Ben Kane: Fields of Blood

Hanno padded up to one of the small windows on the villa’s south-facing wall and stared between the gaps in the closely spaced wooden slats. It was pitch black inside. He laid his ear against the cold shutters. He listened for a long time, but heard nothing. Reassured, he had the four files of men fall out.

‘Be careful, sir,’ whispered Mutt.

‘I will. Remember, if there’s any sign of Roman troops, you’re to pull back. I don’t want to lose men in a pointless clash.’

‘And you, sir?’

‘I’ll be right behind you.’ Hanno threw him a confident grin. ‘To your position.’

Mutt saluted and withdrew. Hanno watched as most of the phalanx moved out of sight before he led his party forward. The three other files moved alongside his, the spearmen leading them parallel with Hanno. They paced along the length of the eastern wall, coming to a halt by the corner of the building that would open on to the courtyard. Before he exposed himself, Hanno took a couple of quick looks around the angle of the brickwork. The gloom afforded him little detail, but he discerned the outline of paved paths and manicured plants and trees: the household garden. A short distance away, towards the town, lay what looked like sheds, stables and a large barn. There was no sign of life. Feeling calmer, he eyed the three leading spearmen. ‘Search every building. Take only food. Stay alert. If you meet any serious resistance, pull back. I want no heroics in the dark. Clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ they whispered.

Hanno stepped around the corner; behind him, he sensed his soldiers following. There was a metallic tap as someone’s spear knocked off the helmet of the man in front. Hanno shot a furious glare over his shoulder, but didn’t pause. With luck, the sound wouldn’t have been loud enough to wake anyone who might be inside the villa. He traced his way along the wall, searching for the main entrance. It was twenty paces further on. It was a typical heavy wooden door, its surface studded with metal, and it was closed. Hanno pressed his fingers against the timbers and pushed. Nothing happened, so he pushed a little harder. His efforts made no difference. His heart began to race. Could someone be within, or had the door just been locked when the residents left?

Hanno could feel the weight of his men’s stares on his back. He ignored it as best he could. He was on the horns of a dilemma now. Anyone inside would be woken if he tried to force an entrance, but Hanno didn’t want to walk away. If the house turned out to be empty, then he would have given up without even trying. He moved away from the door and looked up, gauging the height of the roof. Laying his shield and spear to one side, he beckoned to the three nearest soldiers. ‘Bogu, you’re to come with me.’ As the shortest of the trio scurried over, Hanno pointed to the others. ‘You two can give us a boost up.’

They gave him a blank look.

‘Bogu and I will climb up, drop down the other side, and open the gate from within.’

‘Shall I go in your stead, sir?’ asked the older of the pair. ‘Save you the trouble.’

Hanno didn’t even consider the suggestion. His blood was up. ‘No. It won’t take us more than a few moments.’

Obediently, they shuffled in and made a bridge with their hands.

Hanno placed one foot on to their interlinked fingers. At once they swept him upwards. Throwing his arms forward to balance himself, he swung his free leg over and scrambled up on to the roof. The bottom of his bronze cuirass made a heavy, clunking sound as it connected with the tiles. Shit! Half kneeling, half upright, Hanno froze. For several heart-stopping moments, he heard nothing. Then the sound of someone moving into the courtyard. A cough, a snort. Hoyc-thth as the man spat. ‘Fucking cats,’ Hanno heard him mutter in Latin. ‘Always wandering around on the roof.’

Hanno waited, his pulse racing, as the man slouched back to his post, right under his very position. It had to be a doorman, he thought. Which possibly meant that the master of the house was at home. What should he do? It only took an instant to decide. If he left without proceeding further, he would have to live with the regret that he might have discovered something useful to Hannibal. What risk could there be anyway? He and Bogu were more than a match for some old, unfit slave. The fool had probably gone back to sleep already.

He leaned over and indicated that Bogu should join him.

Hanno hissed a warning about Bogu’s mail, and the soldier joined him on the roof with hardly a sound. ‘I heard one man below,’ Hanno whispered. ‘I’ll go first. You come down after.’

Taking great care not to let his cuirass or the tip of his scabbard touch the clay tiles, Hanno shuffled forward with bent knees. Reaching the apex of the roof, he stared downward. The courtyard within was typical, and resembled that in Quintus’ house. Covered walkways ran around the rectangular space. Ornamental shrubs and statues dotted the fringes. Fruit trees and short rows of vines filled most of the rest of the area, which was dominated by a central fountain, now frozen into silence. Not a soul was to be seen.

Content, Hanno eased himself on to the inward-sloping face of the roof. He realised at once that to descend safely, he needed to sit down. That meant his cuirass would clash off the tiles again, alerting the doorman. There was only one thing for it. Stand up, start to walk down the roof. Pick up speed. Reach the roof’s edge and jump. He filled Bogu in on his plan, ordering him to follow at once. Hanno expected to fall about his own height, landing on a mosaic floor. To roll and jump up, drag out his sword and kill the doorman before opening the portal to admit his soldiers.

He didn’t expect to land on top of the doorman, who had wandered back outside.

Nor in fact was he a doorman. He was a veteran legionary, a triarius , in full armour.

Hanno realised there was something wrong as they fell in a tumble of flailing limbs. Unfortunately, he was the one who cracked his head on the ground. His helmet took much of the impact, but it couldn’t prevent him from being momentarily stunned. In considerable pain, Hanno struggled to get his bearings. A punch from the enraged triarius didn’t help either, snapping his chin back and knocking his helmet against the floor again. Somehow he managed to wriggle free of the other’s grasping hands and clamber to his feet. The triarius did the same. In the flickering light cast by a lamp in a wall alcove, the pair studied one another, both equally stunned by what they saw.

What in Baal Hammon’s name is a legionary doing here? thought Hanno, fighting panic. He won’t be alone. ‘Bogu! Get down here!’

‘Gods above, you’re one of Hannibal’s men! Awake! Awake! We’re under attack!’ bellowed the Roman.

Hanno threw a glance at the door. His heart sank. It wasn’t just bolted; there was a large lock as well. His gaze shot back to the triarius. A bunch of keys hung from his gilded belt. Cursing, Hanno ripped out his sword. Their only chance was to kill the Roman as fast as possible and let the rest of his men in.

Shouting again for his comrades, the triarius pulled out his gladius . ‘Gugga filth!’

Hanno had been called a ‘little rat’ before, but the insult still stung. By way of answer, he aimed a savage thrust at the other’s belly. He laughed as the triarius dodged to the side, unable to block it. ‘Filth? You stink worse than a sow.’

A series of loud thumps on the roof presaged Bogu’s arrival. The spearman had the sense to jump down on the far side of the triarius, who spat a loud curse. He couldn’t fight with an enemy on each side. Rather than run, however, he bravely backed into the archway that framed the entrance, thereby stopping either Carthaginian from getting to the door.