Hannibal Enemy of Rome (2011)

  Aurelia was pleased by news of the postponement, but the thought of her wedding day - and night - still made her turn scarlet. Catching sight of Hanno in the kitchen doorway, she went an even brighter shade of red. His being a slave did not stop her from thinking - yet again - that, despite his newly crooked nose, he was extremely good-looking. For an instant, Flaccus was replaced by Hanno in her mind’s eye. Aurelia stifled a gasp and shoved the shocking image away. ‘That’s nice. What else has Father to say?’

  Hanno was oblivious to Aurelia’s emotions. He was pleased because Julius had just told him to sweep the courtyard, which in turn allowed him to listen in on the conversation. With his ears pricked, he poked the broom into the crevices gaping between some of the tesserae on the mosaic floor, carefully hooking out as much dirt as possible.

  Atia read on, sounding more interested. ‘The majority of what he writes about is the Republic’s response to Hannibal. The Minucii and their allies are working tirelessly to help the preparations for war. Flaccus hopes to be made tribune of one of the new legions. Most importantly of all, Tiberius Sempronius Longus and Publius Cornelius Scipio, the two new consuls, have been granted the provinces of Sicily and Africa, and Iberia, respectively. The mission of the former is to attack Carthage while that of the latter is to confront, and defeat, Hannibal. Father is pleased that he and Flaccus will serve with Publius.’

  ‘That’s because all the glory will fall on the army that defeats Hannibal,’ mused Aurelia. Sometimes she wished she were a man, so that she too could go to war.

  ‘Men are all the same. We women have to stay behind and worry,’ said her mother with a sigh. ‘Let’s just ask the gods to bring both of them back safely.’

  Hanno didn’t like what he had heard. Hated it, in fact. Stinking bloody Romans, he thought bitterly. There were no generals of any ability in Carthage, which meant that the Senate would recall Hannibal to defend the city, thus ending his plans to attack Italy. His departure would leave Iberia, Carthage’s richest colony, at the mercy of an invading Roman army. Hanno’s fingers clenched furiously on his broom handle. The war seemed over before it had begun.

  Aurelia frowned. ‘Didn’t an assault on Carthage come close to succeeding in the previous war?’

  ‘Yes. And Father says that whatever Hannibal’s qualities, Rome will be victorious. We have no reason to believe that the Carthaginians’ resolve is any stronger than it was twenty years ago.’

  Hanno’s black mood grew even worse. Fabricius was right. His city’s record in the face of direct attacks was not exactly glorious. Of course Hannibal’s return would make a huge difference, but would it be enough? His army wouldn’t be with him: even without the Romans’ control of the seas, the general simply didn’t possess enough ships to transport tens of thousands of troops back to Africa.

  It was then that Quintus arrived. Instantly, he took in Aurelia standing over his mother with the letter in her hand. ‘Is that from Father?’

  ‘Yes,’ Atia replied.

  ‘What news does he send?’ he asked eagerly. ‘Has the Senate decided on a course of action?’

  ‘To attack Carthage and Iberia at the same time,’ answered Aurelia.

  ‘What a fantastic idea! They won’t know what hit them,’ Quintus cried. ‘Where is Father to be sent?’

  ‘Iberia. So too is Flaccus,’ said Atia.

  ‘What else?’

  Atia handed the parchment to Quintus. ‘Read it for yourself. Life goes on here, and I have to talk to Julius about the provisions that need buying in Capua.’ She brushed past Hanno without as much as a second glance.

  Hanno’s anger crystallised. Whatever debt he might owe, it was time to run away. Carthage would now need every sword she could get. Nothing and no one else mattered. What about Suni? asked his conscience. I have no idea where he is, thought Hanno desperately. What chance is there of finding him?

  Quintus scanned the letter at top speed. ‘Father and Flaccus are going to Iberia,’ he muttered excitedly. ‘And I am nearly finished my training.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Aurelia demanded.

  He gave her a startled look. ‘Nothing, nothing.’

  Aurelia knew her brother well. ‘Don’t go getting any crazy ideas,’ she warned. ‘Father said you were to remain here until called for.’

  ‘I know.’ Quintus scowled. ‘From the sound of it, though, the war will actually be over in a few months. I don’t want to miss it.’ His gaze flickered across the courtyard and made contact with Hanno. Instantly, Quintus glanced away, but it was too late.

  Hanno’s fury overflowed at last. ‘Are you happy now?’ he hissed.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Quintus replied defensively.

  ‘The guggas will be defeated, again. Put in their rightful place. I expect you’re delighted.’

  Quintus’ face grew red. ‘No, that’s not how it is.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Hanno shot back. Clearing his throat, he spat on the mosaic floor.

  ‘How dare you?’ Quintus roared, taking a step towards Hanno. ‘You’re nothing but a—’

  ‘Quintus!’ cried Aurelia, aghast.

  With great effort, her brother stopped himself from saying any more.

  Contempt twisted Hanno’s face. ‘A slave. Or a gugga! Is that what you were going to say?’

  Quintus’ visage turned a deeper shade of crimson. Bunching his fists with anger, he turned away.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this.’ Hanno grabbed his broom.

  Aurelia could take no more. ‘Stop it, both of you! You’re acting like children.’

  Her words made no difference. Quintus stormed out of the house, and Aurelia followed him. Hanno retreated to the kitchen, where misery settled over him as it never had before. The news he’d heard a few months before, of Hannibal’s successful siege of Saguntum, and the challenge it had issued, had bolstered his flagging spirits. Given him a reason to go on. Fabricius’ letter had destroyed this utterly. Rome’s plan seemed unbeatable. Even if he reached Hannibal’s army, what difference could he make?

  Aurelia came looking for Hanno upon her return. She found him slumped on a stool in the kitchen. Ignoring the other slaves’ curious stares, she dragged Hanno outside. ‘I’ve spoken to Quintus,’ she muttered the moment they were alone. ‘He didn’t mean to offend you. It was just a spontaneous reaction to you spitting.’ She gave Hanno a reproachful look. ‘That was so rude.’

  Hanno flushed, but he didn’t apologise. ‘He was gloating at me.’

  ‘I know it seemed like that,’ said Aurelia. ‘But I don’t think that’s what he was doing.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ Hanno shot back.

  ‘No,’ she replied softly. ‘Quintus isn’t like that.’

  ‘Why did he call me a gugga originally, then?’

  ‘People say things that they don’t mean when they’re drunk. I suppose that you haven’t called him any names in your head since?’ Aurelia asked archly.

  Stung, Hanno did not answer.

  Aurelia glanced around carefully, before reaching out to touch his face.

  Startled by the intimacy this created, Hanno felt his anger dissipate. He looked into her eyes.

  Alarmed by her suddenly pounding heart, Aurelia lowered her hand. ‘On the surface, this argument looks quite simple,’ she began. ‘If it weren’t for your misfortune, you would be a free man and, in all probability, enlisting in the Carthaginian army. Like Quintus will do in the legions. There would be nothing wrong with either of those actions. Yet Quintus is free to do as he chooses, while you are a slave.’

  That’s it in a nutshell, thought Hanno angrily.

  Aurelia wasn’t finished. ‘The real reason, however, is that first you, and then Quintus, were hurt by what the other said. Both of you are too damn proud to make a sincere apology and put it behind you.’ She glared at him. ‘I’m sick of it.’

  Amazed by Aurelia’s insight and sincerity, Hanno gave in. The quarrel had been going on long enough. ‘You’re right,’ he s
aid. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s not me you should be saying that to.’

  ‘I know.’ Hanno considered his next words with care. ‘I will apologise to him. But Quintus has to know that, whatever the law of this land, I am no slave. I never will be.’

  ‘Deep down, I’m sure he knows that. That’s why he stopped himself from calling you one earlier,’ Aurelia replied. Her face grew sad. ‘Obviously, I don’t think of you like that. But to everyone else, you are a slave.’

  Hanno was about to tell Aurelia of his plans, when, out of the corner of his eye, he sensed movement. Through the open doors of the tablinum, he could see into part of the atrium. Outside the square of floor illuminated by the hole in its roof, everything lay in shadow. There Hanno could discern a tall figure, watching them. Instinctively, he pulled away from Aurelia. When Agesandros walked into the light, Hanno’s stomach constricted with fear. What had he seen or heard? What would he do?

  Aurelia saw the Sicilian in the same moment. She drew herself up proudly, ready for any confrontation.

  To their surprise, Agesandros came no nearer. A tiny smile flickered across his face, and then he disappeared whence he had come.

  Hanno and Aurelia turned back to each other, but Elira and another domestic slave emerged from the kitchen. The brief moment of magic they had shared was gone. ‘I will talk to Quintus,’ said Aurelia reassuringly. ‘Whatever happens, you must hold on to your friendship. As we two will.’

  Keen to make things as they were before he left the farm for ever, Hanno nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  Unfortunately, Aurelia was unable to remonstrate with her brother that day. As she told Hanno later, Quintus had taken off for Capua without a word to anyone but the bowlegged slave who worked in the stable. The afternoon passed and night fell, and it became apparent that he would not be returning. Hanno didn’t know whether to feel angry or worried by this development. ‘Don’t be concerned,’ Aurelia said before retiring. ‘Quintus does this sometimes, when he needs time to think. He stays at Gaius’ house, and returns in a few days.’

  There was nothing Hanno could do. He lay back on his bedroll and dreamed of escape.

  Sleep was a long time coming.

  Chapter XI: The Quest for Safe Passage

  AFTER THE FALL of Saguntum, Bostar took to visiting his wounded men every morning, talking to those who were conscious and passing his hand over those who were still asleep, or who would never wake. There were more than thirty soldiers in the large tent, of whom half would probably never fight again. Despite the horror of his soldiers’ injuries, Bostar had begun to feel grateful for his losses. All things considered, they had been slight. Far more Saguntines had died when Hannibal’s troops had entered the city, howling like packs of rabid wolves. For an entire day, the predominant sound throughout Saguntum had been that of screams. Men’s. Women’s. Children’s. Bostar squeezed his eyes shut and tried to forget, but he couldn’t. Butchering unarmed civilians and engaging in widespread rape was not how he made war. While he hadn’t tried to stop his men - had Hannibal not promised them a free rein? - Bostar had not taken part in the slaughter. Commanded by their general to guard the chests of gold and silver that had been found in the citadel, Malchus had not either. Bostar sighed. Inevitably, Sapho had.

  A moment later, Malchus’ touch on his shoulder made him jump. ‘It’s good that you’re up so early checking on them.’ Malchus indicated the injured men in their blankets.

  ‘It’s my job,’ Bostar replied modestly, knowing that his father would have already visited his own casualties.

  ‘It is.’ Malchus fixed him with a solemn stare. ‘And I think Hannibal has another one for you. Us.’

  Bostar’s heart thudded off his ribs. ‘Why?’

  ‘We’ve all been summoned to the general’s tent. I wasn’t told why.’

  Excitement filled Bostar. ‘Does Sapho know?’

  ‘No. I thought you could tell him.’

  ‘Really?’ Bostar tried to keep his tone light. ‘If you wish.’

  Malchus gave him a knowing look. ‘Do you think I haven’t noticed how you two have been with each other recently?’

  ‘It’s nothing serious,’ lied Bostar.

  ‘Then why are you avoiding my gaze?’ demanded Malchus. ‘It’s about Hanno, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s how it started,’ Bostar replied. He began to explain, but his father forestalled him.

  ‘There are only two of you now,’ said Malchus sadly. ‘Life is short. Resolve your differences, or one of you might find that it’s too late.’

  ‘You’re right,’ replied Bostar firmly. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘As you always do.’ Malchus’ voice was proud.

  A pang of sadness tore at Bostar’s heart. Did I do my best by letting Hanno go? he wondered.

  ‘I’ll see you both outside the headquarters in half an hour.’ Malchus left him to it.

  After telling his orderly to polish his armour, Bostar headed straight for Sapho’s tent. There wasn’t much time for getting ready, never mind a reconciliation. But their father had asked, so he would try.

  Recognising the tent lines of Sapho’s phalanx by their standard, Bostar quickly located the largest tent, which, like his, was pitched on the unit’s right. The main flap was closed, which meant that his brother was either still in bed, or busy with his duties. Given his brother’s recent habits, Bostar suspected the former. ‘Sapho?’ he called.

  There was no answer.

  Bostar tried again, louder.

  Nothing.

  Bostar took a step away. ‘He must be with his men,’ he said to himself in surprise.

  ‘Who is it?’ demanded an annoyed voice.

  ‘Of course he’s not,’ Bostar muttered, turning back. He untied the thong that kept the tent flap closed. ‘Sapho! It’s me.’ A moment later, he threw wide the leather. Sunlight flooded inside, and Bostar lifted a hand to his nose. The reek of stale sweat and spilt wine was overpowering. Stepping over the threshold, he picked his way over discarded pieces of clothing and equipment. Bostar was shocked to see that every item was filthy. Sapho’s shield, spear and sword were the only things that had been cleaned. They leaned against a wooden stand to the side. He came to a halt before Sapho’s bed, a jumble of blankets and animal skins. His brother’s bleary eyes regarded him from its depths. ‘Good morning,’ said Bostar, trying to ignore the smell. He hasn’t even washed, he thought with disgust.

  ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Sapho’s voice was acid.

  ‘We’ve been summoned to a meeting with Hannibal.’

  Sapho’s lips thinned. ‘The general told you that over breakfast, did he?’

  Bostar sighed. ‘Despite what you may think, I didn’t save Hannibal’s life to curry favour, or to make you jealous. You know I’m not like that.’ He was pleased when Sapho’s eyes dropped away. He waited, but there was no further response. Bostar pressed on. ‘Father sent me. We need to be there in less than half an hour.’

  Finally, Sapho sat up. He winced. ‘Gods, my head hurts. And it tastes like something died in my mouth.’

  Bostar kicked the amphora at his feet. ‘Drank too much of this?’

  Sapho gave him a rueful grin. ‘Not half! Some of my men broke into a wine merchant’s when the city fell. We’ve kept it under guard since. You should see the place. There’s vintage stuff from all over the Mediterranean!’ His expression grew hawkish. ‘Shame his three daughters aren’t still alive. We had some fun with them, I can tell you.’

  Bostar wanted to punch Sapho in the face, but instead he proffered a hand. ‘Get up. We don’t want to be late. Father thinks Hannibal has a task for us.’

  Sapho looked at Bostar’s outstretched arm for a moment before he accepted it. Swaying gently, he looked around at the chaos of his tent floor. ‘I suppose I’d better start cleaning my breastplate and helmet. Can’t appear in front of Hannibal with filthy gear, can I?’

  ‘Can’t your orderly do it?’

  Sa
pho made a face. ‘No. He’s down with the flux.’

  Bostar frowned. Sapho was in no state to wash himself, prepare his uniform and present himself to their general in the time remaining. Part of him wanted to leave his brother to it. That’s what he deserves, Bostar thought. The rest of him felt that their feud had been going on too long. He made a snap judgement. His own servant would have everything ready by now. It would only take him a few moments to get ready. ‘Go and stick your head in a barrel of water. I’ll clean your armour and helmet.’

  Sapho’s eyebrows rose. ‘That’s kind of you,’ he muttered.

  ‘Don’t think I’m going to do it for you every day,’ Bostar warned. He gave Sapho a shove. ‘Get a move on. We don’t want to be late. Hannibal must have something special lined up for us.’

  At this, Sapho’s pace picked up. ‘True,’ he replied. He stopped by the tent’s entrance.

  Bostar, who was already following with Sapho’s filthy breastplate, paused. ‘What?’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sapho.

  Bostar nodded. ‘That’s all right.’

  The air between them grew a shade lighter, and for the first time in months, they smiled at each other.

  Bostar and Sapho found their father waiting for them near Hannibal’s tent. Malchus eyed their gleaming armour and helmets and gave an approving nod.

  ‘What’s this about, Father?’ asked Sapho.

  ‘Let’s go and find out,’ Malchus answered. He led the way to the entrance, where two dozen smartly turned-out scutarii stood. ‘The general is expecting us.’

  Recognising Malchus, the lead scutarius saluted. ‘If you’ll follow me, sir.’

  As they were led inside, Bostar winked at Sapho, who returned the gesture. Excitement gripped them both. Although they had met Hannibal before, this was the first time they’d been invited into his headquarters.

  In the tent’s main section, they found Hannibal, his brothers Hasdrubal and Mago, and two other senior officers grouped around a table upon which a large map was unrolled. The scutarius came to a halt and announced them.

  Hannibal turned. ‘Malchus. Bostar and Sapho. Welcome!’