Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Hanno could see that Agesandros was in a bad mood. Any slave who so much as missed a step was getting a tongue-lashing. Ten of them were walking ahead of the Sicilian, carrying wicker baskets. Fortunately, Hanno was near the front, which meant that Agesandros was paying him little attention. Their destination was the terraces containing plum trees, the fruit of which had lately, and urgently, become ripe. Picking the juicy crop would be an easy task compared to the work of the previous weeks, and Hanno was looking forward to it. Agesandros could only be so vigilant. Before the day was over, plenty of plums would have ended up in his grumbling belly.

A moment later, he cursed his optimism.

Galba, the man behind him, missed his footing and fell heavily to the ground. There was a grunt of pain, and Hanno turned to see a nasty gash on his comrade’s right shin. It had been caused by a sharp piece of rock protruding from the earth. Blood welled in the wound, running down Galba’s muscular calf and on to the dry soil, where it was soaked up at once.

‘That’s your day over,’ Hanno said in a low voice.

‘I doubt Agesandros would agree,’ Galba replied, grimacing. ‘Help me up.’

Hanno bent to obey, but it was too late.

Shoving past the other slaves, the Sicilian had reached them in a dozen strides. ‘What in the name of Hades is going on?’

‘He fell and hurt his leg,’ Hanno began to explain.

Agesandros spun around, his eyes like chips of flint. ‘Let the piece of shit explain for himself,’ he hissed before turning back to Galba. ‘Well?’

‘It’s as he said, sir,’ said the Gaul carefully. ‘I tripped and landed on this rock.’

‘You did it deliberately, to get out of work for a few days,’ Agesandros snarled.

‘No, sir.’

‘Liar!’ The Sicilian tugged free his whip and began belabouring Galba.

Hanno’s fury overflowed at last. ‘Leave him alone,’ he shouted. ‘He didn’t do anything.’

Agesandros delivered several more strokes and a hefty kick before he paused. Nostrils flaring, he glared at Hanno. ‘What did you say?’

‘Picking plums is an easy job. Why would he try and get out of it?’ he growled. ‘The man tripped. That’s it.’

The Sicilian’s eyes opened wide with disbelief and rage. ‘You dare to tell me what to do? You piece of maggot-blown filth!’

Hanno would have given anything for a sword in that instant. He had nothing, though, but his anger. In the rush of adrenaline, it felt enough. ‘Is that what I am?’ he spat back. ‘Well, you’re nothing but low-born Sicilian scum! Even if my feet were covered in shit, I wouldn’t wipe them on you.’

Something inside Agesandros snapped. Raising his whip, he smashed the metal-tipped butt into Hanno’s face.

There was a loud crunch and Hanno felt the cartilage in his nose break. Half blinded by the intense pain, he reeled backwards, raising his hands protectively against the blow he knew would follow. He had no opportunity to pick up a rock, anything to defend himself. Agesandros was on him like a lion on its prey. Down came the whip across Hanno’s shoulders, its tip licking around to snap into the flesh of his back. It whirled away but came singing back a heartbeat later, lacing cut after cut across his bare torso. He backed away, but the laughing Sicilian followed. When Hanno stumbled on a tree root, Agesandros shoved him in the chest, sending him sprawling. Winded, he could do nothing as the other loomed over him, his face twisted in triumph. A mighty kick in the chest followed, and the ribs broken by Varsaco cracked for the second time. The pain was unbearable and, hating himself, Hanno screamed. Worse was to follow. The beating went on until he was barely conscious. Finally, Agesandros rolled him on to his back. ‘Look at me,’ he ordered. Prompted by more kicks, Hanno managed to open his eyes. The moment he did, the Sicilian lifted his right leg high, revealing the hobnailed sole of his sandal. ‘This is for all my comrades,’ he muttered. ‘And my family.’

Hanno had no idea what Agesandros was talking about. The bastard is going to kill me, he thought dazedly. Strangely, he didn’t really care. At least his suffering would be over. He felt a numbing sense of sorrow that he would never see his family again. There would be no opportunity to apologise to his father either. Let it be so. Resigned, Hanno closed his eyes and waited for Agesandros to end it.

The blow never fell.

Instead, a commanding voice shouted, ‘Agesandros! Stop!’

Initially, Hanno didn’t grasp what was going on, but when the order was repeated, and he sensed the Sicilian back away, the realisation sank in. Someone had intervened. Who? He lay back on the hard ground, unable to do anything more than draw shallow breaths. Each movement of his ribcage stabbed knives of pain through every part of his being. It was the only thing that kept him from lapsing into unconsciousness. He was aware of Agesandros throwing hate-filled glances in his direction, but the Sicilian did nothing further to him.