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Against Rome |
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Back to section vi of this chapter V. Dorix, The Alps, 218 B.C. vii After
ten days, the cell door opened with the screech of rusty hinges, waking Vendorix
from a sound sleep as a shaft of bright sunlight struck his face, and a current
of fresh air reached him. Neither sound nor light nor breathable air had
disturbed Geta. “All
right, then, wake up, wake up,” the chubby guard called, clapping his plump
hands enthusiastically. “Phew! Stinks in here.” “What’s
going on?” Vendorix asked, rubbing his eyes. “Can’t
say,” the guard said, nudging Geta with the toe of his boot. Geta
roused, sniffed in the direction of the door, asked, “What’s that smell?” When
the guard had given them a moment to use the honey bucket, they followed him out
into bright light. Shielding their eyes, they moved along on shaky, stiff legs.
The guard led them back to the room where they had seen Mares before. “The
Council has had a change of heart,” Mares said without preamble, no longer
hostile but keeping his distance with a little frown of distaste. “You’re
being freed.” “What?”
Vendorix said, shock mixed with a new hope. “We’re
letting you go,” Mares said. “Why?
What’s changed?” Vendorix asked. “You
don’t really mean it, do you?” Geta added. “We
have no love at all for Hannibal,” Mares said. “But he’s so far from here
now that even if you do intend to join him it’s unlikely you’ll ever catch
him. So why should we care if you try? It’s that simple.” “Believe
me,” Vendorix said bitterly, “I don’t love Hannibal either. He probably
has my sons—if they’re still alive after all this time.” Mares
said, “Actually, we are
inclined to believe you.” And
so, an hour later, still shaky, still not trusting their senses, Vendorix and
Geta were once again in the saddle, their horses and mules and all their gear
restored to them. It was still early in the day. “It
was your arrival on the very day Hannibal marched north from his crossing just
down the river that made us suspicious of you, you know,” Rosta volunteered. “What?
We arrived the day he left? Then we had almost caught up with him!” Vendorix
said. “And
now we’re ten days behind him,” Geta said. “I doubt we’ll ever catch him
now.” Vendorix
looked around at the animals with bitter eyes. “What
about my dogs?” Vendorix asked, not seeing them. “Had
to put them down, I think,” said Rosta, who’d met Vendorix and Geta at the
river and brought them in for questioning. “What?
Why?” “Too
much trouble.” “I
want to see Mares!” Vendorix said. “Look,
you’re lucky to be on your way again. Just go.” Rosta actually smiled at the
end of this. “Come
on, Vendorix,” Geta said. “They were just dogs. You have sons to think
about.” Vendorix
gave him a surprised look, then nodded and nudged his mount. Rosta was pointing
the way out of the town, back to the river. Since
they had missed breakfast, the men stopped when they reached the Rhodanus for a
quick bite, though they kept warily back among the trees. The Cavares had
replenished their rations, at least somewhat. There was a small amount of bread
fresher by far than any they had eaten in jail, a small package of butter
wrapped in only slightly dirty linen, water, a few sausages, plenty of camp
bread and dried venison, salt, even a few apples. Each man ate a little bread,
smearing on the stale butter with his fingers, a few bites of sausage (those
would need to be used quickly), and an apple. It was all wonderful. The animals
grazed and, since they had stopped by a stream, drank their fill of good, clear
water. “Now
they give us good food,” Geta said. Both
men even took a moment for a quick, chilly bath and a change of clothes, eager
to be rid of the stink of jail. When
they rode on, they were in a better mood, though Vendorix’s thoughts would not
fly far from his sons. By now they might be far up the Rhodanus, or they might
have turned for the Alps. They could be far into the foothills by now. Were they
still alive? Had they even caught Hannibal? Vendorix suspected so. He
turned his course to angle back eastward through the trees until they picked up
Hannibal’s obvious track again—still plentifully visible even after so long. Damn
Hannibal! Next section of V. Dorix, The Alps, 218 B.C. Back to Top
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