Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Chapter XIII: Departure

Hanno soon grew used to living in the hut, which had lain vacant since the shepherd’s murder. According to Quintus, Fabricius’ sheep were being grazed elsewhere and there was little likelihood of anyone passing by. Nonetheless, Hanno stayed alert. While Agesandros was his main concern, he had no wish to be seen at all. Hanno’s luck held out; the only visitors he had were Quintus, and occasionally Aurelia.

There was little news of Suniaton. Quintus did not want to appear too eager by visiting the official’s son earlier than had been arranged. Finally, though, Quintus reported that Suniaton had made an uneventful recovery. Hanno’s spirits soared upon hearing this, but his hopes were immediately dashed. ‘The whoreson still won’t sell. He says Suniaton is too promising a fighter. He wanted 250 didrachms for him.’ Quintus gave Hanno an apologetic look. ‘I haven’t got that type of money. Father does, of course, but I’m not sure he’d give it to me, even if I managed to find him.’

‘We can’t give up now. There must be another way,’ said Hanno fiercely.

‘Unless we can bribe someone to let Suniaton escape… I just don’t know who to approach.’ Quintus’ frown disappeared. ‘I could ask Gaius.’ He held up a reassuring hand as Hanno jerked forward in alarm. ‘Gaius and I have been friends since we could walk. He doesn’t necessarily approve of my helping you escape, but he won’t tell a soul. Who knows? He might be prepared to help.’

Hanno forced himself to sit down. Gaius’ trustworthiness had already been proved by the fact that nobody had come looking for him at the shepherd’s hut. It also seemed as if he was Suniaton’s only hope. ‘Let us pray to the gods that he agrees, then.’

‘Leave it to me,’ said Quintus, hoping that his confidence in Gaius was not misplaced. In an effort to protect Hanno, he had concealed the fact that Suniaton was already fighting as a gladiator once more.

Time was not on their side.

When Quintus finally brought word that Gaius’ efforts had come to fruition, Hanno’s relief was overwhelming. Autumn had arrived, and the woods were a riot of colour. The temperature had dropped noticeably too. Hanno was growing used to being woken by the cold at night. Quintus’ direction to pack all his gear was most welcome. Hopefully, he’d be leaving the hut for ever. ‘What are we going to do?’ he asked as they headed towards Capua.

‘Gaius didn’t want me to say,’ Quintus replied, avoiding Hanno’s gaze.

Worry clawed at Hanno’s insides. ‘Why?’

Quintus shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I think he wants to tell you himself.’ He saw Hanno’s disappointment. ‘It’s only a few hours longer.’

‘I know,’ Hanno replied, forcing a smile. ‘And I owe you both so much for what you’ve done.’

‘It’s not about debts,’ said Quintus generously. ‘A man tries to help his friends if he can. Let’s just hope that Gaius’ idea works.’

Hanno nodded grimly. If it didn’t, there was a hard choice to be made. He couldn’t hang around for ever.

It was nearly dark by the time they reached Capua. Their journey had been uneventful, but Hanno still faltered as the massive walls loomed into view. Even though he was coming to help free Suniaton, entering the city now meant real danger. There would be guards at the gate, who could ask awkward questions. Descriptions of him pinned to the walls of houses. Hanno knew how fugitive slaves were hunted in Carthage. It wouldn’t be much different here. His feet dragged to a halt.

Quintus turned. ‘What is it?’

‘I’m not just an escaped slave. What if someone recognises me as a Carthaginian?’

Quintus’ chuckle died away as he saw Hanno’s real distress. ‘You don’t have to worry,’ he said reassuringly. ‘There are plenty of dark-skinned slaves in Capua. Greeks, Libyans, Judaeans. No one knows the difference. And apart from Gaius, no one knows what you’ve done. Nor do they care. You’re a slave, remember? Most people won’t even notice you, let alone challenge you.’ He dismounted. ‘Follow me. Look miserable and don’t catch anyone’s eye.’

‘Very well,’ said Hanno, wishing that he had the comfort of a weapon to defend himself.

To his relief, things went smoothly. The sentries didn’t even look up as he shuffled after Quintus. It was the same on the streets, which, thanks to the fast-approaching sunset, were emptying fast. People were more interested in getting home safely than studying a young noble and his slave. Housewives with baskets full of food muttered a few words with each other rather than having a full-blown gossip. Stallholders were boxing up their unsold produce and loading it on to mules. Many of the shops were already boarded up for the night.

Before long, they had reached Martialis’ house. Quintus’ loud knock was answered at once by Gaius himself, who grinned at his friend as he pulled open the gate. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ He gave Hanno a hard glance, but did not speak.

All of Hanno’s doubts returned. He ducked his head awkwardly, telling himself that Gaius must be prepared to help. Why else were they here?

With several domestic slaves looking on, however, there was no chance of asking. One of them scurried past to take the horse’s reins, and Gaius threw an arm around Quintus’ shoulders. ‘Let’s go inside. Father can’t wait to see you. He ordered a piglet roasted in your honour.’ Gaius eyed the stable boy. ‘Make sure my friend’s slave gets fed. Find him a bed too.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Hanno’s unease abated a little when Quintus turned and gave him a wink. Hanno forced himself to relax as the gate shut, leaving him on the street. He followed the boy around the corner of the house to the stables, which were in a separate walled courtyard. The young slave proved to be as taciturn as he was ugly. They rubbed down, fed and watered Quintus’ mount in complete silence, which suited Hanno down to the ground. Next they entered Martialis’ kitchen through a door in the adjoining wall. Similar to Julius’ jurisdiction, it was a hot, busy place, filled with the clatter of pans and shouted orders. The rich smell of cooking pork filled Hanno’s nostrils and set his stomach rumbling. Keen to avoid attention, he found a quiet spot in the corridor that led to the pantry, where he sat down.

A few moments later, the stable boy appeared bearing two plates heaped high with bread, roast meat and vegetables. He shoved one at Hanno. ‘You’re in luck tonight. The piglet could feed twenty people, so the master won’t notice if his slaves also have a share.’

‘Thank you.’ Hanno seized the platter. This was a better feed than he’d had in months.

When they’d finished, the stable boy squinted at Hanno. ‘Do you play dice?’

Hanno did, but he felt as tense as the arm on a cocked catapult. So much was at stake tonight. ‘No.’

Looking vaguely disappointed, the slave shuffled off. ‘Come on. I’ll show you a place to sleep.’

Hanno was taken back to the stables, and shown a quiet corner near the door. ‘No lights can be left in here. Too great a risk of fire.’ The stable boy indicated his small oil light. ‘I’ll be taking this with me.’

‘Fine,’ replied Hanno.

With a shrug, the slave left him to it. As the flickering glow of the other’s lamp receded, Hanno was left in complete darkness. He didn’t mind about that. It was more the fact that, with Suniaton’s escape so close, he was about to spend several hours alone. After a while, he began to look forward to the occasional stamp of a hoof or a gentle whinny. The frequent noise of rats scurrying to and fro was less welcome, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to his reason for being there.

To Hanno’s annoyance, the evening dragged by more slowly than an entire week. He spent an age praying to the gods, asking for their aid in ensuring that Gaius helped to free Suniaton. Growing frustrated with the overwhelming silence that met each of his requests, Hanno tried to sleep. He had no luck at all. His spirits rose when the stable boy and two other slaves entered the building. Despite his frustration, time was passing. Pretending to be asleep, Hanno heard them clamber up the rickety ladder to the hay store over the horses’ stalls. Their incoherent mumbling led him to assume that they’d been drinking. Their oil light was extinguished almost immediately, and it wasn’t long before a cadence of snores from above filled Hanno’s ears. After what seemed an age, he felt his way over to the kitchen door, where Quintus had told him to wait.

When the door opened smoothly inwards, it caught Hanno unawares. ‘Who is it?’ he whispered nervously.

‘Pluto himself, come to carry you away,’ Quintus muttered. ‘Who do you think?’

Hanno shivered. Even mentioning the Roman god of the underworld felt like bad luck. He offered up another prayer to Eshmoun, asking for his protection.

Quintus was followed by Gaius, who was carrying a small, shuttered lantern. Both were wearing dark cloaks.

Hanno could take it no more. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Outside.’ Gaius led them to the stable door, where he lifted the locking bar and gently laid it on the floor. A waft of cool air hit their faces as he tugged the door open. Gaius padded out and checked the street. ‘All clear!’ he hissed an instant later.

Quintus shoved Hanno out first, and pulled the portal to behind them.

‘Come on, Gaius. Are you finally going to tell us what you’ve planned?’ asked Quintus.

Hanno’s stomach clenched into a knot.

‘I will,’ muttered Gaius, ‘but your slave should know something first.’

‘He’s not a slave any more,’ Quintus hissed. ‘I freed him.’

‘You and I know that that holds about as much water as a leaky bucket.’

Quintus did not reply.

Hanno’s breath caught in his chest. Gaius was clearly cut from different cloth to Quintus. He wanted to leave, but that would mean extinguishing whatever hope there was of freeing his friend. Gritting his teeth, he waited.

‘I was stunned when you first told me what you’d done, Quintus,’ Gaius whispered. ‘I said nothing of course. You’re my oldest friend. But you took a step too far when you asked me to help free another slave. That I could not do.’

‘Gaius, I-’ Quintus began. The poor light could not conceal the embarrassment in his voice.

‘I changed my mind, however, when I found out who owned the slave you were interested in.’ Gaius paused. ‘The official who died was none other than the biggest persecutor of Oscan nobility that this city has ever seen. His shitbag of a son is little better. Stealing… freeing… one of his slaves is the least I would do to the bastard.’

Hanno let out a long sigh.

‘Thank you, Gaius,’ whispered Quintus. He wasn’t going to question his friend’s motives at a moment such as this.

At once Gaius brought them into a little huddle. ‘I started off by spending days hanging around in the street where the official’s son lives. I found out little, but I did get to know the faces of everyone who lived in his house. Then my luck changed. About a week ago, I saw the major-domo coming out of a brothel in a different part of town.’

‘So what?’ demanded Quintus. ‘That’s hardly unusual.’

Gaius’ teeth flashed white in the darkness. ‘Except when I went inside and asked who he’d been fucking, the madam went all coy. I slipped her a few coins, and she soon changed her tune. It seems that the major-domo has a taste for young boys.’

‘Filthy bastard,’ muttered Quintus.

An image of Hostus popped into Hanno’s mind. His father’s enemy was known for a similar taste in flesh. ‘It’s disgusting, but is it a crime?’ he asked. ‘It’s not in Carthage, unfortunately.’

‘The practice is frowned upon by many, but it isn’t against the law for citizens, like us,’ Gaius replied. ‘Slaves are a different matter, however. I doubt that the official’s son would be too pleased to find out about his major-domo’s habits. The madam said that he tends to get overexcited. Violent. She’s had to intervene a number of times to stop her boys from being badly injured.’

‘Fucking animal,’ said Quintus, looking revolted.

Hanno was just grateful that he and Suniaton hadn’t been sold to a similar fate. ‘So you’re blackmailing him?’

‘Basically, yes,’ Gaius answered. ‘He’s agreed to drug the slave who guards the door, which will give him a chance to let Suniaton out. Of course the poor bastard doorman will probably end up on a cross for letting another slave escape, but the major-domo doesn’t care about that. He’s only thinking of his own skin.’

‘And if he doesn’t play along?’ enquired Quintus. His words made Hanno’s stomach clench.

‘His owner will receive an anonymous letter detailing his sordid activities to the letter, and giving the brothel’s address should he wish to corroborate the details.’

‘Excellent,’ murmured Quintus.

For a moment, Hanno’s delight at Gaius’ plan was soured by the knowledge that an innocent slave would suffer, or even die, so that Suni might be free. He quelled the thought without remorse. He would kill to save his friend. How was this any different? ‘It sounds foolproof,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’m not doing it for you,’ Gaius replied curtly. ‘I’m doing it because it gives me an opportunity to get back at the official’s son.’ He chuckled at the others’ confusion. ‘By sunset tomorrow, everyone in the town will have heard the rumour that he likes to screw young boys. Not the best way to start a political career, is it?’ He looked at Gaius, who gave a resigned shrug. ‘Best get moving now, though. Stay close.’

Telling himself that it didn’t matter what Gaius’ reasons for helping were, Hanno followed the two Romans through the darkened streets. The only living thing that they encountered was a scrawny dog, which raised its hackles and growled at the interlopers to its territory. It darted, yelping, out of the way when Gaius aimed a hefty kick at it, and it wasn’t long before they were crouched by the front door of a nondescript house, three shadows that could barely be seen. Apart from the chinks of light that escaped the wooden shutters of a flat on the opposite side of the lane, it was pitch black.

Checking the street yet again, Gaius rapped lightly on the door with his knuckles. There was no response from within, and Hanno began to panic. He glanced at the myriad of stars that lit the night sky. Eshmoun, he begged, do not forget Suniaton, your devoted follower, and son of your priest in Carthage. Great Tanit, have mercy.

His prayers were answered a moment later when, with a faint creak, the door opened inwards. ‘Who is it?’

‘Gaius.’

A short man emerged cautiously on to the street. Seeing Quintus and Hanno, he stiffened. Gaius was quick to jump in with the reassurance that they were friends, and the figure relaxed a fraction. His receding hair, long nose, and darting eyes made him resemble a rat, thought Hanno distastefully. It was no surprise that he fucked little boys. Yet this was the major-domo of the house, who was also about to set Suniaton free.

‘Well, where’s the Carthaginian?’ demanded Gaius.

‘Just inside. I’ll get him,’ the major-domo replied, bobbing his head. ‘And you’ll say nothing to my master?’

‘I give you my word,’ Gaius answered dryly.

The other nodded uneasily, knowing that this was all he’d get. ‘Very well.’

He scuttled from view, and Hanno felt a tinge of suspicion at his speed. There was a short delay before he heard the sound of shuffling feet. Then Hanno saw a stooped figure framed in the doorway, and he leaped forward. ‘Suniaton?’

‘Hanno?’ croaked the other.

Throwing his arms around Suniaton, Hanno clung to his friend like a drowning man. He was dimly aware of the door shutting and a bolt sliding across to lock it. Hanno didn’t care. Hot tears of joy scalded his cheeks; he felt moisture soak into his tunic as Suniaton wept too. For a moment, they just stood there, each revelling in the fact that the other was still alive. Abruptly, Suniaton’s knees gave way beneath him. Hanno had to stop him from falling. He studied Suniaton’s face. Gone was the round-faced young man he was familiar with. In his place stood a gaunt-cheeked, unshaven wretch with long hair. ‘You’re half starved,’ Hanno cried.

‘It’s not that,’ replied Suniaton. His eyes were deep pools of pain. ‘I’m hurt.’

Suddenly, Hanno understood the reason for Suniaton’s hunched posture. ‘How badly?’

‘I’ll live.’ Despite his brave words, Suniaton grimaced. ‘I got beaten in a fight two days ago. I’ve got several wounds, but the worst is a slash across the top of my right thigh.’

Gaius thumped on the door. ‘Treacherous bastard! You said nothing about this.’

To his surprise, the major-domo replied. ‘I was told only to bring him out at the appointed hour. No one said anything about whether he was well or not.’

‘You whoreson!’ hissed Hanno. ‘I should cut your balls off.’ He leaned his shoulder against the timbers and heaved.

Quintus intervened. ‘It’s not safe here.’ He moved to stand by Suniaton. ‘You take one arm, and I’ll take the other,’ he said to Hanno.

Hanno nodded. There was no point wasting time. The major-domo could take his own chances now. Only the gods knew whether the drugging of the doorman would fool his master. It mattered not at all. They had to get Suniaton back to Gaius’ house, where they could examine his wounds.

Fortunately, Suniaton was proved to be right about his injuries. Although he was in considerable pain, the clean sword cuts were not life-threatening. As far as Hanno could tell, they had been stitched reasonably well. Yet the worst wound concerned him greatly. The biggest muscle in Suniaton’s right thigh had nearly been severed. There was nothing they could do about it, and so they prepared to leave. They had to get to safety before dawn. Bidding farewell to Gaius, the pair heaved Suniaton up on to Quintus’ mount. Having bribed a sentry, they passed out of the town with relative ease. The horse’s movement caused Suniaton so much pain, however, that he soon passed out. Hanno could do nothing but support his friend as he walked alongside. He would ask Quintus to get some papaverum from Elira later. For now, he thanked Tanit and Eshmoun, and asked for their continued blessing. Hopefully, Suniaton just needed time. Hanno was desperate to head for Iberia, but he would not leave his friend behind now.

The war would have to wait.

Bostar eyed the figures on the other side of the Rhodanus. Although the deep, fast-flowing water was more than five hundred paces across at this point, the Volcae camp was easy to make out between the trees that dotted the far bank. There were scores of tents and lines of tethered horses, denoting the presence of hundreds of warriors. Sentries patrolled the water-line day and night. Given that the tribesmen normally lived on both sides of the river, their intent could not be more plain. They would pay dearly for their combative stance, thought Bostar. Hannibal had given him his orders not an hour since. Once he’d made an offering to the gods, it was time to go. His phalanx and the three hundred scutarii the general had insisted he also take were already assembled beyond the Libyans’ tent lines. Their destination, an island at a narrow point in the river, was a day’s march to the north.

Sapho’s voice made him jump. ‘Why couldn’t the stupid bastards be like the other tribes around here?’

‘Sell us boats and supplies, you mean?’ Bostar asked, trying to look pleased to see his brother. What was Sapho, who still had no idea of his mission, doing here at this early hour? Why did I mention it to Father? thought Bostar, panicking. He took a deep breath. Calm down. I asked him not to mention it to a soul. He won’t have.

‘Yes. Instead, they’ll kill a tiny fraction of our troops before being annihilated themselves. Even simple savages such as they must know that our army can’t be stopped from crossing the Rhodanus.’

Bostar shrugged. ‘I suppose they’re like the Ausetani. Defending their territory is a matter of pride. It doesn’t matter how badly they’re outnumbered. Death in battle is not something to be ashamed of.’

‘Sheep-shagging inbreds,’ said Sapho with a derisive snort. ‘Why can’t they understand that all we want to do is cross this poxy river and be on our way?’

Bostar refrained from asking the obvious question: wasn’t the response of the Volcae how Sapho, or he, might act in a similar situation? ‘Never mind. Hannibal gave them their chance. Now, what was it that you wanted? I was about to take my phalanx out on a march,’ he lied bluffly, unable to think of what else to say.

‘Gods, your men must love you. Haven’t we done enough of that recently? That explains why you’re in full uniform at this hour.’ Sapho made a dismissive gesture. ‘It was nothing that can’t wait. Just that I noticed plenty of game trails leading down to the water’s edge. I thought I’d follow them beyond the camp. Would you like to come along?’

Bostar was completely taken aback by this. ‘What, and go looking for boar?’ he faltered.

‘Or deer.’ Sapho threw him a crooked, awkward grin. ‘Anything to vary our current diet.’

‘A bit of fresh meat wouldn’t go amiss,’ Bostar admitted ruefully. He felt torn. The proposal was clearly a bridge-building effort on Sapho’s part, but he couldn’t disobey Hannibal’s orders; nor could he reveal them. They were still top secret. What to say? ‘I’d love to, but not today,’ he managed eventually. ‘Who knows what time I’ll get back?’

Sapho wasn’t to be put off. ‘How about tomorrow?’ he asked cheerfully.

Bostar’s anguish grew. Great Melqart, he thought, what have I done to deserve this? He and his men would only be getting into position by the following evening. On the far bank. ‘I’m not sure…’ he began.

Sapho’s good humour fell away. ‘So you’d rather spend time with your men than your own brother?’

‘It’s not that,’ Bostar protested. ‘Going hunting with you sounds wonderful.’

‘What is it then?’ Sapho snarled.

Bostar’s mind was empty of ideas. ‘I can’t say,’ he muttered.

Sapho’s lip curled even further. ‘Admit it. I’m not good enough for you, am I? Never have been!’

‘That’s not true. How can you say such a thing?’ Bostar cried, horrified.

‘Bostar!’ Their father’s cheerful voice cut across the argument like a knife. Startled, both brothers glanced around. Malchus was approaching from the direction of his tent lines. ‘I thought you’d be gone by now,’ he said as he drew nearer.

‘I was just leaving,’ replied Bostar uneasily. Let me get away without any more problems, Baal Saphon, he prayed. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Bostar’s plea was not answered; Malchus gave him a broad wink. ‘Good luck.’

‘Eh?’ said Sapho with a puzzled frown. ‘Why would he need that on a training march?’

Malchus looked uncomfortable. ‘You never know, he might break an ankle. The trails around here are very uneven.’

‘That’s a lie if I ever heard one. Besides, when have you ever wished us luck for so trivial a matter?’ Sapho scoffed. He turned on Bostar. ‘Something else is going on, isn’t it? That’s why you won’t come hunting!’

Bostar felt his face grow red. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he muttered, picking up his shield.

Furious, Sapho blocked his path. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Get out of my way,’ said Bostar.

‘Is that an order, sir?’ Contempt dripped from the last word.

‘Move, Sapho!’ snapped Malchus. ‘Your brother’s orders come from Hannibal himself.’

‘It’s like that, is it?’ Sapho stepped aside, his eyes filled with jealousy. ‘You could have said. Just a hint.’

Bostar looked at him, and knew he’d made a mistake. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Sapho hissed. He lowered his voice even further. ‘Lickarse. Perfect fucking officer.’

A towering fury took hold of Bostar. Somehow, he managed to keep it in check. ‘Actually, I said nothing because I didn’t want you to feel that you’d been overlooked.’

‘You’re so fucking kind,’ Sapho shouted, the veins in his neck bulging. ‘I hope you get killed wherever you’re going.’

Malchus’ mouth opened in rebuke, but Bostar held his hand up. Oddly, his anger had been replaced by sorrow. ‘I trust that you wish the mission to be successful at least?’

Shame filled Sapho’s face, but he had no chance to reply.

Bostar turned to Malchus. ‘Farewell, Father.’

Malchus’ eyes were dark pools of sorrow. ‘May the gods watch over you and your men.’

Bostar nodded and walked away.

‘Bostar!’

He ignored Sapho’s cry.

It felt as if he’d just lost another brother.

Two days later, Bostar and his men were in position. Theirs had been a hard journey. After a long march on the first day, their guides had brought them to a fork in the Rhodanus. The island in the centre of the river had made their crossing much easier. Not knowing if there were any Volcae on the opposite bank, they had waited until nightfall. Then, using rafts constructed from a combination of chopped-down trees and inflated animal skins, Bostar and ten handpicked men had swum to the other side. To their immense relief, the woods had been empty of all but owls and foxes. Soon after, the remaining soldiers had safely joined him. Bostar had not forgotten to give thanks to the gods for this good fortune. Hannibal and the entire army were relying on them. If they failed, hundreds, or even thousands, of men would die at the hands of the Volcae when the Carthaginian forces began to cross.

At sunrise, they had marched south, halting only when the enemy encampment had been identified. Leaving his party to rest in the dense thickets that occupied the high ground overlooking the river, Bostar and a few sentries had spent the night on their bellies, watching the Volcae sitting around their fires. The tribesmen seemed oblivious to any danger, which pleased him. Somehow that made his anguish over the argument with Sapho easier to bear. Bostar had no wish to be enemies with his brother. Let us both survive the struggle to come, he prayed, and make our peace afterwards.

As dawn arrived, it became possible to make out the enormous Carthaginian camp on the far bank. With growing tension, Bostar waited until he could see troops near the water’s edge, cavalrymen climbing into the larger craft, and infantry scrambling into the canoes. He even spied Hannibal in his burnished cuirass, directing operations. Still Bostar held on. Picking the right moment to charge was vital. Too soon, and he and his men risked being slaughtered; too late, and innumerable soldiers in the boats would die.

It wasn’t long before the Volcae sentinels noticed the activity opposite their position and raised the alarm. Clutching their weapons, hundreds of warriors emerged from their tents and ran down to the bank. There they paced threateningly up and down, screaming abuse at the Carthaginians and bragging of their exploits. Bostar was thrilled. The enemy’s camp had been abandoned, and every man’s gaze was fixed on the flotilla of vessels opposite. It was time to move. ‘Light the fires!’ he hissed. ‘Quickly!’

A trio of kneeling spearmen, who had been regarding him nervously, struck their flints together. Clack, clack, clack, went the stones. Sparks dropped on to the little mounds of dry tinder before each man. Bostar sighed with relief as a tiny flame licked first up the side of one pile, and then another. The third heap took flame a moment later. The soldiers encouraged the fires by blowing on them vigorously.

Fretfully chewing a fingernail, Bostar waited until each blaze was strong enough. ‘Add the green leaves,’ he ordered. He watched intently as thick eddies of smoke from the damp foliage curled up into the air and climbed above the tops of the trees. The instant it had, Bostar’s gaze shot to the opposite bank. ‘Come on,’ he muttered. ‘You have to be able to see it now.’

His prayers were answered as Hannibal and his soldiers sprang into action. Boat after boat was pushed out into the water. The larger craft, carrying the cavalrymen, who were each leading six or seven horses, stayed upstream. Their size and number helped to reduce the impact of the powerful current on the smaller vessels containing the infantry. The Volcae responded at once. Every man with a bow or spear pushed forward to the water’s edge and waited for his chance.

‘Come on,’ muttered Bostar to his three spearmen. ‘It’s time to give those shitbags a surprise they’ll never forget.’

Moments later, he and most of his force were trotting down the slope towards the riverbank. The remainder, a hundred scutarii, were heading for the Volcae camp. They ran in silence, hard and fast. Rivulets of sweat ran from under Bostar’s bronze helmet to coat his face. He did his best to ignore it, counting his steps instead. During the long wait, he had made repeated estimates of the distance from where they had lain hidden to the water’s edge. Five hundred paces, Bostar told himself. To the enemy tents, it was only 350. It seemed an eternity, but the Volcae were so busy shouting at the approaching boats that they had soon covered a hundred paces without being challenged. Then it was 150; 175. Hannibal’s boats had reached the midpoint of the river. As Bostar counted two hundred, he saw a figure turn to address one of his companions. An expression of stunned disbelief crossed the man’s face as he took in the mass of soldiers running towards him. Bostar had covered another ten steps before the warrior’s warning cry ripped through the air. It came far too late, he thought triumphantly.

Bostar threw back his head and roared, ‘Charge! For Hannibal and Carthage!’

There was an inarticulate roar of agreement from his men as they closed in on the bewildered Volcae, who were already wailing in fright at the prospect of being attacked from the front and rear. Suddenly, their enemies’ distress grew even greater and Bostar glanced over his shoulder. To his delight, the Volcae tents were going up in flames. The scutarii were following their orders perfectly.

The warriors’ disarray helped greatly to reduce the Carthaginian casualties. The tribesmen were far more concerned with protecting their own backs than aiming missiles at the helpless troops in their boats. However, their poor discipline and general panic meant that the Volcae had little success with Bostar’s soldiers either. They loosed their spears and arrows in ragged, early volleys that had barely enough power to reach the spearmen’s front ranks. Fewer than two dozen men had been downed before they had come within what Bostar considered proper range.

Calmly, he ordered his soldiers to throw their spears. This massed effort stood in stark comparison to the tribesmen’s pathetic efforts. Hundreds of shafts curved up into the air, to fall in dense shoals among the unprepared Volcae, most of whom were not wearing armour. The volley caused heavy casualties. The screams of the injured and dying served to increase the warriors’ fear and confusion. Bostar laughed at the magnificence of Hannibal’s plan. One moment, the Volcae had been waiting for an easy slaughter, and the next, they were being attacked from behind while their tents went up in flames.

It was then that the lead Carthaginian boats pulled into the riverbank. Led by their general, scores of scutarii and caetrati threw themselves into the shallows. Their fierce battle cries were the final straw for the terrified Volcae, who could take no more. Faces twisted in fear, they broke and ran. ‘Draw swords!’ Bostar shouted delightedly, leading his men to complete the rout. The crossing of the river was theirs, which proved that the gods were still smiling on Hannibal and his army.

Within a quarter of an hour, it was all over. Hundreds of Volcae lay dead or dying on the grass, while the broken survivors ran for their lives into the nearby woods. Squadrons of whooping Numidians were already in pursuit. Few of the fugitives would live to tell the tale of the ambush, thought Bostar. But some would, and the legend of Hannibal’s passing would spread. Bloody lessons such as this were like the siege of Saguntum. They sent a clear message to the surrounding tribes that to resist the Carthaginian army resulted in just one thing. Total defeat. Bostar wished vainly that it proved to be this simple with the Romans.

His task completed, he stood his men down and went in search of Hannibal. By now, the bank was thronged with infantry, slingers and cavalrymen leading their horses away from the river. Officers shouted in frustration, trying to assemble their scattered units. The river was dotted with dozens of boats travelling in each direction. The mammoth task of ferrying tens of thousands of men and vast quantities of supplies over the Rhodanus was under way.

Bostar threaded his way through the soldiers, scanning the faces for his family. When he saw Malchus, his heart leaped with joy. Sapho was by his side. Bostar hesitated, before recognising that he felt relief at the sight of his brother. He was grateful for this gut instinct. Whatever the circumstances of their parting, blood was thicker than water.

Telling himself that all would be well, Bostar raised a hand. ‘Father!’ Sapho!’ he shouted.

It rapidly became clear that Suniaton would take months to recover; that was, if his wounds ever healed fully. Hanno was not at all sure they would. Certainly, his friend would never be fit to fight again. There was little doubt now that Suniaton’s heavy limp would be lifelong. But, as he repeatedly told Hanno, at least he was alive.

Hanno nodded and smiled, trying to ignore the resentment that clawed at his happiness over Suniaton’s rescue. He failed, because his friend was not fit to journey on his own, and might never be. Hanno grew irritable and withdrawn, and took to spending his time outside the hut, away from Suniaton. This made him feel even worse, but when he returned, determined to make amends, and saw his friend hobbling about on his home-made crutch, Hanno’s anger always returned.

On the fourth day, the pair had an unexpected visit from Quintus and Aurelia. ‘It’s all right, there’s been no news from Capua,’ Quintus said as he dismounted.

Hanno relaxed a fraction. ‘What brings you here then?’

‘I thought you’d want to know. Father and Flaccus are about to leave. Finally, Publius Cornelius Scipio and his legions are ready.’

Hanno’s heart stopped for a moment. ‘Are they headed for Iberia?’

‘Yes. The northeast coast. That’s where they think that Hannibal is,’ replied Quintus in a neutral tone.

‘I see,’ said Hanno, fighting to remain calm. Inside, his desire to leave had resurfaced. ‘And the army that’s bound for Carthage?’

‘It will be leaving soon too.’ Quintus looked awkward. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s nothing to be sorry for,’ Hanno muttered gruffly. ‘It’s not your doing.’

Quintus was still uncomfortable, because he moved off to check Suniaton’s injured thigh without answering. Hanno thought guiltily, I should be doing that. For all the good it would do, his mind retorted. He’ll never walk properly again.

Aurelia’s voice cut into his reverie. ‘We won’t see Father for months,’ she said sadly. ‘And Quintus never stops talking about going to join him. Before long, Mother and I may be left alone.’

Hanno made a sympathetic gesture, but he wasn’t concentrating; all he could think of was following Publius’ army to Iberia.

Aurelia mistook his silence for sorrow. ‘How could I be so thoughtless? Who knows when you will see your family?’

Hanno scowled, but not because of what she’d said. Hannibal and his host would shortly face a Roman consular army. Meanwhile, he was stuck here with Suniaton.

‘Hanno? What is it?’

‘Eh?’ he answered. ‘Nothing.’

Aurelia followed his gaze to Suniaton, who was gingerly following Quintus’ instructions. The realisation hit her at once. Like a cat, she pounced. ‘You want to go to war too,’ she whispered. ‘But you can’t, because of your loyalty to Suni.’

Stricken, Hanno stared at the ground.

Aurelia touched his arm. ‘There is no greater love you could show a friend than standing by him in his time of need. It requires true courage.’

Hanno swallowed hard. ‘I should be happy to stay with him, though, not angry.’

‘You can’t help it.’ Aurelia sighed. ‘You’re a soldier, like my father and brother.’

Almost on cue, Quintus came striding over. ‘What’s that?’

Neither Aurelia nor Hanno answered.

Quintus grinned. ‘What’s the big secret? Have you guessed that I’m going to go and find Father?’

Aurelia’s mouth opened in horror. Hanno was similarly shocked, but before either could respond, Suniaton joined them, obviously intent on speaking. Surprised by the Carthaginian’s interruption, Quintus deferred to him. Suni’s words struck everyone dumb. ‘I know how hard it is for you, Hanno. Waiting for me to recover, when all you want to do is join Hannibal’s army.’

Hanno’s guilt swelled immeasurably. ‘I will stay with you as long as necessary. That’s all there is to it,’ he declared. Quickly, he turned to Quintus. ‘What made you decide to leave now?’

‘I have to tell Father about the way Agesandros has been carrying on. Power has gone to his head.’

Aurelia butted in angrily. ‘That’s not your reason. It would be crazy to get rid of an experienced overseer at a time like this, and you know it. Besides, Agesandros hasn’t done enough to warrant being replaced. We’ll have to live with him.’

Quintus set his jaw. ‘Well, I’m going anyway. My training is finished. The war could be over in a few months. I’ll miss it if I just wait to be called up.’

You underestimate Hannibal, thought Hanno darkly.

‘You’re crazy,’ accused Aurelia. ‘How will you find Father in the middle of a war?’

A flicker of fear flashed across Quintus’ face. ‘I’ll reach him before that,’ he declared, full of apparent bravado. ‘All I need to do is take passage to the Iberian port that Publius made for. I’ll buy a horse there, and follow the legions. By the time I find Father, it will be far too late to send me back.’ He glared, daring Hanno and his sister to challenge him.

‘It’s madness to talk about travelling so far on your own,’ Aurelia cried. ‘You’ve never been further than Capua before.’

‘I’ll manage,’ Quintus muttered, glowering.

‘Really?’ demanded Aurelia sarcastically. She was surprised by how angry she felt when she’d known this was going to happen sooner or later.

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Quintus shot back.

An awkward silence fell.

Suniaton cleared his throat. ‘Why don’t you go with Quintus?’ he asked, astonishing Hanno. ‘Two swords on the road will be better than one.’

Suddenly, Aurelia’s heart started pounding. Shocked by her emotions, she had to bite her lip not to protest aloud.

Hanno saw the flash of hope in Quintus’ eyes. To his surprise and shame, he felt the same emotion in his heart. ‘I’m not leaving you, Suni,’ he protested.

‘You’ve done more than enough for me, especially when it’s my fault that we’re here in the first place,’ insisted Suniaton. ‘You have been waiting your whole life for this war. I have not. You know that I’d rather be a priest than a soldier. So, with Quintus’ and Aurelia’s permission, I will remain here.’ Quintus nodded his acquiescence, and Suniaton continued, ‘When I’m fully recovered, I will travel to Carthage, alone.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Hanno stuttered, his feelings fluctuating between sadness and excitement.

Suniaton held up a hand, stalling his protest. ‘I will have it no other way.’

Hanno’s protest died in his throat. ‘I’m still in your debt, Quintus,’ he said. ‘Accompanying you might repay part of that obligation. What do you say?’

‘I’d be honoured to have you as a companion,’ said Quintus, bowing his head to conceal his relief.

Now, Aurelia’s grief knew no bounds. She was going to lose not only her brother, but also Hanno, and there was nothing she could do about it. A tiny sob escaped her lips. Quintus put an arm around her, and Aurelia managed to rally herself. ‘Come back safely.’

‘Of course I will,’ he murmured. ‘Father will also.’

Nervously, Aurelia fixed her eyes on Hanno. ‘You too,’ she whispered.

Quintus’ mouth opened as the two words hung in the air.

Hanno was stunned. Aurelia was promised to another, and a high-ranking Roman at that. Did she really mean what he thought? He studied her face for a moment.

‘I will,’ he said finally. ‘One day.’