Hannibal: Clouds of War (11 page)

Or so she thought.

Initially, she paid no attention to the clatter of hooves from the nearby road. The Via Appia was the busiest thoroughfare in the land; scores of horsemen had ridden past them that day. It was when a horse and rider cantered off the road, towards the pyre, that she felt the first stirrings of alarm in her belly. All eyes focused on the newcomer, a young man in a dusty tunic. He looked exhausted, but there was nothing wrong with his voice. ‘I seek Aurelia, wife of Lucius Vibius Melito,’ he called out. ‘I was told to seek her here, among the tombs.’

The attention reverted to Aurelia. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. ‘I am she.’

The rider dismounted and threw the reins to a slave. He approached Aurelia, delving into the leather satchel that hung from a cord over one shoulder. ‘I beg your pardon for disturbing you at this time, my lady.’

She waved a hand in dismissal. The fashion of his arrival had driven all thoughts of her mother from her mind. ‘What is it?’ she asked, fighting real anxiety.

‘I bring news, from Rhegium.’

Instead of the normal elation she would have felt at this news, Aurelia felt dread. What was going on?

‘Have you ought for me?’ Tempsanus interrupted. ‘I am Melito’s business partner.’

Relief blossomed on the rider’s face. ‘Yes, sir. I have a note for you as well.’

Aurelia advanced a couple of steps. ‘Could you not find our house – Melito’s house?’

‘I found it, mistress, but I was charged with delivering the note into your hands and no one else’s.’

So the messenger had ridden past them, into the city, and back out again to where they stood now. From the corner of her eye, she could see Tempsanus frowning. Despite the pyre’s heat, cold sweat began running down Aurelia’s back. ‘Is everything all right? Is my husband well?’

The messenger would not meet her gaze. Silently, he proffered the letter.

Aurelia closed her eyes. Let me be imagining this, she prayed. But when she looked up again, the parchment was still there in front of her. With a trembling hand, she took it.

‘Shall I read it for you?’ The concern was clear in Tempsanus’ voice.

‘No.’ Cracking the seal, she unrolled it. Dimly, she heard Tempsanus demanding his note. After that, her attention was locked on the neat script that covered the page.

‘From the hand of Caius Licinius Stolo, agent of Lucius Vibius Melito and Julius Tempsanus in Rhegium—’

It wasn’t from Lucius. Aurelia’s fear reached new heights.

‘I send greetings to Aurelia, wife of Melito.’

Her eyes sped on, skimming the pleasantries. The words ‘watching the loading of a ship’, ‘iron ingots’ and ‘a rope snapped’ leaped out at her. Full of fear now, she read on. Stolo wrote that her husband had been gravely injured. The surgeon had diagnosed a shattered pelvis, multiple cracked ribs, two broken legs and a fractured arm, but it was Melito’s head injury that was giving rise to the most concern. ‘In the hours since the accident, he has rarely been conscious. When he does awake, it seems that he has no idea who he is, or where he is.’ Aurelia felt sick; she struggled to finish reading the letter. It closed with an attempt at reassurance, telling her that no efforts were being spared with regard to Melito’s care. She was to remain calm; to pray, especially to Aesculapius, and to wait for more news.

Aurelia took a moment to rally her strength before pinning the messenger with her eyes. ‘Did my husband yet live when you left?’

‘Yes, mistress.’

‘How many days ago was that?’

‘Four. The message would have been sent by ship, but the weather was too severe.’

It was then that Aurelia took in the lines of exhaustion on his face, the dirt that was ingrained in every patch of exposed skin. The man must have ridden like a demon, and changed horses many times. She would have to reward him well, she thought absently. Four days. For someone with such severe injuries, it was a lifetime ago. Aurelia’s eyes moved to Tempsanus. She saw the same awareness there. ‘He could already be dead,’ she said, her tone flat.

‘Let us not think like that, my lady,’ he urged. ‘Lucius is a young man; he’s at the peak of his physical strength. It will take time, and the help of the gods, but he may yet recover.’

Aurelia nodded, trying to believe him. Inside, however, she was terrified that Lucius was as dead as her mother. She felt an overwhelming need to hold Publius, to feel his breath warm her cheek, to know that he at least was still with her. It was also obvious what else she had to do.

‘I shall set out for Ostia in the morning, and there take ship for Rhegium,’ she heard Tempsanus’ voice saying. ‘The Bark of Isis was launched last week, so the winds should be with us.’

‘I want to travel with you,’ said Aurelia.

Tempsanus gaped. Regaining his composure, a fatherly, knowing expression crept across his face. ‘I cannot countenance that, my lady. You must celebrate the sacred feast for your mother in nine days. Besides, your husband would not approve of you leaving Rome.’

‘I need to be by his side.’

‘Your devotion is to be admired, my lady, but the sea journey is too perilous. Bad weather sinks many vessels. Syracusan and even Carthaginian vessels can be found in the waters off Rhegium. It’s no voyage for a woman of your station to undertake.’

Aurelia began to object once more, but Tempsanus was having none of it. ‘Your grief is clouding your judgement, my lady. It is time for you to return home, to your son. You need rest and sleep. I will call on you in the morning, before I leave.’

Aurelia didn’t have the strength to argue. ‘Very well,’ she whispered.

‘Mama, Mama!’ cried Publius the instant that Aurelia emerged from the
lararium
and into the courtyard. He was playing by the central fountain, with Elira in watchful attendance nearby.

Aurelia had seen him briefly upon her return from the funeral, but had left him since in the care of Elira. She needed time to try and absorb her mother’s death and the news about Lucius. On this occasion, however, there was to be no escape. Publius scampered over, his arms outstretched. She stooped to pick him up, grateful that his innocence would not see through her false smile. ‘Hello, my darling.’

‘Come and play,’ he ordered.

She gave in. ‘What are we to do?’

‘Splashing in the water.’ It was one of his favourite games.

The simple pleasure that Publius took in playing by the edge of the fountain, and the endless repetition of what he demanded she do – flicking water over his hands and arms, and occasionally a few drops on his face – took up all of Aurelia’s attention. It was a relief not to think about her mother, about Lucius, about anything other than amusing her son.

The approach of the doorman a short while later was an unwelcome distraction. A strapping Thracian bought by Lucius upon their arrival in Rome, he lingered unhappily on the edge of her vision, not quite prepared to intervene on the domestic scene. Eventually, Aurelia could ignore him no longer. ‘Publius, quiet for a moment. Who is at the door?’ she demanded. ‘Another itinerant soothsayer who wants to peddle his lies? Someone purporting to sell the finest perfumes in Rome?’

‘No, mistress,’ he mumbled.

‘Who then?’

‘He wouldn’t say.’

‘In that case, send him away!’ she snapped.

‘He’s i-insistent.’ He stumbled over the word. ‘He asks to speak with you, mistress. Aurelia, daughter of Gaius Fabricius.’

Aurelia’s head spun to regard him. In Rome, few people indeed knew her father’s name. ‘What else?’

A helpless shrug. ‘Nothing, mistress.’

There was no point interrogating the Thracian further. ‘Let the man in. Search him for weapons, and bring him to me.’

‘Mistress.’ The Thracian was already backing away.

‘Time to play with Elira again, my sweet. Go and find her. I will be back soon.’ She planted a kiss on Publius’ head and walked into the
tablinum
. There she would find some privacy.

She paced to and fro, wondering who was this visitor with knowledge of her family. With a sudden dart of fear, she thought of Phanes, the moneylender her mother had talked about. Before Cannae, he had made their lives a misery. She dismissed the idea. He wouldn’t have the balls to come here. Nevertheless, Aurelia was relieved to see that the man following the Thracian was not Phanes. He had the same dark complexion, but his black hair was tight and curly, not in oiled ringlets. Aurelia didn’t recognise him. Composing herself, she took up a position by the lararium, asking the household gods to watch over her.

The Thracian stopped a few paces from her. ‘He had a knife, mistress, but he gave it up easy enough. Nothing else on him, apart from a purse.’

Aurelia nodded her approval. ‘Remain here.’

The Thracian stepped to one side, allowing the visitor to approach. He bowed courteously. ‘Have I the honour of addressing Aurelia, daughter of Gaius Fabricius?’

‘And wife of Lucius Vibius Melito. You do, yes. Who are you?’

He looked up, revealing deep blue, wary eyes. ‘My name is Timoleon. I am an Athenian merchant.’

‘I know no Athenian merchants. Perhaps you have come to see my husband? He is not here—’

‘I am here to see you, my lady. I bring you a message.’

Aurelia felt a familiar flutter of fear in her belly. This could not be more bad news from Rhegium. Could it? ‘From whom?’

‘A friend.’ He cast a sideways glance at the Thracian.

Aurelia understood. ‘Return to the atrium,’ she ordered. The Thracian looked unhappy. ‘You’ve got his knife, haven’t you?’ she cried. ‘If I need you, I will call out. Go!’

With a final glare at Timoleon, he shuffled off.

‘Approach,’ Aurelia directed.

Timoleon drew near. ‘Thank you, my lady. My real name is Bomilcar.’ He paused. ‘It’s Carthaginian.’

Aurelia’s throat tightened. ‘Hanno sent you?’ she whispered.

‘I am here on … other business, but Hanno asked me to seek you out if I could.’

‘D-does he not think that I am still in Capua?’ she stammered.

A slight upturn of his lips. ‘With the city gone over to Hannibal? He knows that you and your family will always remain true to Rome.’

She felt her cheeks grow warm, and not just because Hanno had guessed where her loyalties lay. She thought of their embrace, the kisses that they had shared on the night of their chance encounter. ‘How did you find me then? How could you know where I had gone?’

‘I didn’t. My mission was to come to Rome, and while I was here, I made some enquiries. As you might imagine in a city of this size, they came to nothing. I gave up eventually. Two nights ago, however, I fell into conversation with a group of stonemasons who were drinking at my inn. One of them happened to mention that he’d been commissioned to erect a tomb to a lady named Atia, the wife of a man called Gaius Fabricius. He didn’t know much more, but I gambled that there wouldn’t be too many individuals by that name in Rome. It was easy enough to persuade him to tell me where your mother lived. A bronze coin placed in the hand of a slave there gave me your name and address, and here I am.’

‘You are a resourceful man.’ As Bomilcar smiled in recognition, Aurelia gave thanks for his persistence. ‘Is Hanno well?’

‘He is. Hale and hearty. He commands a phalanx of Libyan spearmen. Hannibal favours him too.’

Even the mention of Rome’s worst enemy and his soldiers, who had laid waste to half of the Republic, could not stop a creeping joy stealing over her. Hanno was alive and in good health! The gods had not abandoned her completely. ‘What message did he give you?’

‘He asked me to tell you that he thinks of you often. Often.’ Bomilcar let those words sink in before adding, ‘He said, “Tell her that with the gods’ help, we will see each other again one day.”’

Aurelia felt her knees grow weak. ‘I hope so. One day,’ she murmured.

Bomilcar smiled. ‘May my gods and yours see that it happens. Now, with your permission, I must go.’

Aurelia had to stop herself from crying out: ‘No!’ She longed to ask Bomilcar more, to get him to tell her everything about Hanno, yet she held her peace. Bomilcar was an enemy spy, in the heart of enemy territory. ‘You have risked much to come here. I offer you my heartfelt thanks, and the blessings of this household. Go in peace, and may your return journey be swift and safe.’

He gave her a grateful nod.

‘Can you take Hanno a message from me?’

His face grew sorrowful. ‘Alas, my lady, I cannot.’

‘Why?’

‘I am not at liberty to say.’

‘I swear, upon my mother’s grave, that I will not tell a soul,’ she beseeched.

A wary look, a sigh. ‘Hanno has gone to Syracuse.’

‘On Sicily?’ Her heart leaped. Rhegium was close to the island, where Quintus was. Now Hanno would be there too.

‘That is already too much information. I cannot tell you any more.’

‘Very well. Thank you,’ she said, bowing her head.

‘Farewell.’

When she looked up, Bomilcar was gone. An aching hole opened in Aurelia’s heart, and she longed to run after him. The encounter had been too brief, yet to delay Hanno’s friend would endanger his life. Receiving a message from Hanno out of the blue was enough good fortune, she told herself, and it gave her even more reason to go to Rhegium, to Lucius’ side. Aurelia felt only a little guilt. There was no chance of seeing Hanno or Quintus – how could there be? – but it would be comforting to be so close to them, even if it was for but a short while. No one else would know her underlying purpose; to all intents and purposes, her journey would look like that made by a devoted wife.

The main obstacle in her way was Tempsanus, but Aurelia had a feeling that she knew how to get around him.

‘You can say what you wish,’ said Aurelia, the next morning. ‘You are going to delay leaving until the feast in honour of my mother has been held in eight days’ time. Then I’ll be coming with you. So will my son, my body slave and my father’s old overseer, who has just been manumitted.’

‘The delay—’ he began.

‘Is acceptable.’ It was what she’d told herself repeatedly. Aurelia was not prepared to leave her mother’s funeral unfinished. ‘The day and hour of our arrival will not influence Lucius’ recovery. Only the gods can do that.’