Ben Kane - Fields of Blood

‘You can ride behind me,’ said Quintus. ‘We’ll be back in the camp before you know it.’

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Quintus followed Calatinus through the trees. It was only then that he began to wonder how his father would react. Surely he’d be pleased? They had slain most of the Gauls and put to flight the rest — without any apparent losses. That had to be a good thing. Deep in his belly, however, Quintus wasn’t so sure.

Get back to the camp first, he told himself savagely. You can worry about it then.

By unhappy chance, Fabricius happened to be near the camp’s southern gate when the exhausted party got back. Snow was falling thickly, coating the ramparts, the ground and the soldiers’ cloaks and helmets, but that didn’t stop him from focusing on the nine riders as they passed through the entrance. His face twisted in disbelief as he recognised first Calatinus, and then Quintus. ‘Stop right there!’ he bellowed.

Their relief at reaching the camp dissipated a little, but they reined in. Quintus, numb with cold and half-conscious, mumbled a curse.

‘Curb your tongue, you insolent brat!’ roared Fabricius, approaching. He came in from their right, so he did not see the arrow in his son’s arm.

Quintus coloured. He made to speak again, but the combination of his father’s glare and his weakness held him silent.

Fabricius pinned Calatinus with his eyes. ‘What is the meaning of this? Where have you been?’

‘We, er, went hunting, sir.’

‘Hunting?’ Fabricius’ voice rose in disbelief. ‘In this weather? When you had a patrol to go on?’

‘The conditions weren’t too bad when we left, sir’ — here Calatinus looked to his companions for support — ‘and I think we’re still in time for the patrol.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Fabricius’ gaze moved along the line of horses, searching for bodies slung over their backs. Seeing nothing, his lips thinned. ‘Did you manage to bring down anything then?’

‘No game, sir, no.’ Calatinus couldn’t stop himself from grinning. ‘But we did kill four Gauls.’

‘Eh? What happened?’

Quintus’ mouth opened, but his father silenced him with a look.

Calatinus quickly told the story of the clash by the stream. As he mentioned Quintus being struck by an arrow, Fabricius rushed to his son’s side. ‘Where were you hit?’

‘I’m f-f-fine.’ Vaguely aware that he was slurring his words, Quintus tried to lift his left arm, but was unable to.

‘Hades below! You must go to the hospital at once.’ Fabricius took the horse’s reins. ‘Was anyone else injured?’

‘Our tenth companion didn’t appear at the appointed meeting place, sir,’ admitted Calatinus. ‘We waited for a little while, but the weather was worsening, so we carved the word “camp” on a tree trunk before we left, and hoped he would see that.’

‘One man lost, and another injured, for what — four measly Gauls?’ cried Fabricius. ‘Whose idea was this hare-brained expedition?’

‘It was mine, sir,’ replied Calatinus.

Quintus tried to protest, but his tongue wouldn’t move.

‘You’re a damn fool! We will speak later of this,’ snapped Fabricius. ‘Get back to your tents. You’ve got just enough time to fill your bellies and warm up before we ride out on patrol. I will leave my son in the care of the surgeon, and join you shortly.’

Quintus heard Calatinus mutter his good wishes. He was too tired to do more than nod.

‘Get off then,’ barked his father.

All at once, the world came rushing in on Quintus. He felt his thighs’ grip on his mount weaken; he began to lose his balance, could do nothing about it. ‘Father, I-’

‘Don’t talk. Conserve your strength.’ His father’s voice was surprisingly gentle.

Quintus didn’t hear it. In a dead faint, he slid off Calatinus’ horse to the ground.

Near Capua, Campania

‘Aurelia!’

She ignored her mother’s voice, which had carried all the way from the house to where she was standing, at the edge of their property. She’d been thinking about Quintus and Hanno, and her feet had carried her here of their own volition. This was the way the three of them used to come when they sneaked up into the woods. There Quintus had trained her to use a wooden, and then a real, sword. Atia called again, and Aurelia’s lips twitched with brief amusement. What would she, or her father, make of the fact that she could use a weapon? Ride a horse? Both activities were forbidden to women, but that hadn’t stopped Aurelia badgering Quintus to teach her. Eventually, he’d given in. How glad she was that he had; how she treasured the memories of those carefree times. But the world was different now, a harsher, darker place.

Rome was at war with Carthage, and her father and brother were possibly among its casualties.

Stop thinking like that! They’re still alive.

Fabricius had been the first to leave, riding away to fight a people whom he’d fought before, a generation ago. Quintus had gone a few months later, and he had taken Hanno too. Sadness filled Aurelia as she recalled saying goodbye to her brother, and to the slave who had become a friend. If she admitted it, Hanno had perhaps meant something more. Yet he was one of the enemy now, and she would never see him again. That hurt more than she cared to concede. Sometimes she dreamed about running away, to Carthage, to be reunited with him. Aurelia knew it for a crazy fantasy. Yet there was more hope of achieving that than seeing Hanno’s friend Suniaton — Suni — again, she thought sadly.

‘Aurelia? Can you hear me?’

Remembering the horror, she walked a few steps further. Against all wise judgement, but with little other choice, Aurelia had brought an injured Suni from the shepherd’s hut where he’d been hiding back to the family house. Runaway slaves weren’t uncommon, and he had pretended to be mute. The ruse had pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes for a time, but then she had made the worst mistake of her life, calling him by his real name instead of his assumed one. It wouldn’t have mattered if Agesandros, the farm’s overseer, hadn’t overheard her and put two and two together. Embittered by the murder of his entire family by the Carthaginians during the previous war, he had slain Suni before her very eyes. Aurelia could still see the knife slipping between Suni’s ribs, the blood soaking through his tunic and the odd tenderness with which Agesandros had lowered him to the floor. She could still hear Suni’s last shuddering gasp.

‘Where are you, child?’ Atia was beginning to sound annoyed.

Aurelia didn’t care. In fact, she was glad. Relations with her mother had been cool — to say the least — since Suni’s death. This was because despite some initial misgivings, Atia had accepted Agesandros’ explanation that Suni had been a Carthaginian and, worse still, a fugitive gladiator who had joined the household by subterfuge. He had been a danger to everyone in the household; all the overseer had done was to rid them of a lethal threat. ‘I know you thought of the boy as harmless, dear,’ Atia had sighed. ‘With his maimed leg, so did I. But Agesandros saw through him, thank the gods. Remember, the injured viper can still deliver a fatal bite.’ Aurelia had protested vociferously, but her mother had put her foot down. Mindful of her need to protect Quintus’ involvement in Hanno’s escape, Aurelia hadn’t been able to reveal more.

‘Gaius is here! He has come all the way from Capua. Don’t you want to see him?’

Aurelia’s head snapped around. Gaius Martialis was Quintus’ oldest and closest friend; she had known him since she was tiny. He was steady, brave and funny, and she had a lot of time for him. Yet at their last meeting, a few weeks previously, he’d brought news that had rocked her world. Hundreds of Romans had been lost in the cavalry clash against Hannibal at the Ticinus; there had been no word of her father and Quintus, or of Flaccus, the high-ranking noble to whom she had been betrothed. She and her mother had lived in painful uncertainty since. Since hearing of the subsequent and unexpected defeat at the Trebia — the Senate had called it a ‘setback’, but everyone knew that for a lie — their anguish had known no bounds. In all likelihood, at least one of the three men had died, probably more. How could they have survived when more than twenty thousand others had not? Aurelia felt sick at the thought of it, but something in her mother’s voice gave her hope.