Marcus sensed their mood and reasserted his command, dispatching men to cover the horses of the wagon fifty yards behind. The tortoise formation withdrew slowly, gathering up their wounded as they did, using upturned scutum shields as stretchers for those who couldn’t stand. The rain of arrows continued to punish any man left exposed in the formation. The maniple formed around the wagon, the meagre catch of dead animals thrown away to make room for the wounded. Men of the IV lay with soldiers of the VII, the shared fight and blood spilt casting aside previous loyalties to form new bonds.
The maniple moved off slowly, their shields constantly charged against the threat of arrows or a renewed attack. Marcus ran his gaze over the rise before him, his sword sheathed, his hand pressed against his shoulder to stanch the flow of his blood. Romans and Carthaginians lay dead together, their overlapping corpses mocked by Pluto, who respected neither rank nor race, the god of the underworld counting them only as dead men for his charge. Marcus counted over a dozen fallen Roman warriors, men who had stood where others might have fled. The wagon to his back contained a dozen more, the boards of the wagon already soaked with their blood, a steady stream that marked their passage over the road to Makella.
Once out of range of the copse, Marcus ordered the maniple to increase to double-quick time, the intensified pace chewing up the ground beneath their feet. The road behind them remained empty, Marcus knowing that pursuit was unnecessary. The enemy had made their point. The area around Makella was Carthaginian territory and a Roman maniple alone outside the encampment was no longer safe. From here on the Ninth Legion had two choices. Either stay in the camp and starve or come out in full force. There was no middle ground.
Septimus walked out into the sunlit courtyard half an hour after dawn to find his mother, father and Atticus already there. The captain was mounted on one of the mares from the newly formed barracks at Fiumicino. She had all the hallmarks of a military horse, broad in the chest and barrel with a servile expression that bore witness to the hard life she led. Septimus paused and took a moment to study his friend closely, unsure of how he now felt. His sister’s abrupt end to the evening had left his challenge to Atticus unsaid, and now as they waited for Hadria he found himself re-examining the lingering gazes he had witnessed between them, the memory making him uneasy.
Hadria appeared at the door a moment later and paused before walking out into the courtyard. Her gaze was on Septimus as she walked towards him, her emotions in turmoil at the imminent departure. From the corner of her eye she sensed Atticus staring at her intently, and she struggled not to return his gaze, knowing that to do so would reveal her heart to her brother. She reached for Septimus and hugged him tightly, her eyes welling with tears, a silent prayer passing through her mind for his safe return and for that of the man she could not hold. As she broke her embrace she sensed Septimus’s eyes searching her own and resolutely returned his gaze although her heart called out for one last look at Atticus.
Salonina suddenly began to wail, her fears for her son surfacing in a wave of emotion, and Septimus turned to her. She hugged her son ardently, whispering a hope for him to be safe, and Hadria noticed that Septimus’s complete attention was on his mother. She seized her chance and turned her head towards Atticus. For a heartbeat their eyes locked and passion swept between them. Hadria silently mouthed a message, unseen by all except Atticus, before she whipped her head around as Septimus broke his mother’s embrace. He shook his father’s hand once more and mounted his horse.
Atticus spurred his horse and rode out into the busy street, his eyes locked forward, not daring to look over his shoulder as he heard Septimus fall in behind him. The horses quickly settled into an easy gait, Atticus unconsciously steering his mount through the growing throng as the city came to life. His mind was flooded by visions of Hadria and what he had just witnessed in the courtyard. The confusion he had felt the evening before when she abruptly retired to bed was swept away by the message she had mouthed, a message so fleeting that he had almost missed it. But now, as he replayed the moment in his mind, he was sure not only of what she had said but of how she felt, for her message was, ‘I must see you again.’
Thirty minutes later the two riders were once more on the Via Aurelia heading northwards towards Fiumicino. Atticus was anxious to learn more about Hadria; as the previous confines of the city had kept them riding in single file, making conversation impossible, he now let the pace of his horse fall off, allowing Septimus to catch up and ride abreast.
‘We should be back in camp within twenty minutes,’ Atticus began, breaking the silence, wanting to broach the subject of Hadria indirectly.
Septimus nodded, his own thoughts guarded, but also on Hadria. He had decided during the thirty-minute ride through the city that he needed to confront Atticus, to forestall any intentions he might have regarding Hadria.
‘Atticus, by law Hadria must remarry within the year,’ he said bluntly, turning in his saddle so he could face his friend.
‘I know, Septimus, your father mentioned it on my last visit,’ Atticus answered warily, taken aback by Septimus’s unexpected comment.
‘Then you realize she cannot entertain advances from anyone other than a suitor.’
‘What are you saying?’ Atticus asked angrily, knowing the answer implied in Septimus’s comment.
‘I saw the way you were looking at her,’ Septimus shot back, his gaze hostile as he reined in his horse, ‘and I’m telling you to stay away from her.’
‘And why couldn’t I be a suitor?’ Atticus stormed, bringing his own mount to a halt.
Septimus was on the cusp of revealing the reason behind his demand when he realized how weak and pathetic his motive was. He was suddenly overwhelmed with shame and his pride made him angry at Atticus for putting him in this situation.
‘You could never marry her, Atticus,’ he spat.
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re not suitable,’ Septimus shouted, his words now twisted to suit his purpose.
There was a moment’s silence as Atticus recoiled. ‘Why?’ he shouted again, his horse shifting restlessly as he leaned out of his saddle, his face inches from Septimus’s.
‘Because you’re not Roman,’ Septimus countered, his own anger rising uncontrollably. ‘Hadria must marry someone of her class, an equestrian from a Roman family.’
‘Maybe Hadria should decide that for herself,’ Atticus said.
Septimus wheeled his horse to separate the two mounts before turning one last time to face Atticus.
‘I wanted to ask you, Atticus, but now I’m telling you,’ he said, his face a mask of determination. ‘Stay away from Hadria!’
Septimus spurred his horse and he galloped away, barging past slower travellers on the busy road, their irate shouts ignored.
Atticus could only watch him leave, his anger washing over him at what had just occurred, at how foolish he had been to think that Septimus was different from the arrogant Romans who believed they were above all others.
‘We need to lure them out, make them commit some of their fleet to an opportunity they cannot refuse.’
‘And then?’ Gisco asked.
‘Then we take them. We capture their force and learn their true strength.’
The admiral nodded, agreeing with Hamilcar’s logic. What they needed now, needed most of all, was information. The enemy were building a fleet, that