‘In Carthage, they’re mostly constructed from mud bricks.’
‘That sounds a lot safer. The cenaculae are built of wood. They’re disease-ridden, hard to heat and easy to destroy.’
‘Fire’s a big problem, then,’ said Hanno, imagining how easy it would be to burn down the city if it fell to Hannibal’s army.
Quintus grimaced. ‘Yes.’
Along with its sights and smells, the capital provided plenty of noise. The air was filled with the clamour of shopkeepers competing for business, the shrieks of playing children and the chatter of neighbours gossiping on the street corners. Beggars of every hue abounded, adding their cries for alms to the din. The clang of iron being pounded on anvils carried from smithies, and the sound of carpenters hammering echoed off the tall buildings. In the distance, cattle bellowed from the Forum Boarium.
Of course Rome was not their main destination: that was the port of Pisae, from which Publius and his army had set sail. Yet the temptation of visiting Rome had been too much for either of the friends to resist. They wandered through the streets for hours, drinking in the sights. When they were hungry, they filled their bellies with hot sausages and fresh bread bought from little stalls. Juicy plums and apples finished off their satisfying meal.
Inevitably, Quintus was drawn to the massive temple of Jupiter, high on the Capitoline Hill. He gaped at its roof of beaten gold, rows of columns the height of ten men and facade of brightly painted terracotta. He came to a halt by the immense statue of a bearded Jupiter, which stood in front of the complex, giving it a view over much of Rome.
Feeling resentful, Hanno also stopped.
‘This must be bigger than any of the shrines in Carthage,’ said Quintus with a questioning look.
‘There’s one which is as big,’ Hanno replied proudly. ‘It’s in honour of Eshmoun.’
‘What god is that?’ asked Quintus curiously.
‘He represents fertility, good health and well-being.’
Quintus’ eyebrows rose. ‘And is he the leading deity in Carthage?’
‘No.’
‘Why has his temple the most prominent position then?’
Hanno gave an awkward shrug. ‘I don’t know.’ He remembered his father saying that their people differed from the Romans by being traders first and foremost. This temple complex proved that Quintus’ kind placed power and war before everything else. Thank all the gods that we have a real warrior in Hannibal Barca, he thought. If fools like Hostus were in charge, we would have no hope.
Quintus had come to his own conclusion. How could a race who gave pride of place to a fertility god’s temple ever defeat Rome? And when the inevitable happens, what will happen to Hanno? his conscience suddenly screamed. Where will he be? Quintus didn’t want to answer the question. ‘We’d better find a bed for the night,’ he suggested. ‘Before it gets dark.’
‘Good idea,’ replied Hanno, grateful for the change of subject.
Agesandros gave a tiny nod of thanks and turned to Aurelia. ‘I should have handled the matter far better. I wanted to apologise for it, and ask if we can make a new start.’
‘A new start?’ Aurelia snapped. ‘But you’re only a slave! What you think means nothing.’ She was pleased to see pain flare in his eyes.
‘Enough!’ Atia exclaimed. ‘Agesandros has served us loyally for more than twenty years. At the least, you should listen to what he has to say.’
Aurelia flushed, mortified at being reprimanded in front of a slave. She was damned if she’d just give in to her mother’s wishes. ‘Why would you bother apologising now?’ she muttered.
‘It’s simple. The master and Quintus may be gone for a long time. Who knows? It could be years. Perhaps you’ll have more of a hand with the running of the farm.’ Encouraged by Atia’s nod of acquiescence, he continued, ‘I want nothing more than to do my best for you and the mistress here.’ Agesandros made an almost plaintive gesture. ‘A good working relationship is essential if we are to succeed.’
‘He’s right,’ said Atia.
‘You owe me an explanation before I agree to anything,’ said Aurelia angrily.
The Sicilian sighed. ‘True. I did treat the gugga slave harshly.’
‘Harshly? Where do you get the gall?’ Aurelia cried. ‘You were going to sell a man to someone who would make him fight his best friend to the death!’
‘I have my reasons,’ Agesandros replied. A cloud passed across his face. ‘If I were to tell you that the Carthaginians tortured and murdered my entire family in Sicily, would you think differently of me?’
Aurelia’s mouth opened in horror.
‘They did what?’ demanded her mother.
‘I was away, fighting at the other end of the island, mistress. A surprise Carthaginian attack swept through the town, destroying all in its path.’ Agesandros swallowed. ‘They slaughtered everyone in the place: men, women, children. The old, the sick, even the dogs.’
Aurelia could scarcely breathe. ‘Why?’
‘It was punishment,’ the Sicilian replied. ‘Historically, we had sided with Carthage, but had switched to give our allegiance to Rome. Many settlements had done the same. Ours was the first to be captured. A message had to be delivered to the rest.’
Aurelia knew that terrible things happened in war. Men died, or were injured terribly, often in their thousands. But the massacre of civilians?
‘Go on,’ said Atia gently.
‘I had a wife and two children. A girl and a boy.’ For the first time, Agesandros’ voice cracked. ‘They were just babies. Three and two.’
Aurelia was stunned to see tears in his eyes. She had not thought the vilicus capable of such emotion. Incredibly, she felt sorry for him.
‘I found them some days later. They were dead. Butchered, in fact.’ Agesandros’ face twitched. ‘Have you ever seen what a spear blade can do to a little child? Or what a woman looks like after a dozen soldiers have violated her?’
‘Stop!’ Atia cried in distaste. ‘That’s quite enough.’
He hung his head.
Aurelia was reeling with horror. Her mind was filled with a series of terrifying images. It was no wonder, she thought, that Agesandros had treated Hanno as he had.
‘Finish your story,’ Atia commanded. ‘Quickly.’
‘I didn’t really want to live after that,’ said Agesandros obediently, ‘but the gods did not see fit to grant my wish of dying in battle. Instead, I was taken prisoner, and sold into slavery. I was taken to Italy, where the master bought me.’ He shrugged. ‘Here I have been ever since. That pair were some of the first guggas I had seen for two decades.’
‘Hanno is innocent of any crime towards your family,’ Aurelia hissed. ‘The war in Sicily took place before he had even been born!’
‘Let me deal with this,’ said her mother sharply. ‘Were you seeking revenge the first time that you attacked the Carthaginian?’
‘Yes, mistress.’
‘I understand. While it doesn’t excuse your actions, it explains them.’ Atia’s expression hardened. ‘Did you lie about finding the knife and purse among the slave’s belongings?’
‘No, mistress! As the gods are my witness, I told the truth,’ said the Sicilian earnestly.
Liar, thought Aurelia furiously, but she dared say nothing. Her mother was nodding in approval. A moment later, her worries materialised.
‘Agesandros is right,’ Atia declared. ‘Things will be hard enough in the months to come. Let us all make a new start.’ She stared expectantly at Aurelia. Agesandros’ expression was milder, but mirrored hers.
‘Very well,’ Aurelia whispered, feeling more isolated than ever.
Chapter XVII: Debate
Having found a cheap bed for the night, the two friends hit the nearest tavern. Drinking seemed the adult thing to do, but of course there was a darker reason behind it: their thoughts about the outcome of the war. Both felt more awkward than they had since falling out during Flaccus’ visit. Aurelia was not there to mediate, so wine would have to do. Their tactic worked to some extent, and they chatted idly while eyeing the prostitutes who were working the room for customers.