Read Hannibal: Fields of Blood for Free Online Page A

his mind playing tricks? With the gods’ help, he would dine with his family again, but Hanno would not be present. The Carthaginian had honoured his debt, but he was now one of the enemy. Quintus had little doubt that Hanno would kill him if he got the chance. He, Quintus, would have to do the same if it came to it. He sent up a prayer that that day never arrived. It wasn’t too much to ask that he never met Hanno again.
    These dark thoughts made his brief good mood vanish. A sour squint to either side, and Quintus judged that they were about halfway back to the camp. The time will go by fast, he told himself, but his ploy wasn’t convincing. There was a good distance to go yet. His feet were frozen in his sandals. The brazier in his tent at which he might thaw them out before the patrol seemed half a world away.
    The dim sound of a whistle didn’t register for a couple of heartbeats.
    Then it was repeated, and the staccato hammering of a woodpecker some distance away came to a halt. There was a shriek of alarm from a blackbird, and another. Quintus felt sweat breaking out on his forehead. There were men nearby. Diana had not forsaken them after all, because the wind was blowing into his face, so he had heard whoever had whistled rather than the other way around. He turned and raised the flat of his hand towards Calatinus, the signal to halt.
    His friend, who was twenty paces to his rear, peered to the front. ‘Deer?’ he asked in a hopeful voice.
    ‘No. We’ve got company! Tell the others to shut the hell up!’
    Calatinus’ mouth worked in surprise, but then Quintus’ words sank in. He twisted around on his horse. ‘Quiet! Someone’s out there. Quiet!’
    More whistles. Quintus scanned the trees in front of him, looking for movement of any kind. He was grateful for the wide gaps between the leafless trunks and the lack of undergrowth, which made it hard to hide. The ground before him dropped away gradually, leading down to a small, pattering stream some distance away. They had crossed it a short way into the woods. Instinct told him that whoever was calling had no idea of his or his comrades’ presence. The tone of the whistle wasn’t urgent. It felt more like a message to let one hunter know where another one was. It wouldn’t be other Romans – or at least that was doubtful. Since the Trebia, few men were inclined to go far from Placentia unless they were part of a strong force. That meant the men he’d heard were Carthaginian, or more likely Gaulish tribesmen. His guts churned.
    He had vivid memories of what some Gauls – so-called Roman allies – were capable of. Both he and Calatinus had been fortunate to survive a night attack soon after their arrival in which scores of their fellows had been decapitated. The scarlet tracks left in the snow as the Gauls fled with their trophies still haunted him. At the Trebia, Quintus had been attacked and nearly slain by Gauls who’d had heads hanging from their mounts’ harnesses. That memory made red rage coat his vision for an instant. He had a bone to pick with any, and every, tribesman who fought for Hannibal. Blinking away his fury, Quintus took a deep breath. Caution was vital here. He and his comrades could have been followed into the woods. They could be outnumbered. There might even be an ambush set.
    An odd calm descended over him. Maybe he was to die here. If that were the case, he would die like a man. Like a Roman. Taking plenty of the enemy with him.
    Letting the reins drop to the ground, Quintus slipped off his horse and padded back to Calatinus. ‘Let’s go and take a look.’
    ‘And the rest?’
    ‘They can wait here. If we don’t return soon, they’re to make their own way back.’
    Calatinus nodded. Quickly, they conferred with the eight other riders, who looked most unhappy. When the whistle rang out again, any trace of their earlier good mood disappeared completely.
    ‘Gods know how many warriors that could be. We won’t wait for