Rumour had it that an enemy fleet was on its way to Sicily from Carthage. It would land in the southwest, men said. That made sense. The towns of Heraklea and Akragas were on that coastline, and they had been Carthaginian strongholds until near the end of the last war. If the stories were true, Marcellus would not take the challenge lying down, Quintus decided. No doubt that was why he’d been subjugating towns such as Megara Hyblaea. If too much of the island went over to Syracuse and Carthage, the Romans’ position on the island would become untenable, especially if thousands of Carthaginians were soon to arrive.
‘An obol for your thoughts,’ said Urceus’ voice, from right behind him.
Quintus spun, annoyed that he hadn’t heard his friend and still unhappy with himself. ‘Nothing much.’
‘Liar.’
Stung, Quintus’ mouth opened to issue a stinging retort.
Urceus spoke first. ‘We’re all shitting ourselves at the idea of yet another battle, brother.’
Quintus glanced up and down the walkway. To his relief, they were alone. ‘Who said that that’s what I’m thinking?’ he demanded hotly.
‘It’s as obvious as the sun on your face, Crespo. Why? Because every last one of us feels the same way! Trasimene and Cannae were awful, and we’ll never forget them, but the slaughter in the harbour was almost worse. All those men drowning …’ Urceus grimaced. ‘A man can’t see things like that without paying a certain price. You never want to experience anything like that again. That’s a normal response. We’re all of the same mind.’ He gripped Quintus’ arm and squeezed, hard.
A host of emotions welled up inside Quintus. Terror. Relief and pride that he had a comrade like Urceus. Love for a man who saw his weakness and didn’t judge him for it.
‘You’re still the same soldier you were. When the time comes to march and to fight again, your balls might shrivel up, but you’ll stand with us, won’t you?’
‘Of course!’ Quintus replied. Despite the possible consequence — death — not to do so would be unimaginable. His comrades meant everything to him.
Urceus’ eyes met his. ‘As we will, beside you. To whatever end.’
Quintus leaned his pilum and shield against the battlements and grabbed Urceus in a bear hug. ‘You’re a good friend.’
‘As you are to me,’ said Urceus, returning the embrace.
Quintus felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
‘I didn’t know you two were a pair of molles!’ called Mattheus.
Both Quintus and Urceus made an obscene gesture by way of reply. ‘Watch out, or we’ll ask you to join us!’ advised Quintus with a leer.
At that moment, Marius, another of their new comrades, whistled the call that signified ‘officer approaching’. Everyone in their section took an instant interest in the ground beyond the wall.
Hobs clattered on the nearest ladder, and Quintus risked a glance to his left. It wasn’t Corax, or anyone he recognised. ‘Look lively! It’s not one of ours,’ he shot from the side of his mouth.
Urceus took off along the walkway, as a sentry should. Quintus remained where he was, hoping that the officer, whoever he was, wouldn’t stay long.
Annoyingly, the newcomer’s footsteps came to a halt beside him. Quintus looked, turned and saluted. ‘Sir!’
The officer, a centurion, gave him a critical stare. He was clean-shaven, square-chinned and nearing forty. ‘As you were.’
‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked Quintus, standing at ease.
‘So that is Syracuse,’ said the officer, gazing at the distant walls. ‘Its defences are impressive.’
‘They are, sir.’
‘After more than half a millennium, it’s not surprising, I suppose. Did you take part in the initial attack?’
He had come with the reinforcements, thought Quintus in surprise. ‘I did, sir.’
‘Was it as bad as they say?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Quintus tried not to remember how Wolf and Unlucky had died, and failed.
A grunt.
‘Have you just arrived, sir?’ risked Quintus.
‘Yes. The Senate ordered us from Cisalpine Gaul.’
Quintus felt a sudden kinship with the centurion. ‘Were you also at the Trebia, sir?’
There was a flicker of annoyance. ‘No. I was stationed at Victumulae, a town to the west of Placentia. I was forced to remain within its walls at the time of the battle at the Trebia.’
‘I remember Victumulae, sir. It was one of the towns that Hannibal’s army sacked after the Trebia. You were lucky to survive.’
Now the centurion’s face blackened.
Why didn’t he like that? wondered Quintus in surprise. He moved to remedy the situation. ‘Fortuna must have been smiling on you that day, as she was on us in the harbour outside Syracuse.’
The centurion’s expression softened a little. ‘The goddess is a capricious sort at the best of times, but she must have been in a good mood with me when Victumulae fell.’
‘You’ve been fighting Gauls since then, sir?’
‘Aye, filthy savages that they are. It’ll be a welcome break to battle Syracusans for a change. I hear we might even get to kill some guggas. That would please me.’ The centurion’s eyes had lit up.
‘Me too, sir,’ said Quintus stolidly. It wouldn’t do to mention how welcome the time spent building the encircling wall had been.
‘Pera!’
The centurion looked down. So did Quintus. Another centurion sat on a horse below, beside a tethered mount that had to belong to Pera.
‘What is it?’ asked Pera.
‘I’ve been searching all over for you. A summons has been issued. We’re to attend a meeting at the headquarters at sundown. Marcellus wants to meet us. Best get ready, eh?’
‘Aye.’ Without another word to Quintus, Pera made his way back to the ladder.
He seems like a tough one, thought Quintus. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t like Pera.
Urceus was by his side before Pera had reached his comrade. ‘What did he want?’
‘The usuaclass="underline" to look at Syracuse.’
‘He’s new then?’
‘Yes. He and his unit have come in from Cisalpine Gaul. They missed the Trebia, which I think was a bit of a sore point.’ At this, Pera glanced up, and Quintus’ stomach twisted. Shit, I hope he didn’t hear that! ‘That’s a fine mount you have there, sir,’ he called by way of distraction, pointing at Pera’s horse, a black with a white blaze on one fetlock.
Pera’s lip curled. ‘What would an ordinary hastatus know about horses?’
Stung, Quintus’ own temper flared. He had ridden from a very young age, something that Pera might well not have — probably had not — done. It had been his choice to join the infantry, but at times like this, when he couldn’t admit to too much for fear of being discovered, it really galled him. Without thinking, Quintus said, ‘We had quite a few horses when I was a boy, sir.’
‘You can ride?’ Pera’s voice was full of disbelief.
Quintus could feel Urceus’ gaze on him, knew that his friend was silently shouting at him to end the conversation that very instant. A devil took him, however. Fuck Pera. He’s an arrogant prick. ‘I can, sir. Well, too.’
Pera glanced at his companion and chuckled. ‘Hear this? We’ve chanced upon the only hastatus who should be in the cavalry!’
The second centurion laughed. ‘A fine discovery! Maybe you and he should race against one another.’
‘Now there’s an idea!’ Pera looked up at Quintus. ‘How about it? You and I, tonight. Gaius here will let you have his horse, won’t you?’
‘Of course!’ declared the second centurion.
‘Thank you, sir, but I couldn’t,’ replied Quintus, sensing that the situation was slipping out of his control, fast.
Pera’s face hardened. ‘Why ever not?’
‘An ordinary soldier can’t race against a centurion, sir,’ Quintus flailed.
‘He can if he’s bloody ordered to,’ snarled Pera. ‘Do you want me to go to your centurion about this?’