Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Malchus and Sapho watched impassively as the soldiers set about their task. Dividing into teams of three, they stripped the prisoners with grim purpose. Light flashed off knife blades as they rose and fell. The screaming soon grew so loud that it was impossible to talk, but the soldiers did not pause for breath. Blood ran down the pirates’ legs in great streams to congeal in sticky pools on the floor. Next, the stench of burning flesh filled the air as red-hot pokers were used to stem the flow from the prisoners’ gaping wounds. The pain of the castration and cautery was so severe that all the pirates passed out. Their respite was brief. A moment later, they were woken by the agony of their bones breaking beneath the blows of hammers. Low repetitive thuds mingled with their shrieks in a new, dreadful cacophony.

Malchus pressed his lips to Sapho’s ear. ‘I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.’

Even in the corridor outside, with the door closed, the din was incredible. Although it was now possible to talk, father and son looked at each other in silence for long moments.

Malchus spoke first. ‘He could still be alive. They both could.’ Rare tears glinted in his eyes.

Sapho felt bad for Hanno. Drowning was one thing, but fighting as a gladiator? He hardened his heart. ‘They won’t be for long. It’s a mercy in a way.’

Unaware of Sapho’s motivations, Malchus clenched his jaw. ‘You’re right. We can do no more than to hope that they died well. Let us join Hannibal Barca’s army in Iberia, and wage war on Rome. One day, we will bring ruination, fire and death to Capua. Then, vengeance will be ours.’

Sapho looked stunned. ‘Hannibal would invade Italy?’

‘Yes,’ replied Malchus. ‘That is his long-term plan. To defeat the enemy on their own soil. I am one of only a handful of men who know this. Now you are another.’

‘The secret is safe with me,’ whispered Sapho. Obviously, he and Bostar had not been party to all of the information carried by Hannibal’s messenger. Finally, he understood his father’s threat to raze Capua. ‘Our revenge will come one day,’ he muttered, thinking of the golden opportunities to prove his worth that would arise.

‘Speak after me,’ ordered Malchus. ‘Before Melqart, Baal Saphon and Baal Hammon, I make this vow. With all my might, I will support Hannibal Barca on his quest. I will find Hanno, or die avenging him.’

Slowly, Sapho repeated the words.

Satisfied, Malchus led the way outside.

The screaming continued unabated behind them.

Chapter VI: Servitude

Near Capua, Campania

Hanno trudged despondently behind Agesandros’ mule, swallowing the clouds of dust sent up by those in front. Ahead of the Sicilian was the litter containing Atia and Aurelia, and beyond that, in the lead, were Fabricius and Quintus. It was the morning following his purchase by Quintus, and, after spending the night at Martialis’ house, the family was returning to their farm. During their short stay, Hanno had been left in the kitchen with the resident household slaves. Dazed, still unable to believe that he had been separated from Suniaton, he had simply slumped in a corner and wept. Other than placing a loincloth, a beaker of water and a plate of food beside him, no one had offered him any comfort. Hanno would remember their curious stares afterwards, however. No doubt it was something they had all seen countless times before: the new slave, who realises that his life will never be the same again. It had probably happened to most of them. Mercifully, sleep had finally found Hanno. His rest had been fitful, but it had provided him with an escape of sorts: the possibility of denying reality.

Now, in the cold light of day, he had to face up to it.

He belonged to Quintus’ father, Fabricius. Like his family, Suni was gone for ever.

Hanno still didn’t know what to make of his master. Since a cursory examination when they had first returned to Martialis’ house, Fabricius had paid him little heed. He had accepted his son’s explanation that, because of his literacy and skill with languages, the Carthaginian was worth his high purchase price, the balance of which Quintus was paying anyway. ‘It’s your business the way you spend your money,’ he’d said. He seemed decent enough, thought Hanno, as did Quintus. Aurelia was but a child. Atia, Fabricius’ wife, was an unknown quantity. So far, she’d barely even looked at him, but Hanno hoped that she would prove a fair mistress.

It was strange to be considering people whom he’d always considered evil as normal, yet it was Agesandros whom Hanno was most concerned about. The Sicilian had taken a set against him from the beginning. For all his concerns, at least his own situation had a positive side to it, for which he felt immensely guilty. Suniaton’s fate still hung by a thread, and Hanno could only ask every god he knew to intercede on his friend’s behalf. At the worst, to let him die bravely.