Agesandros did not reply.
‘Couldn’t it?’ Quintus demanded. His fury at the Sicilian, who had looked intent on murder, had doubled when he realised the victim’s identity. Any residual awe he felt towards Agesandros had evaporated. ‘Answer me, by all the gods.’
‘I suppose so,’ Agesandros admitted sullenly.
‘Was that your intention?’ Aurelia demanded.
The Sicilian glanced at Hanno. ‘No,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest. ‘My temper got the better of me, that’s all.’
Liar, thought Hanno. Above him, Aurelia’s face twisted with disbelief, reinforcing his conviction.
Quintus could also see that Agesandros was lying, but to accuse him further would bring the situation into completely uncharted waters. He didn’t feel quite that confident. ‘How did it happen?’
Agesandros indicated Galba. ‘That slave fell deliberately and injured his leg. He was trying to get off work. It’s an old trick, and I saw through it at once. I laid a few blows into the dog to teach him a lesson, and the gugga told me to stop, that it had been a genuine accident.’ He snorted. ‘Such defiance cannot be tolerated. He needed to be taught the error of his ways on the spot.’
Quintus looked down at Hanno. ‘I think you succeeded,’ he said sarcastically. ‘He’s halfway to Hades.’
One corner of Agesandros’ mouth tugged upwards.
The only one to see it was Hanno. Agesandros wants me dead. Why?
It was the last coherent thought he had.
Quintus’ confidence was bolstered by his success over Agesandros. Rather than let the injured Hanno be carried back to the villa like a sack of grain as the Sicilian wanted, he insisted that a litter be fetched. Galba could limp alongside. Scowling, Agesandros could do little but obey his command, sending a slave off at the run. The overseer watched with a surly expression as, using a strip of cloth, Aurelia cleaned the worst of the blood from Hanno’s face. Tears poured down her cheeks, but she did not make a sound. She would not give Agesandros the satisfaction.
A short time later, when Hanno had been carefully transferred into the litter, she finally stood. A mixture of blood and dust covered the lower half of her dress, from where she had knelt in the dirt. Though reddened, her eyes were full of anger, and her face was set. ‘If he dies, I will see that Father makes you pay,’ she said. ‘I swear it.’
Agesandros tried to laugh it off. ‘It takes more than that to kill a gugga,’ he declared.
Aurelia glared at him, afraid and yet unafraid.
‘Come,’ said Quintus, gently leading her away. Agesandros made to follow, but Quintus had had enough. ‘Go about your business,’ he barked. ‘We will care for the two slaves.’
They installed Hanno on blankets and a straw mattress in an empty stable off the farmyard, where he lay as still as a corpse. Quintus was concerned by his pale face. If the Carthaginian died, his father would be severely out of pocket, so he ordered hot water to be fetched from the kitchen, along with strips of linen and a flask of acetum, or vinegar. When they arrived, he was surprised by Aurelia’s reaction. She would suffer no other to clean the Carthaginian’s wounds. Meanwhile Elira treated Galba, with Quintus watching appreciatively. The Illyrian’s medical knowledge was good, courtesy of her upbringing. As she’d told Quintus, her mother had been the woman to whom everyone in the tribe came with their ailments. First she washed the wound with plenty of hot water. Then, ignoring Galba’s hisses of discomfort, she sluiced the area with acetum before patting it dry and applying a dressing. ‘Two days’ rest, and light duties for a week,’ Quintus said when she was done. ‘I’ll make sure Agesandros knows.’
Muttering his gratitude, the Gaul shuffled off.
There was a moan from behind him, and Quintus turned. Hanno’s face twisted briefly at whatever Aurelia was doing, before relaxing again. ‘He’s alive,’ he said with relief.
‘No thanks to Agesandros,’ Aurelia shot back vehemently. ‘Imagine if we hadn’t come along! He might still die.’ Her voice tailed off as she bit back a sob.
Quintus patted her shoulder, wondering why she was so upset. Hanno was only a slave, after all.
Elira moved to the bed. ‘Let me take a look at him,’ she said.
To Quintus’ surprise, Aurelia moved aside. They watched in silence as the Illyrian ran expert hands over Hanno’s battered body, gently probing here and there. ‘I can find no head injury apart from his broken nose,’ she said eventually. ‘He has three cracked ribs, and all these flesh wounds from the whip.’ She pointed to his prominent ribcage and concave belly. ‘Someone hasn’t been feeding him enough either. He’s strong, though. Some good nursing and decent food, and he could be up and about inside a week.’
‘Jupiter be thanked,’ Aurelia cried.
Quintus smiled his own relief and went in search of Fabricius. Agesandros’ cruelty must be reported at once. He suspected that his father would not seriously punish the Sicilian, who, no doubt, would deny everything if challenged. He could hear Fabricius’ voice already. Discipline was part of the overseer’s remit, and no slave had the right to question his authority as Hanno had. This was the first time that Agesandros had gone overboard. In Fabricius’ eyes, it would be a one-off occurrence. Quintus knew what he had seen, however. His jaw hardened.
Agesandros would have to be watched from now on.
Hanno was woken by the pain radiating from his ribs each time he took a breath. The dull throbbing from his face reminded him of his broken nose. He lifted his hands, feeling the heavy strapping that circled his chest. The manacles around his ankles had been removed. This could hardly be Agesandros’ work. Quintus must have insisted I be treated, Hanno thought. His surprise grew when he opened his eyes. Instead of the damp straw in his miserable cell, he was lying on blankets in an empty stable. Occasional whinnies told him that there were horses nearby. He eyed the stool alongside him. Someone had been keeping vigil.
A shadow fell across the threshold and Hanno looked up to see Elira carrying a clay jug and two beakers.
Her face lit up. ‘You’re awake!’
He nodded slowly, drinking her beauty in.
She rushed to his side. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Sore all over.’
She reached down and lifted a gourd from the floor. ‘Drink some of this.’
‘What is it?’ he asked suspiciously.
Elira smiled. ‘A dilute solution of papaverum.’ Seeing his confusion, she explained. ‘It will dull the pain.’
He was too weak to argue. Taking the gourd, Hanno took a deep swallow of the painkilling draught, screwing up his face at the bitter taste of the liquid within.
‘It won’t take long to work,’ Elira murmured reassuringly. ‘Then you can sleep some more.’
Abruptly, the Sicilian came to mind, and he tried to sit up. The small effort felt exhausting. ‘What about Agesandros?’
‘Don’t worry. Fabricius has seen your injuries, and warned him to leave you alone. The gods must have been in good humour, because he also agreed to let me care for you. It took a bit of persuasion, but Aurelia won him over,’ Elira said. She raised a hand to his sweating face. ‘Look, you are as weak as a kitten,’ she scolded. ‘Lie down.’
Hanno obeyed. Why would Aurelia care what happened to him? he wondered. Feeling the papaverum begin to take effect, he closed his eyes. It was a huge relief to know that one of his owner’s children was on his side, but Hanno doubted that Aurelia could shield him from Agesandros’ ill will. She was only a girl. Still, he thought wearily, his situation was better now than it had been. Perhaps the gods were showing him favour once more? Keeping that idea uppermost, Hanno relaxed and let sleep take him.
Chapter VII: A Gradual Shift
Hanno did little more than sleep and eat for the next three days. Under Elira’s approving eyes, he devoured plate after plate of food from the kitchen. His strength returned, and the pain of his injuries subsided. Soon he insisted that the strapping around his chest be removed, complaining that it was restricting his breathing. By the
