Wrapped in Quintus’ cloak, Hanno sat watching the yellow-orange flames and thinking of the people he held most dear in the world. His father. Sapho and Bostar. Suniaton. Hanno paused before adding two more individuals to the list. Quintus. Aurelia. How many of them would he ever see again? Sadness, his constant companion since the storm, washed over Hanno in great waves. In all likelihood, he would never be reunited with his family. They were probably with Hannibal’s army in Iberia by now, with every chance of being killed. Although it was his greatest desire to find them, doing so in the midst of a war would be virtually impossible. Finding Suniaton was perhaps his best hope, Hanno realised. If, by some stroke of luck, this came to pass, he would leave, never to see Quintus or Aurelia again. That conclusion brought even more pain. All he could wish for was a reunion with his loved ones in the next world. This bleak insight was the last thing Hanno remembered as sleep drew him into its embrace.
Dawn found Hanno in a better frame of mind. There was much to be grateful for. Despite what he had been through, he was no longer a captive. Moreover, Quintus had a greater chance of freeing Suniaton than he did. If the attempt was successful, he and his friend had a reasonable chance of making it to the coast, and finding a ship bound for Carthage. Never give up hope, Hanno thought. Without it, life is pointless.
He spent the morning practising with his gladius and scanning the slopes below for movement. It was nearly midday when Hanno spotted a lone figure on horseback. His heart leaped in his chest at the sight. There was no way of knowing who it was, so he withdrew into the cover granted by a clump of juniper trees some fifty paces from the hut. With bated breath, Hanno waited as the rider drew nearer. From its broad shoulders, he judged it to be male. There was no sign of any dogs, which pleased him. It increased the likelihood that this was not someone sent to track him down.
Finally, he recognised Quintus’ features. Disappointment flooded Hanno that Suniaton was not with him. As the other drew close enough to speak, Hanno emerged from his hiding place.
Quintus raised a hand in apologetic salute.
‘What happened? Did you discover anything about Suniaton?’
Quintus’ lips twisted in a grimace. ‘He’s still alive, but he was injured during training two days ago. The good news is that he won’t be able to take part in the munus.’ He saw Hanno’s alarm. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. Apparently, he’ll be fine in a month or so.’
Hanno closed his eyes to relish the wave of relief. Suni wasn’t dead! ‘The official’s son wouldn’t sell him, then?’
Quintus shook his head. ‘He didn’t seem to care that you and Suniaton wouldn’t be fighting each other,’ he said. ‘But he didn’t want to sell Suni either. Stupidly, I let the mangy dog see how much I wanted to buy him. The prick told me to come back when Suniaton is fully recovered and I can see a demonstration of his full abilities. “That will show you his true worth,” he said. I wouldn’t hold your breath, though. The man fancies himself as a gladiator trainer. There must have been a dozen slaves with weapons training in his yard. I’m sorry.’
Hanno felt the last of his reborn hope slipping away.
Quintus glanced uneasily down the slope. ‘You’d be wise to get moving.’
Hanno gave him a questioning look.
‘Agesandros was furious when he discovered that you were gone,’ Quintus said. ‘The arrogant bastard wouldn’t take it from me that I had freed you. He said only my father had the power to do that. Naturally, my mother agreed with him. She’s furious with me,’ he added glumly.
‘But your father won’t be back for months.’
Quintus gave him a grim nod. ‘Precisely. Which makes you a runaway, and hunting them down is something Agesandros is rather good at. I told him that you headed towards Capua, and I think he believed me. He started looking in that direction.’ He winked. ‘Fortunately, Aurelia made Elira drag an old tunic of yours all the way to the river, and then swim downstream to a ford where her tracks would be mixed up with plenty of others. She left the garment in the water, which should trick the hounds.’
‘Your sister is incredible,’ said Hanno in amazement.
Quintus grinned briefly. ‘It would still be best to get a head start now. Skirt around the farm to arrive at Capua tomorrow morning. Agesandros should have returned home by that stage, and you can catch a boat downriver to the coast.’
A knot formed in Hanno’s stomach. ‘I can’t desert Suniaton,’ he muttered. ‘He’s so near.’
‘And so far,’ Quintus replied harshly. ‘He might as well be in Hades for all you can do.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ Hanno retorted. ‘But you said the official’s son would talk again in a few weeks.’
Unsurprised, Quintus sighed. ‘Stay, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring you food every two or three days. I will try to keep an eye on Suniaton. We’ll work out some way of getting him out.’
Hanno could have cried with relief. ‘Thank you.’
Quintus pulled around his horse’s head. ‘Be vigilant. You never know when Agesandros might appear.’
Bostar’s phalanx was marching behind those of Sapho and his father, so the messenger reached him first. ‘Is there a Captain Bostar here?’ he cried.
‘Yes. What do you want?’
‘Hannibal wants to talk to you, sir. Now,’ he said, matching the Libyans’ pace easily.
Bostar stared at the strapping scutarius, who was one of the general’s bodyguard. ‘Do you know what it’s about?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Did he want to see my father or brother?’
‘Just you, sir,’ replied the Iberian stolidly. ‘What shall I say to the general? He’s pulled out of the column about a mile back.’
‘Tell him I will be there at once.’ Bostar thought for a moment. ‘Wait! I’ll come with you.’
The scutarius looked pleased. ‘Very good, sir.’
Bostar muttered instructions to his second-in-command, who was riding beside him, before turning his horse’s head and directing it out of his soldiers’ way. Few of the men looked up as he trotted by, but those who did grinned. Bostar nodded in acknowledgement, glad that his efforts in winning their trust had paid off. The Libyans’ large round shields knocked off their backs as they walked, and their short spears looked skywards in a forest of points. A junior officer was situated every fifty paces, and beside each marched a standard-bearer. Their wooden poles were decorated with sun discs, lunar crescents and red decorative ribbons.
Bostar eyed the long, winding column approaching from the southwest. ‘Feast your eyes on that,’ he said to the scutarius, who was trotting alongside. ‘It’s some spectacle.’
‘I suppose so, sir.’ The man cleared his throat and spat. ‘It would look a damn sight better with forty thousand more of my countrymen, though.’
‘Not all are as loyal as you and your comrades,’ replied Bostar. In his heart, he too was sorry that the host had shrunk by more than a third in little over three months. Much of the decrease could be accounted for by the casualties suffered thus far, and those who made up the garrisons along the route back to Iberia. In addition, plenty of men, perhaps ten thousand more, had been discharged by Hannibal before they could desert. To discuss the matter with an ordinary soldier was bad for morale, so Bostar kept his lips sealed. His spirits soon lifted, however. It was impossible not to be exhilarated by the sight of such a massive Carthaginian army, the first such to go on the offensive against Rome in more than a generation.
After the last of the spearmen had passed, there was a short delay until the next units reached them. These were massed ranks of fierce-looking, tattooed Libyan skirmishers in bare feet and red goatskin tunics. They were armed with small round shields and handfuls of javelins. Hundreds of Balearic slingers followed, wild half-dressed men from the Mediterranean islands, whose skill with their slings was legendary. Bostar wouldn’t have trusted a single man among them, but they were a supreme asset to Hannibal’s army.
After came the li
ght Iberian infantry, the caetrati, with their round leather bucklers, javelins and falcata swords. Further down the track, Bostar made out Hannibal and his officers, surrounded by the mounted part of his bodyguard, local cavalry in crested bronze helmets and red cloaks. Behind the general marched the heavy Celtiberian foot, the scutarii.
Bostar could not see the final units of the army, which trailed behind the baggage train, thousands of laden-down mules led by Iberian peasants. Protecting the rear were thirty-seven elephants, and more Celtiberians. Bostar thought that their uniform was probably the most striking in the entire force: black cloaks, bronze helmets with crimson crests and greaves made of sinew. Their shields were either round like those of the caetrati, or flat, elongated ovals, and they carried short straight swords and all-iron spears. Last of all, mobile and fast moving, were the many protective squadrons of Iberian and Numidian cavalry. These – the finest horsemen in the world – were Hannibal’s secret weapon.
They reached the general’s position not long after. The scutarius gave the password to the cavalryman who challenged them, which saw the protective cordon open up. Bostar dismounted quickly and threw his reins to the Iberian. As he approached, he felt Hannibal’s eyes upon him. Bostar moved even faster. He snapped off a salute. ‘You wished to see me, sir?’
Hannibal smiled. ‘Yes. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.’
Bostar couldn’t help but grin. ‘I wanted to find out what you had in mind for me, sir.’
Hannibal glanced at the officers to either side. ‘Eager, this lion cub, isn’t he?’
There was a ripple of laughter, and Bostar flushed, not least because the general and his brothers – the sons of Hamilcar Barca – were known as the ‘lion’s brood’.
Hannibal noticed at once. ‘Do not take offence, for I meant none. It’s soldiers like you who are the backbone of this army. Not like the thousands of men I had to let go after our recent campaign. Faint hearts.’
Bostar nodded gratefully. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Hannibal turned his eyes to the southwest, whence they had come. ‘It’s hard to believe that we only crossed into Gaul a few weeks ago, isn’t it? Seems like we haven’t fought a battle in an age.’
‘I won’t forget the journey in a hurry, sir.’ After the hostile, sun-scorched lands north of the Iberus, Bostar appreciated the fertile land of southern Gaul, with its tilled fields, large villages and friendly natives.
Hannibal’s nod was rueful. ‘Nor will I. Losing ten thousand men in under three months was most unfortunate. But it couldn’t be helped. Speed was of the essence, and our tactics worked.’
Mago shot his brother a disgruntled look. ‘Don’t forget the same number of troops, plus cavalry, that you had to leave to keep the bastards pacified.’
‘Soldiers who will also protect the area against Roman invasion,’ retorted Hannibal. ‘After defeating the troublesome natives, they should be able to take on a legion or two.’ He scratched his beard and eyed Bostar. ‘The worst of the lot were that tribe you had trouble with. The whoresons who would have slaughtered you but for the duel your mad brother fought.’
Bostar hid his amusement at Hannibal’s description of Sapho. ‘The Ausetani, sir.’
‘The same ones who wouldn’t allow the army to march through their lands unhindered. They were fools. But brave all the same,’ Hannibal acknowledged. ‘At the end, hardly any of them had wounds in their backs.’
‘They fought well, sir,’ agreed Bostar. ‘Especially the champion whom Sapho defeated. I counted ten of our soldiers lying around his corpse. His wound from the duel hadn’t even healed either.’
‘Malchus pointed him out to me afterwards,’ said Hannibal. ‘It’s incredible that your brother managed to beat him in single combat. The man was as big as Herakles.’
‘He was, sir,’ agreed Bostar fervently. His memories of the fight were still vivid. ‘Sapho had the gods on his side that day.’
‘He did. For all his bravery, though, your brother has a tendency to be rash. To act first, and think later.’
‘If you say so, sir.’ While Bostar agreed with his general’s assessment, it felt wrong to openly say so.
Hannibal gave him a shrewd look. ‘Your loyalty is commendable, but don’t think I didn’t hear about his refusal to pull back during that attack on Saguntum. If it hadn’t been for you, hundreds of men would have lost their lives unnecessarily. Eh?’
Bostar met his general’s gaze with reluctance. ‘Maybe so, sir.’
‘That’s why you’re here. Because you think before you take action.’ Hannibal waved at the rolling countryside, much of which was full of ripe wheat and barley. ‘Things are easy now. We can buy as much grain as we need from the locals, and live off the land the rest of the time. But the journey won’t all be like this. The weather will get worse and, sooner or later, we’ll come across someone who wants to fight us.’
‘Indeed, sir,’ said Bostar soberly.
‘We can only pray that it’s not the Romans at any stage before we reach Cisalpine Gaul. Hopefully, those bastards still have no idea of our plans. The good news is that my scouts, who have just returned from the River Rhodanus, saw no sign of them.’
Mago’s smile was like that of a wolf. ‘And the trail a legion leaves can’t be missed, so we have one less thing to worry about. For now.’
‘Have you heard of the Rhodanus?’ asked Hannibal.
‘Vaguely, sir,’ said Bostar. ‘It’s a big river quite near the Alps.’
‘That’s right. By all accounts, most of the tribes in the area are well disposed towards us. Naturally, there’s one that is not. The Volcae, they’re called, and they live on both sides of the water.’
‘Will they try to deny us the passage, sir?’
‘It would appear so,’ Hannibal answered grimly.
‘That could be very costly, sir, especially when it comes to taking the horses and elephants across.’
Hannibal scowled. ‘That’s right. Which is why, while the army prepares to cross, you’re going to lead a force upriver of the Volcae camp. You’ll swim over at night, and find a hidden position nearby. Your dawn signal will tell me to order the boats launched.’ He smacked a fist into his palm. ‘We’ll squash them like a man stamps on a beetle. How does that sound?’
Bostar’s heart thumped in his chest. ‘It sounds good, sir.’
‘That’s what I like to hear.’ Hannibal gripped his shoulder. ‘You’ll get further instructions nearer the time. Now, you’ll be wanting to get back to your men.’
Bostar knew when he was being dismissed. ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
Hannibal called out when Bostar was ten steps away. ‘Not a word about this to anyone.’
‘Of course, sir,’ Bostar replied. The order was a relief, for it meant that Sapho would have no chance to be jealous because he had not been selected for the duty. Yet Bostar was already worrying how his brother would react when he did find out.
Chapter XIII: Departure
HANNO SOON GREW used to living in the hut, which had lain vacant since the shepherd’s murder. According to Quintus, Fabricius’ sheep were being grazed elsewhere and there was little likelihood of anyone passing by. Nonetheless, Hanno stayed alert. While Agesandros was his main concern, he had no wish to be seen at all. Hanno’s luck held out; the only visitors he had were Quintus, and occasionally Aurelia.
There was little news of Suniaton. Quintus did not want to appear too eager by visiting the official’s son earlier than had been arranged. Finally, though, Quintus reported that Suniaton had made an uneventful recovery. Hanno’s spirits soared upon hearing this, but his hopes were immediately dashed. ‘The whoreson still won’t sell. He says Suniaton is too promising a fighter. He wanted 250 didrachms for him.’ Quintus gave Hanno an apologetic look. ‘I haven’t got that type of money. Father does, of course, but I’m not sure he’d give it to me, even if I managed to find him.’
‘We can’t give up now. There must be another way,’ said Hanno fie
rcely.
‘Unless we can bribe someone to let Suniaton escape … I just don’t know who to approach.’ Quintus’ frown disappeared. ‘I could ask Gaius.’ He held up a reassuring hand as Hanno jerked forward in alarm. ‘Gaius and I have been friends since we could walk. He doesn’t necessarily approve of my helping you escape, but he won’t tell a soul. Who knows? He might be prepared to help.’
Hanno forced himself to sit down. Gaius’ trustworthiness had already been proved by the fact that nobody had come looking for him at the shepherd’s hut. It also seemed as if he was Suniaton’s only hope. ‘Let us pray to the gods that he agrees, then.’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Quintus, hoping that his confidence in Gaius was not misplaced. In an effort to protect Hanno, he had concealed the fact that Suniaton was already fighting as a gladiator once more.
Time was not on their side.
When Quintus finally brought word that Gaius’ efforts had come to fruition, Hanno’s relief was overwhelming. Autumn had arrived, and the woods were a riot of colour. The temperature had dropped noticeably too. Hanno was growing used to being woken by the cold at night. Quintus’ direction to pack all his gear was most welcome. Hopefully, he’d be leaving the hut for ever. ‘What are we going to do?’ he asked as they headed towards Capua.
‘Gaius didn’t want me to say,’ Quintus replied, avoiding Hanno’s gaze.
Worry clawed at Hanno’s insides. ‘Why?’
Quintus shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I think he wants to tell you himself.’ He saw Hanno’s disappointment. ‘It’s only a few hours longer.’
‘I know,’ Hanno replied, forcing a smile. ‘And I owe you both so much for what you’ve done.’
‘It’s not about debts,’ said Quintus generously. ‘A man tries to help his friends if he can. Let’s just hope that Gaius’ idea works.’