Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Shouts of confusion and anger rang out from within. Hanno heard Balbus growl, ‘Caecilius is dead. An arrow to the chest. No, Sejanus, I don’t fucking know who did it.’ Then, apart from low muttering, everything went silent.

‘They know that I’m just outside,’ Quintus whispered, suddenly wondering if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. ‘But they have no idea that I’m on my own. How will they react?’

Hanno scowled. You’re not on your own, you arrogant fool. ‘What would you do?’

‘Try to get away,’ Quintus said, fumbling for an arrow.

In the same instant, loud cracking sounds filled the air and the back wall of the hut disintegrated in a cloud of dust. Three bandits burst into the open air, hurtling straight towards them. In the lead was a skinny man in a wine-stained tunic. He grasped a hunting spear in both hands. This had to be Pollio, thought Hanno. Beside him ran a massive figure carrying a club. Hanno blinked in surprise. It was not Balbus, because he was two steps behind, clutching the arrow in his side with one hand and a rusty sword with the other. Despite being twice Balbus’ size, the big man was his spitting image. The pair had to be brothers.

The two sides goggled at each other for a heartbeat.

Pollio was the first to react. ‘They’re only children. And one isn’t even armed,’ he screamed. ‘Kill them!’ His companions needed no encouragement. Bellowing with rage, the trio charged forward.

Perhaps fifteen paces now divided them. ‘Quick,’ Hanno shouted. ‘Take one of the bastards down.’

Quintus’ heart hammered in his chest, and he struggled to notch his arrow correctly. Finally it slipped on to the string, but, desperate to even the odds, he loosed too soon. His shaft flashed over Pollio’s shoulder and into the wreckage of the hut. He had no time to reach for another. The bandits were virtually upon them. Dropping his bow, he pulled the gladius from his belt. ‘Get out of here!’ he shouted. ‘You know what to do!’

Facing certain death if he stayed without a weapon, Hanno turned and fled.

‘Let him go!’ shouted Pollio. ‘The shitbag looks as if he can run like the wind.’

Quintus had just enough time to throw up a prayer of thanks to Jupiter before Pollio, leaping over a fallen log, reached him.

‘So you’re the one who would murder a man while he takes a piss,’ the bandit snarled, lunging forward with his spear.

Quintus dodged sideways. ‘He got what was coming to him.’

Leering, Pollio stabbed at him again. ‘It was a quicker death than the shepherd had.’

Quintus tried not to think of Libo, or of the fact that he was outnumbered three to one. Holding his gladius with both hands, he swept the spear shaft away. Sejanus, the big man, was still a few steps away, but already there was no sign of Balbus. Where is the son of a whore? Quintus wondered frantically. He might be wounded, but he’s still armed. The realisation made him want to vomit. The bastard’s coming to stab me in the back. All Quintus could think of doing was to place himself against a tree. Driving Pollio off with a flurry of blows, he sprinted towards the nearest one he could see, a cypress with a thick trunk. He could make a stand there.

To Quintus’ exhilaration, he made it.

The only trouble was that, a heartbeat later, he had the grinning bandits ringed around him in a semicircle.

‘Surrender now, and we’ll give you an easy death,’ said Pollio. ‘Not like the poor shepherd had.’

Even the wounded Balbus laughed.

What have I done? Somehow, Quintus swallowed down his fear. ‘You’re fucking scum! I’ll kill you all,’ he shouted.

‘You think?’ sneered Pollio. ‘It’s your choice.’ Without warning, he thrust his spear at Quintus’ midriff.

Quintus threw himself sideways. Too late, he realised that Sejanus had aimed his club at the very spot he was heading for. In utter desperation, he deliberately fell to the ground. With an almighty crack, the club smacked into the treetrunk. The knowledge that the blow would have brained him if it had landed drove Quintus to his feet. Seizing his opportunity, he slashed out at Sejanus’ arm and was delighted when his blade connected with the big man’s right arm. The flesh wound it cut was enough for Sejanus to bellow in pain and stagger backwards, out of the way. Quintus’ relief lasted no more than an instant. The injury wouldn’t be enough to stop the brute from rejoining the fight. To survive, he immediately had to disable or kill one of the other two.

With that, a sword hilt smashed into the side of his head. Stars burst across Quintus’ vision, and his knees buckled. Half-conscious, he dropped to the ground.

***

Hanno had probably run fifty paces before he glanced over his shoulder. Delighted that no one was pursuing him, he sprinted on for another fifty before looking back again. He was on his own. In the clear. Safe. So too, therefore, was Aurelia.

What of Quintus? he wondered with a thrill of dread.

You ran. Coward! Hanno’s conscience screamed.

Quintus told me to, he thought defensively. The idiot couldn’t bring himself to trust me with a gladius.