Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

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 fourth day, he felt alert enough to venture outside. Fear stopped him, however. ‘Where’s Agesandros?’

Elira’s full lips flattened. ‘The whoreson is in Capua, thankfully.’

Relieved, Hanno shuffled outside. The yard was empty. All the slaves were at work in the fields. They sat down together in the sunshine and rested their backs against the cool stone of the stable walls. Hanno didn’t mind that there was no one around. It meant he could be alone with Elira, whose physical attractions were daily becoming more obvious. As the ache in his groin constantly told him, he hadn’t had a woman for many months. Yet merely to entertain such thoughts was dangerous. Even if Elira was willing, slaves were forbidden from having sexual relations with each other. What’s more, Hanno had seen the way she and Quintus looked at one another. Stay well away, he told himself sternly. Screwing the master’s son’s favourite slave would not be clever. There was a simpler way of satisfying himself. Less enjoyable, but far safer.