Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

A day or so after rounding Cape Pachynus, the southernmost point of Sicily, the bireme neared the magnificent stronghold of Syracuse. Originally built by the Corinthians more than five hundred years before, its immense fortifications sprawled from the triangular-shaped plateau of Epipolae on the rocky outcrop above the sea, right down to the island of Ortygia at the waterline. Syracuse was the capital of a powerful city-state, which controlled the eastern half of Sicily and was ruled by the aged tyrant Hiero, a long-term ally of the Republic, and enemy of Carthage. The Egyptian took his ship to within half a mile of the port before deciding not to enter it. Large numbers of Roman triremes were visible, the captains of which would relish crucifying any pirates who fell into their hands.

It mattered little to Hanno and Suniaton where they landed. In fact, the longer their journey continued, the better. It delayed the reality of their fate.

Rather than make for the towns located on the toe or heel of Italy, the Egyptian guided the bireme into the narrow strait between Sicily and the mainland. Only a mile wide, it afforded a good view of both coasts.

‘It’s easy to see why the Romans began the war with Carthage, isn’t it?’ Hanno muttered to Suniaton. Sicily dominated the centre of the Mediterranean, and, historically, whoever controlled it, ruled the waves. ‘It’s so close to Italy. Our troops’ presence must have been perceived as a threat.’

‘Imagine if our people hadn’t lost the war,’ Suniaton replied sadly. ‘We would have stood a chance of being rescued by one of our ships now.’

It was another reason for Hanno to hate Rome.

In the port of Rhegium, on the Italian mainland, the pirate captain prepared to sell his captives. The street gossip soon changed his mind. The forthcoming games at Capua, further up the coast, had produced an unprecedented demand for slaves. It was enough to make the Egyptian set sail for Neapolis, the nearest shore town to the Campanian capital.

As the end of their voyage drew near, Hanno found that his increasing familiarity with the pirates was, oddly, more comforting than the unknown fate that awaited him. But then he remembered Varsaco: remaining on the bireme was an impossibility for it would only be a matter of time before the brutal overseer took his revenge. It was with a sense of relief, therefore, that two days later Hanno clambered on to the dock at Neapolis. The walled city, formerly a Greek settlement, had been one of the socii, allies of the Republic, for over a hundred years. It possessed one of the largest ports south of Rome, a deep-water harbour filled with warships, fishing boats and merchant vessels from all over the Mediterranean. The place was jammed, and it had taken the Egyptian an age to find a suitable mooring spot.

With Hanno were Suniaton and the other captives, a mixture of young Numidians and Libyans. The Egyptian and six of his burliest men accompanied the party. To prevent any attempt at escape, the iron ring around each captive ’s neck was connected to the next by a length of chain. Enjoying the solidity of the quayside’s broad stone slabs beneath his feet, Hanno found himself beside a heap of roughly cut cedar planks from Tyre. Alongside those lay golden mounds of Sicilian grain and bulging bags of almonds from Africa. Beyond, stacked higher than a man, were wax-sealed amphorae full of wine and olive oil. Fishermen bantered with each other as they hauled their catch of tunny, mullet and bream ashore. Off-duty sailors in their striking blue tunics swaggered along the dock in search of the town’s fleshpots. Laden down by their equipment, a squad of marines prepared to embark on a nearby trireme. Spotting them, the sailors filled the air with jibes. Bristling, the marines began shouting back. The groups were only stopped from coming to blows by the intervention of a pug-nosed optio.

Hanno couldn’t help himself from drinking the hectic scene in. It was so reminiscent of home, and his heart ached with the pain of it. Then, amidst the shouts in Latin, Greek and Numidian, Hanno heard someone speaking Carthaginian, and being answered in turn. Complete shock, then joy, filled him. At least two of his countrymen were here! If he could speak with them, word might be carried to his father. He glanced at Suniaton. ‘Did you hear that?’

Stricken, his friend nodded.

Hanno frantically stood on tiptoe, but the press on the quay was too great.

With a brutal yank, the Egyptian pulled on the chain, forcing his captives to follow. ‘It’s only a short walk to the slave market,’ he announced with a cruel smile.

Hanno dragged his feet, but the pull around his neck was inexorable. To his immense distress, within a dozen paces he could no longer discern his mother tongue from the plethora of other languages being spoken. It was as if the last window of opportunity had been shut in their faces. It felt a crueller blow than anything that had befallen them thus far.