bireme could roam wherever it wanted. There were few ports indeed where the security inspection was more than cursory. Sicily, Numidia or Iberia were possibilities. As was Italy. Every decent-sized town had a slave market. Hanno felt as if he was drowning in an ocean of despair.
The Egyptian’s voice carried from the deck above. ‘Varsaco!’
The overseer answered straightaway. ‘Captain?’
‘Resume former course and speed.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Hanno and Suniaton were ignored as Varsaco bellowed orders at the oarsmen on the starboard side. Leaning into the task, the slaves used their oars to back water until the overseer gestured at them to stop. At once the figure on the walkway began singing a chant that set the oarsmen into a steady rhythm.
His duties in hand, Varsaco returned. There was a predatory look in his eyes that had not been there before. ‘You’re a handsome boy,’ he said, running his stubby fingers down Hanno’s arm. He slipped a hand under Hanno’s tunic and tweaked a nipple. Hanno shuddered and tried to pull away, but with a man either side of him, he could not go far. ‘I prefer those with a bit more meat on their bones, though,’ Varsaco confided. He moved to Suniaton’s side and roughly squeezed his buttocks. Suniaton twisted away, but the pirates holding him tightened their grip. ‘But look, you’re hurt.’ Varsaco touched one of Suniaton’s still oozing earlobes, then, to Hanno’s horror, licked the blood off his fingertip.
Suniaton wailed with fear.
‘Leave him alone, you whoreson,’ Hanno roared, struggling uselessly to free himself.
‘Or what?’ teased Varsaco. Abruptly, his voice hardened. ‘I am the master below decks. I do as I please. Take him over there!’
Tears of rage streamed down Hanno’s face as he watched his friend being dragged to a large block of wood nailed down near the bow. Its surface, approximately the length of a man’s torso, was covered in irregular, dark patches, and heavy iron fetters were in place at each corner at floor level. Releasing Suniaton from his bonds, the pirates slammed him face down on to the wood. He kicked and struggled, but his captors were too many. An instant later, the manacles clicked shut around his wrists and ankles.
Varsaco moved to stand behind him and, realising what was about to happen, Suniaton began to scream. His protests intensified as the overseer was handed a knife and used it to slit his breeches from waistband to crotch. Varsaco did the same to Suniaton’s undergarment, laughing as the tip of the blade snagged in his flesh, causing him to moan with pain. Finally, the overseer pulled apart the cut fabric, and his face twisted with lust. ‘Very nice,’ he muttered.
‘No!’ cried Suniaton.
It was too much for Hanno to bear. Summoning every reserve of his strength, he twisted and bucked like a wild horse. Engrossed by the spectacle, the two men holding him were caught unawares, and he slipped their grasp. Sprinting forward, he reached Varsaco in a dozen steps. The overseer’s broad back was towards him, and he was busily unbuckling the belt that held up his leather skirt. It dropped to the floor and he sighed with satisfaction, shuffling forward to complete the outrage.
Panting with fury, Hanno steadied himself and did the only thing he could think of. Drawing back his right leg, he swung it through the air and between Varsaco’s thighs. With a meaty thump, the front of his sandal connected with the soft mass of the overseer’s dangling scrotum. Letting out a high-pitched scream, Varsaco collapsed to the deck in a heap. Hanno snarled with delight. ‘How do you like that?’ he screamed, stamping his iron-studded sole on the side of Varsaco’s head for good measure. He managed to deliver several more kicks before the men who had been holding him came barrelling in. Hanno saw one raising the butt of his sword. He half turned, awkward because of the ropes binding his arms, but was unable to avoid the blow. Stars exploded across Hanno’s vision as the hilt connected with the back of his head. His knees buckled and he toppled forward to land on the semi-conscious Varsaco. A rain of blows followed and he slipped into the darkness.
‘Wake up!’
Hanno felt someone nudge him in the back. Slowly, he came to. He was lying on his side, still trussed up like a hen for the pot. Every part of his body hurt. His head, belly and groin had obviously received special attention, however. It was agony to breathe in, and Hanno suspected that two or three of his ribs were cracked. He could taste blood, and warily he used his tongue to check that all his teeth were still in place. They were, thankfully, although two felt loose, and his top lip was bruised and swollen.
He was prodded again.
‘Hanno! It’s me, Suniaton.’
Finally, Hanno focused on his friend, who was lying only a few steps away. To his surprise, they were on the forecastle deck, under the cloth awning he had spied earlier. As far as he could tell, they were alone.
‘You’ve been unconscious for hours.’ Suniaton’s voice was concerned.
The temperature had dropped significantly, Hanno realised. In the gap between the gunwale and the awning, he could see an orange tinge to the sky. It was nearly sunset. ‘I’ll live,’ he croaked. His last memories came flooding back. ‘What about you? Did Varsaco…?’ He couldn’t finish the question.
Suniaton screwed up his face. ‘I’m fine,’ he muttered. Amazingly, he grinned. ‘Varsaco couldn’t stand for a long time, you know.’
‘Good! The fucking bastard.’ Hanno frowned. ‘Why didn’t his men kill me?’
‘They were going to,’ whispered Suniaton. ‘But-’
Hearing the stairs that led to the main deck creak, he fell silent. Someone was approaching. A moment later, the Egyptian stooped over Hanno. ‘You’ve come back to us,’ he said. ‘Good. A man who sleeps too long after a beating like that often doesn’t wake.’
Hanno glared.
‘Don’t give me that look,’ said the Egyptian reproachfully. ‘If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead by now. Raped before you died, like as not.’
Suniaton flinched, but Hanno’s fury knew no bounds. ‘Am I supposed to be grateful?’
The Egyptian squatted down alongside him. ‘Spirited, aren’t you? A different prospect to your friend.’ He nodded in approval. ‘I hope to sell you as a gladiator. You’d be wasted as an agricultural or household slave. Are you able to get up?’
Hanno let the other help him to a sitting position. A stabbing pain from his chest made him grimace in pain.
‘What is it?’
Hanno was disconcerted by the Egyptian’s concern. ‘It’s nothing. Just a couple of broken ribs.’
‘That’s all?’
‘I think so.’
The Egyptian smiled. ‘Good. I thought I’d come too late. It wouldn’t be the first time that one of Varsaco’s little games got out of hand.’
‘“Little games”?’ Suniaton asked faintly.
The Egyptian made an offhand gesture. ‘Usually, he’s content to screw whichever poor bastard takes his fancy. Several times a day, normally. As long as that’s it, I don’t mind. It doesn’t affect their sale value. After what you did, though, he would have killed you both. I don’t mind him having his fun, but there’s no point destroying valuable merchandise. That’s why you’re up here, where I sleep. Varsaco has a key to the cage, and I wouldn’t trust him not to slip a knife between your ribs one night.’
Hanno longed to wrap his fingers around the captain’s throat, choking the life out of him, ridding his face of its perpetual smug expression. It stung that their lives had been saved for purely financial reasons. Deep down, though, Hanno was unsurprised by the Egyptian’s action. He’d once seen his father stop a slave from beating a mule for much the same reason.
‘This is the best place on the ship. You’re out of the sun here, and it catches the evening breeze as well.’ The Egyptian got to his feet. ‘Make the most of it. We’re on course for Sicily, and then Italy,’ he said, disappearing from view.
‘At least in Iberia or Numidia, we might have had a chance of getting word to Carthage,’ muttered Suniaton despairingly.
Hanno’s nod was bitter. Instead, they were to be sold to their people’s worst enemies, as gladiators. ‘Melqart can’t be solely responsible for this ill fortune. There’s more to it.’ He cast his mind about, wondering why they
