‘The fucking dogs!’ cried Cincius. ‘They’re heads! They’ve beheaded the men they’ve killed!’
With watering eyes, Quintus looked up. All he could see were the trails of blood the Gauls had left in the dazzling white snow.
Cincius and Calatinus began to moan with fear.
With great effort, Quintus pulled himself together. ‘Quiet!’ he hissed.
To his surprise, the pair obeyed. White-faced, they waited for him to speak.
Quintus ignored his instincts, which were screaming at him to search for his father. He had two men’s lives in his hands. For the moment, they had to be the priority. ‘Let’s head for the intervallum,’ he said. ‘That’s where everyone will be headed. We can fight the whoresons on a much better footing there.’
‘But we’re both barefoot,’ said Cincius plaintively.
Quintus bridled, but if he didn’t let the others equip themselves with caligae from nearby corpses, frostbite beckoned. ‘Go on, then. Pick up a scutum each as well,’ he ordered. A shield was vital.
‘What about a mail shirt?’ Calatinus tugged at a dead legionary. ‘He’s about my size.’
‘No, you fool! We can’t afford the time. Swords and shields will have to do.’ Twitching with impatience, he waited until they were ready. ‘Follow me.’ Keeping an eye out for Gaulish warriors, Quintus set off at a loping run.
He led them straight to the intervallum, the strip of open ground that ran around the inside of the camp walls. Normally, it served for the legion to assemble before marching out on patrol or to do battle. Now, it allowed the bloodied survivors of the covert attack to regroup. Many had had the same idea as Quintus. The area was packed with hundreds of milling, disorganised legionaries and cavalrymen. Not many were fully dressed, but most had had the wits to pick up a weapon as they fled their tents.
Fortunately, this was where the discipline of officers such as centurions came into play. Recognisable even without their characteristic helmets, there were calm, measured figures everywhere, shouting orders and forming the soldiers into regular lines. Quintus and his companions joined the nearest group. At that point, it didn’t matter that they were not infantry. Before long, the centurions had marshalled a large force together. Every sixth soldier was issued with one of the few torches available. It wasn’t much, but would do until the attack had been contained.
At once, they began sweeping the avenues and tent lines for Gauls. To everyone’s frustration, they had little success. Their desire for revenge could not be sated. It appeared that as soon as the alarm had been raised, the majority of the tribesmen had made their getaway. Nonetheless, the search continued until the entire area had been covered.
The worst discoveries were the numerous headless bodies. It was common knowledge that the Gauls liked to gather such battle trophies, but Quintus had never witnessed it before. He had never seen so much blood in his life. Enormous splashes of red circled every corpse, and wide trails of it ran alongside the Gauls’ footprints.
‘Jupiter above, this will look like a slaughterhouse in daylight,’ said Calatinus in a hushed voice.
‘Poor bastards,’ replied Cincius. ‘Most of them never had a chance.’
An image of his father sleeping in his tent made Quintus retch again. There was nothing left to come up except bile.
Calatinus looked concerned. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Quintus barked. Forcing down his nausea, he carefully scanned each body they came across. He begged the gods that he would not find his father. To his immense relief, he saw none who resembled Fabricius. Yet this did not mean a thing. They had covered but a small part of the camp. Only when daybreak came could he be sure.
The centurions kept every soldier on high alert for what remained of the night. The sole compromise they would make was to allow each makeshift century in turn to go to their tents and retrieve their clothing and armour. Fully prepared for battle, the legionaries and cavalrymen then had to wait until dawn, when it became clear that there would be no further attack. The men were finally allowed to stand down, and were ordered to return to their respective units. The cleaning-up operation would take all day. Disregarding this, Quintus went in search of his father. Miraculously, he found him in his tent. Tears came to his eyes as he entered. ‘You’re alive!’
‘There you are,’ Fabricius declared, waving at the table before him, which was laid out for breakfast. ‘Care for some bread?’
Quintus grinned. Despite his father’s nonchalance, he had seen the flash of relief in his eyes. ‘Thank you. I’m famished. It’s been a long night,’ he replied.
‘Indeed it has,’ Fabricius replied. ‘And more than a hundred good men are gone thanks to those bastard Cenomani.’
‘You’re certain that’s who it was?’
‘Who else could it have been? There was no sign of the gate being forced, and the sentries on the walls saw no one.’
Realisation struck Quintus. ‘That’s why they were so surly yesterday!’ Seeing his father’s confusion, he explained.
‘That clarifies a great deal. And now they’ve fled to the Carthaginian camp. No doubt their “trophies” will serve as an offering to Hannibal,’ said Fabricius sourly. ‘Proof that they hate us.’
Quintus tried not to think of Licinius’ headless corpse, which he’d found in the wreckage of their tent. ‘What will Publius do?’
Fabricius scowled. ‘Guess.’
‘We’re to withdraw again?’
His father nodded.
‘Why?’ cried Quintus.
‘He thinks it’s too dangerous on this side of the Trebia. After last night, that’s hard to argue with.’ Fabricius saw Quintus’ anguish. ‘It’s not just that. The high ground on the far bank is extremely uneven, which will stop any chance of attacks by the Carthaginian cavalry. We’ll also be blocking the roads that lead south through Liguria to the lands of the Boii.’
Quintus’ protests subsided. Those reasons at least made sense. ‘When?’
‘This afternoon, as it’s getting dark.’
Quintus sighed. The very manner of their retreat seemed cowardly, but it was prudent. ‘And then we sit tight?’ he guessed. ‘Contain the Carthaginians?’
‘Exactly. Sempronius Longus is travelling here with all speed. His forces will arrive inside a month.’ Fabricius’ expression grew fierce. ‘Hannibal’s forces will never stand up to two consular armies.’
For the second time since the Cenomani attack, Quintus had a reason to smile.
‘There you are. Your mother’s been worried. She thought you’d be here.’
At the sound of Elira’s voice, Aurelia turned. The Illyrian was framed in the doorway to the stable. All at once, she felt very childish. ‘Is Gaius still here?’
‘No, he’s gone. Apparently, his unit is to be mobilised soon. He said that you would be in his thoughts and prayers.’
Aurelia felt even worse.
Elira came closer. ‘I heard the news,’ she said softly. ‘Everyone did. We all feel for you.’
‘Thank you.’ Aurelia threw her a grateful look.
‘Who’s to know? Your father may well be alive.’
‘Don’t,’ Aurelia snapped.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Elira quickly.
Aurelia forced a smile. ‘At least Quintus is still alive.’
‘And Hanno.’
Aurelia shoved away the pang of jealousy that followed Elira’s words. Mention of Hanno inevitably made her think of Suniaton. She hadn’t taken him any food for four days. He’d be running out of provisions. Aurelia made her mind up on the spot. Seeing Suni now would cheer her up. She squinted at Elira. ‘You liked Hanno, didn’t you?’
Twin dimples formed in the Illyrian’s cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Would you help him again?’
‘Of course,’ Elira answered, looking puzzled. ‘But he’s gone, with Quintus.’
Aurelia smiled. ‘Go to the kitchen and fill a bag with provisions. Bread, cheese, meat. If Julius asks, tell him
