Bostar’s spear took him through the chest, punching through his ribcage with ease. The man’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets with the force of the impact. He was dead before Bostar pulled free his weapon, showering the ground in gouts of blood.
Panting, Bostar rounded on the next soldier within reach, a youth who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Despite his rusty sword and bloodcurdling cries, he looked petrified.
Bostar parried his clumsy blows with little difficulty before sliding his spear into the youngster’s belly. He killed two more defenders before an opportunity presented itself to assess the situation.
Perhaps a hundred of his own men were present; more were still arriving. A similar number of Sapho’s soldiers were battling steadily around them. No doubt their father and Alete’s phalanxes were trying to reach them too. Remarkably, however, they were being held back by the Saguntines, who were performing acts of heroism and suicidal bravery. No ground had been gained at all. Bostar realised why as he took in hundreds of civilians, who, just a few steps from the periphery of the fighting, were frantically repairing the breach with their bare hands. He could see old men, women and even children heaving rocks into place. Grudging respect filled him. Knowing that their loved ones were so close would make any man, soldier or not, fight like a demon. Bostar was not dismayed. Even now, thousands more troops would be climbing the slope to join them. Against such overwhelming numbers, even the gallant Saguntines could not hold for much longer. All they needed to do was to press home the attack.
Abruptly, his attention was drawn back to the present. Through the dust, he could make out a line of flickering flame approaching from the enemy citadel. Bostar’s stomach clenched as the vision came into full focus. It was two further waves of warriors, carrying scores more burning falaricae. ‘Shields up!’ he yelled. ‘Incoming javelins!’
His men hurried to obey.
Responding to a shouted order, the enemy lines came to a halt perhaps fifty paces away. Drawing back, the Saguntines threw their falaricae up in a steep arc, far over their own men. Over Bostar and Sapho’s soldiers.
‘Clever bastards,’ Bostar muttered. ‘They don’t want to hit us.’ He watched in total dread as the flaming javelins turned to point downwards. Like deadly shooting stars, they returned to earth to land amidst the still ascending Carthaginian troops. Thanks to the clouds of dust, these densely packed men had no idea what was about to hit them until the very last moment. Understandably, the falaricae caused utter chaos. Practically every one found a home in human flesh, running through shields and mail shirts with impunity. Yet their effect was far more profound. It was why the Saguntines had aimed at the unsuspecting soldiers to the rear, thought Bostar as the screams and wails of the injured filled his ears. The falaricae struck fear into the heart of every man who stood in their path. He knew exactly why. Who could bear to watch his comrades being turned into pillars of flame, or having the flesh blistered from their bones? No amount of training could prepare soldiers for that.
The entire advance below him had already come to a halt. As Bostar watched, the second wave of enemy javelins came rocketing down. An instant later, the Carthaginian attack became a rout. Despite the shouts of their officers, hundreds of men turned and fled. They hurled themselves down the slope with such abandon that many fell and were trampled by those following. The soldiers to either side, who had not been struck by the enemy volley, took one look at their retreating comrades and stopped dead. Then, as one, they turned on the spot and began running too.
Bostar cursed. The moment was lost. No one, even Hannibal, could turn this situation around. He caught the arm of the nearest spearman. ‘Pull back! Our reinforcements are withdrawing. We have to save ourselves. Spread the word.’ Repeating his command to every soldier he passed, Bostar fought his way through the press to Sapho’s side. Oblivious to the volley’s effect, his brother was urging a quartet of spearmen forward at a bunch of poorly armed defenders.
‘Sapho!’ Bostar yelled. ‘Sapho!’
Eventually his brother heard him. ‘What?’ he snarled over his shoulder.
‘We must pull back!’
Sapho’s face contorted with anger. ‘You’re crazy! Any moment, the whoresons will break, and then we’ll have them. Victory is at hand!’
‘No, it isn’t!’ Bostar bellowed. ‘We have to retreat. NOW.’
Some of Sapho’s soldiers began to look uneasy.
Sapho glared furiously at Bostar, but realised that he was serious. Shouting encouragement to his men, Sapho elbowed his way out of the front rank. With his arms and face covered in blood, he was like some creature from the underworld. ‘Have you entirely lost your wits?’ he hissed. ‘The enemy is giving ground at last. Another big push, and they’ll break.’
‘It’s too late,’ Bostar replied in a flat tone. ‘Have you not seen what those fucking falaricae have done to the troops behind us?’
Sapho’s rejoinder was instantaneous. ‘No. I keep my eyes to the front, not the back.’
Bostar’s fists clenched at the imputation. ‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘let me tell you, our entire attack has come to a halt.’
Sapho bared his teeth. ‘So? Those motherless curs will turn and run any moment. Then we’ll get a foothold inside the walls.’
‘Where we will be cut off and annihilated.’ Bostar jabbed a finger into Sapho’s chest for emphasis. ‘Don’t you understand? We’re on our own up here!’
‘Coward!’ Sapho screamed. ‘You’re scared of dying, that’s all.’
Bostar’s anger surged out of control. ‘When the time comes, I will fight and die for Hannibal,’ he shouted. ‘What’s more, I will do it proudly. But there’s a difference between dying well, and like a fool. There’s nothing to be gained from sacrificing your life, or those of your men, here.’
Spitting on the ground, Sapho made to return to the fight.
‘Stop!’ Bostar’s order was like the crack of a whip.
Stiff-backed, Sapho came to a halt, but he did not turn to face Bostar.
‘As your superior officer, I command you to withdraw your men at once,’ Bostar cried, making sure that every soldier within earshot heard him.
Defeated, Sapho spun around. ‘Yes, sir,’ he snarled. He raised his voice. ‘You heard the order! Fall back!’
It didn’t take long for Sapho’s men to get the idea. Re-energised by the effect that their volleys had had on the ascending Carthaginian troops, the defenders were beginning to advance again. Behind them, freshly lit falaricae were being carried forward. Encouraged by this, even the civilians who were repairing the breach joined in, hurling stones and fist-sized pieces of masonry at the spearmen.
This increased the ignominy and fuelled Sapho’s anger to new levels, all the more because he could now see that Bostar had been right to sound the recall. ‘Fool,’ he told himself nonetheless. ‘It was there for the taking.’
Hannibal was waiting with Malchus and Alete at the bottom of the slope. The general greeted the brothers warmly. ‘We were getting worried about you,’ he declared.
Malchus rumbled in agreement.
‘Sapho here didn’t want to leave the fight,’ said Bostar generously.
‘Last on the field?’ Hannibal clapped Sapho on the shoulder. ‘But still with the sense to withdraw. Good man! Once the whoresons had panicked your reinforcements, there was no point staying there, eh?’
Sapho flushed and hung his head. ‘No, sir.’
‘It was a good effort from both of you,’ said Malchus encouragingly. ‘But it wasn’t to be.’
Hannibal took Sapho’s reaction to be disappointment. ‘Never mind, man. My spies tell me that their food is fast running out. We’ll take the place soon! Now, see to your injured.’ He waved a hand in dismissal.
‘Come on,’ said Bostar, leading Sapho away.
‘Let go!’ Sapho whispered after a few steps. ‘I’m not a child!’
‘Stop acting like one then!’ said Bostar, releasing his grip. ‘The least you could do is thank me. I didn’t have to cover up for you there.’
Sapho’s lip curled. ‘I’m damned if I’ll do that.’
Bostar threw his eyes to heaven. ‘Of course not! Why would you recognise that I just saved your arse from a severe reprimand?’
‘Fuck you, Bostar,’ Sapho snapped. He felt completely backed into a corner. ‘You’re always right, aren’t you? Everyone loves you, the perfect fucking officer!’ Turning on his heel, he stalked off.
