They were hailed by a thin figure near the prow. With black hair and a paler complexion than most of his dark-skinned comrades, he could have been Egyptian. Nonetheless, he spoke in Greek, the dominant language of the sea. ‘Well met. Where are you bound?’
His companions snorted with laughter.
Hanno decided to be bold. ‘Carthage,’ he declared loudly. ‘But, as you can see, we have no sail. Can we take passage with you?’
‘What are you doing so far out to sea in just a rowing boat?’ the Egyptian asked.
There were more hoots of amusement from the crew.
‘We were carried away by a storm,’ Hanno replied. ‘The gods were smiling, however, and we survived.’
‘You were lucky indeed,’ agreed the other. ‘Yet I wouldn’t give much for your chances if you stay out here. By my reckoning, it is at least sixty miles to the nearest landfall.’
Suniaton gestured towards the south. ‘Numidia?’
The Egyptian threw back his head and laughed. It was an unpleasant, mocking sound. ‘Have you no sense of direction, fool? I talk of Sicily!’
Hanno and Suniaton gaped at one another. The storm had carried them much further than they could have imagined. They had been mistakenly rowing out into the Mediterranean. ‘We have even more reason to thank you,’ said Hanno boldly. ‘As our fathers will, when you return us safely to Carthage.’
The Egyptian’s lips pulled up, revealing a sharp set of teeth. ‘Come aboard. We can talk more comfortably in the shade,’ he said, indicating the awning in the forecastle.
The friends exchanged a loaded glance. This hospitality was at odds with what their eyes were telling them. Every man in sight looked capable of slitting their throats without even blinking. ‘Thank you,’ said Hanno with a broad smile. He rowed around to the back of the bireme. There they found a jolly boat about the same size as theirs tied to an iron ring. A knotted rope had already been lowered to their level from above. A pair of grinning sailors waited to haul them up.
‘Trust in Melqart,’ Hanno said quietly, tying their boat fast.
‘We didn’t drown, which means he has a purpose for us,’ Suniaton replied, desperate for something to believe in. Yet his fear was palpable.
Struggling not to lose his own self-control, Hanno studied the planks before him. This close, he could see the black tar that covered the hull below the waterline. Telling himself that Suniaton was right, Hanno took hold of the rope. How else could they have survived that storm? It must have been Melqart. Helped by the sailors, he ascended, using his feet to grip on the warm wood.
‘Welcome,’ said the Egyptian as Hanno reached the deck. He raised a hand, palm outwards, in the Carthaginian manner.
Pleased by this, Hanno did the same.
Suniaton arrived a moment later, and the Egyptian greeted him similarly. Leather water bags were then proffered, and the two drank greedily, slaking their fierce thirst. Hanno began to wonder if his gut instinct had been wrong.
‘You’re from Carthage?’ The question was innocent enough.
‘Yes,’ replied Hanno.
‘Do you sail there?’ asked Suniaton.
‘Not often,’ the Egyptian replied.
His men sniggered, and Hanno noticed many were lustfully eyeing the gold charms that hung from their necks. ‘Can you take us there?’ he asked boldly. ‘Our families are wealthy, and will reward you well for our safe return.’
The Egyptian rubbed his chin. ‘Will they indeed?’
‘Of course,’ Suniaton asserted.
A prolonged silence fell, and Hanno grew more uneasy.
At last the Egyptian spoke. ‘What do you think, boys?’ he asked, scanning the assembled men. ‘Shall we sail to Carthage and collect a handsome prize for our efforts?’
‘No bloody way,’ snarled a voice. ‘Just kill them and have done.’
‘Reward? We’d all be crucified, more like,’ shouted another.
Suniaton gasped, and Hanno felt sick to the pit of his stomach. Crucifixion was one of the punishments reserved for lawbreakers of the worst kind. Pirates, in other words.
Raising his eyebrows mockingly, the Egyptian lifted a hand, and his companions relaxed. ‘Unfortunately, people like us aren’t welcome in Carthage,’ he explained.
‘It doesn’t have to be Carthage itself,’ Hanno said nonchalantly. Beside him, Suniaton nodded in nervous agreement. ‘Any town on the Numidian coast will do.’
Raucous laughter met his request, and now Hanno struggled not to despair. He glanced at Suniaton, but he had no inspiration to offer.
‘Supposing we agreed to that,’ said the grinning Egyptian, ‘how would we get paid?’
‘I would meet you afterwards with the money, at a place of your choosing,’ Hanno replied, flushing. The pirate captain was playing with him.
‘And you’d swear that on your mother’s life, I suppose?’ the Egyptian sneered. ‘If you had one.’
Hanno swallowed his anger. ‘I did, and I would.’
Catching him off guard, the Egyptian swung forward and delivered a solid punch to his solar plexus. The air shot from Hanno’s lungs, and he folded over in complete agony. ‘Enough of this shit,’ the Egyptian announced abruptly. ‘Take their weapons. Tie them up.’
‘No!’ Hanno mumbled. He tried to stand upright, but strong hands grabbed his arms from behind, pinioning them to his sides. He felt his dagger being removed, and a moment later the gold charm around his neck was torn away. Weaponless and without the talisman he had worn since infancy, Hanno felt utterly naked. Alongside, the same was happening to Suniaton, who screamed as his earrings were ripped out. Greedy hands pulled and tugged at their valuables as the pirates fought for a share of the spoils. Hanno glared at the Egyptian. ‘What are you going to do with us?’
‘You’re both young and strong. Should fetch a good price on the slave block.’
‘Please,’ begged Suniaton, but the pirate captain had already turned away.
Hanno hawked and spat after him, and received a heavy blow across the head for his pains. They then had their arms tied tightly behind their backs and were bundled unceremoniously below decks, into the cramped space where the slaves sat on two tiers of benches. Slumped over their oars, and with barely enough room to sit erect, they sat twenty-five to each row, fifty on each side of the bireme. At the base of the steps, on a central walkway, stood a lone slave, the man whose chant had woken Hanno. Near the stern, a narrow iron cage contained a dozen or so prisoners. Hanno and Suniaton glanced at each other. They weren’t alone.
It was hot outside, but here the presence of more than a hundred sweating men increased the temperature to that of an oven. Countless pairs of deadened eyes stared at the newcomers, but not a single slave spoke. The reason soon became apparent. Bare feet slapped off the timbers as a short barrel of a man approached. The friends stood head and shoulders over him, but the crop-haired newcomer’s muscles were enormous, reminding Hanno of Greek wrestlers he’d seen. His only garment was a leather skirt, but he exuded authority, not least because of the knotted whip dangling from his right fist. His scarred features were roughly hewn, as if from granite, his lips a mere slit in the stone.
Still winded, Hanno couldn’t stop himself from meeting the overseer’s cold, calculating eyes.
‘Fresh meat, eh?’ His voice was nasal and irritating.
‘Two more for the slave market, Varsaco,’ answered one of the men holding Hanno.
‘Consider yourself lucky. Most prisoners end up on the benches, but we have a full complement at the moment.’ Varsaco gestured at the long-haired wretches all around them. ‘So you get to stay in our select accommodation.’ He jerked a thumb at the cage and laughed.
Hanno felt a thrill of dread. Their fate would be no better than that of the oarsmen. They would be totally at the mercy of whoever bought them.
Suniaton’s eyes were pools of terror. ‘We could end up anywhere,’ he whispered.
His friend was right, thought Hanno. The Carthaginians’ weakened navy no longer had the power to keep the western Mediterranean free of pirates, and thus far the Romans had not bothered to police the high seas. The
