Hannibal: Fields of Blood (49 page)

‘Oh gods,’ whispered Aurelia, fighting exhaustion and resignation. All at once, the exertions of the day, the heat, her gravid condition were overwhelming her. She wouldn’t be able to go much further. Why had she been so foolish? She should have taken Lucius’ advice and stayed at home.

She wasn’t expecting the crowd to part. When it did so quite suddenly, Aurelia stumbled and almost fell. A few steps ahead of her, Elira had just collided with a strapping man whom she did not recognise. Even as the Illyrian was being cursed for being a stupid slave, Aurelia took in the toga-clad figure behind the man. Grey-haired, distinguished-looking, he had to be one of the magistrates who ruled Capua. His companion, whose presence had been clearing the way, was his bodyguard. She rushed forward. ‘Your pardon, good sir.’ She clutched at the guard’s hand, gave his master a beseeching look. ‘Help us, please!’

The big man’s brows lowered in suspicion, but before he could say a word, the magistrate spoke. ‘Stand back. By her dress, she is clearly of good standing. Can’t you see she’s hurt?’

‘I’m all right,’ replied Aurelia stoically.

‘What has happened, my lady?’ asked the magistrate, his tone concerned.

‘I was attacked in a perfume shop down the street. My assailant is still after us.’

‘This is an outrage. Lay your hand to your sword, Marcus.’

Tears of relief sprang to Aurelia’s eyes as the bodyguard stepped forward. ‘What does he look like?’

‘You’ll see him any moment. He was just behind us. I didn’t see his face, but he’s big, and wearing a hooded cloak.’

Marcus grunted; his sword snickered from its scabbard.

Aurelia’s gaze followed his, left to right, right to left at the semicircle of people regarding them. There were men and women, young and old, tall, thin, short and fat. They had skin as white as alabaster, black as charcoal and every shade of brown under the sun. She could see no mask or raised hood, however, no familiar bulky figure.

They waited. And waited. There was no sign of her attacker. No one dared to push past the magistrate from either direction, but eventually people began complaining. Aurelia began to grow self-conscious. She was almost grateful for the wound on her back: proof that she was no madwoman. ‘He must have seen you,’ she said lamely.

‘Most likely,’ agreed the magistrate. ‘Hannibal himself would think twice before tackling Marcus here. Best forget him. You need urgent attention from a surgeon.’

‘I want to find him,’ protested Aurelia, although she knew that the magistrate was right. There was no chance of finding the man who had nearly raped her. He would be long gone.

‘Your slave can help Marcus to search for him,’ said the magistrate kindly. ‘You, on the other hand, are returning with me to your house. But first, a message to the surgeon, with all possible speed. Who is your husband? We should also send word to him.’

‘His name is Lucius Vibius Melito,’ said Aurelia. Her vision blurred for a moment. She could feel herself swaying.

‘Melito?’ His voice was at her elbow, his grip supporting her, for which she was very grateful. ‘Why didn’t you say before? I know him and his father well. No need to tell me where his house is. Come.’

Aurelia’s legs would not obey her any longer. As her knees buckled and she crumpled to the ground, she was dimly aware of raised voices around her. It was the last thing she remembered.

She was woken by the baby kicking in her belly. Aurelia’s eyes opened, adjusting slowly to the dim light. She was in a bed, lying on her side, facing the wall. Relief bathed her as she recognised the decorated plaster. It was the main bedroom of Lucius’ house in Capua. Her back ached, but not as badly as she would have expected. Nor were there any signs that she was in labour, another cause for relief. With difficulty, she rolled over on to her back. Pain stabbed through her, and Aurelia moved on to her other side as swiftly as she could. To her surprise, Lucius was sitting right beside her on a stool. His face twisted with emotion – anger, relief, sadness – she wasn’t sure. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Sore.’ Maybe she had been hasty in deciding that her wound was minor. ‘My back. Is it—?’

‘The surgeon attended to it. A long cut, but not deep. He’s stitched it up. It will heal in two to three weeks, he says.’

Aurelia’s head felt heavy as she nodded. ‘How can I be so tired? I’ve only just woken up.’

‘You lost quite a lot of blood,’ chided Lucius. ‘Fortunately it was Calavius, the chief magistrate himself, who came to your aid. Thanks to him, the surgeon arrived soon after you did.’

It took a moment for that to register. ‘I see.’

‘It’s a wonder that the baby didn’t come early.’

She touched her stomach, reassuring herself. ‘How long have I been asleep?’

‘A day and a night.’

‘Gods above,’ she muttered.

‘What were you thinking to go out as you did?’ he asked, his anger spilling forth again.

‘You did not protest when I told you I was going.’

He didn’t acknowledge her words. ‘You should have taken more slaves with you.’

Why is he being like this? she wondered. ‘That would not have stopped what happened. I went into the shop alone apart from Elira, as I always would. The man followed me inside. Did Elira not tell you?’

‘What if you had lost the baby?’ His voice was accusing.

Ah, that’s why he is so upset, she thought bitterly. The child is more important than I am. ‘I didn’t.’

‘But you could have.’

‘I didn’t,’ she repeated, angry now. ‘But if Elira hadn’t intervened, I would have been raped.’

That seemed to bring him to his senses. A heavy sigh. ‘Thank all the gods that that didn’t happen. What I can’t understand is why someone would pick you out like that.’

‘There are men like that everywhere. It was just my bad luck to catch his attention,’ said Aurelia with a shudder.

‘It wasn’t one of Phanes’ apes, was it?’

The name triggered something in Aurelia’s memory. ‘Maybe. He said something about thinking twice before having an honest businessman threatened.’ Lucius looked at her blankly, so she told him about the attack on Phanes in the temple.

‘Who in Hades ordered that – your mother?’

‘No! She came to me, asking if I knew who it could have been.’ Don’t let him ask any more questions, she prayed. It was better if Lucius didn’t even know of Hanno’s existence.

To her relief, he let it go. He was silent for a time, tapping a finger off his lips in thought. ‘Phanes has to be the most likely culprit. I will have my men pay him a
visit
. It doesn’t do any harm to let sewer rats know their place from time to time.’

The way he said ‘visit’ made Aurelia smile. She could no longer control her drowsiness, however. Her eyes closed. All she wanted to do was sleep.

‘The surgeon says it would be best if you stayed here until your time arrives.’

She roused herself with an effort. ‘Why?’

‘He thinks that another journey in this heat might bring on your labour prematurely. Staying here will be more relaxing for you.’ Lucius seemed content with this notion.

Aurelia was also pleased. Although she was unused to the house, Capua was very familiar to her. ‘That’s fine,’ she murmured. ‘The baby will be born here.’ Her eyelids closed again. It might have been her imagination, but she fancied that she could feel Lucius stroking her hair as she slipped away into oblivion.

In the event, staying in Capua proved to be a blessing in disguise. Atia could visit much more easily than before; indeed once she knew Aurelia’s intentions, she moved into the house for the duration. Having her mother on hand proved a great comfort to Aurelia, for her nervousness about the birth was growing as it drew ever closer. Her anxiety wasn’t helped by her worries over her father and Quintus. Everyone was obsessed with the impending battle against Hannibal – no, the impending victory over him – that surely must come soon. Two weeks after the attack in the perfumer’s, the two new consuls passed Capua on their way south. Forty thousand troops, citizens and socii, marched and rode with them. The populace turned out in droves to witness the spectacle.

Aurelia’s wound had healed well enough for her to travel by litter with Lucius to the city ramparts, the best local vantage point. She would remember the sight to her dying day. The massively long column that extended from north to south as far as the eye could see. (By all accounts, it had been passing Capua since daybreak; men said that the tail wouldn’t go by until mid-afternoon.) The sound of thousands of studded sandals striking the ground in unison, which filled the air with an ominous thunder. The soldiers’ rhythmic chanting. Winding through the din, the blaring of trumpets. Sunlight flashing off the metal standards that marked out each legion, maniple and century. The trails of dust rising from the cavalry units, which were dwarfed by the orange-brown clouds that hung in the air over the entire host. Marching through the dirt sent up by the men in front must be horrific, she thought, especially in addition to the incredible heat and the mass of heavy armour and weapons that each man carried.

Aurelia had seen her father dressed in his uniform before; had wept as he rode away. She’d done the same when first Quintus, and then Gaius, had left. Yet seeing the army brought home the hideous reality of war in a way that truly unnerved her. Hannibal’s host was nowhere near as large as the Roman one would be when the consuls reached the other legions. But there was no avoiding the fact that when battle was joined, many thousands of men would die. More even than at the Trebia or at Trasimene. If that was the case, what chance had her father and brother of surviving? A dark gloom cast its shadow over her. Lucius’ excited comment about perhaps joining the army hadn’t helped. Aurelia hoped that her protestations had convinced him not to pursue the idea, that his father would disabuse him of the notion. For all that she didn’t love him, he was a decent man and her future lay with him. He must not go to war too.

She’d had enough of watching the martial display. ‘I want to go back to the house,’ she said, touching Lucius’ arm.

‘Soon.’ His eyes roamed eagerly over the column. ‘Look, there’s another legion standard. A minotaur, I think.’

Aurelia resolved to ask him again in a moment. After what had happened, she didn’t want to return to the house alone. She also wanted his arm to lean on when negotiating the steps to street level. By now, her stomach was so large that she waddled rather than walked. Physical activity of
any
kind was uncomfortable. How much longer will it be? she wondered, rubbing her belly. Her discomfort now outweighed her fear – just. It would do no harm to call in to the temple of Bona Dea on the way back, she decided. Her offerings to the goddess of fertility and childbirth had been frequent, but there was no harm in making another.

‘You’re hot.’ Lucius wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. ‘My pardon. You mustn’t stay out for long in these temperatures. Let’s return to the house.’

Aurelia gratefully took his arm. They walked the short distance to the staircase that they’d ascended. A sentry saluted; a friend of Lucius’ called out a greeting. The wife of another wished Aurelia well, and subjected her to a barrage of advice. Her smile of acknowledgement faltered as an intense pain radiated from her lower belly. It passed within a few heartbeats; the other woman did not notice. Muttering a goodbye, Aurelia walked a few more steps. Another wave hit her then, and she stopped dead, taking deep breaths to try and move through the agony.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Lucius.

‘It’s nothing. I’m fine.’ She tried to straighten, but another contraction – she recognised it as that this time – surged in and she gasped.

‘Is it the baby? Is the baby coming?’

‘Maybe,’ she admitted.

To his credit, Lucius remained very calm. His friend’s wife was called over and asked to wait with Aurelia. He hastened down the steps, returning with two of his slaves, who helped her down to the waiting litter. The midwife was sent for. He held her hand and whispered soothing words all the way back to the house. Surrendering her to the care of her mother and Elira, he went to offer prayers at the lararium.

Aurelia remembered only fragments of the hours that followed; it was terribly hot and humid in the bedroom, and the sheets beneath her were drenched in sweat, making the hard bed she lay on feel even harder. Bizarrely, the bladders filled with warm oil at her sides felt comforting. Atia sat close by, rubbing creams on her belly and talking to her. Between regular internal examinations on Aurelia, the midwife busied herself by praying and readying her supplies on a table: olive oil to use as a lubricant, sea sponges, strips of cloth and wool, tinctures of herbs and pots of ointment. As time passed, Aurelia’s contractions grew closer and closer together, exhausting her. She was aware of crying out with each wave of pain. At one stage, she heard an anxious Lucius at the door; he was banished by Atia.

At last the midwife’s examination revealed that Aurelia’s cervix was sufficiently dilated. She and Atia helped her to the birthing chair. This had armrests for her to grip on to; it supported her thighs and bottom, leaving a ‘U’ shaped gap between her legs, access for the midwife. Aurelia’s fear reached new heights as she eased on to it, but Atia’s encouragement and the urgent cries from the midwife, who was crouched on a stool before her, helped her to go on. To keep breathing; to push when she was told to.

In the end, the baby emerged with less difficulty than she’d imagined. It came in a rush. Mucus, blood and urine spattered on the floor. The midwife gave a happy cry; so too did Atia. Aurelia opened her eyes to see a purple-red bundle topped by a thatch of spiky black hair being lifted to her breast. ‘Is it alive?’ she gasped. ‘Is it healthy?’

A mewling cry answered, and her heart filled. ‘My baby,’ she whispered as the midwife placed him on her chest.

‘It’s a boy,’ said Atia. ‘Praise be to Bona Dea, Juno and Ceres!’

‘A boy,’ whispered Aurelia, filled with elation. She had done her job, in part at least. She kissed the top of his downy head. ‘Welcome, Publius. Your father is looking forward to meeting you.’