‘Urceus, sir.’
‘More good news,’ said Corax, smiling. ‘Is he badly hurt?’
‘I’m not sure, sir. He’s unconscious.’
Corax’s face blackened with anger and concern. ‘We’ll have to do our damnedest to make sure he survives then, eh? Hades can fuck off if he thinks he’s taking a soldier as good as Jug. I’ve lost too many good men today already.’
The faces to either side registered shock at Corax’s blasphemy, but Quintus didn’t share in their opinion. Corax was here, alive, and that was what mattered.
‘Let’s get him tied to this for a start,’ ordered Corax, lifting a rope out of the water. Quintus saw that it ran in a big loop, giving everyone something to hold on to. It was secured to an iron ring that hung from the timbers of the stern, just above their heads. The black-haired soldier swam in with Urceus a moment later, and using a short length that Corax produced, they looped it around his comrade’s chest.
‘Which arm is it?’ enquired Corax.
‘His left, sir.’ Quintus reached down and felt for Urceus’ hand. Gently, he lifted it sideways, away from his friend’s body, so that the arrow wouldn’t catch his torso. As it emerged, he blinked. The front half of the arrow had snapped off, leaving only the feathered end sticking out of Urceus’ flesh.
‘That’s a stroke of luck and no mistake,’ muttered Corax. With a steady pull, he withdrew the shaft. A thin stream of blood followed it, and Urceus moaned. His eyelids fluttered open.
‘Urceus, can you hear me?’ asked Quintus.
Urceus’ eyes came into focus. ‘Fuck … my head is sore. I must have … hit it on something in the water.’
Quintus wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’ demanded Corax.
Urceus registered the centurion’s presence, bobbed his chin respectfully. ‘Er, no, sir. I don’t think so.’
‘Excellent. One of you rip a strip off your tunic,’ Corax ordered. ‘I want a bandage tied around Urceus’ arm, to stop the bleeding.’
The black-haired soldier was first to proffer a piece of fabric, and Quintus warmed to him further. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked as Corax set to tying it in place.
‘Mattheus.’ He saw Quintus’ surprise. ‘I’m as Roman as you are, but my maternal grandfather was Hebrew. I’m the last of four boys. My mother nagged my father until he gave in about the name.’
‘Crespo, they call me.’ He reached out a hand, and they shook. ‘I’m one of Corax’s men, as you can tell. You?’
‘I’m in Festus’ maniple.’ A grimace. ‘Or I was. He’s probably as dead as the rest of my lot.’
‘You were at Cannae?’
‘I wouldn’t be here in fucking Sicily if I hadn’t been, would I?’ Mattheus winked to show he meant no offence.
‘There have been some new recruits, but not that many, I suppose,’ replied Quintus, relieved that Mattheus was a veteran, like him. ‘We’re going to need more of them after today, and that’s no lie.’
‘Don’t get cocky, Crespo. Don’t think that those bastard Syracusans won’t be on the lookout for survivors later, when we try to get away,’ warned Corax. ‘We’ll have to be as sly as you like to succeed.’
‘You painted us a picture like that at Trasimene, sir,’ croaked Urceus. ‘And Cannae.’
‘And you got us out both times, sir,’ added Quintus. ‘You’ll do it again.’
‘Damn right,’ said Urceus.
For once, Corax seemed at a loss for words. He muttered something like, ‘Don’t go getting your hopes up,’ before swimming to peer around the stern, towards the city walls.
‘You trust him then?’ Mattheus’ expression was appraising.
‘He’s saved my arse even more times than this reprobate here,’ growled Urceus. He gave Quintus a grateful glance that needed no words.
‘Mine too,’ said Quintus. ‘He’s the best damn centurion in the whole army.’
‘I’d heard him spoken of highly,’ said Mattheus, nodding. ‘It’s good that he’s in charge, eh?’
‘Aye.’ Quintus was thirsty, sunburnt, up to his neck in the sea, and grief-stricken because of the comrades he’d lost. Thousands of the enemy were only a few hundred paces away. That didn’t stop his heart from singing.
They would see tomorrow. Somehow, he was certain of that.
Corax was here.
Chapter IX
‘I come with an invitation.’ Kleitos shoved the door open without knocking.
‘Tanit’s tits, you startled me!’ Hanno had been dozing on his bed. ‘My apologies.’ Kleitos didn’t sound remotely sorry. ‘You won’t want to miss this, my friend.’
Still half asleep, Hanno felt a little irritated. ‘Miss what?’
‘Hippocrates and Epicydes are throwing a party this evening in celebration of our famous victory,’ Kleitos announced, beaming.
‘We’ve been doing that since it happened!’ Following the sinking of the Roman fleet outside the city walls, the festivities had been riotous. Hanno had drunk more wine in the previous few days than at any time since the debauched sessions he and Suni had used to indulge in in Carthage.
‘Maybe so, but this will be an official do, in the rulers’ palace. There will be unlimited food and wine. I’m told that flute girls will be laid on too.’
Hanno woke more fully. ‘Who’s invited?’
‘Every nobleman in the place. Also the commander of every unit, whether infantry, artillery, navy or cavalry.’
‘The cavalry shouldn’t be allowed,’ Hanno joked. ‘They’ve done nothing so far!’
‘We’ll give them plenty of shit for that during the evening, don’t worry. It’s to begin with Hippocrates and Epicydes each making a speech. There’ll be awards for some of the most courageous soldiers, and then …’ Kleitos paused. ‘… we can all get smashed!’
‘Count me in.’ Hanno’s mission was proving to be altogether more enjoyable than he’d imagined, but this time would not last. The Romans had not pulled out of Sicily, merely back to their camps. They would return. Oddly, if Quintus had survived Cannae, and the naval assault, he might be among their number. Kleitos had told him of the harsh punishment imposed on the survivors from the fields of blood. He’s probably dead, Hanno told himself. Poor bastard. He put Quintus from his mind. There were more pleasant things to think about. If Hippocrates and Epicydes wanted to thank their soldiers for their valour, who was he to object? ‘When does it start?’
Kleitos winked. Beneath Hanno’s curious gaze, he walked out, returning with a large earthenware jug and two cups that he must have concealed in the corridor. ‘Right now!’
Hanno mock groaned. ‘It’s going to be a long night.’
They set to with a will. The wine didn’t last long, and Hanno suggested that they refrain from drinking any more until the party got under way. ‘It might be all right for you, but I’m here to impress. How would it look if I arrived pissed? Hannibal would have my balls.’
‘Hannibal would never know!’
‘Unless one of the brothers told him. Even if they didn’t, what would they think?’
Kleitos grumbled, but he relented.
The two went instead to the garrison’s baths, where they relaxed in the hot pool before enjoying a massage by slaves. Conversation flowed readily. Neither talked about the war; instead, the topics drifted from the best nights’ drinking they could remember, to their youth and what they had got up to with their friends. Inevitably, they argued about the beauty of Carthaginian girls compared to Syracusan ones. As a matter of pride, neither would acknowledge the other’s point. The topic grew a little heated, and in an effort to avoid an argument, Hanno said, ‘Roman women can be very attractive too.’ He pictured Aurelia.
‘Most of the ones I came across — before the war, naturally — looked like mules, and brayed like them too.’
‘They know their own minds, that’s for sure, but they’re as pretty as any Carthaginian or Syracusan I’ve seen.’
Kleitos gave him a knowing smile. ‘You’re talking about a particular girl. Tell me who she is, you dog!’
Embarrassed now, Hanno flushed. ‘Nothing much ever happened.’