Fields of Blood

Chapter XV

Sapho’s face was the picture of surprise when he first saw Hanno appear. Hanno wondered if there was a flicker of another emotion in his brother’s eyes, but it was gone so fast that he could not be sure. Sapho enveloped him in a bear hug, gave thanks to every god in the pantheon and insisted that they crack open one of the amphorae that they’d seized. ‘We’ll drink as we march,’ he shouted. ‘After an adventure like that, we deserve it!’ Hanno’s head was still thumping with pain, but, delighted at his semi-miraculous escape, he again buried his concern that Sapho might have intended him to die. Yet he welcomed the dulling of his senses granted by the wine. Mutt and the rest of the officers were also thirsty. Once it was clear that there would be no pursuit, they let the men start drinking too. The march back to the camp passed in a blur of singing, bawdy jokes and increasingly inflated versions of what they had all done. By the time that Hannibal arrived to take a look at the wagons, they were both the worse for wear.

Hanno’s palms grew slick with sweat as their general came to hear their account. What would the punishment be for drunkenness? he wondered. His worries were unfounded. Hannibal listened attentively to Sapho, smiled as Hanno recounted his mad charge at the enemy cavalry and clapped him on the shoulder when he’d finished. ‘Not only have you brought back all the grain, which is much needed, but you did it even when ambushed by a superior force. Casualties?’

‘Between fifty and sixty men, sir,’ replied Sapho. ‘Plenty of walking wounded, but most of them will recover.’

‘I can ill afford to lose my Libyans,’ said Hannibal, ‘but it seems that today I was lucky not to lose more. Both of you have done well today. My thanks.’ His gaze moved to Hanno’s water skin. ‘I presume there’s wine in that?’

‘Er, yes, sir.’ Hanno felt his cheeks redden.

‘Does a man have to die of thirst around here before he gets offered a drink?’

‘Of course not, sir.’ Grinning with relief, Hanno handed it over.

And that had been that. Hannibal had shared a drink with them and, with a last congratulation, departed, calling for his quartermaster. ‘The wagonloads of grain, oil and wine need to be divided up.’

Hanno had needed no further excuse to get uproariously drunk. He was grateful to Sapho for asking him on the patrol, to Mutt for rescuing him and to Hannibal for recognising what they had done. For the moment, all was well with the world and it seemed as if things could only get better. There was the matter of Aurelia, of course, but he drowned out thoughts of her with more wine. He was vaguely aware of Mutt helping him back to his tent long after sundown and that was it.

Hanno woke with a bad hangover and a mouth that tasted as if something had died in it. The pain from the blow to his head was no worse than it had been the day before, which told him that no lasting damage had been done. Regretting the excesses of the patrol’s aftermath a little, he struggled outside his tent and emptied a bucket of water over his head. There were knowing smiles from a few of his men, but he was too weary to care. Even officers were allowed to relax now and again. A few mouthfuls of wine and a piece of stale bread taken sitting in the sun restored him somewhat. His duties were calling, but Hanno decided that they could wait. Mutt would be taking care of things anyway. The new equipment he now needed would still be in the quartermaster’s stores later on. For the moment, he could rest on the laurels of what they’d done the previous day.

‘Here he is, the hero of the hour. Dozing!’

Hanno’s eyes jerked open. Sapho was standing over him, the trace of a mocking smile playing over his lips. He fought his irritation. ‘There’s nothing needs doing that Mutt can’t deal with right now.’

‘How’s the head?’

‘Not too bad. And yours?’

Sapho shrugged. ‘A little tender, but it will soon pass.’

‘We did well yesterday,’ said Hanno.

‘Indeed we did. You’re not a boy any longer.’

‘No, I’m not. I’ve been through too much since I was washed out to sea with Suni that day.’ Hanno fingered his scar. Many of his memories were dark and unpleasant and better forgotten. ‘Maybe I should have listened to you, eh?’

Unbelievably, Sapho’s chest puffed up. ‘Well, I haven’t said so before, but-’

Hanno’s irritation became real anger. ‘Piss off, Sapho! You always know best, eh? You didn’t have a clue a storm would blow up that day any more than I did. Admit it: you were just being your usual overbearing self by trying to stop me and Suni going fishing.’

Sapho’s face went bright red. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’

‘I’ll do as I please,’ Hanno retorted, getting to his feet. ‘Just fucking try and stop me. I’ll soon put you right.’

‘Don’t tempt me.’ Sapho’s eyes glittered with anger.

Breathing hard, they glared at each other. Hanno was not prepared to back down. He’d had enough of being the younger brother, the one who was patronised. After the patrol’s success, he’d assumed that Sapho would see him through different eyes. Clearly not. In that moment, all his concerns about his brother’s previous actions returned to haunt him. Did Sapho yet hold a grudge against him? he thought furiously. He wanted to leap upon his brother, fists pounding, but to his surprise, Sapho made a conciliatory move.

‘I didn’t come here for an argument,’ he said.

‘I didn’t invite you in for one,’ Hanno admitted. He stuck out his jaw, unwilling to give any more ground without good reason. ‘What did you come here for?’

‘I was going to invite you on a hunt. The mountains on the peninsula to the east are reported to be rich in game.’

‘Now?’ Riding all day was the last thing Hanno wanted to do, hunt or not.

‘No, tomorrow.’

‘We’d need permission to go that far, surely?’

Sapho couldn’t stop his smugness from returning. ‘There’s no need to worry. Mago is coming too.’

‘Mago?’ Hanno had been in the same tent as Hannibal’s brother a number of times, but never done more than exchange polite greetings with him. Sapho, on the other hand, had been with Mago — and Bostar — when he’d led two thousand men to ambush the Romans’ rear at the Trebia. They must have hit it off well since, Hanno thought. Sapho’s star was indeed rising if he now hobnobbed with one of the most senior officers in the army.

‘Yes. He tried to persuade Hannibal to join us, but had no luck. Our general is too busy. He’s given his blessing to the expedition, though,’ Sapho drawled. ‘Says it will do us all good. Especially for you and me, after the patrol.’

‘Who else is going?’

‘Bostar, Cuttinus. A few other phalanx commanders. The Numidian Zamar will be there too. That was his condition for lending us the horses.’

Hanno’s enthusiasm grew. He got on well with Bostar. Zamar and Cuttinus, another phalanx commander, were good company too. ‘Father?’

‘No! You know what he’s like,’ answered Sapho with a laugh. ‘He’s far too serious.’

Hanno chuckled at the truth of that. ‘I’d love to tag along.’

The tension eased at once. Sapho slapped a hand off his knee. ‘Excellent. The more, the merrier.’

‘Have some more wine,’ said Hanno, leaning over to pour.

‘I don’t mind if I do.’ Sapho smacked his lips after swallowing. ‘That’s not bad stuff. Where did you get it?’

‘It’s some of what we took on the patrol.’

‘You didn’t steal it from the whorehouse then?’ Sapho smirked, and Hanno fought his irritation again. ‘Peace,’ said his brother, raising a hand, ‘I don’t want to start fighting again.’

Hanno grunted, not in a friendly way but not arguing either.

‘Just think,’ said Sapho after a moment. ‘We’re here in a shitting tent. All right, we’ve got some half-decent wine, but we’ve frozen our balls off all winter. Soon, we’ll be baking in summer heat. Suni, however, has probably been enjoying the spring sunshine in Carthage. Drinking in one of the inns near the Choma. Maybe he’s even balling a whore right now, while we’re stuck in the arsehole of Italy with nothing better to talk about than hunting. Have you thought about that?’

The wine coursed through Hanno’s veins. He scowled at his brother. ‘Suni’s not doing any of those things.’

‘Eh?’ scoffed Sapho. ‘Have you learned to divine the future, or to read men’s minds from afar?’

‘He’s fucking dead!’ shouted Hanno, his anger bubbling over again. ‘He’s rotting in a grave near Capua.’

‘Dead? How can you be sure?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I just know.’

Sapho’s eyes grew calculating. ‘You can only have found that out when you left your men that time. My gods, did you go back to the estate where you’d been enslaved?’

Hanno stared at the glowing wood in the brazier and said nothing.

‘You must have.’

‘I talked to a slave there, yes. I wanted to find out if Suni had left safely. You remember that I told you he’d been injured.’ Let him swallow that, Hanno thought. It wasn’t so far from the truth.

Sapho’s eyes studied his for a moment before they dropped away. ‘You two were always thick as thieves. It’s a damn shame that he’s dead. What happened to him?’

‘He’d been found in the woods — I don’t know how — and taken in as a runaway. He played dumb, but for some reason the overseer became suspicious of him. The bastard accused Suni of stealing a knife from the kitchens,’ lied Hanno. ‘He was executed in punishment.’

‘Fucking Romans. They’re bloodthirsty savages.’ Sapho drew a hand across his throat. ‘This for them all.’

Except Aurelia. And Quintus. Even their parents weren’t all bad. Hanno grunted in agreement, relieved that his brother appeared to have accepted his story. ‘Forget about the Romans. There’ll be time enough to think about them in the months to come. Tell me about this hunt. Have we any hounds?’

Sapho nodded happily. ‘We’re taking along a group of Gauls to use as beaters. Some of them have hunting dogs.’

‘It looks to be a promising outing, then. We will be sure to find some game.’

‘I haven’t hunted since before we crossed the River Rhodanus.’

‘And I since leaving Carthage!’

They grinned at one another, their argument forgotten — temporarily at least.

Spring was well under way, but the chill had been evident through Hanno’s blankets nonetheless. It was nothing like the winter had been, however. He had grown used to extreme weather by now, but he was still glad that the worst of it had passed some time since. As he emerged from his tent, he smiled at the beauty of the dawn. Above, the rising sun had turned the sky every imaginable shade of red, orange and pink. The rock-hard ground glittered with dew; here and there it was possible to see lines of footprints made by men who had been up before the dawn. A layer of condensation coated every tent in sight. Plumes of exhaled breath meandered up from between them, marking the path of walking soldiers. Grey clouds of it hung over the cavalry’s horse pens. Little trails of smoke rose from the cooking fires that had been lit.

Hanno stamped his feet, already glad that he had donned socks before lacing up his boots. Underneath his woollen cloak, he was wearing a thick tunic. Remembering the tale of Quintus’ bear hunt, he had impulsively put on a mail shirt as well, cinching it at the waist with a belt. Hanno had seen the tusks on dead boars at Quintus’ house. The risk might be small, but it wasn’t worth taking. One thrust to the groin or the belly and a man’s life was over. He put the macabre idea from his mind, offering up a quick prayer. Today would be about companionship and good sport, nothing else. He shook his limbs. It was time to find Mutt and make a quick circuit of his men’s tents before shovelling down a bowl of porridge and meeting the others.

A couple of hours later and Hanno had almost forgotten that he was a soldier at war in a foreign land. The countryside was empty of life, its inhabitants long since fled to the safety of areas unoccupied by the Carthaginians. The nearest Roman forces lay to the north and west. With no need to worry about enemy troops, the camaraderie of the hunt had taken over. They travelled at an easy pace across the open farmland, a large group of men laughing and joking among themselves. At the rear, a dozen or more Gauls trotted along, armed with spears. In front of several of the warriors, big, rough-coated hounds strained at their leashes. Behind them came a handful of servants, leading mules laden down with small tents and provisions, insurance against a possible night outdoors.

Skins of wine were being handed around the horsemen, wagers made, boastful stories told. Mago rode in the centre, a lean, muscular figure who exuded energy. Naturally enough, most of the officers present wanted to share Hannibal’s brother’s company. They all clustered around him, but it was Sapho who sat on his horse to Mago’s right. Currently, Cuttinus was on his left. Hanno had exchanged greetings with Mago, but he had no interest in currying favour, in hanging off the man’s every word. He didn’t care to admit it, but he was also wary of saying the wrong thing. He had been in hot water enough times with Hannibal not to want to risk it with Mago too. Therefore he rode with Bostar and Zamar a short distance behind the main body. In their company, it was hard not to feel carefree. ‘This is just like home, eh, brother?’ he commented happily. ‘When we used to go hunting together outside Carthage.’

‘It is,’ cried Bostar, laughing.

Hanno turned to Zamar, whose only concession to the weather was a cloak over his open-necked, sleeveless tunic. ‘Aren’t you cold?’

A shrug. ‘This is what it’s like in winter in the mountains at home. It will warm up soon. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t prefer the African sun on my face. But this is better than sitting on our arses in camp. It will clear out the cobwebs, and if the gods are with us, we’ll have roast pork to fill our bellies tonight.’

Hanno’s mouth watered at the thought.

By the time they had ridden to the foot of the huge mountainous promontory that jutted into the Adriatic, sent out the Gauls and the dogs to find scent, and spent hours trudging uphill, often on foot, leading their horses, Hanno was famished. His spirits were still high, however. The banter with Bostar and Zamar had been unending, and fresh meat was now a definite prospect. A middling-sized boar had been brought to bay by the dogs soon after they’d set off up the slope. Mago had dismounted and speared it through the chest. A couple of Gauls had remained behind with the body, their job to butcher it and to begin cooking the meat. By the time the hunters returned, the feast would be ready.

The rest had continued upwards; they were spread out through the trees in a long line: Mago in the middle, Sapho beside him, the others to either side. Hanno and Bostar rode to the far left of Mago; Zamar was just out of earshot to their right. The brothers spent the time poking at the vegetation with their spears, listening to the sounds of the Gauls and hounds to their front, and talking. It was as if the gods had answered Hanno’s prayers. He had thought that when the army went into camp with the onset of winter there would be plenty of opportunities to seek out Bostar for such chats. Yet that had not been so. All the more reason to relish this, therefore. He had asked Bostar about Sapho once before, but had not got much out of him. Perhaps this was a better time, he thought. ‘So Sapho is good friends with Mago now, eh?’

‘He seems to be,’ replied Bostar, trying not to sound irritated, but failing.

His brother’s back had gone up already, Hanno judged, so things between them weren’t good. He hadn’t been sure that was the case, but it was no surprise. The pair’s animosity had been clear from the moment he’d made it back to Hannibal’s army. ‘Has Sapho been spending much time with him?’

‘Trying to, anyway. Mago’s a busy man, but Sapho’s been persistent. I’ll give him that,’ Bostar added.

‘Always wants to be the best, doesn’t he? Be the most popular. Yet it always seems to come back and bite him in the arse.’

‘Until now,’ added Bostar. ‘Mago was impressed with us both at the Trebia, but it was Sapho who sought him out afterwards. He’s been doing so ever since.’

‘Why didn’t you do the same?’

A phhhh of contempt. ‘Not my way, brother, you know that.’

There was a chorus of barks and excited shouts from off to their right. The pair exchanged a look. ‘That sounds promising,’ said Hanno, grinning.

‘It does, but we have to keep our place in the line, or anything that comes this way will get away.’

Hanno grimaced, because it was true. ‘Will we see any damn game?’

‘Trust in the gods, little brother,’ advised Bostar, ducking under a low branch.

‘Watch whom you call “little”,’ warned Hanno, but there was none of the anger in his voice that there would have been had it been Sapho who’d uttered the words. Somehow Bostar’s affection for him always came through, whereas with his oldest brother there was a constant sense that Sapho wanted to dominate him. Why couldn’t Sapho be more like Bostar? he wondered sadly.

They rode past a holm oak that had been struck by lightning. Its blackened trunk and branches were a stark contrast to the greenery of its companions all around. It reminded Hanno of a corpse left among the living. ‘Do you trust Sapho?’ he asked, before he could rein in the words.

Bostar’s head turned. ‘Do I trust Sapho?’

Shit, I should have kept my mouth shut, Hanno thought, but the words could not be unsaid. He decided to brazen it out, make light of it. ‘Yes.’

‘That’s an odd question.’

Hanno was going to blurt that it was about a wager he’d won against Sapho, which his brother was refusing to pay, but he managed to stop himself. There was nothing like silence to give a man room to speak, indeed to put pressure on him to do so.

‘Are you asking because you know he and I don’t get on?’

‘No,’ replied Hanno, squirming a little beneath Bostar’s gimlet stare. ‘It’s because of something that happened.’

‘What?’

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, Hanno thought angrily. He’d wanted Bostar to reveal his thoughts first. ‘It was probably nothing,’ he began.

A frenzy of barks and growls interrupted. Men roared excitedly; a horse whinnied. They heard the sound of something heavy thrashing off up the slope to their right. Curses followed it. A series of shouted conversations between those strung out along the line, and then they heard Zamar yell, ‘Keep moving!’

‘Whatever it was got away,’ observed Bostar.

‘There’s hope for us yet,’ said Hanno brightly, hoping that his brother would not enquire further.

No such luck.

‘What happened then?’ asked Bostar.

‘When?’ replied Hanno casually.

‘Don’t be all coy with me. You know exactly what I mean!’

Hanno could see by the cut of Bostar’s jaw that he wouldn’t be fobbed off. Praying that he hadn’t made a big mistake, he related the tale of his passage across the swamps with Sapho, and of how he’d fallen into the pool. Bostar chortled a little at that, but the fierce concentration on his face didn’t waver. ‘Sapho’s expression was so fleeting that I told myself I’d imagined it. I put it from my mind,’ said Hanno. ‘But I remembered it a few months ago, when I got back from patrol.’

‘Why?’

Gods, he was going to have to reveal how he’d deserted his command. Hanno could feel his cheeks reddening, could sense Bostar’s interest growing. He kneed his horse forward, avoiding his brother’s gaze. ‘I have no idea how, but he knew about me, em, leaving my unit for a short time.’

A heartbeat’s shocked silence. Then: ‘Leaving your unit?’

Hanno cast an embarrassed look at Bostar. ‘I left Mutt in charge for three days while I travelled to Capua and back on my own.’

‘In all the gods’ names, why? Do you want Hannibal to have you executed?’

Hanno dared say nothing.

‘What madness possessed you to do something so stupid?’ Bostar glowered at him; again Hanno did not reply.

‘You’re no traitor, clearly. With other men, I’d have said the most likely reason was to find a woman for a night or two, but it’s not in your nature to desert because of that.’ Bostar’s eyes narrowed. ‘You were enslaved near Capua, weren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ mumbled Hanno unwillingly.

‘You went back to see someone you knew! Yet the man — Quintus? — whom you freed at the Trebia won’t have been there. If he’s not dead, he’ll still be in the army. The same will apply to his father.’ The shortest of pauses. ‘His sister. You must have gone back to see his sister!’

Hanno shook his head in guilty agreement.

‘You stupid bastard, Hanno. What if one of your men ratted you out on this? Did you not think of that?’

‘Mutt was sure no one would say a word. I believed him.’

‘Yet one must have spoken to Sapho, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

‘You’re right,’ said Hanno miserably.

‘Best make sure that you look after your soldiers in future. If Hannibal discovers that you’ve been consorting with the enemy, you’d be executed on the spot,’ warned Bostar. He saw Hanno’s expression. ‘I suppose you know that already. What did Sapho say about it? Did he realise that you’d been to see Quintus’ sister?’

‘No. He thought I’d been off to find a whorehouse. I didn’t persuade him otherwise.’

‘A wise move.’

Hanno seized on the comment. ‘So you don’t trust him then?’

Bostar’s eyes met his without wavering. ‘No, I don’t.’

Relief — and a little fear — suffused Hanno. ‘Why not?’

‘Finish your story first.’

‘There’s not much more to say. He went on about how dangerous what I’d done had been — the inference being that the danger wasn’t just from the Romans, but Hannibal too. I challenged him, and he laughed it off as a joke. Yet it didn’t damn well feel like one at the time. All I could remember was what happened when Hannibal found out that I’d let Quintus and his father go. Do you remember?’

‘Of course,’ replied Bostar grimly. ‘Who could forget a man standing by while his two brothers were under threat of crucifixion?’

‘He denied it at the time, and I believed him. But then there was the incident at the swamp. What Sapho said when I came back from patrol really made me wonder if he hates me. Why else would he even pretend to threaten that he’d tell Hannibal about what I’d done?’ He eyed Bostar sidelong, and felt reassured by his thoughtful expression. ‘That’s everything.’

There was a prolonged silence, which Hanno did not attempt to break.

Finally, Bostar let out a long sigh. ‘I never thought I would ever tell a living soul about what passed between me and him in the Alps. Now it seems I must.’

‘Was it something like me falling into the swamp pool?’

‘It was even worse than that. I was blown over a precipice in a storm. Luckily, I broke my fall by grabbing a jutting branch just below the cliff edge. Sapho saw what happened. He didn’t rush to my aid, even though the branch was about to give way. When it did, I tried to jump up to safety. He grabbed me then, which saved my life.’

‘Gods above!’ cried Hanno, horrified. ‘Why did he not act before?’

‘I don’t know. When he did, it was out of instinct,’ replied Bostar. ‘Yet I’m certain that if I’d fallen a few heartbeats earlier, he would have just watched me go. The dog couldn’t say why he hadn’t moved the instant I fell. He didn’t have an answer either when I accused him of being glad that you’d vanished.’

‘Why would he have felt like that? Apart from the fact that we always argued, I mean.’

‘I was in Iberia at the time. With you gone too, he’d had Father’s attention all to himself.’

A deep sadness flowed through Hanno. The conversation had made him remember Mutt’s unhappiness with Sapho’s refusal to let him recross the river during their combined patrol. Maybe he hadn’t just been following Hannibal’s orders to the letter? Maybe he’d been pleased that Hanno was presumed dead?

‘What is it?’

In a low voice, he told Bostar, who shook his head sadly. ‘You or I would have acted in the same way, but our anguish would have been plain to Mutt. I think that Sapho’s reaction intimates that he felt differently.’

Bostar’s logic was hard to argue with. Hanno let out a heavy sigh. ‘What has he become?’

‘A man driven by fierce ambition. That’s the only thing that makes sense to me.’

Hanno nodded in agreement. ‘What did you say after he’d rescued you?’

‘That I would repay the debt. From that moment onwards, however, he’d be dead to me. I swore not to tell Father. I’ve kept my word too.’ A smile quirked Bostar’s lips. ‘But I said nothing about not telling you.’

‘You should have told me sooner!’

‘I could say the same to you. Naïvely, I thought it was possible that you and he could have a better relationship — as long as he didn’t try the same shit with you as he did with me.’ A cloud passed over Bostar’s face. ‘I should have known that he was capable of it after the ambush at the Trebia.’

‘No man likes to think that his brother is capable of such things,’ said Hanno. ‘I was ashamed even to contemplate it.’

‘What if Sapho had let you die in the swamp?’ Bostar’s tone was anguished.

‘He didn’t. And, like you, I won’t ever let something like that happen again,’ replied Hanno firmly, trying to ignore the sorrow welling in his heart. ‘I’ll always be on the alert from now on.’

‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’ Bostar’s face mirrored Hanno’s unhappiness. ‘That we’d have a brother so treacherous?’

‘I never imagined it could come to this. What if we went to Father?’

‘There’s no point. Father loves him, as he does us. I don’t think he’d really hear what we had to say, especially without evidence. If he was challenged, Sapho would deny everything.’

‘It would be our word against his,’ mused Hanno. ‘With neither side able to prove the other wrong.’

They digested the bitter reality of the situation in silence.

‘And you’re sure it’s ambition that makes him do it?’ asked Hanno, still trying to understand.

‘Yes. From when we were small, Sapho always wanted to be the best. Being the oldest, he was better at everything — at least until we both reached manhood. I can remember how angry he was the first time I beat him in a foot race. It was a one-off, he said, but then I did it again. Not long after, I began to do better than him during our officer training. He grew so jealous then; in retrospect, I wonder if that was the time he began to be harder on you.’

‘Maybe. I can scarcely remember a time from my childhood when he didn’t lord it over me.’

‘Once the war started, I think he transferred his need for approval from Father on to Hannibal. During the siege of Saguntum, I happened to save our general’s life quite by chance. It felt as if Sapho hated me for that. I think his need to be recognised is what’s driven him since. Getting close to Mago is just another way to try and win Hannibal’s approval.’

‘Do we mean nothing to him then?’ growled Hanno. ‘Or does he just tolerate us as long as we don’t block his path to glory?’

‘I don’t know how his mind works,’ said Bostar heavily. ‘But I suspect the latter. Whatever the reason, neither of us can trust him. We must watch our backs; keep our mouths shut; obey our orders. There must be no more foolhardy escapades to Capua. If your actions became public knowledge, Hannibal would have to make an example of you — and he would. I doubt that he’d like the fact that Sapho had been the one to inform on his brother, but that wouldn’t stop him.’

They exchanged a grim look.

Real grief gripped Hanno, but not just because of Sapho. It felt as if his chances of ever seeing Aurelia again had just slid off a cliff edge into oblivion. He’d known his dream of being reunited was a fantasy, yet, for all that, it had given him some succour. No longer. ‘Very well,’ he said firmly. ‘I will not try to visit Capua again.’

‘Good.’ Bostar seemed relieved. He aimed his spear up the slope. ‘Let’s find ourselves some game to kill. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough misery for today. It’s time for some sport.’

‘Agreed.’ Yet as Hanno kneed his horse onwards, there was no denying the feeling of loss in his heart. It was as if he now had only one brother, not two. It wasn’t a true bereavement, but it felt similar to one. So too did the pain of knowing once and for all that he and his life were totally incompatible with Aurelia and hers. The best he could do, Hanno thought with a fond glance at Bostar, was to appreciate the relationships that he had. He offered up an ardent prayer to Baal Hammon, Tanit and Eshmoun. Watch over my brother and father, I beg you. Keep them safe. They are all I have.

He left out Sapho.