have to accept it. While Fabricius had not said as much to Quintus, he was clearly troubled by the possibility that Flaccus was a coward. Quintus felt the same way. Although he’d been terrified during the fight, at least he had stood his ground and fought the enemy. Aurelia must not marry a man, however well connected, who did not stick by his comrades in battle. Quintus poked a stick into the fire and tried not to think about it. He was annoyed to realise that the others had resumed their doleful conversation.
‘My groom was drinking with some of the legionaries who guard Publius’ tent,’ said Licinius. ‘They said that a huge Carthaginian fleet has attacked Lilybaeum in Sicily.’
‘No!’ exclaimed Cincius.
Licinius nodded mournfully. ‘There’s no question of Sempronius Longus coming to our relief now.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ demanded Quintus.
‘The soldiers swore on their mothers’ graves it was true.’
Quintus gave him a dubious look. ‘Why haven’t we heard it from anyone else, then?’
‘It’s supposed to be top secret,’ muttered Licinius.
‘Well, I heard that the entire Boii tribe is marching north to join Hannibal,’ interjected Cincius. ‘If that’s right, we’ll be caught in a pincer attack between them and the guggas.’
Quintus remembered what his father had told him. A monstrous calf, which was somehow turned inside out to expose all of its internal organs, had been cut out of a cow that could not give birth on a farm nearby. The damn thing had been alive too. An officer whom Fabricius knew had seen it while on patrol. Stop it, thought Quintus, setting his jaw. ‘Let’s not get overexcited,’ he advised. ‘These stories are all too far-fetched.’
‘Are they? What if the gods are angry with us?’ retorted Licinius. ‘I went to the temple of Placentia to make an offering yesterday, and the priests said that the sacred chickens would not eat. What better evidence do you need?’
Quintus’ anger overflowed. ‘Should we just surrender to Hannibal?’
Licinius flushed. ‘Of course not!’
Quintus rounded on Cincius, who shook his head. ‘Shut your damn mouths, then! Talk like that is terrible for morale. We’re equestrians, remember? The ordinary soldiers look to us to set an example, not to put the fear of Hades in their hearts.’
Shame-faced, the others took a sudden interest in their sandals.
‘I’ve had enough of your whingeing,’ Quintus growled. He got up. ‘See you later.’ Without waiting for a response, he stalked off. His father would be able to shed a more positive light on what was going on. Quintus hoped so, because he was struggling with a real sense of despondency. He hid it well, but the savage clash with Hannibal’s deadly Numidian horsemen had shaken him to the core. They were all lucky to have survived. No wonder his comrades were susceptible to the rumours sweeping the camp. Quintus had to work hard not to let his own fear become overwhelming.
His father was not in his tent. One of the sentries said that he’d gone to the consul’s headquarters. The walk would do him good, Quintus decided. Blow out the cobwebs. His route took him past the tents of the Cenomani, local Gaulish tribesmen who fought for Rome. There were more than two thousand of the tribesmen, mostly infantry but with a scattering of cavalry. They were a clannish lot, and the language barrier compounded this difference. There was, however, a palpable air of comradeship between them and the Romans, which Quintus had come to enjoy. He hailed the first warrior he saw, a strapping brute who was sitting on a stool outside his tent. To his surprise, the man looked away, busying himself with the sword he was oiling. Quintus thought nothing of it, but a moment later, the same thing happened again. A bunch of warriors not ten steps from where he was walking gave him cold, stony stares, before turning their backs.
It’s nothing, Quintus told himself. Scores of their men were killed the other day too. Half of them have probably lost a father or a brother.
‘Aurelia! Aurelia!’
Atia’s voice dragged Aurelia reluctantly from a pleasing dream, which had involved both Quintus and Hanno. Importantly, they’d still been friends. Despite the impossibility of this situation, and the urgency in her mother’s tone, she was in a good mood. ‘What is it, Mother?’
‘Get out here!’
Aurelia shot out of bed. Pulling open her door, she was surprised to see Gaius standing in the atrium with her mother. Both looked decidedly serious. Suddenly self-conscious, Aurelia darted back and threw a light tunic over her woollen nightdress. Then she hurried out of her bedroom. ‘Gaius,’ she cried. ‘How nice to see you.’
He bobbed his head awkwardly. ‘And you, Aurelia.’
His grave manner made Aurelia’s stomach lurch. She glanced at her mother and was horrified to see that her eyes were bright with tears. ‘W-what is it?’ Aurelia stammered.
‘Word has come from Cisalpine Gaul,’ said Gaius. ‘It’s not good.’
‘Has our army been defeated?’ Aurelia asked in surprise.
‘Not exactly,’ replied Gaius. ‘But there was a big skirmish near the River Ticinus several days ago. Hannibal’s Numidians caused heavy casualties among our cavalry and velites.’
Aurelia felt faint. ‘Is Father all right?’
‘We don’t know.’ Her mother’s eyes were dark pools of sorrow.
‘The situation is still very confused,’ muttered Gaius. ‘He’s probably fine.’
‘Heavy casualties,’ repeated Aurelia slowly. ‘How heavy, exactly?’
There was no answer.
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Gaius?’
‘They say that out of three thousand riders, perhaps five hundred made it back to camp,’ he answered, avoiding her gaze.
‘How in the name of Hades can you say that Father is alive, then?’ Aurelia shouted. ‘It’s far more likely that he’s dead.’
‘Aurelia!’ barked Atia. ‘Gaius is just trying to give us some hope.’
Gaius flushed. ‘I’m sorry.’
Atia reached out to take his hand. ‘There’s nothing to apologise for. You have ridden out here at first light to bring us what information there is. We’re very grateful.’
‘I’m not! How could I be grateful for such news?’ Aurelia yelled. Sobbing wildly, she ran towards the front door. Ignoring the startled doorman, she pulled it open and plunged outside. She ignored the cries that followed her.
Aurelia’s feet led her to the stables. They had long been her refuge when feeling upset. She went straight to the solitary horse of her father’s that had been left behind. A sturdy grey, it had been lame at the time of his departure. Seeing her, it whinnied in greeting. At once Aurelia’s sorrow burst its banks and she dissolved in floods of tears. For a long time, she stood sobbing, her mind filled with images of her father, whom she would never see again. It was only when she felt the horse nibbling at her hair that Aurelia managed to regain some control. ‘You want an apple, don’t you?’ she whispered, stroking its nose. ‘And I’ve stupidly come empty-handed. Wait a moment. I’ll get you one.’
Grateful for the interruption, Aurelia went to the food store at the end of the stables. Picking the largest apple she could find, she walked back. The horse’s eagerly pricked ears and nickers of excitement made her sorrow surge back with a vengeance, however. Aurelia calmed herself with the only thing she could think of. ‘At least Quintus is safe in Iberia,’ she whispered. ‘May the gods watch over him.’
Fabricius was closeted with Publius, so Quintus didn’t manage to meet with his father until later in the afternoon. When told about Quintus’ comrades’ scaremongering, Fabricius’ reaction was typically robust. ‘Despite the rumours, Publius is doing fine. He’ll be up and about in a couple of months. The rumour about a Carthaginian fleet attacking Sempronius Longus I also know to be untrue. Publius would have mentioned it to me. It’d be the same if he’d had any intelligence about the Boii rising up. As for these bad omens — has a single one of your companions actually witnessed one?’ Fabricius laughed as Quintus shook his head. ‘Of course not. Apart from that calf, which was just a freak of nature, no one ever has. The chickens in Jupiter’s temple might not be eating, but that’s to be expected. Poultry are frail bloody creatures. They’re forever falling sick, especially in weather like this.’ He pointed to his head, and then his heart, and last of all at his sword. ‘Trust in these before you worry about what other men say.’
Quintus was heartened by Fabricius’ attitude. He was also grateful that his father no longer mentioned
