a moment before returning to Aurelia. ‘Not to say I don’t like ordinary pleasures like watching chariot races, or going riding, and hunting.’

‘So do I,’ Aurelia said without thinking.

He smiled indulgently. ‘The racing in Rome is the best in Italy. I’ll take you to see it as often as you wish.’

Aurelia felt slightly annoyed. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

There was a small frown. ‘I don’t understand.’

Her courage wavered for a moment. Then she thought naively, If he’s to be my husband, we should tell each other everything. ‘I love riding too.’

Flaccus’ frown grew. ‘You mean watching your father or Quintus as they train their horses?’

‘No. I can ride.’ She was delighted by his astonishment.

It was Flaccus’ turn to be irritated. ‘How? Who taught you?’ he demanded.

‘Quintus. He says I’m a natural.’

‘Your brother taught you how to ride?’

Pinned by his direct stare, Aurelia’s confidence began to seep away. ‘Yes,’ she muttered. ‘I made him.’

Flaccus barked a short laugh. ‘You made him? Fabricius mentioned none of this when he was singing your praises.’

Aurelia looked down. I should have kept my mouth shut, she thought. Lifting her head, she found Flaccus scrutinising her. She shifted uneasily beneath his gaze.

‘Do you fight also?’

Aurelia’s mouth opened at his unexpected tack.

He thrust his right arm forward, mimicking a sword thrust. ‘Can you wield a gladius?’

Worried by what she’d already revealed, Aurelia kept her lips sealed.

‘I asked you a question.’ Flaccus’ voice was soft, but his eyes were granite hard.

What I’ve done isn’t a crime, thought Aurelia angrily. ‘Yes, I can,’ she retorted. ‘I’m far better with a sling, though.’

Flaccus threw his hands in the air. ‘I’m to be married to an Amazon!’ he cried. ‘Do your parents know of this?’

‘Of course not.’

‘No, I don’t suppose Fabricius would be too pleased. I can only imagine what Atia’s reaction might be.’

‘Please don’t tell them,’ Aurelia begged. ‘Quintus would be in so much trouble.’

He watched her for a moment, before a wolfish smile crossed his lips. ‘Why would I say a word?’

Aurelia couldn’t believe her ears. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘No! It shows your Roman spirit, and it means that our sons will be warriors.’ Flaccus held up a warning finger. ‘Don’t expect that you can carry on using weapons when we’re married, however. Such behaviour is not acceptable in Rome.’

‘And riding?’ Aurelia whispered.

‘We’ll see,’ he said. He saw her face fall, and a strange look entered his eyes. ‘My estate outside the capital is very large. Unless I tell them, no one knows what goes on there.’

Overwhelmed by Flaccus’ reaction, Aurelia missed the silky emphasis he laid on the last seven words. Perhaps marriage would not be as bad as she’d thought. She took his arm. ‘It’s your turn to tell me about yourself now,’ she murmured.

He gave her a pleased look, and began.

Quintus found his father outside, supervising the loading of his baggage on to a train of mules.

Fabricius smiled as he emerged. ‘What was it that you wanted to tell me earlier?’

‘It was nothing important,’ Quintus demurred. He had decided to give Flaccus the benefit of the doubt. He cast a dubious eye over the pack animals, which were laden down with every piece of his father’s military equipment. ‘How long do you think this war will last? Flaccus seems certain that it will be over in a few months.’

Fabricius checked that no one was in earshot. ‘I think he’s a little overconfident. You know what politicians can be like.’

‘But Flaccus is talking about getting married in June.’

Fabricius winked. ‘He wanted to settle on a date. I obliged. What could be better than the most popular month of the year? And if it can’t take place because we’re still on campaign, the betrothal agreement ensures that it will happen at some stage.’

Quintus grinned at Fabricius’ guile. He thought for a moment, deciding that his father was more likely to be correct than Flaccus about the war’s duration. ‘I’m already old enough to enlist.’

Fabricius’ face turned serious. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘As well as keeping an eye on you, I have asked Martialis to enrol you in the local cavalry unit, alongside Gaius. In my absence, your mother is obviously responsible for Aurelia and the care of the farm, but you will have to help her in every way possible. Yet I see no reason why you should not also begin your training.’

Quintus’ eyes glittered with delight.

‘Don’t get any madcap ideas,’ his father warned. ‘There is no question of being called up in the immediate future. The horsemen supplied by Rome and its surrounding area will be more than enough for the moment.’

Quintus did his best not to look disappointed.

Fabricius took him by the shoulders. ‘Listen to me. War is not all valour and glory: far from it. It’s about blood, filth and fighting until you can barely grip a sword. You’ll see terrible things. Men bleeding to death for lack of a tourniquet. Comrades and friends dying in front of you, crying for their mothers.’

It was becoming more difficult to hold his father’s gaze.

‘You are a fine young man,’ said Fabricius proudly. ‘Your time to fight in the front line will come. Until then, gain every bit of experience you can. If that means you miss the war with Carthage, so be it. Those initial weeks of training are vital if you want to survive more than the first few moments of a battle.’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Good,’ said Fabricius, looking satisfied. ‘May the gods keep you safe and well.’

‘And you also.’ Despite his best effort, Quintus’ voice wobbled.

Atia waited until Quintus had gone inside before emerging. ‘He’s almost a man,’ she said wistfully. ‘It only seems the blink of an eye since he was playing with his wooden toys.’

‘I know.’ Fabricius smiled. ‘The years fly by, don’t they? I can remember saying goodbye to you before leaving for Sicily as if it were yesterday. And here we are again, in much the same situation.’

Atia reached up to touch his face. ‘You have to come back to me, do you hear?’

‘I will do my best. Make sure that the altar is well stocked with offerings,’ he warned. The lares have to be kept happy.’

She pretended to look shocked. ‘You know I’ll do that every day.’

Fabricius chuckled. ‘I do. Just as you know that I’ll pray daily to Mars and Jupiter for their protection.’

Atia’s face became solemn. ‘Are you still sure that Flaccus is a good choice for Aurelia?’

His brows lowered. ‘Eh?’

‘Is he the right man?’

‘I thought he came across well last night,’ said Fabricius with a surprised look. ‘Arrogant, of course, but one expects that from someone of his rank. He was plainly taken with Aurelia too, which was good. He’s ambitious, presentable and wealthy.’ He eyed Atia. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

She pursed her lips.

‘Atia?’

‘I can’t put my finger on it,’ she said eventually. ‘I don’t trust him.’

‘You need more than a vague idea, surely, for me to break off a betrothal with this potential?’ asked Fabricius, looking irritated. ‘Remember how much money we owe!’

‘I’m not saying that you should call off the arrangement,’ she said in a conciliatory tone.

‘What then?’

‘Just keep an eye on Flaccus when you’re in Rome. You’ll be spending plenty of time with him. That will give you a far better measure of the man than we could ever gain in one night.’ She caressed his arm. ‘That’s not too much to ask, is it?’

‘No,’ he murmured. A relenting smile twitched across his lips, and he bent to kiss her. ‘You do have a knack of sniffing out the rotten apple in the barrel. I’ll trust you one more time.’

‘Stop teasing me,’ she cried. ‘I’m serious.’

‘I know you are, my love. And I’ll do what you say.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Flaccus won’t have a clue, but I’ll be watching his every move.’

Atia’s expression lightened. ‘Thank you.’

Fabricius gave her backside an affectionate squeeze. ‘Now, why don’t we say goodbye properly?’

Atia’s look grew kittenish. ‘That sounds like an excellent idea.’ Taking his hand, she led him into the house.

An hour later, and a deathly quiet hung over the house. Promising a quick victory over the Carthaginians, Fabricius and Flaccus had departed for Rome. Feeling thoroughly depressed, Quintus sought out Hanno. There was little left to do in the way of household chores, and the Carthaginian could not refuse when Quintus asked him out into the courtyard.

An awkward silence fell the instant they were alone.

I’m not going to speak first, thought Hanno. He was still furious.

Quintus scuffed the toe of one sandal along the mosaic. ‘About last night,’ he began.

‘Yes?’ snapped Hanno. His voice, his manner was not that of a slave. At that moment, he didn’t care.

Quintus bit back his reflex, angry response. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said sharply. ‘I was drunk, and I didn’t mean what I said.’

Hanno looked in Quintus’ eyes and saw that, despite his tone, the apology was genuine. Immediately, he was on the defensive. This wasn’t what he had expected, and he wasn’t yet willing to back down himself. ‘I am a slave,’ he growled. ‘You can address me in whatever way you please.’

Quintus’ face grew pained. ‘First and foremost, you are my friend,’ he said. ‘And I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did last night.’

Hanno considered Quintus’ words in silence. Before being enslaved, any foreigner with the presumption to call him ‘gugga’ would have received a bloody nose, or worse. Here, he had to smile and accept it. Not for much longer, Hanno told himself furiously. Just keep up the pretence for now. He nodded in apparent acceptance. ‘Very well. I acknowledge your apology.’

Quintus grinned. ‘Thank you.’

Neither knew quite what to say next. Despite Quintus’ attempt to make amends, a distance now yawned between them. As a patriotic Roman citizen, Quintus would back his government’s decision to enter into conflict with Carthage to the hilt. Hanno, while unable to join Hannibal’s army, would do the same for his people. It drove a wedge deep into their friendship, and neither knew how to remove it.

Long moments dragged by, and still neither spoke. Quintus didn’t want to mention the impending war because both had such strong feelings about it. He wanted to suggest some weapons practice, but that also seemed like a bad idea: for all that he now trusted Hanno, it seemed too much like the impending combat between Roman and Carthaginian. Irritated, he waited for Hanno to speak first. Angry yet, and fearful of giving away something of his escape plan, Hanno kept his lips firmly shut.

Both wished that Aurelia were present. She would have laughed and dissipated the tension in a heartbeat. There was no sign of her, however.

This is pointless, thought Hanno at last. He took a step towards the kitchen. ‘I’d best get back to work.’

Irritated, Quintus moved out of his way. ‘Yes,’ he said stiffly.

As he walked away, Hanno was surprised to feel sadness rising in his chest. For all of his current resentment, he and Quintus shared a strong bond, forged by the incredible, random manner of his purchase, followed by the fight at the shepherd’s hut. Another thought struck Hanno. It must have taken a lot for Quintus to come and apologise, particularly because of their difference in status. Yet here he was, haughtily walking off as if he were the master, and not the slave. Hanno turned, an apology rising to his lips, but it was too late.

Quintus was gone.

Several weeks passed, and the weather grew warm and sunny. Encouraged by the officers, widespread rumours of Hannibal’s intentions had spread throughout the huge tented encampment outside the walls of New Carthage. It was all part of the general’s plan. Because of the vastness of his host, it was impossible to inform every soldier directly about what was going to happen. This way, the message could be put across rapidly. By the time Hannibal called for a meeting of his commanders, everyone knew that they would be heading for Italy.

The entire army assembled in formations before a wooden platform not far from the gates. The soldiers covered an enormous area of ground. There were thousands of Libyans and Numidians, and even greater numbers of Iberians from dozens of tribes. Roughly dressed men from the Balearic Islands waited alongside rows of proud, imperious Celtiberians. Hundreds of Ligurians and Gauls were also present, men who had left their lands and homes weeks before so that they could join the general who would wage war on Rome. A small proportion of the soldiers would be able to see and hear whoever stood before them, but interpreters had been positioned at regular intervals to relay the news to the rest. There would only be a short delay before everyone present heard Hannibal’s words.

Malchus, Sapho and Bostar stood proudly at the front of their Libyan spearmen, whose bronze helmets and shield bosses glittered in the morning sun. The trio knew exactly what was going to happen, but the same nervous excitement controlled them all. Since returning from their mission weeks before, Bostar and Sapho had put their differences aside to prepare for this moment. Now history was about to be made, in much the same fashion as when Alexander of Macedon had set forth on his extraordinary journey more than a hundred years previously. The greatest adventure of their lives was just beginning. With it, as their father said, came the chance of further revenge for Hanno. Although he didn’t voice it, Malchus treasured a tiny, deeply buried hope that he might actually be alive. So too did Bostar, but Sapho had given up trying to feel anything similar. He was still glad that Hanno was gone. Malchus gave Sapho more attention and praise now than he could ever remember receiving before. And Hannibal knew his name!

The army did not have to wait long. Followed by his brothers Hasdrubal and Mago, the cavalry commander Maharbal, and the senior infantry officer Hanno, Hannibal approached the platform and climbed into view. A group of trumpeters came last, and filed around in front of the general’s position, where they waited for their orders. Their leaders’ appearance caused spontaneous cheering to break out among the assembled troops. Even the officers joined in. The men whistled and shouted, stamped their feet on the ground and clashed their weapons off their shields. As those who could not see joined in, the clamour swelled immeasurably. On and on it went, louder and louder, in a dozen tongues. And, as he had done on similar occasions, Hannibal did nothing to stop it. Raising both his arms, he let his soldiers’ acclaim wash over him. This was his hour, which he had spent years preparing for, and moments like this boosted morale infinitely more than a host of minor victories.

Finally, Hannibal signalled to the musicians. Raising their instruments to their lips, the men blew a short set of notes. It was the call to arms, the same sound that alerted soldiers to the nearby presence of enemy forces. Immediately, the crescendo of sound died away, leaving in its place an expectant hush. Bostar excitedly nudged Sapho in the ribs, and received a similar dig in return. An admonitory look from Malchus had them both standing to attention as if on parade. This was no time for childish behaviour.

‘Soldiers of Carthage,’ Hannibal began. ‘We stand on the brink of a great adventure. But there are those in Rome who would stop us from the outset.’ He held up a hand to quell his men’s angry response. ‘Would you hear the words of the latest Roman embassy to visit Carthage?’

A few moments went by as the interpreters did their work, and then an enormous cry of affirmation went up.

‘“The heinous and unwarranted attack on Saguntum cannot go unanswered. Deliver to us, in chains, the man they call Hannibal Barca, and all of his senior officers, and Rome will consider the matter closed. If Carthage does not comply with this request, it should consider itself at war with the Republic.”’ Hannibal paused, letting the translations sink in, and his soldiers’ fury build. He gestured dramatically at those behind him on the platform. ‘Should these men and I hand ourselves in to the nearest Roman ally so that justice can be done?’

Again, a short delay. But the roar of ‘NO!’ that followed exceeded the combined volume of all the cries that had gone before.

Hannibal smiled briefly. ‘I thank you for your loyalty,’ he said, sweeping his right arm from left to right, encompassing the entire host.

Another immense cheer shredded the air.

‘Instead of accepting Rome’s offer then, I would lead most of you to Italy. To carry the war to our enemies,’ Hannibal announced to more deafening acclaim. ‘Some must remain here, under the command of my brother Hasdrubal; your mission is to protect our Iberian territory. The rest will march with me. Because the Romans control the sea, we will travel overland and take them by surprise. You might imagine that we would be alone in Italy, and surrounded by hostile forces. But do not fear! Theirs is a fertile region, and ripe for the plunder. We will also have many allies. Rome controls less of the peninsula than you might think. The tribes in Cisalpine Gaul have promised to join us, and I have no doubt that the situation will be the same in the central and southern parts. It will not be an easy struggle, and I ask only those men who would freely accompany me to engage in this enterprise.’ Hannibal let his gaze wander from formation to formation, catching the eye of individual soldiers. ‘With all of your help,’ he continued, ‘the Republic will be torn asunder. Destroyed, so that it can no longer threaten Carthage!’ Calmly, he waited for his message to spread.

It did not take long.

The noise of over a hundred thousand men expressing their agreement resembled a rumbling, threatening thunder. Malchus, Sapho and Bostar trembled to hear it.

Hannibal raised a clenched fist in the air. ‘Will you follow me to Italy?’

There was but one answer to his question. And, as every man in his army gave voice to the loudest cry of all, Hannibal Barca stood back and smiled.

In the weeks following their argument, Hanno and Quintus both made half-hearted attempts at reconciliation. None succeeded. Hurt by the other’s attitude, and full of youthful self-importance, neither would give way. Soon they had virtually stopped talking to one another. It was a vicious circle from which there was no escape. Aurelia did her best to mediate, but her efforts were in vain. Yet for all of his resentment, Hanno had realised that he could not now run away. Despite his feud with Quintus, he owed him and Aurelia too much. And so, growing increasingly morose, he remained, wary always of Agesandros’ menacing presence in the background. Quintus, meanwhile, threw himself into his cavalry training with the socii. He was often absent from the house for days at a time, which suited him fine. It meant that he didn’t even have to see Hanno, let alone speak to him.

Spring was well underway when a note from Fabricius arrived. Followed by an eager Aurelia, Atia took it to the courtyard, which was filled with watery sunshine. Quintus, who was outside with Agesandros, would have to hear the news later.

Aurelia watched excitedly as her mother opened the missive and began to read. ‘What does it say?’ she demanded after a moment.

Atia looked up. The disappointment on her face was clear. ‘It’s a typical man’s letter. Full of information about politics and what’s going on in Rome. There’s even a bit about some chariot race he went to the other day, but almost nothing about how he’s feeling.’ She traced a finger down the page. ‘He asks after me, obviously, and you and Quintus. He hopes that there are no problems on the farm.’ At last Atia smiled. ‘Flaccus has asked him to send you his warmest regards, and says that although your marriage will have to be postponed because of the war, he cannot wait until the day it comes to pass. Your father has given him permission to write to you directly, so you may receive a letter from him soon.’

Aurelia was pleased by news of the postponement, but the thought of her wedding day — and night — still made her turn scarlet. Catching sight of Hanno in the kitchen doorway, she went an even brighter shade of red. His being a slave did not stop her from thinking — yet again — that, despite his newly crooked nose, he was extremely good-looking. For an instant, Flaccus was replaced by Hanno in her mind’s eye. Aurelia stifled a gasp and shoved the shocking image away. ‘That’s nice. What else has Father to say?’

Hanno was oblivious to Aurelia’s emotions. He was pleased because Julius had just told him to sweep the courtyard, which in turn allowed him to listen in on the conversation. With his ears pricked, he poked the broom into the crevices gaping between some of the tesserae on the mosaic floor, carefully hooking out as much dirt as possible.

Atia read on, sounding more interested. ‘The majority of what he writes about is the Republic’s response to Hannibal. The Minucii and their allies are working tirelessly to help the preparations for war. Flaccus hopes to be made tribune of one of the new legions. Most importantly of all, Tiberius Sempronius Longus and Publius Cornelius Scipio, the two new consuls, have been granted the provinces of Sicily and Africa, and Iberia, respectively. The mission of the former is to attack Carthage while that of the latter is to confront, and defeat, Hannibal. Father is pleased that he and Flaccus will serve with Publius.’

‘That’s because all the glory will fall on the army that defeats Hannibal,’ mused Aurelia. Sometimes she wished she were a man, so that she too could go to war.

‘Men are all the same. We women have to stay behind and worry,’ said her mother with a sigh. ‘Let’s just ask the gods to bring both of them back safely.’

Hanno didn’t like what he had heard. Hated it, in fact. Stinking bloody Romans, he thought bitterly. There were no generals of any ability in Carthage, which meant that the Senate would recall Hannibal to defend the city, thus ending his plans to attack Italy. His departure would leave Iberia, Carthage’s richest colony, at the mercy of an invading Roman army. Hanno’s fingers clenched furiously on his broom handle. The war seemed over before it had begun.

Aurelia frowned. ‘Didn’t an assault on Carthage come close to succeeding in the previous war?’

‘Yes. And Father says that whatever Hannibal’s qualities, Rome will be victorious. We have no reason to believe that the Carthaginians’ resolve is any stronger than it was twenty years ago.’

Hanno’s black mood grew even worse. Fabricius was right. His city’s record in the face of direct attacks was not exactly glorious. Of course Hannibal’s return would make a huge difference, but would it be enough? His army wouldn’t be with him: even without the Romans’ control of the seas, the general simply didn’t possess enough ships to transport tens of thousands of troops back to Africa.

It was then that Quintus arrived. Instantly, he took in Aurelia standing over his mother with the letter in her hand. ‘Is that from Father?’

‘Yes,’ Atia replied.

‘What news does he send?’ he asked eagerly. ‘Has the Senate decided on a course of action?’

‘To attack Carthage and Iberia at the same time,’ answered Aurelia.

‘What a fantastic idea! They won’t know what hit them,’ Quintus cried. ‘Where is Father to be sent?’

‘Iberia. So too is Flaccus,’ said Atia.

‘What else?’

Atia handed the parchment to Quintus. ‘Read it for yourself. Life goes on here, and I have to talk to Julius about the provisions that need buying in Capua.’ She brushed past Hanno without as much as a second glance.

Hanno’s anger crystallised. Whatever debt he might owe, it was time to run away. Carthage would now need every sword she could get. Nothing and no one else mattered. What about Suni? asked his conscience. I have no idea where he is, thought Hanno desperately. What chance is there of finding him?

Quintus scanned the letter at top speed. ‘Father and Flaccus are going to Iberia,’ he muttered excitedly. ‘And I am nearly finished my training.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Aurelia demanded.

He gave her a startled look. ‘Nothing, nothing.’

Aurelia knew her brother well. ‘Don’t go getting any crazy ideas,’ she warned. ‘Father said you were to remain here until called for.’

‘I know.’ Quintus scowled. ‘From the sound of it, though, the war will actually be over in a few months. I don’t want to miss it.’ His gaze flickered across the courtyard and made contact with Hanno. Instantly, Quintus glanced away, but it was too late.

Hanno’s fury overflowed at last. ‘Are you happy now?’ he hissed.

‘What do you mean?’ Quintus replied defensively.

‘The guggas will be defeated, again. Put in their rightful place. I expect you’re delighted.’

Quintus’ face grew red. ‘No, that’s not how it is.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Hanno shot back. Clearing his throat, he spat on the mosaic floor.

‘How dare you?’ Quintus roared, taking a step towards Hanno. ‘You’re nothing but a-’

‘Quintus!’ cried Aurelia, aghast.

With great effort, her brother stopped himself from saying any more.

Contempt twisted Hanno’s face. ‘A slave. Or a gugga! Is that what you were going to say?’

Quintus’ visage turned a deeper shade of crimson. Bunching his fists with anger, he turned away.

‘I’ve had enough of this.’ Hanno grabbed his broom.

Aurelia could take no more. ‘Stop it, both of you! You’re acting like children.’

Her words made no difference. Quintus stormed out of the house, and Aurelia followed him. Hanno retreated to the kitchen, where misery settled over him as it never had before. The news he’d heard a few months before, of Hannibal’s successful siege of Saguntum, and the challenge it had issued, had bolstered his flagging spirits. Given him a reason to go on. Fabricius’ letter had destroyed this utterly. Rome’s plan seemed unbeatable. Even if he reached Hannibal’s army, what difference could he make?

Aurelia came looking for Hanno upon her return. She found him slumped on a stool in the kitchen. Ignoring the other slaves’ curious stares, she dragged Hanno outside. ‘I’ve spoken to Quintus,’ she muttered the moment they were alone. ‘He didn’t mean to offend you. It was just a spontaneous reaction to you spitting.’ She gave Hanno a reproachful look. ‘That was so rude.’

Hanno flushed, but he didn’t apologise. ‘He was gloating at me.’

‘I know it seemed like that,’ said Aurelia. ‘But I don’t think that’s what he was doing.’

‘Wasn’t it?’ Hanno shot back.

‘No,’ she replied softly. ‘Quintus isn’t like that.’

‘Why did he call me a gugga originally, then?’

‘People say things that they don’t mean when they’re drunk. I suppose that you haven’t called him any names in your head since?’ Aurelia asked archly.

Stung, Hanno did not answer.

Aurelia glanced around carefully, before reaching out to touch his face.

Startled by the intimacy this created, Hanno felt his anger dissipate. He looked into her eyes.

Alarmed by her suddenly pounding heart, Aurelia lowered her hand. ‘On the surface, this argument looks quite simple,’ she began. ‘If it weren’t for your misfortune, you would be a free man and, in all probability, enlisting in the Carthaginian army. Like Quintus will do in the legions. There would be nothing wrong with either of those actions. Yet Quintus is free to do as he chooses, while you are a slave.’

That’s it in a nutshell, thought Hanno angrily.

Aurelia wasn’t finished. ‘The real reason, however, is that first you, and then Quintus, were hurt by what the other said. Both of you are too damn proud to make a sincere apology and put it behind you.’ She glared at him. ‘I’m sick of it.’

Amazed by Aurelia’s insight and sincerity, Hanno gave in. The quarrel had been going on long enough. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not me you should be saying that to.’

‘I know.’ Hanno considered his next words with care. ‘I will apologise to him. But Quintus has to know that, whatever the law of this land, I am no slave. I never will be.’

‘Deep down, I’m sure he knows that. That’s why he stopped himself from calling you one earlier,’ Aurelia replied. Her face grew sad. ‘Obviously, I don’t think of you like that. But to everyone else, you are a slave.’

Hanno was about to tell Aurelia of his plans, when, out of the corner of his eye, he sensed movement. Through the open doors of the tablinum, he could see into part of the atrium. Outside the square of floor illuminated by the hole in its roof, everything lay in shadow. There Hanno could discern a tall figure, watching them. Instinctively, he pulled away from Aurelia. When Agesandros walked into the light, Hanno’s stomach constricted with fear. What had he seen or heard? What would he do?

Aurelia saw the Sicilian in the same moment. She drew herself up proudly, ready for any confrontation.

To their surprise, Agesandros came no nearer. A tiny smile flickered across his face, and then he disappeared whence he had come.

Hanno and Aurelia turned back to each other, but Elira and another domestic slave emerged from the kitchen. The brief moment of magic they had shared was gone. ‘I will talk to Quintus,’ said Aurelia reassuringly. ‘Whatever happens, you must hold on to your friendship. As we two will.’

Keen to make things as they were before he left the farm for ever, Hanno nodded. ‘Thank you.’

Unfortunately, Aurelia was unable to remonstrate with her brother that day. As she told Hanno later, Quintus had taken off for Capua without a word to anyone but the bowlegged slave who worked in the stable. The afternoon passed and night fell, and it became apparent that he would not be returning. Hanno didn’t know whether to feel angry or worried by this development. ‘Don’t be concerned,’ Aurelia said before retiring. ‘Quintus does this sometimes, when he needs time to think. He stays at Gaius’ house, and returns in a few days.’

There was nothing Hanno could do. He lay back on his bedroll and dreamed of escape.

Sleep was a long time coming.