Ben Kane - Clouds of War

Most of what Quintus saw was far worse, however, and the horror was impossible to ignore. In the middle of one lane was the corpse of a child — a boy, a girl, Quintus couldn’t tell — without a head. In another, an old man sprawled over the body of a woman of the same age, attempting even in death to protect her. Both had been stabbed so many times that their garments were saturated with blood. A pregnant woman tried to give birth where she lay, her grievous wounds ensuring that she would die before her labour ever ended. A tiny baby in swaddling clothes mewled its distress from the arms of its dead mother. The air reverberated with shouted orders, war cries and the clash of arms. Mixed with these were screams of fear and shrill voices calling on gods and goddesses, asking for their help, their intervention — anything to stop the slaughter — or seeking family members lost in the confusion. Another sound was also constant: the terrible screeches of women who were being raped. Quintus blocked it out as best he could.

At some stage in the morning, the noise of fighting grew deafening. It didn’t take long for the friends to find out why. Epicydes had sallied forth from Ortygia with his forces. All Roman soldiers were to advance to the edge of Epipolae, there to put themselves at the disposal of the officers present.

It was Urceus who called a halt to their search. ‘Face it, Crespo. We’re never going to find him. There hasn’t been hide nor hair of the cocksucker. I don’t like it any more than you do, but it’s time to find Corax and our brothers. If we don’t, some whoreson of an officer is going to accuse us of shirking our duty. We’ve pushed our luck too often on that score.’

Quintus scowled. Much as he didn’t want to admit it, his friend was right. ‘Very well.’

It wasn’t difficult to know which way to go. Every Roman soldier in sight was heading south, or southeast. Officers chivvied them along with encouraging shouts, but the streets were so full that the pace was slow. The two friends had little option but to trudge along with the multitude, and after a while, Quintus grew sick of it. Spotting an alley that ran at right angles to the thoroughfare that they were on, he nudged Urceus. ‘Let’s try that. What have we to lose? We can always retrace our steps, or cut down on to another street that might be less crowded.’

Grumbling under his breath, Urceus followed Quintus. Ten steps in, he stopped dead. ‘This is human shit underfoot. Filthy Syracusan arse-lovers.’

‘Keep going. There isn’t any where I’m standing,’ lied Quintus. By the time that they emerged at the far end of the alleyway, he couldn’t stop chuckling.

‘You bastard. I’ll get you back for this,’ warned Urceus, doing his best to wipe the excrement off his sandals.

‘You can try,’ retorted Quintus, enjoying the moment’s light relief.

Jinking down alleys whenever they could, they made reasonable progress. The noise of metal hitting metal, and men’s screams, drew nearer. Quintus felt his stomach clench, the way it always did before he went into battle. He eyed Urceus, who was licking his lips. ‘It won’t take long, eh? With so many of us inside the city walls, the Syracusans won’t have much stomach for a fight.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ It seemed that Urceus wasn’t looking forward to it either, because his gaze slid sideways. ‘Look! A wine shop. The door’s open too. Why don’t we have a swift drink? Just one. It’ll knock the edges off us.’

‘Aye. Why not? The battle can wait a while longer,’ Quintus replied. The wine might blank out some of the appalling things he’d just seen.

But what they saw inside drove all thoughts of wine from their minds.

A man lay slumped against the counter, his head on his chest. One hand was cupped protectively over his belly. Blood oozed between his fingers, coated his mail, stained his pteryges scarlet. A glistening red trail on the floor reached to his feet, marking his path from the spot where he had been stabbed.

Corax.

Quintus’ gaze shot around the room, but he saw no one. Spitting curses, he raced to Corax’s side. Urceus was one step behind him. They knelt, glancing at each other in fear. ‘Is he dead?’ whispered Urceus.

Quintus reached out and touched Corax’s cheek. It was cold, but not deathly so. With great care, he tipped the centurion’s head back. There was a low clang as Corax’s helmet touched the wall. He moaned, and his eyelids flickered. Quintus and Urceus exchanged another look, hopeful this time.

‘Sir?’ murmured Quintus. ‘Can you hear me?’

Corax let out another moan. ‘Should have … should have known …’

‘It’s me, Crespo, sir. Jug’s here too.’

One corner of Corax’s lips pulled upwards. ‘Crespo. Jug …’ A moment later, he opened his eyes. ‘Take my helmet off. It feels as if it’s made of lead.’

Quintus hurriedly undid the chinstrap and lifted the helmet off Corax’s head. Underneath, the centurion’s felt liner was drenched in sweat.

‘That’s better,’ muttered Corax.

‘Let me take a look at your stomach, sir,’ offered Quintus, his hands reaching for Corax’s belt buckle.

‘Leave it.’ A trace of the familiar iron had reappeared in Corax’s voice. ‘I’m done.’

This time the look Quintus and Urceus shared was despairing. ‘Are you thirsty, sir?’ Quintus asked.

‘No.’ Corax managed a little chuckle. ‘It’s ironic to die in a wine shop without even getting to taste what it has to offer. Ah, Crespo, you were right. I should have known.’

Black fear slithered around Quintus’ stomach, but he dared not vocalise it. ‘I don’t understand, sir.’

‘That Pera was a murderous dog.’

An incandescent rage darkened Quintus’ vision. He heard Urceus’ voice asking, ‘Pera did this to you, sir? Not some Syracusans?’

‘Pera. It was Pera. He lured me in here with a simple ruse, promising the finest vintage he had ever tasted. Like a fool, I sent my men away, told them I’d find them later.’ Corax coughed. There was fluid on his breath. ‘He stuck me the moment we were on our own. I never had a chance.’

Quintus wanted to find Pera and slice him to pieces, but he knew in his gut that the centurion was long gone. ‘Why did he do it, sir?’

‘Because … because of the hold I have over him. He’s scared that Marcellus will find out he’s a mollis.’

The friends gasped in unison, in shock. Love of another man was outlawed in the army.

Pera must also have hated that Corax had defended him, Quintus decided. Guilt scourged him.

‘I never imagined that another centurion would kill me …’ Corax’s voice died away.

Quintus thought for a moment that Corax had gone. Hot tears ran down his face. Urceus was in a similar state. ‘He was the best damn centurion in the whole Roman army,’ he whispered.

Corax took a shuddering breath, visibly rallied himself. ‘You’re good men, both of you. Promise that you’ll get Pera for this. I’d hate to go thinking that he got away with it.’

‘I’ll kill Pera if it’s the last thing I do, sir,’ swore Quintus.

‘Same here, sir,’ said Urceus fervently.

Satisfied, Corax closed his eyes. A moment later, he shivered. ‘I’m cold.’

Quintus could see nothing in the room that they could use as a blanket, but by the time his gaze had returned to Corax, it was too late. The centurion had stopped breathing. His eyes had opened again, and had a glassy look to them. Quintus checked for a pulse, but there was none. He bent to Corax’s lips, to let his soul leave his body.

‘He bled out.’ Urceus’ voice was tight with emotion. ‘Bled out, like a stuck pig.’

‘That fucking whoreson Pera will pay for this,’ said Quintus. ‘Even if I have to hunt him for the rest of my life.’