Ben Kane - Clouds of War

It would have taken Hercules himself to stop Quintus and his comrades from reaching the ramparts over the Hexapyla gate. The momentousness of what they were doing had really sunk in now. The tower’s garrison, some hundred soldiers, was as deeply asleep as that at the Galeagra had been. They died without waking in their beds, on the floors where they had fallen down drunk, and in the latrines, where several had collapsed. Inevitably, a couple of men were roused by the muffled sounds; they cried out as they died, but the noise made no difference to the final outcome. Groups of hastati were moving through all the other rooms, thrusting, hacking, stabbing. By the time that Quintus and his comrades stood atop the massive gate, the light of the rising sun revealed them to be spattered with blood from head to foot. From below, they could hear other soldiers heaving back the great bolts that sealed the portal. Soon after, a hastatus arrived to tell them that the postern gate was also in Roman hands.

‘We’ve done it,’ said Urceus, chuckling like a maniac. ‘We’ve fucking done it.’

‘Almost. We find Pera next,’ Quintus added in a whisper.

They would do this together, without involving Placidus or the rest. No blame could be laid on their tent mates if they’d been with the maniple for the entire duration of the attack. Corax might notice that the pair were gone, but he wouldn’t be able to do a thing until they returned. Quintus already had a story concocted about being swept away from the unit in a fight and not being able to find it again in the confusion.

Corax appeared from the gate below. ‘It’s open, but I want no overconfidence. The army isn’t inside yet.’ There was a trumpet in his hands. ‘This is Roman. It must have been taken after our first assault. Crespo, can you sound it?’

Quintus’ heart sang. This was another acknowledgement of what he’d done. ‘I’ll do my best, sir.’ He raised the instrument to his lips, took a deep breath, and blew with all his might. The discordant noise that emerged had a smiling Corax and Urceus stick their fingers in their ears. Quintus sounded it again and again, shredding the night air with his cacophony until he felt breathless.

Still chuckling, Corax cupped a hand to the side of his head and leaned out over the rampart. ‘Listen.’

First, Quintus heard the shouts of officers. Then, the familiar tramp, tramp, tramp of thousands of sandals hitting the ground in unison. Marcellus’ legions, which had been assembling under the cover of darkness for this moment, were answering his summons. ‘Syracuse is ours, sir,’ he said proudly.

‘I don’t owe you that wine just yet, Crespo,’ warned Corax. ‘But I’d say it could be yours by the day’s end if the gods continue to smile on us as they have done this night. Our orders now are to take Epipolae, the area to the west of here, first. We’re to be ready to face enemy attacks from every direction. The most likely responses will come from the east or southeast, towards Achradina and Ortygia. That’s where our intelligence tells us that Epicydes is. He won’t want to let his city fall without a fight.’

‘Let them come, sir,’ said Urceus fiercely.

Corax looked pleased. ‘It’s time to send the fear of Hades into the hearts of everyone inside the walls. Make as much noise as you can from this point. We’ll head south, to the limits of Epipolae. Assemble with the rest of the men, outside.’ He was gone even as they replied.

‘Now’s our moment,’ hissed Quintus.

Urceus lifted his gladius, which was red from tip to hilt. ‘Aye. It’s time to avenge Marius.’

Aurelia rolled over and sleepily reached out a hand to where Hanno should have been. Her fingers met only cold blankets. Waking, she remembered. This was the second night running that he hadn’t been there. She still wasn’t used to Publius’ absence, which meant that she missed Hanno’s warmth in the bed even more. Yet she couldn’t deny him the pleasure of a couple of big drinking sessions. What he and Kleitos had done the previous evening was already the stuff of legend. The story of how they had daringly sacrificed to Artemis outside the walls, before putting to flight a large Roman patrol, had swept through the city as if borne by the wind itself.

It might have been so different if the legionaries hadn’t been panicked by Kleitos’ carnyx, but Aurelia had refrained from mentioning that. Such a huge boost to everyone’s morale had been worth it, for the long months of siege had taken their toll. Even Hanno, who like her had had the freedom of a period in Akragas, had grown tired of it all. She was heartily sick of it; of the shortages of foodstuffs and essentials such as lamp oil; of the refugees who, having fled the Roman legions as they closed in, were packing the city until it bulged at the seams; of the soldiers who felt that it was their god-given right to harass every able-bodied woman they saw. An image of Pox Face came to mind, and Aurelia sighed. So far there had been no instances like that — she didn’t go out very often, and wore a hooded cloak when she did — but any hope of getting back to sleep had just vanished.

Aurelia looked down to the foot of the bed, where the cat was still curled up, asleep. Bless him, she thought. She fed him some scraps from her plate when Hanno wasn’t about, but meat was far too scarce a commodity to give to a pet cat. If it weren’t for the young boys in the neighbouring apartments who hunted rats for sport, Hannibal would have had precious little to eat. With a little luck, they’d deliver one or two later. The small silver coin that Aurelia gave them once a week meant that they tended not to forget. It was fortunate that the boys also liked feeding the cat, because it meant that Aurelia didn’t have to handle the dead rodents. She had insisted it was done in one of the nearby alleys.

After a little while, she rose and got dressed. Sunlight was starting to creep through the gaps in the shutter slats, which meant that it was nearly time to begin the day. If she went to the bakery now, there was more chance of getting some bread. It was nicer hot from the oven too. The fishermen would have returned from their night’s activities, Aurelia realised with a flash of excitement. Fish was one of the few commodities in abundant supply, and Hanno might appreciate a plate of fried tuna or mackerel later. It was worth walking several streets to the fishmonger’s to check what he had in. While she was there, she could look in the market for some vegetables.

A sharp pang of grief struck home. It still felt odd to consider going out without Publius. I miss you every day, little one, she thought. May the gods look after you in Elysium. I will join you there one day. When he’d died, she had wanted to follow him daily, but her love for Hanno had changed that. There was only one life, and it had to be lived, not ended prematurely. She’d see Publius again when her time came. Before that, she hoped to have children with Hanno. Not now, for that would be insane, but when the peace that she longed for arrived. Until then, she would continue to take the herbs sold by certain midwives.

A boy shouted on the street, and she smiled. It was the red-haired, sturdy leader of the rat-catchers. Hanno had said that — red hair aside — the boy reminded him of himself when he was young. The idea of having a miniature version of Hanno to look after warmed Aurelia’s heart. Gathering up her wicker basket and purse, she prepared to go out.

Tan-tara. Tan-tara-tara . The sound repeated, over and over. Tan-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara. Tan-tara-tara .

The sound dragged Hanno up from the depths of unconsciousness. That’s a trumpet, he thought dully. A fucking trumpet. Whoever’s blowing it needs the thing shoved up his arse. That would soon shut him up.