Ben Kane - Fields of Blood

‘Does he say ought of the battle at the Trebia?’ asked Gaius.

Atia read on. ‘A little. The fighting there was even more intense than at the Ticinus. The weather was appalling. To reach the battle, our troops had to cross several streams. By the time the battle began, they were soaking wet and freezing cold. Hannibal’s troops, his cavalry in particular, fought very well. He also sprang an ambush on the rear of our army. Both flanks broke under the pressure.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Your father and Quintus were lucky to escape the slaughter. With a band of others, they made for the safety of Placentia. Longus arrived a few hours later with around ten thousand legionaries.’

Aurelia tried to imagine the scene. She shuddered. ‘It must have been carnage.’

‘It was terrible,’ agreed Lucilius. ‘Or so my comrades say.’

‘You weren’t at the Trebia?’

A grimace. ‘To my shame, I was not, my lady. As a messenger, I am often away from the army. It was my bad luck not to be present at the battle.’

‘Or your good fortune,’ said Atia.

A lopsided smile. ‘You might think so, but I would have wished to have been there with my comrades.’

‘There is no shame in doing your duty,’ said Atia. ‘You can take pride today in what you have done as well. Our lives have been a complete torment since hearing of the events in Cisalpine Gaul. Although the war is still going on, we can take great consolation from the fact that our men are alive.’

Lucilius half bowed.

‘Will you stay for a little while, to rest and eat?’

‘Thank you, my lady. Some hot food would be welcome, but then I must be on my way again. I have to return to Rome. The Senate will have messages for me to carry to Longus and Scipio.’

‘Agesandros, take Lucilius to the dining room,’ ordered Atia. ‘Tell Julius to bring him the best food in the kitchen.’

Aurelia watched the pair go. Her heart was singing. Quintus and her father were alive! She thought of Flaccus, and her feelings crystallised. It was sad that he was dead, but she wasn’t especially sorry. Their betrothal was over now: she was promised to no one. Lifting her head, she found Gaius watching her. Colour flooded her cheeks as her desire for him returned. At that, she felt a little shame. But only a little.

‘It’s sad that Flaccus is gone,’ said her mother. ‘We must travel to Capua soon, to offer a sacrifice in his memory at the temple of Mars.’

Aurelia nodded, pretending that she cared. All her attention was on Gaius, though. A daring idea entered her mind. Perhaps she could win his affections?

Atia’s next words shattered her fantasy. ‘After a suitable period, the search for a suitable match for you will need to be renewed.’

Aurelia shot her mother a poisonous glance. Fortunately, it wasn’t noticed. Atia had gone to the lararium, there to give thanks for Lucilius’ news.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Gaius. ‘She’ll find you a good man.’

‘Really? All they’re looking for is a man who’s rich and important,’ Aurelia shot back. What she didn’t dare to add was: ‘I want someone like you.’

Victumulae, Cisalpine Gaul

Hanno’s admiration for Bogu had risen considerably. The spearman had been tougher than he could ever have imagined. He had soaked up the officer’s punishment, answering questions only when he could take the pain no more. Somehow Bogu had managed to give only snippets of information, which meant that the officer had to keep probing him for more. He had done so with great zeal, using sharp pliers to remove Bogu’s fingernails. Now reddish serum oozed from the letter ‘F’ on the spearman’s forehead. There were burns all over his body. He’d had glowing pokers shoved into both of his wounds. After a few hours, his great strength had ebbed away. Weakened by blood loss and the unremitting agony of his injuries, he had lapsed into unconsciousness. Two buckets of water roused him a little, but not enough to face further interrogation. Now Bogu hung like a discarded puppet from the rope, his head lolling on to his chest. It would be a miracle if he survived to see the morning, thought Hanno bitterly. Whenever that would be. In the windowless cell, time meant nothing.

Before Bogu died, however, Hanno would face the same treatment. The irons were ready; the legionaries watching; the slave waiting to interpret. The officer had left, promising to be back soon. Hanno’s fate was sealed. His guts roiled in fear. The stabbing pain in his belly took his mind off the throbbing ache in his shoulder joints, for a moment at least. He could no longer feel his hands below the wrists. Not that that mattered. He would be dead soon, and his last few hours would be excruciating. Shameful too, because he feared his ability to take pain would be as nothing compared to Bogu’s. Why could he not have died in battle, fighting for Hannibal? That death he could have borne.

Steps outside. A loud creak as the door opened inwards to reveal the smiling officer.

Sweat slicked down Hanno’s back.

‘That’s better.’ The Roman slapped his stomach. ‘I had a hunger on me like a wild beast. Now I’m ready to start work again.’

Work? You’re a damn monster, thought Hanno.

The triarii shared an envious glance. There had been no mention of food for them.

‘Rations might be tight, but for the right price, there’s still meat and cheese to be found.’ He leered at Hanno. ‘Fancy that?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

A dirty chuckle; a gesture at Bogu. ‘I’m not surprised. He’d put anyone off their dinner. Bet you’re thirsty, eh?’

Hanno’s mouth was as dry as a riverbed in high summer, but he didn’t utter a word.

The officer picked up a red clay jug from the table, and placed it to Hanno’s lips. ‘Drink.’

It’s piss, thought Hanno, keeping his mouth firmly shut.

The officer tipped the jug up. A little fluid poured out. To Hanno’s surprise, it didn’t smell bad. His thirst got the better of him. He tasted it and was amazed. The liquid was stale, warm, but it was water. Opening his mouth, he let the officer pour more down his throat. Unable to swallow it fast enough, some went into his windpipe. He jerked his head away, coughing. The movement made fresh pain radiate from his shoulders.

The officer laughed. ‘Had enough?’

He was only being offered it so that he’d be able to endure more torture, but Hanno was so thirsty that he didn’t care. ‘More.’ He managed to swallow three mouthfuls before the officer took away the jug.

‘Right. Back to business.’ Using a piece of cloth to protect his hand from the heat, the officer trailed his fingers over the irons that jutted from the brazier. ‘Which one shall we start with?’ He pulled out the length of metal with the ‘F’ on the end of it, and the triarii sniggered. Hanno thought he would lose control of his sphincter. Not that, please.

‘It’s too soon for that one.’ He selected another, a simple poker. Its end glowed white hot as it emerged from the fire. The officer studied it with a bemused look.

Eshmoun, Hanno prayed. Lend me some of your strength, for I am weak. He tensed as the officer stalked over. Bogu had revealed a substantial amount about Hannibal’s army. What else would the Roman want to know?

Without a word, the officer reached up and placed the poker against his left armpit.

Shock that there hadn’t even been a question filled Hanno, but the burning agony from the hot metal was far worse. A bellow ripped free of his lips, and he was unable to stop himself from jerking away to try and escape his tormentor. This in turn nearly wrenched his arms from their sockets. He sagged back down, straight on to the poker. ‘AAAAAHHHHH!’ Hanno screamed, pushing backwards with his toes.