Corax’s lips tightened. ‘Go on.’
‘It was Pera’s killing of the fig-thrower that made the mob turn on us, sir. If he hadn’t done that, I think the vote would have been carried.’ Quintus hesitated before adding, ‘The bloodshed could have been avoided, sir.’
Silence fell. Urceus’ expression had gone studiously blank. Corax’s face was worryingly dark, and Vitruvius appeared equally unhappy. The moments dragged on, and Quintus began to feel uncomfortable.
‘If this had come from anyone other than one of my veterans, I would beat the man responsible until he was unconscious. Either that, or throw him off a cliff.’ Corax paused and then added, ‘Pera just told me how you were jumped by someone who’d been playing dead. You’d have been killed if it hadn’t been for him, he said.’ A glare. ‘Is that right?’
Shit! He hadn’t thought that Pera might tell Corax. ‘Yes, sir,’ he muttered.
‘Yet you have informed on him.’ Corax’s matter-of-fact tone was menacing.
Quintus struggled to meet his gimlet stare. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Because it’s you, Crespo, I will answer you. I’m not interested in a blow-by-blow account of what went on earlier. Nor is Pinarius, and nor, I suspect, is Consul Marcellus — especially from the likes of you. Today, Centurion Pera helped to kill a crowd of rebellious townspeople who would have sold us out to the guggas. That’s all.’
Quintus felt foolish, and more than a little scared.
‘I never want to hear of this again, Crespo.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Piss off out of my sight. You too, Jug.’
Quintus beat a hasty retreat.
‘Sometimes I worry for your sanity,’ hissed Urceus the moment that they were out of earshot of Corax. ‘I hate Pera. Corax probably does too, but to criticise the man in front of him? He was only ever going to defend his own.’
‘I know,’ said Quintus with a sigh.
‘Consider yourself lucky that he was in a good mood. It’s time to put your head down and forget about Pera, and what happened here today.’
PART TWO
Chapter XVII
It was sunset, and on the southern ramparts of Akragas, Hanno and Aurelia walked hand in hand. The whole city was bathed in the glorious, golden light of autumn as they wandered eastward along the wall from the fifth gate, Hanno’s officer’s uniform keeping the regularly placed sentries away. The smell of incense from the nearby massive sanctuary to Demeter and Persephone was thick in the air, and the chants of the devotees within mixed with the cries of the vendors outside, selling wine, trinkets and autumn fruits.
Ten stadia to the south, fishing boats were putting to sea from the city’s busy port. Nearer to the walls, hundreds of tents belonging to Himilco’s soldiers sprawled to either side of the shrine of Asklepios. From the edge of the camp, an elephant bugled. A short distance from Hanno and Aurelia loomed a magnificent temple, a number of which had been built in a line along the ridge that formed Akragas’ southern limit. But it was the second, the one built in honour of Olympian Zeus, that drew Hanno’s admiring gaze. The city’s residents loved to boast that it was the biggest Doric shrine in existence, but it was a shame, he reflected, that his people’s annexation of Akragas had prevented it from being finished.
‘An obol for your thoughts,’ said Aurelia.
He smiled. It had become one of their little phrases. ‘Carthage is my home, and I will always love it. But this place’ — he gestured to his left, from the grid of streets covering the two confluent hills that formed the city’s backbone, then down the slope, over the agora and the grand bouleuterion, to the temples — ‘it’s just magnificent. It has stolen my heart.’ He smiled down at her. ‘As you have.’
Her fingers entwined further with his. ‘Don’t you think that it’s also because we’re here?’
‘You could be right,’ he admitted, grinning.
It had only been a month since Himilco’s and Hippocrates’ decision to end the year’s scrappy, inconclusive campaign and march west to Akragas, once again a major Carthaginian stronghold on the island. It had become a halcyon time for them, so it felt far longer. That didn’t mean Hanno had forgotten the Roman ambush on Hippocrates’ force, or the days that had followed it. Gathering up more than a dozen survivors, he and Aurelia had headed west, towards the area where Himilco was supposed to be. They’d had to take constant care to avoid enemy patrols. Soon after that, they’d had their first encounter with Carthaginian scouts — what a joyful occasion for Hanno that had been. By that stage, his band of stragglers had swelled to more than fifty. Among them, to his pleasure, had been both Kleitos and Deon, and a few more of his men.
His reunion with Hippocrates had been far less amicable. Hanno had struggled to contain his contempt at Hippocrates’ flight from the valley, while Hippocrates’ disdain for his very presence had seemed to have grown. Once Hippocrates had established that Himilco spoke passable Greek, he had left Hanno out of their meetings. Hanno had tried speaking directly to Himilco, but it seemed that Hippocrates had earned the Carthaginian general’s trust. Hanno’s annoyance at being excluded from the two men’s meetings had been eased by the knowledge that Aurelia was safe. With the war effectively suspended, Hippocrates had thrown himself into the city’s brothels, where, by all accounts, he indulged his taste for the most attractive whores available. He was far too busy to bother with Hanno, or the Roman woman he’d once forced into his bed.
There were other reasons to be cheerful. By way of reward for escaping the ambush, Hippocrates had set him and Kleitos the task of regrouping the survivors into a few full-strength units outside Akragas. Pleasingly, Hanno had also been able to send word to Hannibal on a Phoenician merchant ship. The setback of the ambush on Hippocrates had not prevented him from joining forces with Himilco’s vast army, Hanno had written. In the spring, they would smash Marcellus’ legions apart.
‘You’ve got to concede that the city is stunning. Rome doesn’t even come close,’ Hanno said. ‘Nowhere in Italy does.’
‘And Carthage?’ she retorted.
‘It’s grander, but not as beautiful.’
Her eyes danced with mischief. ‘Somewhere that’s better than Carthage? How can that be possible?’
‘Hmmm.’ Hanno tried not to feel annoyed as she laughed, and failed. Aurelia was so much better at accepting perceived criticism of all things Roman than he was of anything to do with Carthage. Not wanting to spoil the mood, he diverted himself by admiring another of his favourite temples, the one dedicated to the goddess Hera. It lay on its own inside the southeast corner of the walls, and was a good spot to sit as it grew dark. Remembering the excellent inn near the third gate, which lay close to Hera’s shrine, his good mood returned. They could eat there before returning to their rooms in the quarter that lay a short distance to the north.
Discipline in Akragas was far laxer than it had been in Syracuse, allowing Hanno to spend almost every night with Aurelia. These precious hours were filled with love and laughter. No wonder it felt as if he were on extended leave, he thought with only a trace of guilt. The slow pace of life seemed to be doing Aurelia good too. Her sorrow was still there, but Hanno was finding it harder to spot. He was glad for her. What she had been through — losing three family members in quick succession — was truly horrendous. While her decision to follow him had been rash, he was no longer angry about it: he simply wanted her to experience some happiness. Hanno did his best to add to that, wooing her as he might have done if they had met in more normal circumstances.