Hannibal: The Patrol
Cisalpine Gaul, winter
The battle was already won when Mutt saw the Roman officer running towards him. Mutt knew that killing him would be the final badge of humiliation for the enemy. Except his plan had not gone as he’d have wished it. The officer was on his own, but he was strong and skilled. He was afraid too, which made him even more dangerous. The fact that Mutt was armed with a thrusting spear had not prevented the officer from fighting back ferociously. With his initial attack, he had come close to shoving his sword clean through Mutt’s large shield and into his belly.
I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, thought Mutt desperately, as the officer swept away another spear thrust with his scutum and followed through with a mighty shove against Mutt’s shield. Face to face for a heartbeat, they spat insults at one another, then the officer danced away without warning. Released from the pressure, Mutt nearly toppled forward. Curse him! he thought. I’m acting like a new recruit. If I’m not careful here, I’ll end up spitted on his sword.
That was when the officer darted forward again. Even as Mutt lunged at him, the officer lifted his right boot and planted it in the middle of Mutt’s shield, surprising him completely. Unbalanced, Mutt staggered back a few steps, caught the heel of his sandal on a rock and fell onto the flat of his back. Splatters of mud rose into the air; he lost his grip on his shield. The officer growled in triumph andkicked it to one side, then stamped down with the other foot on the butt of Mutt’s spear, stopping him from lifting it.
Shit, thought Mutt. I’m dead.
The officer’s sword rose high as he spat another curse.
Mutt closed his eyes and readied himself for the afterlife.
‘Mutt. Mutt, wake up.’
Dream. It was a dream, he realised. Relief filled him. He sat up, rubbed away the sleep from his eyes. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Are you all right?’ asked Hanno, his commander.
‘Yes, sir. Why?’
‘You were talking to yourself, thrashing about in your blanket.’
‘A bad dream, sir, nothing more.’ Gods, but I hope it never comes true, Mutt prayed. That’s twice I’ve had it now.
A nod. ‘Wake the men. It’s time to get moving.’
‘Sir.’ Mutt sat up, wincing as the small amount of heat that had been trapped in his blankets vanished into the pre-dawn chill. His hands and feet were almost numb. His nose was too. If his memory served him, he’d spent much of the night waking because of the cold. Why had the gods sent him a stinking nightmare as well? he wondered, fighting a creeping sense of unease.
*
Hours later…
Woodland, several miles north of their camp
‘Where in hell are we heading to now?’
‘The arsehole of nowhere,’ replied a second voice.
‘I thought that’s where we camped last night.’
‘No, that was the crotch,’ said the first man, to a chorus of laughter. He waited until the merriment had died down. ‘This is a godforsaken place part of the world, eh, lads?’
The growls of agreement and spitting noises that followed didn’t make alarm Mutt. Soldiers liked to grumble as they marched. If they didn’t, there was something wrong. Besides, what had been said was true. The area was flat, fertile and well-watered by rivers, but gods was it cold and inhospitable at this time of the year. The powerful wind from the Alps to the north never seemed to ease. It snowed more days than it didn’t, and the temperatures hadn’t risen above freezing for a week.
Mutt examined his reddened fingers, mouthed a curse of his own. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt warm.
Much of the time a thick layer of fog hung over the land, reducing visibility and dampening men’s spirits further. And the spot where they had spent the previous night — a mud-bound clearing in the middle of a wolf-infested forest — had been one of the least appealing of the patrol thus far. Yet there was a good reason for keeping out of
Cisalpine Gaul, winter
The battle was already won when Mutt saw the Roman officer running towards him. Mutt knew that killing him would be the final badge of humiliation for the enemy. Except his plan had not gone as he’d have wished it. The officer was on his own, but he was strong and skilled. He was afraid too, which made him even more dangerous. The fact that Mutt was armed with a thrusting spear had not prevented the officer from fighting back ferociously. With his initial attack, he had come close to shoving his sword clean through Mutt’s large shield and into his belly.
I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, thought Mutt desperately, as the officer swept away another spear thrust with his scutum and followed through with a mighty shove against Mutt’s shield. Face to face for a heartbeat, they spat insults at one another, then the officer danced away without warning. Released from the pressure, Mutt nearly toppled forward. Curse him! he thought. I’m acting like a new recruit. If I’m not careful here, I’ll end up spitted on his sword.
That was when the officer darted forward again. Even as Mutt lunged at him, the officer lifted his right boot and planted it in the middle of Mutt’s shield, surprising him completely. Unbalanced, Mutt staggered back a few steps, caught the heel of his sandal on a rock and fell onto the flat of his back. Splatters of mud rose into the air; he lost his grip on his shield. The officer growled in triumph andkicked it to one side, then stamped down with the other foot on the butt of Mutt’s spear, stopping him from lifting it.
Shit, thought Mutt. I’m dead.
The officer’s sword rose high as he spat another curse.
Mutt closed his eyes and readied himself for the afterlife.
‘Mutt. Mutt, wake up.’
Dream. It was a dream, he realised. Relief filled him. He sat up, rubbed away the sleep from his eyes. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Are you all right?’ asked Hanno, his commander.
‘Yes, sir. Why?’
‘You were talking to yourself, thrashing about in your blanket.’
‘A bad dream, sir, nothing more.’ Gods, but I hope it never comes true, Mutt prayed. That’s twice I’ve had it now.
A nod. ‘Wake the men. It’s time to get moving.’
‘Sir.’ Mutt sat up, wincing as the small amount of heat that had been trapped in his blankets vanished into the pre-dawn chill. His hands and feet were almost numb. His nose was too. If his memory served him, he’d spent much of the night waking because of the cold. Why had the gods sent him a stinking nightmare as well? he wondered, fighting a creeping sense of unease.
*
Hours later…
Woodland, several miles north of their camp
‘Where in hell are we heading to now?’
‘The arsehole of nowhere,’ replied a second voice.
‘I thought that’s where we camped last night.’
‘No, that was the crotch,’ said the first man, to a chorus of laughter. He waited until the merriment had died down. ‘This is a godforsaken place part of the world, eh, lads?’
The growls of agreement and spitting noises that followed didn’t make alarm Mutt. Soldiers liked to grumble as they marched. If they didn’t, there was something wrong. Besides, what had been said was true. The area was flat, fertile and well-watered by rivers, but gods was it cold and inhospitable at this time of the year. The powerful wind from the Alps to the north never seemed to ease. It snowed more days than it didn’t, and the temperatures hadn’t risen above freezing for a week.
Mutt examined his reddened fingers, mouthed a curse of his own. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt warm.
Much of the time a thick layer of fog hung over the land, reducing visibility and dampening men’s spirits further. And the spot where they had spent the previous night — a mud-bound clearing in the middle of a wolf-infested forest — had been one of the least appealing of the patrol thus far. Yet there was a good reason for keeping out of
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