Hannibal: Fields of Blood (31 page)

‘It certainly doesn’t.’ Rutilus spat in the direction of Hannibal’s forces.

‘They’d get here quick enough if we’re attacked,’ declared Quintus with a confidence he didn’t quite feel. ‘It takes hours to form an army up to march. Hannibal’s men are no different.’

‘So you think Fabius will actually fight?’ asked Rutilus with a snicker.

Quintus knew what his friend meant. After an entire summer of marching and training, training and marching, and chewing on the dust left by the marauding Carthaginians, most soldiers were champing at the bit to fight the invaders of their land. Trebia was a distant memory; even Trasimene didn’t seem such a terrible defeat when one considered that they had been outnumbered nearly two to one. Apart from the time spent in the field, the main reason for this newfound confidence was that Fabius and Minucius, his Master of the Horse, now led more than forty thousand men. ‘That’s more than enough strength to smash the guggas,’ soldiers said to each other daily. ‘It’s time to teach Hannibal a lesson.’ Quintus had been brooding on it too. ‘This pass is easy to defend. If the enemy begins an assault, I think he will, yes. The time is right.’

‘Ha! I’m not so sure. Old “Warty” wants to avoid confrontation no matter where we are. He’s got no taste for battle. I’d wager my left bollock that—’

‘That what, soldier?’ Corax emerged from the shadows, his eyes glinting dangerously.

‘N-nothing, sir,’ replied Rutilus.

‘Did I hear you calling Fabius “Verrucosus”?’ Corax’s voice was silky. Deadly.

‘I, er . . .’ Rutilus’ gaze flickered to Quintus and back to the centurion. ‘Yes, sir. You might have done, sir.’

Corax’s response was to punch Rutilus in the solar plexus, dropping him to the ground like a sack of grain. Rutilus’ mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water. He gasped in a choking breath. ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you this time,’ Corax growled. ‘But if I ever hear you insult our dictator in future, I’ll have you scourged within a pubic hair of your life. Do you understand?’

Unable to speak, Rutilus just nodded.

Corax wheeled on Quintus, who had to force himself not to flinch. ‘You’re not as much of a fool as your friend here.’

‘Sir?’ asked Quintus in confusion.

‘We’ve had our orders. If the guggas come at us, the entire army
will
march into battle.’ A wolfish grin. ‘No more moving out of the way.’

‘That’s great news, sir!’

‘I thought so.’ Corax threw Rutilus a baleful glare. ‘When you catch your breath, I want you back on sentry duty – for the rest of the night.’

Quintus began to relax – a fraction too soon.

‘You can go with him, Crespo. Make sure he doesn’t fall asleep.’

Quintus knew better than to protest. He glowered at Rutilus as the centurion walked away. ‘We’re going to freeze our balls off all bloody night thanks to you. Why couldn’t you just keep your big mouth shut?’

‘Sorry,’ Rutilus muttered. He didn’t grumble when Quintus told him to bring along the skin of wine that he’d been saving for a special occasion.

All the same, Quintus thought sourly, it would be a long time until dawn.

Despite the cold, it was possible for one of the pair to try to doze a little from time to time. Corax came to check on them once or twice, but by the third watch, it was clear that he’d left them to it. Quintus wasn’t sure if there was much benefit in closing his eyes and snatching a few brief moments of standing rest. He was so chilled that it was almost impossible to fall asleep. Every time he did, a gust of wind would sweep under his cloak, waking him anew. The wine helped, but it soon ran out. They traded dirty jokes for a while, but then they ran out of new material. Rutilus started droning on about Severus and how much they had in common. Quintus was still pissed off with Rutilus, though, and rudely said he wasn’t interested. He tried thinking about the warm bed in his old bedroom at home, but that made him even more grumpy. Imagining the battle that might take place the following day had a similar result. Infuriatingly, Macerio’s position was close to theirs and the blond-haired soldier spent his time making obscene gestures at Quintus or spitting in his direction. Quintus did his best to ignore the taunting, but it was hard. By the time a few hours had passed, he was in an utterly foul mood. His face and feet were numb, and so too were his lower legs, where his cloak didn’t reach. The rest of his body was a little better, but not by much. Stamping up and down was preferable to standing still. Staring at the fires to the rear didn’t just ruin his night vision, it made him feel far worse. With a fixed scowl on his face, he marched to and fro, his gaze fixed on the enemy’s camp.

The first flares of light did not register for a few heartbeats. When they did, Quintus blinked in surprise. Had a tent caught fire? It wasn’t unheard of for that to happen. The glow spread, and he knew that he had been mistaken. No blaze could spread that fast. What in Hades was going on? ‘Rutilus? Do you see that?’

‘Can’t a man take a piss in peace?’ Rutilus glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened. Swallowing a curse, he shoved himself back into his undergarment and sprinted to Quintus’ side.

‘What do you think it is?’

‘It’s soldiers, getting ready to march,’ replied Quintus as realisation dawned. ‘They’re all lighting torches at once.’ Around him, he could hear the alarmed voices of the other sentries. No one had expected this. Attacks at night were not something that the Romans undertook, so they didn’t expect them of their enemies.

‘The bastards aren’t waiting until the morning to move!’ cried Rutilus, stating the obvious. He was already a few steps away. ‘I’ll fetch Corax.’

Quintus watched with increasing nervousness as the illuminated area before the enemy camp grew in size. Thousands of men were involved, he thought. Would it be the whole of the enemy host or just a section? Was a rapid assault on their position about to be launched? That could break through. The four thousand soldiers blocking the pass were spread thinner than soft cheese on a piece of bread. If the Carthaginians moved fast, there was no possible way that Fabius and the rest of the army could reach them in time. At best, they would be swept aside; at worst, annihilated. A knot of fear twisted in Quintus’ stomach. As at Trasimene, he felt the sickening certainty that he would die. A short time later, when the torches began to move, he was almost relieved. Death, when it came, would be swift.

‘Scheming gugga dogs,’ snapped Corax.

Quintus had never been more glad to see his centurion. ‘Yes, sir. Rutilus went for you the instant we saw the lights.’

‘They’re moving already.’

Nausea roiled in Quintus’ belly, but then he saw that the line of torches wasn’t coming towards them. His head twisted, eyes searching the darkness. ‘The saddle. They are heading for the saddle, sir!’ On the far side of the peak to their right, the slope was less precipitous. Quintus had seen it as they marched into position. ‘The climb from the plain to the ridge between it and the next summit to the north isn’t difficult.’

‘Yes, I know it. From there, they’ll be hoping to pick up the trail that leads through the Apennines. So they’re trying to outflank us, eh?’ Corax laughed. ‘The fool Hannibal has misjudged the distance. If we move now, we can scale the peak near us and after that, the ridge, before his troops. Denying them the passage with a good advantage of height shouldn’t be hard. Spread the word. I want four men out of every five assembled by the riverbank and ready to march as fast as they possibly can. I’ll be back soon.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Quintus’ heart thumped against his ribs. His weariness fell away; even the cold was no longer an issue. He and Rutilus set about gathering the velites who were on duty and passing on his orders to the legionaries present. When Corax returned with Pullo and the other centurions, the soldiers were formed up in maniples. Corax gave him a tiny nod of approval before eyeing his men. ‘You’ve all seen what’s going on, boys. Hannibal thinks he’s being smart. He thinks we’re asleep! Well, his men are going to get the surprise of their miserable lives. When they reach the ridge, we will be waiting there for them. Won’t we?’

‘YES, SIR!’

‘Fabius is relying on us. Rome is relying on us to throw the guggas back. If they can’t get out of Campania, the shitbags will starve. And then we’ll have them!’

As the men around him began shouting, ‘Roma! Roma!’ Quintus remembered the talk of kicking an army in its stomach. That was all very well, he thought with a touch of bitterness, but the lands that would be laid to waste if Hannibal’s troops were denied the passage were those of Campania, his home. Thus far, the area east of the Apennines had escaped the brunt of the enemy’s depredations. There was nothing wrong with them taking their turn. Yet Quintus felt guilty for even entertaining the idea. It was time to fight, he thought, not to give in just so his home region could be spared.

‘Crespo. Rutilus.’ Corax and the other centurions called the velites’ section leaders into a quick huddle. ‘You lot can move faster than the hastati or principes. You’re to go in front. Run like the wind. I want you up there before the guggas at all costs. Give them a welcome that they won’t forget. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Quintus replied, his pulse racing. The air filled with growls of acknowledgement from the others.

‘This is your opportunity to prove that you’re not the fool I think you are,’ said Corax, glaring at Rutilus.

‘You won’t be disappointed in me, sir,’ replied Rutilus fiercely.

‘What are you waiting for?’ cried Corax. ‘Get moving!’

They hurried to their comrades. Quickly, Quintus explained what they had to do. ‘Ask Hermes for his help on the way up. It’s a broken ankle that you need to be most worried about, for now at least.’ That garnered him a few chuckles, but Quintus didn’t smile. He ignored Macerio’s sneering, scarred face too. ‘I’m serious. Watch your footing. If you fall, you will have to fend for yourself. I want every able-bodied man ready to fight the instant we reach that saddle.’ There were grim nods then, reassuring him. He glanced at Rutilus. ‘Ready?’

‘I’d have been halfway up the hill already if you hadn’t talked so much.’

‘You’re full of shit!’

‘And you love it. See you at the top.’ Clearly keen to win Corax’s favour once more, Rutilus jumped straight into the river, spears and shield in hand. His men followed.

‘We can’t let them steal a march on us!’ shouted Quintus. ‘With me!’ He sprinted after Rutilus, all thoughts but reaching the top and throwing back the Carthaginians gone from his mind. Fortunately, the Volturnus was no more than knee deep. Even so, the chill in the water struck him like a blow in the face. He scrambled across, his sandals slipping a little on the smooth stones of the bottom. And then he was up on to the opposite bank, the damp grass brushing off his legs.

They ran at full speed across the flattest portion of the valley floor. It wasn’t long before they caught up with Rutilus and his men. Insults were thrown about who could sprint the fastest, and despite his nerves, Quintus grinned. The badinage was a good sign that morale was high. As the incline began to rise, the grass was replaced by small trees, bushes and rocks. The ascent became a matter of scrambling over boulders and shoving through thick scrub. An orange-yellow harvest moon hung low in the sky, while overhead countless stars glittered.

Moving slowly would still have posed some risk, but their urgency meant that it was impossible to avoid harm. Curses rang out as toes were stubbed and flesh ripped open by thorns. Now and again, Quintus heard the impact of a body hitting the ground. It was difficult to see who had fallen but there was no time to stop and help. He had to trust that the unlucky men would only be lightly injured. Every spear would count at the ridge.

By the time he reached the peak, Quintus was vaguely aware of a bruised shin and a long, bleeding graze on one arm. To his left and right, the panting shapes of men emerged one after another. All his attention, however, was on the mass of enemy soldiers ascending from the plain. ‘Jupiter’s cock, they have moved fast,’ he swore.

Rutilus materialised by his side. ‘It will be a push to get to the saddle before them.’

‘We can do it, damn it!’ A glance back down the slope and Quintus’ unease lessened. The dark shapes of the legionaries were only a couple of hundred paces below them. The fight would just have started by the time they arrived. ‘Come on, lads,’ he cried, moving before his fear took a greater hold. Rutilus was more than equal to the challenge and took the lead once more. Quintus was determined not to be left behind. Neck and neck, they barged down the slope, trusting that their comrades were following. Afterwards, he would wish that he had checked. They were perhaps halfway down when someone gave him a tremendous shove in the back. He stumbled forward and his vision spun as he lost control. He saw stars, Rutilus’ back, burning torches and then the ground. His head slammed against a rock and Quintus knew no more.

He came to with someone slapping his face. Blinding pain was radiating from a spot above his left eye, and Quintus groaned.

‘He’s alive.’

‘Can you get up?’ The voice was low and urgent.

‘I think so.’ Strong arms raised him to his feet. Quintus was grateful that they didn’t let go of him at once. His knees shook from the effort of standing upright. It was odd, but he thought he could hear the bellowing of cattle.

‘You’re lucky that one of the lads saw you,’ said a burly hastatus. ‘What the hell happened? Did you trip?’

Macerio. It must’ve been he who pushed him, thought Quintus fuzzily. His wits were scrambled, but he knew better than to accuse a fellow soldier of something he had no way of proving. ‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Can you fight?’

He raised a trembling hand to his head, gingerly feeling where it hurt. His fingers came away sticky with blood. Quintus wiped them on his tunic. ‘Of course I can,’ he said. He looked down; confusion filled him. Then the bellowing he’d heard made sense. Hundreds and hundreds of cattle were stampeding across the saddle. A weird light flared from their heads.

‘Clever, eh?’ snarled the hastatus. ‘They’ve got torches tied to their horns. From a distance, each beast looks like two men.’