Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

A pair of simple bronze greaves made from the same material lay on the floor beneath the helmet. A round cavalry shield, made from ox-hide, was propped up nearby. Leaning against it was a long, bone-handled sword in a leather scabbard bound with bronze fastenings: a gladius hispaniensis. According to his father, the weapon had been adopted by Rome after they had encountered it in the hands of Iberian mercenaries fighting for Carthage. Although it was unusual still for a cavalryman to bear one, virtually every legionary was now armed with a similar sword. Possessing a straight, double-edged blade nearly as long as a man’s arm, the gladius was lethal in the right hands.

Quintus watched in awe as Fabricius traced his fingers affectionately over the helmet, and touched the hilt of the sword. This evidence of his father’s former life fascinated him; he also yearned to learn the same martial skills. While Quintus was proficient at hunting, he had undergone little in the way of weapons training. Romans received this when they joined the army, and that couldn’t happen until he was seventeen. His lessons, which included military history and tactics, and hunting boar, would have to do. For now.

Finally, Fabricius moved to a weapons rack. ‘Take your pick.’

Quintus admired the various types of javelin and hoplite thrusting spears before him, but his needs that day were quite specific. Bringing down a charging bear was very different to taking on an enemy soldier. He needed far more stopping power. Instinctively, his fingers closed on the broad ash shaft of a spear that he had used before. It had a large, double-edged, leaf-shaped blade attached to the rest of the weapon by a long hollow shank. A thick iron spike projected from each side of the base of this. They were designed to prevent the quarry from reaching the person holding the spear. Him, in other words. ‘This one,’ he said, trying to keep his mind clear of such thoughts.

‘A wise choice,’ his father said, sounding relieved. He clapped Quintus on the shoulder. ‘What next?’

He was being given complete control of the hunt, Quintus realised with a thrill. The days and weeks he’d spent learning to track over the previous two years were over. He thought for a moment. ‘Six dogs should be enough. A slave to control each pair. Agesandros can come too: he’s a good hunter, and he can keep an eye on the slaves.’

‘Anything else?’

Quintus laughed. ‘Some food and water would be a good idea, I suppose.’

‘Very good,’ agreed his father. ‘I’ll go to the kitchen and organise those supplies. Why don’t you select the slaves and dogs you want?’

Still astonished by their role reversal, Quintus headed outside. For the first time he felt the full weight of responsibility on his shoulders. It was critical that he make the correct decisions. Bear hunting was extremely dangerous, and men’s lives would depend on him.

Not long after, the little party set off. In the lead was Quintus, with his father walking alongside. Both were unencumbered except for their spears and a water bag each. Next came Agesandros, a Sicilian Greek who had belonged to Fabricius for many years. Trusted by his master, he also carried a hunting spear. A pack hung from his back, containing bread, cheese, onions and a hunk of dried meat.

Through sheer hard work, Agesandros had worked his way up to become the vilicus, the most important slave on the farm. He had not been born into captivity, though. Like many of his people, Agesandros had fought alongside the Romans in the war against Carthage. Captured after a skirmish, he had been sold into slavery by the Carthaginians. It was ironic, thought Hanno, that the Sicilian had become the slave of a Roman. Yet Fabricius and Agesandros got on well. In fact, the overseer had a good relationship with the entire family. His genial manner and willingness to answer questions meant that he had been a favourite with Quintus and Aurelia since they were tiny children. Although he was now aged forty or more, the bandy-legged vilicus was in excellent physical shape, and ruled over the slaves with an iron grip.

Last came three sturdy Gauls, chosen by Quintus because of their affinity with the hunting dogs. One in particular, a squat, tattooed man with a broken nose, spent all his free time with the pack, teaching them new commands. Like the other slaves, the trio had been toiling in the fields under Agesandros’ supervision that morning. It was sowing time, when they had to work from dawn till dusk under the hot sun. The diversion of a bear hunt was therefore most welcome, and they chatted animatedly to each other in their own tongue as they walked. In front of each man ran a pair of large brindle dogs, straining at the leather leashes tied around their throats. With broad heads and heavily muscled bodies, they were the opposite of Fabricius’ smaller dogs, which had tufted ears and feathered flanks. The former were scent hounds, while the latter relied on sight.