Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

‘Dirty fucker,’ whispered Galba when he was out of earshot. There was a rumble of agreement from the others. ‘You can have some of our bedding. We’ll replace the wet stuff in the morning in case he checks up on you.’

‘Thanks,’ muttered Hanno absently. He was imagining running after the overseer and killing him. Thanks to Agesandros’ expert needling, his warrior spirit had just reawakened. If he was to meet Suniaton in the next world, he wanted to be able to hold his head up high. Things would come to a head soon, Hanno realised. But it didn’t matter. Death would be better than this daily indignity.

Unusually, Quintus found himself at a loose end one fine morning. It had rained overnight, and the temperature was cooler than it had been for many months. Invigorated by the crisp, fresh air, he decided to make amends with Aurelia. Over the previous few months, much to her displeasure, Aurelia had been put in the care of a strict tutor, a sour-faced Greek slave loaned to Atia by Martialis. Rather than roaming the farm as she pleased, nowadays Aurelia had to sit demurely and learn Greek and mathematics. Atia continued to teach her how to weave and sew, and how to comport herself in polite company. Aurelia’s protests fell on deaf ears. ‘It’s time you learned to be a lady, and that’s an end to it,’ Atia had snapped a number of times. ‘If you keep protesting, I’ll give you a good whipping.’ Aurelia dutifully obeyed, but her stony silences at the dinner table since revealed her true opinion.

Fabricius knew better than to intervene in his wife’s business, which left Quintus as Aurelia’s only possible ally. However, he felt caught in the middle. While he felt guilty at his sister’s plight, he also knew that an arranged marriage was the best thing for the family. All his attempts to lighten her mood failed, and so Quintus began to avoid her company when his day’s work was done. Hurt, Aurelia spent more and more time in her room. It was a vicious circle from which there seemed no way out.

Meanwhile Quintus had been fully occupied with the work his father set him: paperwork, errands to Capua and regular lessons in the use of the gladius. Despite the time that had passed, Quintus still missed his sister keenly. He made a snap decision. It was time to make her an apology and move on. They did not have for ever. Although Fabricius had found no suitable husband for Aurelia yet, he had begun the search during his visits to Rome.

Throwing some food into a pack, Quintus headed for the chamber off the courtyard where Aurelia took her lessons. Barely pausing to knock, he entered. The tutor glanced up, a small frown of disapproval creasing his brow. ‘Master Quintus. To what do we owe the pleasure?’

Quintus drew himself up to his full height. He was now three fingers width taller than his father, which meant that he towered over most people. ‘I am taking Aurelia on a tour of the farm,’ he announced grandly.

The tutor looked taken aback. ‘Who sanctioned this?’

‘I did,’ Quintus replied.

The tutor blew out his cheeks with displeasure. ‘Your parents-’

‘Would approve wholeheartedly. I will explain everything to them later.’ Quintus made an airy gesture. ‘Come on,’ he said to Aurelia.

Her attempt to look angry faded away, and she jumped to her feet. Her writing tablet and stylus clattered unnoticed to the floor, drawing reproving clucks from the tutor. Yet the elderly Greek did not challenge Quintus further, and the siblings made their way outside unhindered.

Since killing the bear, Quintus’ confidence had grown leaps and bounds. It felt good. He grinned at Aurelia.

Abruptly, she remembered their feud. ‘What’s going on?’ she cried. ‘I haven’t seen you for weeks, and then suddenly you barge into my lessons unannounced.’

He took Aurelia’s hand. ‘I’m sorry for deserting you.’ To his horror, tears formed in her eyes, and Quintus realised how hurt she had been. ‘Nothing I said seemed to make any difference,’ he muttered. ‘I couldn’t think of a way to help you. Forgive me.’

She smiled through her grief. ‘I was at fault too, staying in a mood for days. But come, you’re here now.’ A mischievous look stole across her face. ‘A tour of the farm? What have I not seen a thousand times before?’

‘It was all I could think of,’ he replied, embarrassed. ‘Something to get you out of there.’

Grinning, she nudged him. ‘It was enough to shut up the old fool. Thank you. I don’t care where we go.’

Arm in arm, they strolled along the path that led to the olive groves.