Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

  ‘Are the dogs coming in peace?’ asked Sapho.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ answered the guide. ‘They’re Vocontii, I think.’ He saw Sapho’s blank look. ‘Neighbours – and enemies – of the Allobroges.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ sneered Sapho. ‘Do any of you Gauls get on with each other?’

  The guide grinned. ‘Not too often, sir. There’s always something to fight over.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Sapho said dryly. He glanced to either side. ‘Front rank, shields up! First and second ranks, ready spears!’

  Wood clattered off wood as the spearmen obeyed his command. An instant later, the phalanx presented a solid wall of overlapping shields to its front. Over the shield rims, scores of spear tips poked forward like the spines on a forest of sea urchins.

  Looking alarmed, the warriors stopped.

  Sapho’s lips peeled upwards. ‘Tell them that if they come in peace, they have nothing to fear.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The guide bellowed a few words in Gaulish.

  There was a brief pause, and then the Vocontii continued walking towards them. When they were twenty paces away, Sapho held up his hand. ‘That’s close enough.’

  The guide translated his words, and the tribesmen dutifully halted.

  ‘Ask them what they want,’ Sapho ordered. He fixed his attention on the one man who had answered all the guide’s questions. A fine mail shirt covered the middle-aged warrior’s barrel chest, and three gold torcs announced his wealth and status. What Sapho didn’t like, or trust, was the man’s wall-eye and permanent leer.

  ‘They have heard of the size of our army and of our victories over the Allobroges, sir, and wish to assure us of their friendship,’ said the guide. ‘They want to guide us through their territory, to the easiest pass over the Alps.’

  ‘How charming,’ Sapho replied caustically. ‘And why in Melqart’s name should we believe them?’

  There was a shifty smile from the wall-eyed warrior as the guide interpreted. A wave of his hand saw several fat heifers herded into view.

  ‘Apparently, they have a hundred of these to offer us, sir.’

  Sapho didn’t let his pleasure show. That quantity of fresh meat would be very welcome. ‘The beasts don’t count for much if the Vocontii steal them straight back. Hannibal needs far more assurance than that. What kind of guarantee of safe passage can the dirtbags offer?’

  A moment later, fully half of the tribesmen took a step forward. Most obvious was the wide-faced young warrior with blond pigtails and finely made weapons. He looked decidedly disgruntled. An explanation from the deputation’s leader followed.

  ‘Apparently, the youngster is the chieftain’s youngest son, sir. The rest are high-ranking warriors,’ said the guide. ‘They are to be our hostages.’

  ‘That’s more like it,’ said Sapho. He turned to the nearest of his officers. ‘Go and find the general. Tell him what’s happened. I think he’ll want to hear their offer for himself.’ As the officer hurried off to do his bidding, Sapho resumed his study of the heights above. The fact that they were bare did not reassure him in any way. Gut feeling told him that the Vocontii were as trustworthy as a nest of snakes.

  It wasn’t long before Hannibal appeared. When he wasn’t marching near the army’s head, the general was to be found at its tail, and today it was the former. Sapho was flattered that Hannibal was not accompanied by any of his senior officers. He saluted crisply. ‘Sir!’

  ‘Sapho.’ Hannibal reached his side. ‘So this is the deputation from the Vocontii, eh?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Sapho replied. ‘The shifty-looking bastard over there is the leader.’

  ‘Tell me again what they’ve said,’ Hannibal ordered, scanning the warriors.

  Sapho obeyed.

  Hannibal rubbed his chin. ‘A hundred cattle and ten hostages. Plus the guides who will stay with us. It’s not a bad offer, is it?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘You’re not happy,’ said Hannibal with a shrewd look. ‘Why?’

  ‘What’s to stop them from simply rustling the beasts back from us, sir?’ Sapho answered. ‘Who’s to say that the hostages aren’t peasants, whom the Vocontii chieftain wouldn’t ever miss if they were executed?’

  ‘Should I reject their offer?’

  Sapho’s stomach did a somersault. Give the wrong answer now, and Hannibal probably wouldn’t ask him to lead the army again. Give the correct one, and he would rise in the general’s estimation. Sapho was desperate for the latter. ‘There’s no point, sir.’

  ‘Why not?’ Hannibal demanded.

  Sapho met his general’s fierce gaze. ‘Because if you did, we’d have to fight our way through their territory, sir. If we play along instead, there’s a reasonable chance of anticipating possible attacks while continuing the march without hindrance. If they prove to be trustworthy, so much the better. If not, then we at least gave it a try.’

  Hannibal did not reply immediately, and Sapho began to worry that he’d said the wrong thing. He was thinking of retracting his words when the general spoke.

  ‘I like your thinking, Sapho, son of Malchus. It is easier to avoid treading on a serpent that is watched than to find it under any one of a thousand stones. It would be foolish not to take steps to prevent disaster, though. The baggage train and the cavalry must be moved to a position just behind the vanguard. They’re the most vulnerable to being cut off.’

  At the front that could never happen, thought Sapho. ‘Yes, sir.’ He tried not to feel disappointed that Hannibal was taking charge. At least he’d led the army for a few days.

  Hannibal surprised him. ‘We still need infantry to lead us. You’ve been doing an excellent job, so I want you to continue in your position.’

  Sapho grinned. ‘Thank you, sir!’

  ‘I also want you to guard the hostages. At the slightest sign of treachery, you know what to do.’

  ‘I’ll have them tortured and then crucified in full view of their compatriots, sir.’

  ‘Excellent. Do whatever you see fit.’ Hannibal clapped him on the arm. ‘I’ll have the cavalry move up to your position at once. Start marching again as soon as they’re in place.’

  ‘What about the mules, sir?’

  ‘Getting them into position would be far too awkward now. We’ll keep our fingers crossed for today and do it tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’ Delighted, Sapho watched his general disappear back down the track. The passage of the mountains was proving to be far more rewarding than he could have anticipated.

  For two days, the party of Vocontii led Sapho through their lands. The cavalry and baggage train followed slowly behind them, and after them came the rest of the army. Although there had been no attacks on the column, Sapho’s distrust of the tribesmen who guided him remained. It grew stronger when, on the morning of the third day, the Vocontii chose a track that entered a valley much narrower than that in which they’d been marching. There was barely enough room for the ubiquitous pine trees to grow up its steep sides. Halting his soldiers, Sapho summoned the wall-eyed warrior. ‘Why aren’t we staying on this path?’ Sapho indicated the larger way to the right, which continued off into the distance. ‘It’s wider, and the terrain looks to remain flatter.’

  The guide repeated his words in the local tongue.

  The warrior launched into a long, rambling explanation, which involved much pointing and gesticulating.

  ‘Apparently it ends in a sheer cliff face about five miles away, sir. We’d just have to turn around and come back here. This narrow one, on the other hand, leads gradually upwards and will take us to the lowest pass in the area.’

  Sapho glared at the warrior, who simply shrugged. One of his eyes was looking at him, while the other was staring off into the sky. Sapho found it infuriating. It also made judging whether the warrior was lying exceptionally hard. He made up his mind. Sending a runner to ask Hannibal, who was with the rearguard, would entail a delay of three hours or more. ‘Fine,??
? he growled. ‘We’ll do as he says. Tell him, though, that if there’s any trickery, he’ll be the first to die.’ Sapho was pleased to see the warrior’s throat work nervously when his threat was translated. He led the way confidently enough, however, allaying Sapho’s concern a fraction.

  His unease soon returned. It wasn’t the stony and uneven track. That was much the same as those they’d followed since entering the Alps. No, thought Sapho, it was the sheer rock faces that pressed in from both sides. They went on and on with no sign of widening out. It created a feeling of real claustrophobia. He didn’t know exactly how high the cliffs were, but it was enough to reduce significantly the light on the valley floor. Sapho wasn’t alone in disliking the situation. He could hear his men muttering uneasily to each other. Behind, there were indignant brays from the mules. Many of the cavalrymen were dismounting in order to lead their reluctant horses forward.

  Sapho set his jaw. He had committed the army to this route. With a ten-mile column following, there was no turning back now. They just had to get on with it. Loosening his sword in his scabbard, Sapho ensured that he stayed close to the wall-eyed warrior. If anything happened, he would carry out his threat.

  Pleasingly, they made slow but continuous progress for what remained of the morning. Men’s spirits rose, and even the animals grew used to the confined space. Sapho remained on edge, constantly scanning the skyline above for any sign of movement. He tried to ignore the crick that was developing in his neck from always looking straight up in the air.

  What attracted Sapho’s attention first was not motion, but sound. One moment all that he could hear was the noises he’d heard daily since leaving New Carthage. Soldiers gossiping with each other. An occasional laugh, or curse. Officers barking orders. The creak of leather and jingle of harness. Hacking coughs from those with bad chests. The sound of men spitting. Brays from mules. Horses’ whinnies. The next moment, Sapho’s ears rang with a terrible, screeching resonance. He flinched instinctively. It was the noise of rock scraping off rock. With a terrible sense of dread, he looked up.

  For a moment, Sapho saw nothing, but then the irregular edge of a block of stone appeared at the edge of the cliff far above. Frantically, Sapho raised a hand to his mouth. ‘We’re under attack! Raise shields! Raise shields!’ In the same instant, his head was turning, searching for the wall-eyed warrior. As the air filled with panicked shouts, Sapho saw the man had already elbowed past his comrades and was shouting at them to follow him. ‘You treacherous bastard!’ Sapho shouted, drawing his sword. He was too late. Enraged, he watched as the Vocontii disappeared into a fissure in the rock not twenty paces away. Sapho cursed savagely. He had to stay where he was, and do what he could for his men. If he wasn’t killed himself. One thing was certain: if any of the hostages, who were kept deep in the middle of his phalanx, survived, they would die the instant he could get to them.

  The air filled with a rumbling thunder and Sapho glanced upwards again. It was a terrifying sound, amplified a thousand times by the confining valley walls. Awestruck, he watched as several boulders, each the size of a horse, were pushed over the edge high above them. They picked up speed fast, and tumbled with ever-increasing speed down the vertiginous cliff face. Relief battled with horror as Sapho realised that none would strike him. Loud screams rose from the soldiers directly underneath the rocks, who could do nothing but watch their death hurtle towards them. Their cries revealed their awful, helpless terror. Aghast, Sapho could not take his eyes off the plummeting pieces of stone. A hot tide of acid flooded the back of his mouth as they struck their targets with deafening thumps, silencing their victims for ever.

  Their ordeal wasn’t over, either. Further down the cliff tops, in a position over the cavalry and the baggage train, Sapho could see more boulders being pushed towards the edge. He groaned. There was nothing he could do for those men and beasts either. Sapho took a deep breath. Best see to the injured, he thought. At least those can be helped.

  The scream of battle cries filled their ears before they could do a thing. To Sapho’s fury, files of Vocontii warriors came spilling from the fissure into which their guides had just vanished. More issued from another one alongside it. A red mist of rage replaced Sapho’s dismay. He recognised the wall-eyed man and others of their guides among their number. Raising his spear, he roared, ‘Eyes front! Enemy attack!’ His soldiers responded with alacrity. ‘Shields up! Ready spears!’

  From the shouts behind them, Sapho could tell that the column had been attacked in other places too. ‘Rear five ranks, about turn!’ he bellowed. ‘Advance to meet the enemy. Engage at will.’ That done, Sapho spun to face the Vocontii before them. The tribesmen were closing in fast, weapons held high. Sapho levelled his spear at the wall-eyed warrior. ‘You’re dead meat, you stinking whoreson!’

  His answer was an inarticulate snarl.

  To Sapho’s frustration, he did not get to close with the other. The phalanx’s rigid structure meant that he could not move from his position, and the warrior was heading for a different part of the front rank. Sapho had to forget about him, as a tribesman with a dense red beard thrust his sword at his face. Rather than ducking below his shield rim, thereby losing sight of his enemy, Sapho jerked his head to one side. The blade whistled past his left ear, and Sapho thrust forward with his spear. There was a grating feeling as it slipped between two ribs, and then it ran deep into the other’s unprotected chest. Sapho had no chance to pull free his weapon from the dying man’s flesh. Releasing his grip on the shaft, he dragged free his sword. The warrior slumped to the ground, a disbelieving expression still twisting his features, and was immediately replaced.

  Sapho’s second foe was a bellowing bull of a man with a thick neck and hugely muscled arms. To Sapho’s shock, the triangular point of his enemy’s spear punched clean through the bronze and leather facing of his shield and smacked into his cuirass. A ball of agony exploded from Sapho’s lower belly, and he reeled several steps backwards, dropping his sword. Fortunately, the soldier behind was ready, and leaned forward, thereby preventing Sapho from falling over. Jammed in Sapho’s shield, the tribesman’s weapon was no longer usable. Quick as a flash, however, he ripped out a long dagger and reached over the top of Sapho’s shield to lunge at his throat. Desperately, Sapho jerked his head backwards. Slash after slash followed, and he knew that it would only be a moment before his throat was ripped open by the wickedly wielded blade.

  It was with the utmost relief that Sapho saw a spear come in from the side to pierce the warrior’s throat. It stabbed right through, emerging scarlet-tipped from the right side of his neck. A dreadful, choking sound left the Gaul’s gaping mouth. It was followed by a tide of bright red blood, which spattered the front of Sapho’s shield and, below, his feet. The spear was withdrawn, letting the dead warrior collapse on top of Sapho’s first opponent.

  ‘Gods above,’ Sapho muttered. He’d never been so close to death. He turned his head to regard his saviour. ‘Thank you.’

  The spearman, a gap-toothed youth, grinned. ‘You’re welcome, captain. Are you all right?’

  Sapho reached a hand under the bottom edge of his cuirass, which had a great dent in it. He probed upwards, wincing at the pain this caused. When he pulled out his fingers, he was relieved to see that there was no blood on them. ‘I seem to be,’ he answered with relief. He stooped to pick up his sword. Returning his gaze to the fight, Sapho was gratified to see that the Vocontii charge had smashed apart against the phalanx’s solid wall of shields. He wasn’t surprised. While a few of his men might have been killed, it would take more than a charge by disorganised tribesmen to break them. It was time to lead a counter charge, thought Sapho. All reason left him, however, as he saw the wall-eyed warrior no more than twenty steps away, stooping to kill an injured Libyan even as he himself retreated. Dropping his useless shield, Sapho leaped forward. His desire to kill the deceitful tribesman gave him extra speed and he had covered maybe a third of the ground between them before the other even
saw him. The warrior took one look and fled for his life. So did his comrades.

  ‘Come back, you fucking coward!’ Sapho screamed. He was oblivious to the fact that the phalanx’s front-rankers had followed him. He increased his pace to a sprint, aware that if the other reached the gap in the rock, any chance of catching him would disappear. It was no good. The warrior seemed to have winged heels. But then fate intervened, and Sapho’s enemy tripped on a protruding rock. He stumbled and fell to one knee. Sapho was on him like a dog cornering a rat. Instead of killing the tribesman, he smashed the hilt of his sword across the back of his head. Straightening, Sapho was able to slash another warrior’s arm as he ran past. With a howl, the man blundered into the fissure and out of sight.

  ‘Don’t go in there!’ Sapho shouted as the first of his spearmen arrived and made for the gap in the rock. ‘It’s a death trap.’

  The soldiers reluctantly obeyed.

  ‘I want twenty men stationed right here to make sure they don’t try a counter attack.’ Sapho kicked the wall-eyed warrior, who groaned. ‘Someone, pick up this sack of shit. Find any of his compatriots who are alive, and tie them all up.’

  ‘What are you going to do with them, sir?’ asked an officer.

  ‘You’ll see,’ Sapho replied with a wolfish smile. ‘First, though, we need to see what’s going on behind us.’

  By the time they had reached the rear of the phalanx, the Vocontii who had been attacking there were gone. The corpses of fifteen or more warriors were sprawled on the ground, but that was of little satisfaction to Sapho. In this small section alone, at least fifty Carthaginian soldiers had been critically injured or crushed to death. Just beyond, so had the same number of mules and cavalry mounts. The ground was covered with blood, and the mangled bodies of men and beasts lay everywhere. The screaming of the injured, especially those who had been trapped when the boulders finally came to rest, was awful. Sapho closed his ears to their clamour, and concentrated on finding out what else had happened. Bostar was among the officers who reported to him.