The wine was probably stolen, but Quintus didn’t care. He took the skin and carefully poured a libation on to the ground below, offering a prayer for Calatinus as he did so. ‘To all the others who died at the lake as well.’ He took a deep swallow, enjoying the warm sensation as the liquid swept down into his belly. Wordlessly, he handed it back to Rutilus. They passed it to and fro for some time, honouring the dead and savouring the silence.
‘I’ve often thought your accent was better bred than you let on,’ said Rutilus eventually, ‘but I had no idea that you were nobility. And friends with a gugga!’
‘Don’t call him that,’ retorted Quintus, remembering the time he had used the insult on Hanno.
‘Come on! All Carthaginians are guggas, surely?’
‘No! The term means “little rat”, Rutilus, remember? I knew Hanno for almost a year. Whatever he is, he’s not a gugga.’ He related the story of Flaccus, and the ambush where he had died.
Rutilus chewed on that for a moment. ‘If a man prefers men to women, he’s often judged harshly by others. It’s something I’ve always hated,’ he mused. ‘I suppose the same applies to the Carthaginians. Hanno showed real honour in letting you and your father go free. They’re not all monsters, eh?’
Quintus felt a strange relief to hear another offer respect towards Hanno. ‘No. They’re enemies, but they are worthy men.’
‘What will you do if you meet him again?’
‘I hope that that never happens.’
‘But if it does?’
‘I’ll kill him, as he’d kill me,’ said Quintus savagely. Deep inside, he wasn’t so sure that he could, but he wasn’t going to admit that to anyone.
‘Gods will it that you never have to,’ muttered Rutilus. He nudged Quintus. ‘Never thought I’d be serving with someone whose dead brother-in-law was so important!’
‘He wasn’t my brother-in-law. The marriage never took place.’
Rutilus hadn’t even heard him. ‘The brother of our new Master of the Horse related to a lowly veles, imagine that!’
Quintus’ protest died in his throat. He’d heard Marcus Minucius Rufus mentioned often enough of recent days, but the name’s relevance had passed him by. Caius Minucius Flaccus and he had been brothers. Now and for the next six months, Minucius was the second-highest-ranking man in the land, subordinate only to Fabius, the dictator. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Another pang of guilt as he imagined the social and political advancements that that powerful family might have brought to his own if Aurelia’s wedding to Flaccus had taken place.
‘You will have to introduce me to him,’ said Rutilus, his tone mock-earnest.
Finally, Quintus laughed. ‘I told you, Aurelia did not marry Flaccus, so I’m not related to Minucius!’
Rutilus snorted with amusement. ‘Even if you were, I’d bet you wouldn’t introduce your comrades to him. Can you see someone as important as Minucius chatting to the likes of us?’
‘I can’t even see him talking to me. Anyway, it will never happen. I just hope that Minucius has more sense than Flaccus. He was an arrogant fool. It was his stupid idea to go on that patrol in the first place.’
‘Let’s be grateful that Fabius is more senior then,’ said Rutilus, looking a little worried.
‘They say he was slow-witted when he was a boy, don’t they? Now, he’s known for being cautious,’ said Quintus, repeating the gossip he’d heard. ‘But he’s twice been consul and once dictator. He should be able to keep Minucius in line.’
‘Course he will!’ Rutilus raised the skin high again. ‘To our new dictator. May he prove to be an able leader and a skilful general, who brings us victory over Hannibal!’
‘Before too long,’ added Quintus, thinking again of his mother and Aurelia.
‘Corax says the word is that he’s not going to rush into anything. To do so with so many new recruits and insufficient cavalry would be madness. The plan is to harry the Carthaginian foraging parties. Kicking the enemy in the stomach is nearly as effective as killing him in battle, Corax says, and far less dangerous. I’m not going to argue with that!’
Quintus had heard the talk. Although it was hard to swallow, it was difficult to disagree with Fabius’ and Corax’s logic. He could remember his father talking about the Hellenistic principles of generalship, which men such as Alexander had followed. If a general could not realistically be certain of winning a battle, then it was best that he avoid confrontation until such time as his forces had increased sufficiently in strength. It could easily take Fabius and Minucius the full period of their office to do that. ‘Gods, let Hannibal stay east of the Apennines,’ he muttered. He felt Rutilus’ eyes on him. ‘I’m from near Capua. My mother and sister are still living on the family farm.’
‘If Hannibal does cross the mountains, your mother will abandon the property for the safety of Capua. She’ll be protected there.’
‘You don’t know my mother. She’s as stubborn as a mule with a bad temper.’
‘Your father might have sent her a letter.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Why don’t you write one as well?’ Rutilus sensed his uncertainty. ‘Tell her that you’re fighting with the socii or something of the kind. Even if your father hears that from her, he won’t have time to look for you in every section of the army.’
That could work, thought Quintus. ‘Writing her a letter doesn’t mean she’ll pay any heed to it.’
‘No, but it might. And it will ease your worries a little, so do it.’
‘Thank you, Rutilus,’ said Quintus gratefully. His friend was right: he should make the best of the situation rather than revel in misery. All the same, a knot of worry for his mother and Aurelia remained in his guts.
Chapter IX
Near Capua
As the walls of Capua receded into the distance, Aurelia wondered for the twentieth time if she was being wise. I’ll do what I want, she thought fiercely. My mother can go to Hades! One of Martialis’ two slaves threw her another questioning look, but her immediate scowl made his gaze drop. Her mixture of cajolery and threats had got the pair beyond the gate; she hoped that it would take them as far as the family farm. Aurelia wished again that Gaius were around; he would have accompanied her. No, it was better that he wasn’t here, she decided. She was to marry Lucius now. There was no point putting any more temptation in her way. Besides, Gaius was long gone, sent with his unit to bolster Fabius’ forces. Lucius might have come if she’d asked, but she didn’t want his company. He was part of the reason that she was going.
If only her mother hadn’t been so assiduous in winning over Lucius’ father, she thought. But Atia had been like a dog with a bone. She and Lucius were to wed within the next few months. Aurelia had grown somewhat resigned to that fact — her father had given his blessing to the union, so there wasn’t much she could do about it — but she was determined to savour her last months of relative freedom. As a married woman she would live at her husband’s command. This might be her last chance of visiting the place where she’d grown up, of being alone with her memories of Quintus and — if she admitted it — Hanno. She had been spurred into action by something she’d overheard literally the night before. Since her disastrous attempt to listen in on her mother and Phanes, Aurelia had become a master at eavesdropping. Atia and Martialis tended to talk in the evenings, after she was supposed to be in bed. The previous night, Aurelia had been shocked beyond belief by what she had heard. Martialis’ loan had only placated Phanes for two months, her mother had lamented. Martialis had expressed his horror and repeatedly apologised to Atia. The regret had been thick in his voice. ‘I don’t have any more money to lend you.’
Aurelia had bitten her lip at her mother’s next words. Unless Fabricius was able to help, which seemed unlikely given the fact that he was in the field, shadowing Hannibal’s army, the farm would either have to be sold or signed over to Phanes. Given the uncertainty gripping the area, the latter seemed more likely. Aurelia stuck out her jaw, trying hard not to cry at the memory. Because of her, Phanes would soon own her father’s farm. She’d had dark thoughts about having the moneylender killed, but didn’t know how to organise such a thing — even if she had the money to pay for it, which she didn’t. A gusty sigh escaped her. Her family would soon be beggared and there was nothing she could do about it.