Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

‘No!’ Hanno mumbled. He tried to stand upright, but strong hands grabbed his arms from behind, pinioning them to his sides. He felt his dagger being removed, and a moment later the gold charm around his neck was torn away. Weaponless and without the talisman he had worn since infancy, Hanno felt utterly naked. Alongside, the same was happening to Suniaton, who screamed as his earrings were ripped out. Greedy hands pulled and tugged at their valuables as the pirates fought for a share of the spoils. Hanno glared at the Egyptian. ‘What are you going to do with us?’

‘You’re both young and strong. Should fetch a good price on the slave block.’

‘Please,’ begged Suniaton, but the pirate captain had already turned away.

Hanno hawked and spat after him, and received a heavy blow across the head for his pains. They then had their arms tied tightly behind their backs and were bundled unceremoniously below decks, into the cramped space where the slaves sat on two tiers of benches. Slumped over their oars, and with barely enough room to sit erect, they sat twenty-five to each row, fifty on each side of the bireme. At the base of the steps, on a central walkway, stood a lone slave, the man whose chant had woken Hanno. Near the stern, a narrow iron cage contained a dozen or so prisoners. Hanno and Suniaton glanced at each other. They weren’t alone.

It was hot outside, but here the presence of more than a hundred sweating men increased the temperature to that of an oven. Countless pairs of deadened eyes stared at the newcomers, but not a single slave spoke. The reason soon became apparent. Bare feet slapped off the timbers as a short barrel of a man approached. The friends stood head and shoulders over him, but the crop-haired newcomer’s muscles were enormous, reminding Hanno of Greek wrestlers he’d seen. His only garment was a leather skirt, but he exuded authority, not least because of the knotted whip dangling from his right fist. His scarred features were roughly hewn, as if from granite, his lips a mere slit in the stone.

Still winded, Hanno couldn’t stop himself from meeting the overseer’s cold, calculating eyes.

‘Fresh meat, eh?’ His voice was nasal and irritating.

‘Two more for the slave market, Varsaco,’ answered one of the men holding Hanno.

‘Consider yourself lucky. Most prisoners end up on the benches, but we have a full complement at the moment.’ Varsaco gestured at the long-haired wretches all around them. ‘So you get to stay in our select accommodation.’ He jerked a thumb at the cage and laughed.

Hanno felt a thrill of dread. Their fate would be no better than that of the oarsmen. They would be totally at the mercy of whoever bought them.

Suniaton’s eyes were pools of terror. ‘We could end up anywhere,’ he whispered.

His friend was right, thought Hanno. The Carthaginians’ weakened navy no longer had the power to keep the western Mediterranean free of pirates, and thus far the Romans had not bothered to police the high seas. The bireme could roam wherever it wanted. There were few ports indeed where the security inspection was more than cursory. Sicily, Numidia or Iberia were possibilities. As was Italy. Every decent-sized town had a slave market. Hanno felt as if he was drowning in an ocean of despair.

The Egyptian’s voice carried from the deck above. ‘Varsaco!’

The overseer answered straightaway. ‘Captain?’

‘Resume former course and speed.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Hanno and Suniaton were ignored as Varsaco bellowed orders at the oarsmen on the starboard side. Leaning into the task, the slaves used their oars to back water until the overseer gestured at them to stop. At once the figure on the walkway began singing a chant that set the oarsmen into a steady rhythm.

His duties in hand, Varsaco returned. There was a predatory look in his eyes that had not been there before. ‘You’re a handsome boy,’ he said, running his stubby fingers down Hanno’s arm. He slipped a hand under Hanno’s tunic and tweaked a nipple. Hanno shuddered and tried to pull away, but with a man either side of him, he could not go far. ‘I prefer those with a bit more meat on their bones, though,’ Varsaco confided. He moved to Suniaton’s side and roughly squeezed his buttocks. Suniaton twisted away, but the pirates holding him tightened their grip. ‘But look, you’re hurt.’ Varsaco touched one of Suniaton’s still oozing earlobes, then, to Hanno’s horror, licked the blood off his fingertip.

Suniaton wailed with fear.

‘Leave him alone, you whoreson,’ Hanno roared, struggling uselessly to free himself.

‘Or what?’ teased Varsaco. Abruptly, his voice hardened. ‘I am the master below decks. I do as I please. Take him over there!’