Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Saguntine reprisals against the tribes allied to Carthage were purportedly the reason for Hannibal’s assault, but, as everyone knew, its intent was to provoke Rome into a response. Yet, thanks to the general’s perfect timing, that response would not be militaristic. Severe unrest in Illyricum meant that the Republic had already committed both consuls and their armies to conflict in the East. For the upcoming campaign season, Rome would only be able to issue empty threats. After that, however, retribution would undoubtedly follow. Hannibal was not worried. He was convinced that the time for war with their old enemy was ripe, and Malchus agreed with him. Nonetheless, bringing those who led Carthage round to the same opinion had been a daunting prospect.

It was a pity, thought Malchus, that Hanno had not been there to witness his finest oratory yet. By the end, he’d had the entire council on their feet, cheering at the idea of renewed conflict with Rome. Meanwhile Hanno had most likely been fishing. News of the huge shoals of tunny offshore that day had swept the city. Now Hanno was probably spending the proceeds of his catch on wine and whores. Malchus sighed. A moment later, hearing Sapho and Bostar’s voices in the corridor that led to the street, his mood lifted. At least two of his sons had been there. They soon emerged into view, wringing out their sodden cloaks.

‘A wonderful speech, Father,’ said Sapho in a hearty tone.

‘It was excellent,’ agreed Bostar. ‘You had them in the palm of your hand. They could only respond in one way.’

Malchus made a modest gesture, but inside he was delighted. ‘Finally, Carthage is ready for the war that we have been preparing for these years past.’ He moved to the table behind him, upon which sat a glazed red jug and several beakers. ‘Let us raise a toast to Hannibal Barca.’

‘Shame Hanno didn’t hear your speech too,’ said Sapho, throwing a meaningful glance at Bostar. Busily pouring wine, their father didn’t see it.

‘Indeed,’ Malchus replied, handing each a full cup. ‘Such occasions do not come often. For the rest of his life, the boy will regret that he was playing truant while history was made.’ He swallowed a mouthful of wine. ‘Have you seen him?’

There was a short, awkward silence.

He looked from one to the other. ‘Well?’

‘We ran into him this morning,’ Sapho admitted. ‘On our way to the Agora. He was with Suniaton.’

Malchus swore. ‘That must have been just after he’d scarpered out of the house. The little ruffian ignored my shouts! Did the pair of them give you the slip?’

‘Not exactly,’ Sapho replied awkwardly, giving Bostar another pointed stare.

Malchus caught the tension between his sons. ‘What’s going on?’

Bostar cleared his throat. ‘We talked, and then let them go.’ He rephrased his words. ‘ I let them go.’

‘Why?’ Malchus cried angrily. ‘You knew how important my speech was.’

Bostar flushed. ‘I’m sorry, Father. Perhaps I acted wrongly, but I couldn’t help thinking that, like us, Hanno will soon be at war. For the moment, though, he’s still a boy. Let him enjoy himself while he can.’

Tapping a finger against his teeth, Malchus turned to Sapho. ‘What did you say?’

‘Initially, I thought that we should force Hanno to come with us, Father, but Bostar had a point. As he was the senior officer present, I gave way to his judgement.’ Bostar tried to interrupt, but Sapho continued talking. ‘In hindsight, it was possibly the wrong decision. I should have argued with him.’

‘How dare you!’ Bostar cried. ‘I made no mention of rank! We made the decision together.’

Sapho’s lip curled. ‘Did we?’

Malchus held up his hands. ‘Enough!’

Throwing each other angry looks, the brothers fell silent.

Malchus thought for a moment. ‘I am sorely disappointed in you, Sapho, for not protesting more at your brother’s desire to let Hanno do as he wished.’ He regarded Bostar next. ‘Shame on you, as a senior officer, for forgetting that our primary purpose is to gain revenge on Rome. In comparison, frivolities such as fishing are irrelevant!’ Ignoring their muttered apologies, Malchus raised his cup. ‘Let us forget Hanno and his wastrel friend, and drink a toast to Hannibal Barca, and to our victory in the coming war with Rome!’

They followed his lead, but neither brother clinked his beaker off the other’s.

Hanno’s wish for an easy death was not granted. Eventually the storm passed, and the ferocious waves died down. Dawn arrived, bringing with it calm seas and a clear sky. The wind changed direction; it was now coming from the northeast. Hanno’s hopes rose briefly, before falling again. The breeze was not strong enough to carry them back home, and the current continued to carry their small vessel eastwards. Silence reigned; all the seabirds had been driven off by the inclement weather. Suniaton’s exhaustion had finally got the better of him, and he lay slumped on the boat’s sole, snoring.