Ben Kane - Fields of Blood

Waking Mutt, Hanno issued orders to fetch water from the river and whatever food could be found. ‘Once you’ve done that, start looking for men of ours who are alive. Carry them here and do what you can for them. We’ll get them back to the camp later.’

‘And the Romans we find still breathing?’ asked Mutt.

‘You know what to do with them.’

‘Aye, sir.’ Mutt’s expression became shrewd. ‘You going to search for your family?’

‘Yes.’

‘The gods grant that they all made it, sir.’

Hanno threw Mutt a grateful look and left him to it. Sapho had been closest to them during the battle, so he made for his position first. He found his brother sitting propped up against a pile of Roman corpses, setting his men similar tasks to Hanno’s. A bloody bandage around his right calf explained why he was seated.

‘Hanno!’ A broad smile creased Sapho’s face as he approached. ‘You’re alive!’

‘It’s good to see you, brother!’ Despite all that had passed between them, Hanno felt his heart swell with happiness. He knelt by Sapho and they embraced. ‘You’re hurt. Is it serious?’

‘It’s not too bad.’ Sapho scowled. ‘The last fucking Roman I killed got me as he went down. It shouldn’t have happened, but I was tired.’

‘We all were by the end of it,’ said Hanno. ‘What a day, eh?’

‘Hannibal’s name will go down in history for this,’ said Sapho.

‘Without doubt,’ agreed Hanno. Hannibal could now do no wrong in his eyes.

They savoured that thought for a moment.

‘Have you seen Father and Bostar?’ asked Hanno.

‘Not yet, but I’ve sent a soldier to search for them.’

Hanno rose. ‘I’m going too.’

‘Eshmoun guide you to their sides. Bring me word as soon as you can.’

‘I will.’

Using the line of hills as a reference point, Hanno slowly made his way across the battlefield. The area he crossed was where the main body of legionaries had fought — and died. For every Carthaginian soldier’s body, he counted at least half a dozen Roman. Plenty of men from both sides were alive. Many, even the Romans, raised their hands in supplication to him, pleading for water, or an end to their suffering. Hardening his heart, Hanno stalked by without a second glance. The Roman corpses made him think of Quintus and Fabricius. He hoped for Aurelia’s sake, and the friendship that had once existed between him and Quintus, that both men had survived. There were groups of Iberians and Gauls everywhere, men who must also have spent the night in the field. Now they were scouring the dead for valuables. From the cries of pain that rose regularly, they were also indulging in a little torment of any living enemies whom they encountered. Hanno didn’t really approve, but such behaviour was the norm, so he shut his ears and averted his gaze and walked on.

He found where the Libyans had stood on the opposite flank a short time later. Clusters of weary-faced soldiers stood around, sharing water skins and talking in low voices amongst themselves. Hanno practically ran up to the first group. ‘I’m looking for Malchus,’ he said, butting in. ‘Or Bostar, who commanded a phalanx.’

‘You must be another of Malchus’ sons, sir,’ said one of the Libyans, a bearded man with a hooked nose.

‘Yes, yes, I am Hanno. Well?’

‘I haven’t seen Malchus since yesterday, sir, but Bostar’s been here, talking to our commanding officer.’

Hanno’s heart leaped with joy. ‘Where is he?’

‘Last I saw of him, sir, he was walking that way.’ The soldier pointed off to his left. ‘That was where Malchus’ phalanx was positioned. About a hundred paces away.’

Hanno grinned. He would be reunited with his father and brother at the same time. ‘My thanks.’ He hurried off as fast as his tired limbs would take him. Gods, but he was looking forward to getting drunk with Bostar that night. Sapho too. He grinned. After such a momentous day, their father might even shed his normal reserve and join them.

The happy thought vanished as he recognised Bostar’s outline. His brother was kneeling with his back to Hanno. A body lay on the ground before him. Bostar’s slumped shoulders told Hanno everything he needed to know. ‘No. Please. Father!’ He covered the distance between them in a heartbeat. His stomach lurched as he took in the bloodied shape of his father. He was clearly dead. Hanno froze, and a great wave of anguish washed over him.

Bostar’s head turned. Tears had run tracks through the blood that coated his grief-stricken face. But the corners of his lips turned up at the sight of Hanno, and he stood. ‘Brother!’

Hanno tore his eyes from his father’s corpse, stared at Bostar, felt tears run down his own cheeks. They wrapped their arms around one another and held on for dear life. Both men wept unashamedly. ‘Sapho is alive,’ murmured Hanno after a little while. Bostar stiffened, before answering, ‘That is good.’ There was no need to say any more.

It was a long time before either released his grip. When they did, the pair turned instinctively to look down on their father. Despite a number of fearsome injuries, all of which were to his front, Malchus’ face was serene. He looked years younger than his age.

‘He wouldn’t have wanted to go any other way,’ said Hanno, proud but sad.

‘I agree. His men told me that the Romans in this section had already broken when he took his mortal wound. So he knew that we had won.’

‘Maybe that’s why he looks so peaceful,’ said Hanno in wonderment.

‘I think that’s exactly why. Once he knew that Hannibal’s plan had worked, death would have been a release for him. Father would never have admitted it, but all he really wanted after Mother died was to be with her once more. Remember how he changed when she was gone?’

‘I do,’ murmured Hanno. Arishat, their mother, had been the light of their father’s life. ‘I always felt that something in him died with her.’

‘Now they can be together again.’

‘It’s good to think of them like that.’ Hanno felt his grief ease a little. Farewell, Father. Greetings, Mother. Look after one another.

‘They can watch over us as we march on to victory over Rome,’ added Bostar, throwing an arm over Hanno’s shoulders.

Hanno liked that image. It seemed fitting, somehow. ‘You think that will be Hannibal’s next move?’

‘I’m not sure. To be honest, brother, I don’t care that much at this very moment. After what we did yesterday, every Roman will be shitting themselves about what we do next. For now, let’s remember Father and the rest of our dead, and celebrate our achievement.’

‘Aye. I think Father would have wanted us to rejoice over this victory,’ said Hanno. ‘Before I found you, I had hoped he might join us in a drink tonight.’

Bostar chuckled. ‘You know, I think he would have, just this once. We’ll keep a brimming cup for him this evening, eh?’

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Hanno nodded. Their father would never be forgotten — and nor would their victory here, on the fields of blood.

Capua, two days later. .

The wailing started just after dawn. It began as a few isolated cries of dismay, like those of a family discovering the death of a loved one. It wasn’t long, however, before other voices joined in: scores, and then hundreds of them. Aurelia was already awake, nursing Publius. Unsettled, she carried him — still on the breast — out into the courtyard. Here the volume was far louder, even more disconcerting, and Publius became distressed. As she tried to soothe him, Lucius emerged half-dressed from his bedroom, looking angry and alarmed. Almost every slave in the household was lurking by the doors to the kitchen, whispering, pointing, muttering prayers. Yet more voices joined the clamour and a cold knot of apprehension formed in Aurelia’s gut. ‘What’s going on?’