Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Aurelia’s feet led her to the stables. They had long been her refuge when feeling upset. She went straight to the solitary horse of her father’s that had been left behind. A sturdy grey, it had been lame at the time of his departure. Seeing her, it whinnied in greeting. At once Aurelia’s sorrow burst its banks and she dissolved in floods of tears. For a long time, she stood sobbing, her mind filled with images of her father, whom she would never see again. It was only when she felt the horse nibbling at her hair that Aurelia managed to regain some control. ‘You want an apple, don’t you?’ she whispered, stroking its nose. ‘And I’ve stupidly come empty-handed. Wait a moment. I’ll get you one.’

Grateful for the interruption, Aurelia went to the food store at the end of the stables. Picking the largest apple she could find, she walked back. The horse’s eagerly pricked ears and nickers of excitement made her sorrow surge back with a vengeance, however. Aurelia calmed herself with the only thing she could think of. ‘At least Quintus is safe in Iberia,’ she whispered. ‘May the gods watch over him.’

Fabricius was closeted with Publius, so Quintus didn’t manage to meet with his father until later in the afternoon. When told about Quintus’ comrades’ scaremongering, Fabricius’ reaction was typically robust. ‘Despite the rumours, Publius is doing fine. He’ll be up and about in a couple of months. The rumour about a Carthaginian fleet attacking Sempronius Longus I also know to be untrue. Publius would have mentioned it to me. It’d be the same if he’d had any intelligence about the Boii rising up. As for these bad omens – has a single one of your companions actually witnessed one?’ Fabricius laughed as Quintus shook his head. ‘Of course not. Apart from that calf, which was just a freak of nature, no one ever has. The chickens in Jupiter’s temple might not be eating, but that’s to be expected. Poultry are frail bloody creatures. They’re forever falling sick, especially in weather like this.’ He pointed to his head, and then his heart, and last of all at his sword. ‘Trust in these before you worry about what other men say.’

Quintus was heartened by Fabricius’ attitude. He was also grateful that his father no longer mentioned sending him home. Nothing had been said since the defeat at the Ticinus. Whether it was because of the number of riders who had fallen, or because Fabricius had become reconciled to the idea of him serving in the cavalry, Quintus did not know – or care. His good humour was added to by the bellyful of wine and hearty stew that his father had provided, and he left in much better spirits than he’d arrived.

His good mood did not last long, however. The currents of air that whipped around Quintus as he struggled back towards his tent were even more vicious than earlier in the day. They cut clean through his cloak, chilling his flesh to the bone. It was so easy to imagine the gods sending the storm down as punishment. There was an awful inevitability about the snow that began falling a moment later. His worries, only recently allayed, returned with a vengeance.

What few soldiers were about rapidly vanished from sight. Quintus couldn’t wait to climb beneath his blankets himself, where he could try to forget it all. He was amazed, therefore, to see the Cenomani tribesmen outside. They stood around blazing fires, their arms around each other’s shoulders, singing low, sorrowful chants. The warriors were probably mourning their dead, thought Quintus, shivering. He left them to it.

Licinius was first to catch Quintus’ eye when he entered the tent. ‘Sorry about earlier,’ he muttered from the depths of his blankets. ‘I should have kept my mouth shut.’

‘Don’t worry about it. We were all feeling down,’ Quintus replied, shedding his damp cloak. He moved to his bedroll. It lay alongside that of Calatinus, who also gave him a sheepish look. ‘You might be interested to know that Publius knows nothing of a Carthaginian fleet attacking Sicily.’

An embarrassed grin creased Calatinus’ face. ‘Well, if he hasn’t heard of it, we have nothing to worry about.’

‘What about the Boii?’ challenged Cincius aggressively.

Quintus grinned. ‘No. Good news, eh?’

Cincius’ glower slowly faded away.

‘Excellent,’ said Calatinus, sitting up. ‘So we just have to wait until Longus gets here.’

‘I think we should raise a toast to that day,’ Cincius announced. He nodded at Quintus as if to say that their disagreement had been forgotten. ‘Who’s interested?’

There was a chorus of agreement, and Quintus groaned. ‘I can feel the hangover already.’

‘Who cares? There’s no chance of any action!’ Cincius leaped up and headed for the table where they kept their food and wine.

‘True enough,’ Quintus muttered. ‘Why not, then?’