Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

‘I know,’ Sapho snarled. ‘They were sold in Italy. Probably as gladiators.’

Bostar’s eyes filled with horror. ‘No!’

‘Yes,’ Sapho shot back venomously, ‘and it’s all your fault. If you had stopped them, Hanno would be standing here beside us today.’

Bostar swelled with indignation. ‘That’s rich coming from you!’

‘Stop it!’ Malchus’ voice cut in like a whiplash. ‘Sapho, you and Bostar came to the decision together, did you not?’

Sapho glowered. ‘Yes, Father.’

‘So you are both responsible, just as I am for not being easier on him.’ Malchus ignored his sons’ surprise at his admission of complicity. ‘Hanno is gone now, and fighting over his memory will serve none of us. I want no more of this. Our task now is to follow Hannibal, and take Saguntum. If we are lucky, the gods will grant us vengeance for Hanno afterwards, in the fight against Rome. We must put everything else from our minds. Clear?’

‘Yes, Father,’ the brothers mumbled, but neither looked at the other.

Bostar had to ask. ‘What did you do to the pirates?’

‘They were castrated, and then their limbs were broken. Lastly, the scum were crucified,’ Malchus replied in a flat tone. Without another word, he climbed up on to the dock and headed for the city’s centre.

Sapho held back until they were alone. ‘It was too good for them. We should have gouged out their eyes too,’ he added viciously. Despite his apparent enthusiasm, the horror of what he’d seen still lingered in his eyes. Sapho had thought that the punishments would stop him feeling relief at Hanno’s disappearance, but he’d been wrong. Seeing his younger brother again rammed that home. I will be the favourite! he thought savagely. ‘Just as well that you weren’t there. You wouldn’t have been up to any of it.’

Despite the implication about his courage, Bostar retained his composure. He wasn’t about to pull rank here, now. He was also uncertain what his own reaction might have been if he’d been placed in the same situation, handed the opportunity for revenge on those who had consigned Hanno to a certain death. Deep down, Bostar was glad that he had not been there. He doubted that either his father or Sapho would understand. Melqart, he prayed, I ask that my brother had a good death, and that you allow our family to put aside its differences. Bostar gained small consolation from the prayer, but it was all he had at that moment.

That, and a war to look forward to.

Checking that Agesandros was nowhere in sight, Hanno pulled the mules to a halt. The sweating beasts did not protest. It was nearly midday, and the temperature in the farmyard was scorching. Hanno jerked his head at one of the others who was threshing the wheat with him. ‘Water.’

The Gaul made a reflex check for the Sicilian before putting down his pitchfork, and fetching the leather skin which lay by the storage shed. After drinking deeply, he replaced the stopper and tossed it through the air.

Hanno nodded his thanks. He swallowed a dozen mouthfuls, but was careful to leave plenty of the warm liquid for the others. He threw the bag to Cingetorix, another Gaul.

When he was done, Cingetorix wiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘Gods, but it’s hot.’ He spoke in Latin, which was the only language he and his countrymen had to communicate with Hanno. ‘Does it never rain in this cursed place? At home…’ He wasn’t allowed to finish.

‘We know,’ growled Galba, a short man whose sunburnt torso was covered with swirling tattoos. ‘It rains much more. Don’t remind us.’

‘Not in Carthage,’ said Hanno. ‘It’s as dry there as it is here.’

Cingetorix scowled. ‘You must feel right at home then.’

Despite himself, Hanno grinned. For perhaps two months after his arrival, the Gauls, with whom he shared sleeping quarters, had ignored him completely, speaking their own rapid-fire, guttural tongue at all times. He’d done his best to win them over, but it had made no difference. When it came, the change had been gradual. Hanno wasn’t sure whether the extra, unwanted attention he received from Agesandros was what had prompted the tribesmen to extend the hand of friendship to him, but he no longer cared. The camaraderie they now shared was what made his existence bearable. That, and the news that Hannibal’s iron grip on Saguntum had tightened. Apparently, the city would fall before the end of the year. Hanno prayed for the Carthaginian army’s success every night. He also asked that one day he be granted an opportunity to kill Agesandros.