Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Malchus refused to let the panic that had flared in his breast grow. He was a soldier. ‘There’ll be some easy explanation to this,’ he declared. ‘We might have to check every inn and whorehouse in Carthage, but we’ll find them.’

Bodesmun’s normal commanding demeanour had disappeared. He nodded meekly.

‘Sapho! Bostar!’

‘Yes, Father,’ they replied in unison, eager to be given something to do. By now, Bostar was distraught. Sapho didn’t look happy either.

‘Rouse as many soldiers as you can from the barracks,’ Malchus ordered. ‘I want the city combed from top to bottom. Concentrate on their favourite haunts around the ports. You know the ones.’

They nodded.

Despite his best efforts, Malchus’ temper frayed. ‘Go on, then! When you’re done, find me here, or in the Agora.’

Bostar turned at the entrance to the corridor. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Talk to the fishermen at the Choma,’ Malchus answered grimly. His mind was full of the storm that had battered the city the previous night. ‘I want to know if anyone saw them yesterday.’ He glanced at Bodesmun. ‘Coming?’

The priest pulled himself together. ‘Of course.’

With a sinking feeling in their bellies, they left the house.

On the Choma, Malchus and Bodesmun found scores of the fishermen who plied the waters off the city. Their day’s work was long done. With their boats tied up nearby, they lounged about, gossiping and repairing holes in their nets. Unsurprisingly, the appearance of a noble and a high-ranking priest filled them with awe. Most went their entire lives without ever being in the presence of someone so far up the social scale. Their guttural argot was also quite hard to understand. Consequently, it was hard to get a word of sense out of them.

‘We’re wasting our time. They’re all idiots,’ Malchus muttered in frustration. He forced himself not to scream and lash out with rage. Losing his temper would be completely counterproductive. The best chance of discovering anything about their sons’ disappearance was surely to be found here.

‘Not all, perhaps.’ Bodesmun indicated a wiry figure sitting on an upturned boat, whose silver hair marked him out as older than his companions. ‘Let’s ask him.’

They strolled over. ‘Well met,’ Bodesmun said politely. ‘The blessings of the gods be upon you.’

‘The same to you and your friend,’ replied the old man respectfully.

‘We come in search of answers to some questions,’ Malchus announced.

The other nodded, unsurprised. ‘I was thinking that you were after more than fresh fish.’

‘Were you out on the water yesterday?’

There was a faint smile. ‘With the tunny running like they were? Of course I was. It’s just a shame that the weather changed so early, or it would have been the best day’s catch in the last five years.’

‘Did you see a small skiff, perhaps?’ Malchus asked. ‘With two crew. Young men, well dressed.’

His urgent tone and Bodesmun’s anxious stance would have been obvious to all but an imbecile. Nonetheless, the old man did not answer immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes.

Each instant that went by felt like an eternity to Malchus. He clenched his fists to stop himself from grabbing the other by the throat.

It was Bodesmun who cracked first. ‘Well?’

The old man’s eyes opened. ‘I did spot them, yes. A tall lad and a shorter, stockier one. Well dressed, as you say. They’re out here regularly. A friendly pair.’

Malchus and Bodesmun gave each other a look full of hope, and fear.

‘When did you last see them?’

The old man’s expression became wary. ‘I’m not sure.’

Malchus knew when he was being lied to. A tidal wave of dread swamped him. There was only one reason for the other to withhold the truth. ‘Tell us,’ he commanded. ‘You will come to no harm. I swear it.’

The old man studied Malchus’ face for a moment. ‘I believe you.’ Taking a deep breath, he began. ‘When the wind rose sharply, I saw that a storm was coming. I quickly pulled my net on board and headed for the Choma. Everyone else was doing the same. Or so I thought. When I was safe on dry land, I saw one skiff still over the tunny. I knew it for the young men’s craft by its shape. At first I imagined that they had been consumed by greed and were trying to catch even more fish, but as it was carried out of sight, I realised I was mistaken.’

‘Why?’ Bodesmun’s voice was strangled.

‘The boat appeared to be empty. I wondered if they’d fallen overboard and drowned. That seemed improbable, for the sea was still not that rough yet.’ The old man frowned. ‘I came to the assumption that they were asleep. Oblivious to the weather.’

‘What do you take us for?’ cried Malchus. ‘One dozing, maybe, but both of them?’

The old man quailed before Malchus’ wrath, but Bodesmun laid a restraining hand on his arm. ‘That is a possibility.’

Wild-eyed, Malchus turned on Bodesmun. ‘Eh?’

‘A flask of good wine is missing from my cellar.’

Malchus gave him a blank look. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Suniaton is the likely culprit,’ Bodesmun revealed sadly. ‘They must have drunk the wine and then fallen asleep.’