‘What do you want, Thersites?’
A long sigh. ‘I want peace. Peace, so I don’t have to lie awake at night worrying about my two daughters being raped, or my inn being burned down around our ears.’ He made a placating gesture. ‘I refer not just to Romans. Carthaginian soldiers are more than capable of such things, I know.’
Quintus thought of his family estate, which had had to be abandoned because of Hannibal’s incursions into Campania. Thersites was probably unable to leave Enna, as his mother and Aurelia were powerless to return home. The whole of Sicily was in conflict; thousands of innocent people were affected in the same way. ‘War is a tidal wave that sweeps everything in its path away,’ he said heavily. ‘And there is nothing we can do about it other than try not to drown.’
‘We can do other things,’ ventured Thersites. He hesitated, and Quintus saw the fear in his eyes.
‘Speak,’ he urged.
‘Keeping Enna in Roman hands would avoid a battle within its walls, which is what will happen if the town’s leaders get their way. They want the keys to the gate so that they can admit Himilco’s troops in the middle of the night. Pinarius is far too clever to hand the keys over, however, and our leaders are talking now of a siege by the Carthaginians, during which we could help them over the ramparts or some such madness. I’ve heard the stories from other towns where that happened. It wouldn’t matter that we were coming over to Carthage. The place would be sacked, and the population murdered.’
‘You want to prevent that? Even if it means that Enna remains in Roman hands?’
‘I don’t care who rules us if things can remain peaceful. If it means that a massacre can be prevented. One day, if you have children, you will understand.’
In his mind’s eye, Quintus saw the battlefield at Cannae as they had fled. Most Roman families had lost a son there that terrible day. Feeling old, he nodded. ‘I think I already do.’
There was silence for a moment.
‘Why are you telling me this, and not Pinarius or another officer?’
Thersites’ smile was knowing. ‘Every wall here has eyes and ears. I couldn’t go within a hundred paces of Pinarius’ quarters without being taken for a traitor. Do you trust your commanding officer?’
‘With my life.’
‘And Pinarius?’
‘He’s a bit stiff, but he’s supposed to be a straight type.’
‘I thought that too.’ Thersites licked lips that had gone dry. ‘If I gave you the names of the main conspirators, could you pass them on to your commander?’
Quintus shot a look at his companions and was relieved that they seemed oblivious to his conversation with Thersites. ‘I could, yes.’
‘Would he be able to guarantee safety for me and my daughters? I think that the remaining leaders will want to side with Rome, and they can sway the townsmen. Some men may wish me ill if they suspect what I’ve done, however.’
Quintus swallowed. He couldn’t lie. ‘I don’t know. I’m only an ordinary soldier, but I swear to you that I will do my best to ensure that that happens.’
Another sigh. ‘I can ask for no more.’
The loud banter and laughs from behind him died away. Quintus was aware of a pulse beating behind his eyeballs, of the rough wooden counter under his fingertips, of the fear writ large on Thersites’ face.
‘Simmias and Zenodoros are the two most active voices in Carthage’s cause. Along with Ochos.’
‘Simmias? The merchant who supplies us with grain?’ asked Quintus in disbelief. He had always seemed pleased to deal with the legionaries.
‘One and the same.’ Thersites began reeling off more names, and Quintus raised a hand to stop him. ‘I’m too drunk,’ he said. ‘You must write them down.’ Thersites looked horrified.
‘You need not sign the parchment. I’ll hand it to my centurion myself,’ Quintus promised.
‘Ho, innkeeper! More wine!’ bellowed Marius.
‘Of course!’ replied Thersites. In an undertone, he said to Quintus, ‘I’ll give it to you the next time you go to empty your bladder.’
Already wishing that he hadn’t drunk as much — reporting something this momentous to Corax, or more particularly, Pinarius, would not look good when hungover — Quintus made his way back to the table. No one even noticed him return, which suited him. For the moment, it was best that few people knew what he’d just been told.
He set about downing beakers of water in an effort to wash out the wine he’d drunk, and, when his head was a little clearer, and the piece of parchment from Thersites was safely stowed in his leather purse, Quintus began the lengthy process of persuading his comrades to leave the inn. He needed some rest, but he wasn’t prepared to leave them behind — apart from Thersites’ revelation, he wanted to make sure none tried to have a look at the innkeeper’s daughter.
By the time that they eventually returned to their quarters, Quintus was drained, but sleep proved evasive. Shafts of light were coming through the gaps in the shutters when he managed to succumb. It seemed that he’d only been asleep for a moment before the optio was banging on their door and ordering them to get up, if they didn’t want their arses kicked back to Syracuse.
Quickly, Quintus told Urceus what Thersites had told him. ‘I wasn’t dreaming,’ he hissed, opening his hand to show his friend the parchment.
‘Vulcan’s fucking balls,’ said Urceus, who looked as bad as Quintus felt. ‘You’ve got to tell Corax.’
‘That’s what I’m about to do.’
‘Fuck it,’ growled Urceus. ‘That’ll be more punishment duty. Rather you than me, though.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Quintus sourly. He had the presence of mind to stick his head in a bucket of water and don his clean tunic before seeking out Corax. He still felt like shit, but hopefully he didn’t look too bad. Hopefully.
The door to the centurion’s quarters, an entire apartment on the first floor, was ajar. Through the doorway, Quintus could see Corax sitting at a table, wolfing bread and honey. His servant, a monosyllabic slave, waited upon him. As Quintus was about to knock, Corax’s head turned. ‘Crespo — is that you?’ he barked.
‘Yes, sir.’ Quintus knocked, feeling foolish.
‘Stop loitering outside. Come in.’ Corax appraised him as he approached, and Quintus cringed inwardly, wishing again that he had been more temperate the previous night.
He came to a halt a few steps from Corax and saluted. ‘Sir.’
There was a short silence, during which Quintus could feel beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. Of course, he had to ignore them, while Corax’s eyes traced their complete path.
‘You wished to see me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Strange. You look as if you were on the piss last night.’
‘Sir, I, er …’ Quintus floundered. What was the point lying? he decided. Corax wasn’t blind or lacking a sense of smell. ‘Yes, sir.’
Corax’s lips pressed together for a moment. ‘This, despite my orders?’
‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’
‘You didn’t come here to confess what you’d done, though.’
‘No, sir.’ Quintus proffered the piece of parchment, which he’d been clutching unseen in his right hand.
‘What is that?’
‘It’s a list of names, sir, of those who are plotting to turn the town over to the Carthaginians.’
At this, Corax looked decidedly more interested. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘From an innkeeper, sir.’
Corax’s eyebrow rose — Quintus hoped it wasn’t in disbelief — and he said, ‘Not the proprietor of whichever hole you were drinking in?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘This better be good, Crespo,’ warned Corax, his voice hard. ‘Explain everything — fast.’
At this stage, Quintus decided that wiping the sweat from his brow made no difference. That done, he related again how he and Urceus had saved Thersites’ daughter; how the innkeeper’s offer of free wine had been too much to ignore. Recounting how the sentries had let them out with barely a question, he thought that Corax’s lips twitched. This was the centurion’s only reaction until he had finished the entire tale, however. When he was done, Corax stretched out his hand. ‘Give it here.’