Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

  ‘He’s not here,’ replied Quintus, stalling for time.

  Fabricius’ eyes opened wide with disbelief. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘He’s gone, Father,’ Quintus whispered.

  ‘Louder! I can’t hear you!’

  A passing officer glanced over, and Quintus’ mortification soared. ‘He’s gone, Father,’ he said loudly.

  ‘What a surprise!’ Fabricius cried. ‘Of course he was going to run away. What else would the dog do with a host of his countrymen so near? I bet that he waited until the very last moment before disappearing too. Congratulations! Hannibal has just gained himself another soldier.’

  Quintus was stung by the truth in his father’s words. ‘It’s not like that,’ he said quietly.

  ‘How so?’ retorted Fabricius furiously.

  ‘Hanno didn’t run away.’

  ‘He’s dead then?’ Fabricius demanded in a mocking tone.

  ‘No, Father. I set him free,’ Quintus blurted.

  ‘What?’

  With ebbing confidence, Quintus repeated himself.

  Astonishment and disbelief mixed with the anger on Fabricius’ face. ‘This goes from bad to worse. How dare you?’ Stepping closer, he slapped Quintus hard across the face.

  He reeled backwards from the force of the blow. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s a little late for apologies, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘It is not within your power to act in this manner,’ Fabricius ranted. ‘My slaves belong to me, not you!’

  ‘I know, Father,’ Quintus muttered.

  ‘So why did you do it? What in Hades were you thinking?’

  ‘I owed him my life.’

  Fabricius frowned. ‘You’re referring to what happened at Libo’s hut?’

  ‘Yes, Father. When he came back, Hanno could easily have turned on me. Joined the bandits. Instead, he saved my life.’

  ‘That’s still no reason to free him on a whim. Without my permission,’ Fabricius growled.

  ‘There’s more to it than that.’

  ‘I should damn well hope so!’ Fabricius looked at him enquiringly. ‘Well?’

  Quintus snatched the brief respite from his father’s tirade. ‘Agesandros. He had it in for Hanno from the first moment I bought him. Don’t you remember what happened when the Gaul hurt his leg?’

  ‘An over-enthusiastic beating is no reason to free a slave,’ Fabricius snapped. ‘If it was, there would be no servile labour in the whole damn Republic.’

  ‘I know it isn’t, Father,’ said Quintus humbly. ‘But after your letter arrived in the spring, Agesandros planted a purse and a dagger among Hanno’s belongings. Then he accused him of stealing them, and planning to kill us all before he fled. He was going to sell Hanno to the same owner who had bought his friend. They were to be forced to fight each other as gladiators at a munus, he said. And it was all a complete lie!’

  Fabricius thought for a moment. ‘What did your mother have to say?’

  ‘She believed Agesandros,’ Quintus answered reluctantly.

  ‘Which should have been good enough for you,’ Fabricius thundered.

  ‘But he was lying, Father!’

  Fabricius’ brows lowered. ‘Why would Agesandros lie?’

  ‘I don’t know, Father. But I’m certain that Hanno is no murderer!’

  ‘You can’t know something like that,’ replied Fabricius dryly. Quintus took heart from the fact that some of the rage had gone from his voice. ‘Never trust a slave totally.’

  Quintus rallied his courage. ‘In that case, how can you depend on Agesandros’ word?’

  ‘He’s served me well for more than twenty years,’ his father replied, a trifle defensively.

  ‘So you’d trust him over me?’

  ‘Watch your mouth!’ Fabricius snapped. There was a short pause. ‘Start at the beginning. Leave nothing out.’

  Quintus realised that he had been granted a stay of execution. Taking a deep breath, he began. Remarkably, his father did not interrupt at all, even when Quintus related how Aurelia had set a fire in the granary, and how he and Gaius had freed Suniaton. When he fell silent, Fabricius stood, tapping his foot on the ground for several moments. ‘Why did you decide to help the other Carthaginian?’

  ‘Because Hanno would not leave without him,’ Quintus answered. Then he added, passionately, ‘He is my friend. I couldn’t betray him.’

  ‘Hold on!’ interrupted Fabricius, ire creeping back into his voice. ‘We’re not talking about Gaius here. Freeing a slave without the permission of his owner is a crime, and you have done it twice over! This is a very serious matter.’

  Quintus quailed before his father’s fury. ‘Of course, Father. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Both of the slaves are long gone, if they have any sense,’ mused Fabricius. ‘Thanks to your impetuosity, I have been left more than a hundred didrachms out of pocket. So has the official’s son in Capua.’

  Quintus wanted to say that Gaius had tried to buy Suniaton, but his father’s temper was at fraying point. Buttoning his lip, he nodded miserably.

  ‘As your father, I am entitled to punish you how I choose,’ Fabricius warned. ‘Even to strike you dead.’

  ‘I’m at your mercy, Father,’ said Quintus, closing his eyes. Whatever might happen next, he was still glad that he’d let Hanno go.

  ‘Although you and your sister have behaved outrageously, I heard the truth in your words – or at least the belief that you were speaking the truth. In other words, you did what you thought was right.’

  Startled, Quintus opened his eyes. ‘Yes, Father. So did Aurelia.’

  ‘Which is why we’ll say no more about it for the moment. The matter is far from settled, however.’ Fabricius pursed his lips. ‘And Agesandros will have some explaining to do when next I see him.’

  I hope I’m there to see that, thought Quintus, his own anger at the Sicilian resurfacing.

  ‘You still haven’t explained why you abandoned your mother and sister to make your way here.’ Fabricius pinned him with a hard stare.

  ‘I thought the war might be over in a few months, like Flaccus said, Father. I didn’t want to miss it,’ Quintus said lamely.

  ‘And that’s a good enough reason to disobey my orders, is it?’

  ‘No,’ Quintus replied, flushing an ever deeper shade of red.

  ‘Yet that’s precisely what you did!’ accused his father. He stared off into the distance. ‘It’s not as if I haven’t got enough on my plate at the moment.’

  ‘I’ll get out of your way. Return home,’ Quintus whispered.

  ‘You’ll do no such thing! The situation is far too dangerous.’ Fabricius saw his surprise. ‘Publius has decided to lead his forces over the river Padus, into hostile territory. A temporary bridge has already been thrown over to the far bank. Tomorrow morning, we march westward, towards Hannibal’s army. No Roman forces are to be left behind, and the local Gauls can’t be trusted. You’d have your throat cut within five miles of here.’

  ‘What shall I do, then?’ asked Quintus despondently.

  ‘You will have to come with us,’ his father replied, equally unhappily. ‘You’ll be safe in our camp until an opportunity presents itself to send you back to Capua.’

  Quintus’ spirits fell even further. The shame of it! To have reached Publius’ army only to be prevented from fighting. It wasn’t that surprising, though. His actions had stretched his father’s goodwill to the limit. At least Hanno had got away, Quintus thought, counting himself lucky that Fabricius hadn’t given him a good hiding.

  ‘Fabricius? Where are you?’ cried a booming voice.

  ‘Mars above, that’s all I need,’ muttered Fabricius.

  Astounded by his father’s reaction, Quintus turned to see Flaccus emerge into view.

  ‘There you are! Publius wants another meeting about—’ Flaccus stopped in astonishment. ‘Quintus? What a pleasant surprise!’

  Quintus grinned guiltily.
At least someone was pleased to see him.

  ‘You sent for Quintus, I presume?’ Flaccus didn’t wait for Fabricius to answer. ‘What an excellent idea! His timing is impeccable too.’ He raised a clenched fist at Quintus. ‘Tomorrow, we’re going to teach those bastard guggas a lesson they’ll never forget.’

  ‘I didn’t send for him,’ answered Fabricius stiffly. ‘He saw fit to leave his mother and sister on their own and turn up here without so much as a by your leave.’

  ‘The rashness of youth!’ demurred Flaccus with a smile. ‘Nonetheless, you’ll let him ride out with us in the morning?’

  ‘I hadn’t planned on it, no,’ said Fabricius curtly.

  ‘What?’ Flaccus threw him an incredulous look. ‘And deny your son a chance to blood himself? To take part in what could be one of our greatest cavalry victories ever? Publius’ boy is to come along, and he’s no older than Quintus here.’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘It’s none of your concern,’ said Fabricius angrily.

  Flaccus barely blinked at the rebuff. ‘Come now,’ he cajoled. ‘Unless the lad has committed murder, surely he should be allowed to be part of this golden opportunity? This could be the glowing start to his career – a career that will only blossom once your family is allied to the Minucii.’

  Furious, Fabricius considered his options. They were in this situation purely because of Flaccus’ pushiness, yet it would look rude now for him to turn down Flaccus’ proposal. It might also jeopardise Quintus’ chances of advancement. Even when wedded to Aurelia, Flaccus would be under no legal obligation to help his brother-in-law. It was all down to goodwill. He made a show of looking pleased. ‘Very well. I’ll ask the consul for his permission to let Quintus join my unit.’

  ‘Excellent!’ cried Flaccus. ‘Publius won’t turn down a cavalryman of your son’s quality.’

  Quintus couldn’t believe the change in his fortunes. ‘Thank you,’ he said, grinning at both men. ‘I won’t let you down, Father.’

  ‘Consider yourself lucky,’ Fabricius growled. He stabbed a finger into Quintus’ chest. ‘You’re not out of trouble yet either.’

  ‘The glory he’ll win tomorrow will make you forget anything he ’s done,’ declared Flaccus, giving Quintus a broad wink. ‘Now, we’d best not keep Publius waiting any longer.’

  ‘True,’ replied Fabricius. He pointed at a nearby tent. ‘There’s an empty space in that one. Tell the men in it that I said you were to bunk in with them. We’ll get you some equipment later.’

  ‘Yes, Father. Thank you.’

  Fabricius did not reply.

  ‘Until tomorrow,’ said Flaccus. ‘We’ll cover the field with gugga bodies!’

  Instantly, an image of Hanno appeared in Quintus’ mind’s eye. Forcing a grin, he did his best to shove it away. Defeating the Carthaginians was all that mattered, he told himself.

  Chapter XIX: Reunion

  HANNO DID NOT dare to try crossing the makeshift bridge over the Padus with his mount. He had tempted fate enough by riding out of the camp alone on his mule, a likely slave. There had to be at least two centuries of legionaries guarding the road that ran up to the crossing. No matter how dull their duty, Hanno doubted that they were stupid enough to let a dark-skinned man who spoke accented Latin pass by without question. He therefore rode west along the southern bank, searching for a suitable place to ford the river.

  Winter gales had stripped the leaves from the trees, leaving the flat landscape stark and bare. It made it easy to spot movement of any kind. This suited Hanno down to the ground. Unarmed apart from a dagger, he had no desire to meet anyone until he crossed the river into the territory of the Insubres. They were mostly hostile towards the Romans. Even there, however, Hanno wanted to avoid human contact. In reality, he could trust no one but his own people, or the soldiers who fought for them. Although he was by no means safe yet, Hanno could not help feeling exhilarated. He could almost sense the presence of Hannibal’s army nearby.

  Hanno hardly dared to wonder if his own father and brothers were still alive, or with the Carthaginian forces. There was absolutely no way of telling. For all he knew, they could yet be in Iberia. Maybe they had been posted back to Carthage. What would he do if that were the case? Whom would he report to? At that moment, Hanno did not overly care. He had escaped, and, gods willing, would soon place himself under Hannibal’s command: another soldier of Carthage.

  For two days and nights, Hanno travelled west. He avoided settlements and farms, camping rough in dips and hollows where there was little chance of being discovered. Despite the severe cold, he forbore from lighting fires. His blankets were sufficient to prevent frostbite, but not to allow much sleep. It didn’t matter. Staying alert now was critical. Despite Hanno’s weariness, each new day of freedom felt better than the last.

  His luck continued to hold. Early on the third day, Hanno reached a crossing point over the Padus. A collection of small huts huddled around the ford, but there was no one about. The days were short, and work on the land had ceased until spring. Like most peasants at this time of year, the inhabitants went to bed shortly after sunset and rose late. Nonetheless, Hanno felt very vulnerable as he stripped off by the water’s edge. Placing his clothing in his pack, he rolled up the oiled leather tightly and tied it with thongs. Then, naked as the day he was born, he led the protesting mule into the river. The water was shockingly cold. Hanno knew that if they didn’t cross it fast, his muscles would freeze up and he would drown. Winter rainfall ensured that its level was high, however, and for a time, his mount struggled against the current. Hanno, who was holding on to its reins and swimming as hard as he could, felt panic swelling in his chest. Thankfully, the mule possessed enough strength to carry them both into the shallows on the far side, and from there, on to the bank. The biting wind struck Hanno savagely, setting his teeth to chattering. Fortunately, only a small amount of water had entered his pack, meaning that his clothes were mostly dry. He dressed quickly. Then, wrapping his blanket around himself for extra warmth, he remounted and resumed his journey.

  The day wore on and Hanno’s excitement grew. He was deep in Insubres territory; Hannibal’s army could not be far away. Since he’d been captured by the pirates, it had seemed impossible that he would ever be in such a position. Thanks to Quintus, it was now a reality. Hanno prayed that his friend would come through the impending war unharmed. Naturally enough, he quickly returned to thoughts of a reunion with his family. For the first time, Hanno’s attention lapsed.

  A short time later, he was brought back to reality with a jolt. Halfway down into a hollow, Hanno heard a blackbird sounding its alarm call, sharp and insistent. Scanning the trees on either side, he could see no reason for its distress. Yet birds did not react like that without cause. Acid-tipped claws of fear clutched at his belly. This was the perfect place for an ambush. For bandits to attack and murder a lone traveller.

  Terror filled Hanno as, in the same instant, a pair of javelins scudded out of the bushes to his left and flew over his head. Praying that his attackers were on foot, he dug his heels into his mule’s sides. It responded to his fear, and pounded gamely up out of the dip. Several more javelins hissed into the air behind them, but when Hanno glanced over his shoulder, his hopes vanished entirely. A group of mounted figures had emerged from the cover on each side. Six of them at least, and on horses. There was no chance of outriding his pursuers on a mule. Hanno cursed savagely. This was surely the cruellest turn of fate since he’d been washed out to sea. To have gone through all that he had, only to be murdered by a bunch of brigands a few miles from where Hannibal’s forces lay.

  He wasn’t surprised when more horses and riders appeared on the road ahead, blocking it entirely. Gripping the dagger that was his solitary weapon, Hanno prepared to sell his life dearly. As the horsemen approached, however, his heart leaped. He had not seen any Numidian cavalry since leaving Carthage, but there could be no mistaking their iden
tity. What other mounted troops scorned the use of saddles, bridles and bits? Or wore open-sided tunics even in winter?

  Even as he opened his mouth to greet the Numidians, another flurry of javelins was hurled in his direction. This time, two barely missed him. Frantically, Hanno raised both his hands in the air, palms outwards. ‘Stop! I am Carthaginian,’ he shouted in his native tongue. ‘I am Carthaginian!’

  His cry made no difference. More spears were launched, and this time one struck his mule in the rump. Rearing in pain, it threw Hanno to the ground. The air shot from his lungs, winding him. He was vaguely aware of his mount trotting away, limping heavily. Within the blink of an eye, he had been surrounded by a ring of jeering Numidians. Three jumped down and approached, javelins at the ready. What a way to die, Hanno thought bitterly. Killed by my own side because they don’t even speak my language.

  From nowhere, inspiration hit him. He’d learned a few words of the sibilant Numidian tongue once. ‘Stop,’ Hanno mumbled. ‘I … friend.’

  Looking confused, the trio of Numidians paused. A barrage of questions in their tongue followed. Hanno barely understood one word in ten of what the warriors were saying. ‘I not Roman, I friend,’ he repeated, over and over.

  His protests weren’t enough. Drawing back his foot, one of the tribesmen kicked Hanno in the belly. Stars flashed across his vision, and he nearly passed out from the pain. More blows landed, and he tensed, expecting at any moment to feel a javelin slide into his flesh.

  Instead, an angry voice intervened.

  The beating stopped at once.

  Warily, Hanno looked up to see a rider with tightly curled black hair standing before him. Unusually for a Numidian, he was wearing a sword. An officer, thought Hanno dully.

  ‘Did I hear you speaking Carthaginian?’ the man demanded.

  ‘Yes.’ Relieved and surprised that someone present spoke his tongue, Hanno sat up. He winced in pain. ‘I’m from Carthage.’

  The other’s eyebrows rose. ‘What in Melqart’s name are you doing alone in the middle of this godforsaken, freezing land?’