‘You sent for Quintus, I presume?’ Flaccus didn’t wait for Fabricius to answer. ‘What an excellent idea! His timing is impeccable too.’ He raised a clenched fist at Quintus. ‘Tomorrow, we’re going to teach those bastard guggas a lesson they’ll never forget.’
‘I didn’t send for him,’ answered Fabricius stiffly. ‘He saw fit to leave his mother and sister on their own and turn up here without so much as a by your leave.’
‘The rashness of youth!’ demurred Flaccus with a smile. ‘Nonetheless, you’ll let him ride out with us in the morning?’
‘I hadn’t planned on it, no,’ said Fabricius curtly.
‘What?’ Flaccus threw him an incredulous look. ‘And deny your son a chance to blood himself? To take part in what could be one of our greatest cavalry victories ever? Publius’ boy is to come along, and he’s no older than Quintus here.’
‘It’s not that.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘It’s none of your concern,’ said Fabricius angrily.
Flaccus barely blinked at the rebuff. ‘Come now,’ he cajoled. ‘Unless the lad has committed murder, surely he should be allowed to be part of this golden opportunity? This could be the glowing start to his career — a career that will only blossom once your family is allied to the Minucii.’
Furious, Fabricius considered his options. They were in this situation purely because of Flaccus’ pushiness, yet it would look rude now for him to turn down Flaccus’ proposal. It might also jeopardise Quintus’ chances of advancement. Even when wedded to Aurelia, Flaccus would be under no legal obligation to help his brother-in-law. It was all down to goodwill. He made a show of looking pleased. ‘Very well. I’ll ask the consul for his permission to let Quintus join my unit.’
‘Excellent!’ cried Flaccus. ‘Publius won’t turn down a cavalryman of your son’s quality.’
Quintus couldn’t believe the change in his fortunes. ‘Thank you,’ he said, grinning at both men. ‘I won’t let you down, Father.’
‘Consider yourself lucky,’ Fabricius growled. He stabbed a finger into Quintus’ chest. ‘You’re not out of trouble yet either.’
‘The glory he’ll win tomorrow will make you forget anything he ’s done,’ declared Flaccus, giving Quintus a broad wink. ‘Now, we’d best not keep Publius waiting any longer.’
‘True,’ replied Fabricius. He pointed at a nearby tent. ‘There’s an empty space in that one. Tell the men in it that I said you were to bunk in with them. We’ll get you some equipment later.’
‘Yes, Father. Thank you.’
Fabricius did not reply.
‘Until tomorrow,’ said Flaccus. ‘We’ll cover the field with gugga bodies!’
Instantly, an image of Hanno appeared in Quintus’ mind’s eye. Forcing a grin, he did his best to shove it away. Defeating the Carthaginians was all that mattered, he told himself.
Chapter XIX: Reunion
Hanno did not dare to try crossing the makeshift bridge over the Padus with his mount. He had tempted fate enough by riding out of the camp alone on his mule, a likely slave. There had to be at least two centuries of legionaries guarding the road that ran up to the crossing. No matter how dull their duty, Hanno doubted that they were stupid enough to let a dark-skinned man who spoke accented Latin pass by without question. He therefore rode west along the southern bank, searching for a suitable place to ford the river.
Winter gales had stripped the leaves from the trees, leaving the flat landscape stark and bare. It made it easy to spot movement of any kind. This suited Hanno down to the ground. Unarmed apart from a dagger, he had no desire to meet anyone until he crossed the river into the territory of the Insubres. They were mostly hostile towards the Romans. Even there, however, Hanno wanted to avoid human contact. In reality, he could trust no one but his own people, or the soldiers who fought for them. Although he was by no means safe yet, Hanno could not help feeling exhilarated. He could almost sense the presence of Hannibal’s army nearby.
Hanno hardly dared to wonder if his own father and brothers were still alive, or with the Carthaginian forces. There was absolutely no way of telling. For all he knew, they could yet be in Iberia. Maybe they had been posted back to Carthage. What would he do if that were the case? Whom would he report to? At that moment, Hanno did not overly care. He had escaped, and, gods willing, would soon place himself under Hannibal’s command: another soldier of Carthage.
For two days and nights, Hanno travelled west. He avoided settlements and farms, camping rough in dips and hollows where there was little chance of being discovered. Despite the severe cold, he forbore from lighting fires. His blankets were sufficient to prevent frostbite, but not to allow much sleep. It didn’t matter. Staying alert now was critical. Despite Hanno’s weariness, each new day of freedom felt better than the last.
His luck continued to hold. Early on the third day, Hanno reached a crossing point over the Padus. A collection of small huts huddled around the ford, but there was no one about. The days were short, and work on the land had ceased until spring. Like most peasants at this time of year, the inhabitants went to bed shortly after sunset and rose late. Nonetheless, Hanno felt very vulnerable as he stripped off by the water’s edge. Placing his clothing in his pack, he rolled up the oiled leather tightly and tied it with thongs. Then, naked as the day he was born, he led the protesting mule into the river. The water was shockingly cold. Hanno knew that if they didn’t cross it fast, his muscles would freeze up and he would drown. Winter rainfall ensured that its level was high, however, and for a time, his mount struggled against the current. Hanno, who was holding on to its reins and swimming as hard as he could, felt panic swelling in his chest. Thankfully, the mule possessed enough strength to carry them both into the shallows on the far side, and from there, on to the bank. The biting wind struck Hanno savagely, setting his teeth to chattering. Fortunately, only a small amount of water had entered his pack, meaning that his clothes were mostly dry. He dressed quickly. Then, wrapping his blanket around himself for extra warmth, he remounted and resumed his journey.
The day wore on and Hanno’s excitement grew. He was deep in Insubres territory; Hannibal’s army could not be far away. Since he’d been captured by the pirates, it had seemed impossible that he would ever be in such a position. Thanks to Quintus, it was now a reality. Hanno prayed that his friend would come through the impending war unharmed. Naturally enough, he quickly returned to thoughts of a reunion with his family. For the first time, Hanno’s attention lapsed.
A short time later, he was brought back to reality with a jolt. Halfway down into a hollow, Hanno heard a blackbird sounding its alarm call, sharp and insistent. Scanning the trees on either side, he could see no reason for its distress. Yet birds did not react like that without cause. Acid-tipped claws of fear clutched at his belly. This was the perfect place for an ambush. For bandits to attack and murder a lone traveller.
Terror filled Hanno as, in the same instant, a pair of javelins scudded out of the bushes to his left and flew over his head. Praying that his attackers were on foot, he dug his heels into his mule’s sides. It responded to his fear, and pounded gamely up out of the dip. Several more javelins hissed into the air behind them, but when Hanno glanced over his shoulder, his hopes vanished entirely. A group of mounted figures had emerged from the cover on each side. Six of them at least, and on horses. There was no chance of outriding his pursuers on a mule. Hanno cursed savagely. This was surely the cruellest turn of fate since he’d been washed out to sea. To have gone through all that he had, only to be murdered by a bunch of brigands a few miles from where Hannibal’s forces lay.
He wasn’t surprised when more horses and riders appeared on the road ahead, blocking it entirely. Gripping the dagger that was his solitary weapon, Hanno prepared to sell his life dearly. As the horsemen approached, however, his heart leaped. He had not seen any Numidian cavalry since leaving Carthage, but there could be no mistaking their identity. What other mounted troops scorned the use of saddles, bridles and bits? Or wore open-sided tunics even in winter?