Ben Kane - Clouds of War

‘You won’t be alone.’

Both of them wept for a time. There was no shame in it. They had been through so much together, and Corax had always been there to lead them. He had been a permanent feature in their lives, like a great sea wall upon which the waves endlessly break. No matter how bad the situation, they had been able to depend on Corax. The disasters at Trasimene, Cannae and, more recently, Syracuse, had not shaken his resolve. And now he was gone, just like that. Murdered by one of his own. It was so damn pointless, thought Quintus bitterly. Pera would die for what he had done.

When they had reined in their anger and grief a little, they laid Corax out on the floor of an empty storeroom with his hands folded on his chest.

‘Let’s hope that none of our lot touch him,’ said Quintus, knowing that some soldiers wouldn’t think twice about taking something as fine as Corax’s sword.

‘With a bit of luck, they’ll be more interested in the wine. No Syracusans will come in either. They’re all too damn scared. Corax will rest here until we can come back for him.’

Quintus nodded sadly. ‘Aye. We need to find the rest of the maniple. Tell them what happened.’

‘The gods help Pera when we tell the lads. They will want to tear him limb from limb.’

‘We might get lucky and come across him somewhere. I’ll offer up a prize bull to Fortuna if we kill him today,’ swore Quintus.

‘Make that two bulls. And if we don’t find him, well, some Syracusans will do instead.’ Urceus laughed unpleasantly.

Quintus recognised the same ugly feeling in himself. He wasn’t interested in slaying unarmed civilians, but if there were enemy soldiers to lay in the mud, that was a different matter. It wouldn’t bring back Corax, but it would release some of his overpowering rage. In a savage way, harking back to ancient times, it could be considered a sacrifice in the centurion’s honour. After that, Quintus wanted wine. More wine than he had ever drunk in his life.

Then, if Pera wasn’t already dead, he, Urceus and those who wanted to be involved could begin laying their plans. It was a matter that they, the ordinary soldiers, would have to solve for themselves, for there was no way of proving what Pera had done. The knowledge that his comrades would want to help did little to ease Quintus’ pain, which pressed like a heavy weight on his chest. But it gave him a focus, for which he was grateful. Without it, he would have been lost. Keep breathing, he thought. Keep walking. Do as Corax would have wished. Stay alive.

At first, Hanno and Aurelia had made good progress. His plan was to follow the southern city wall as it snaked its way along a ridge from the Euryalus fortress towards the sea. After perhaps fifteen stadia, they would have to negotiate the slope down into the walled suburb of Neapolis, where he hoped to find refuge. If it had fallen, however, Achradina and its strong defences were not far away. The idea had seemed excellent, but to Hanno’s rising frustration, he had not been the only person to have it.

Within three stadia, the narrow, unpaved street that ran along in the shadow of the high wall became clogged with humanity. Entire families — grandparents, mothers, fathers and terrified-looking children — walked together, the adults carrying their most prized possessions on their backs. Dogs — their family pets — ran up and down between the groupings, sniffing noses and barking incessantly. One optimist had decided to take his fattening pig with him, on a lead. It snorted and grunted its unhappiness at being in such a crowd. Hanno laughed when, after not long at all, it decided that it had had enough and charged off up an alley, leaving its cursing owner with nothing more than a length of rope. Shopkeepers and craftsmen laboured along, bent under the weight of goods, tools and, from the chinking sound, bags of money. There were even a couple of merchants with overloaded ox-drawn carts, which almost blocked the street.

‘They’re fools,’ he complained to Aurelia. ‘At times like this, what’s important is your own skin. But none of them can see it!’

‘You’re a soldier, Hanno. You intuitively know what to do in situations like this. These people don’t.’

‘It’ll be the death of them,’ declared Hanno more harshly than he might have if they hadn’t been in such danger. If he hadn’t forbidden Aurelia to look for Elira, hadn’t insisted that she leave her cat behind. ‘We’ll never reach safety at this rate.’

‘Where are you taking us?’ asked Aurelia as they ducked into a lane so narrow that a fat man would have to walk sideways in it.

‘I’ve no idea. It doesn’t matter, really, as long as it’s away from where we were.’ Hanno could picture the slaughter that would happen if — when — the legionaries arrived. ‘We need another street that runs southeast, towards Neapolis and Achradina.’

Her answering smile wasn’t convincing, but Hanno didn’t have the time to reassure her. Never had time been more of the essence.

It didn’t take long to find a thoroughfare that led where they wanted, but it was even more crowded than the street by the wall. Against his better judgement, but gambling that there would be fewer people about, Hanno led them further north, closer to the city centre — and the Romans. His ploy worked for a while. They made their way through an abandoned market surrounded by shops and temples, and into an affluent residential area full of apartment blocks that rose three and four storeys high. Most of the residents had already fled; only the stubborn, old and criminal remained. A number of the latter eyed Aurelia with lustful eyes. At first, Hanno’s drawn sword and fierce demeanour were enough to intimidate such lowlifes, but when five ganged up together, their courage suddenly soared. It vanished as fast when two of their number were choking to death on their own blood. Hanno left the shocked survivors to their own devices, shoving Aurelia away. ‘They’re cowards. Once we’re out of sight, we’ll be safe.’ From those ones, perhaps, his worried side retorted. What about the thousands of Romans?

They saw no legionaries for some time, however, and Hanno began to hope that they might reach Achradina, their new objective. What he hadn’t gambled on was getting lost. Smoke from burning buildings filled the sky, preventing him from using the sun as a guide. He wasn’t familiar with many of the streets off the main avenues and had been using the noise of fighting as an approximate pointer to keep them heading in an easterly direction. Too late, he realised his error. Battles were raging in whole swathes of Syracuse. Nor had all the defenders fled. When they stumbled upon a group of Syracusan troops under the command of a determined-looking officer, Hanno was forced to join them. It was only the arrival of large numbers of Romans at the other end of the street that gave him and Aurelia the opportunity to run. Curses followed the pair as they charged down an alley. Hanno took the rear, in case they were pursued. After fifty paces, the lane gave on to a triangular-shaped area lined by shops and with a central fountain. Aurelia halted abruptly. Hanno peered over her shoulder and cursed. It was full of legionaries. Some were ransacking the businesses, while others were busy with several wailing women and girls whom they’d captured. The bodies of those they’d already slain — a couple of middle-aged men and a boy — lay like bloody, discarded puppets on the ground.

Shouts and the sound of fighting came from behind them. They couldn’t go back, or forward. ‘What should we do?’ whispered Aurelia.

‘Stay where we are,’ replied Hanno grimly.

‘And if we’re seen?’

‘I’ll protect you.’ It sounded as stupid as Hanno had thought it would. He wasn’t Achilles, and she knew it too.