Silence reigned. It was an affront to every Carthaginian’s pride that Rome enjoyed supremacy over the western Mediterranean, an historical preserve of Carthage. Transporting the army by ship would be foolish in the extreme. Yet no one dared to suggest the only alternative.
Hannibal took the initiative. ‘There will be no assault by sea. Even if we took the short route to Genua, our entire enterprise could be undone in a single battle.’ He moved his finger northeast, across the River Iberus, to the narrow ‘waist’ that joined Iberia to Gaul. ‘This is the route we shall take.’ Hannibal continued to the Alps, where he paused for a moment before moving into Cisalpine Gaul, and thence into northern Italy.
Bostar’s heart quickened. Although Malchus had told him of Hannibal’s plan, the general’s daring still took his breath away. A glance at Sapho told him that his brother shared his feeling. Their father’s face, however, remained expressionless. How much does he know? Bostar wondered. He himself had no idea how the immense task Hannibal had just mentioned would be achieved.
Hannibal saw Sapho straining forward eagerly. He raised an eyebrow.
‘When do we march, sir?’
‘In the spring. Until then, our Iberian allies have permission to return to their families, and the rest of the army can rest at New Carthage.’ He saw Sapho’s disappointed look and chuckled. ‘Come now! Winter is no time to wage war, and things will be hard enough for us as it is.’
‘Of course, sir,’ Sapho muttered awkwardly.
‘There are some things in our favour, however. Earlier in the year, my messengers journeyed to Cisalpine Gaul. They were received favourably by nearly all the tribes that they encountered,’ Hannibal said. ‘In fact, the Boii and the Insubres promised immediate aid when we arrive.’
Malchus and his two sons exchanged pleased glances. This was new information for all of them. Hannibal’s companions did not react, however, instead studying the trio intently.
Hannibal held up a warning finger. ‘There are many hurdles to cross before we reach these possible allies. Traversing the Alps will be the greatest by far, but another will be the fierce natives north of the Iberus, who will undoubtedly give violent resistance. We already have plans in train for our journey through these regions. However, there is an area about which we know very little.’ Hannibal’s forefinger returned to the mountains between Iberia and Gaul. He tapped the map meaningfully.
Bostar’s mouth went dry.
Hannibal stared at Malchus. ‘I need someone to sound out the tribes’ possible reactions to a massive army entering their land. To discover how many might fight us. I must have this information by the onset of spring. Can you do it?’
Malchus’ eyes glittered. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘Good.’ Hannibal regarded Bostar and Sapho next. ‘The old lion might lead the pack, but he still needs young males to hunt successfully. Will you accompany your father?’
‘Yes, sir!’ the brothers cried in unison. ‘You show our family great honour by entrusting this mission to us, sir,’ Sapho added.
The general smiled. ‘I am sure that you will repay my trust amply.’
Delighted by this recognition of Sapho, Bostar gave his brother a small, pleased look. He was rewarded with a fierce nod.
‘What are your thoughts, Malchus?’
‘We’ll need to set out at once, sir. It’s a long way to the Iberus.’
‘Nearly three thousand stades,’ agreed Hannibal. ‘As you know, it is generally peaceful as far as the river. After that, up to the border with Gaul, may be a different matter. The place is a jumble of mountains, valleys and passes, and the tribes there are rumoured to be fiercely independent.’ He paused. ‘How many men will you require?’
‘Winning our passage by force of arms is simply not an option. Nor is it our purpose. We are to be an embassy, not an army,’ said Malchus. ‘What’s important are the abilities to move fast and to see off possible attacks by bandits.’ He looked at his sons, who nodded in agreement. ‘Two dozen of my spearmen and the same number of scutarii should be sufficient, sir.’
‘You shall have the pick of any unit you wish. And now, a toast to your success!’ Hannibal clicked his fingers and a slave appeared from the rear of the tent. ‘Wine!’ As the man scurried off, the general looked solemnly at each of those around the table. ‘Let us ask Melqart and Baal Saphon, Tanit and Baal Hammon to guide and protect these valiant officers on their mission.’
As the room filled with muttered agreement, Bostar added a request of his own. Let Sapho and I put aside our differences once and for all.
Braving frost, mud and bitter winter wind, the embassy slogged its way to the Iberus. Thereafter, the inhabitants inland could not be trusted, and so Malchus led them along the more secure coastal route, a densely inhabited area full of towns used to traders from overseas. The party passed by Adeba and Tarraco, before safely reaching the city of Barcino, which was located at the mouth of the River Ubricatus.
There were several routes through the mountains that led to Gaul, and Hannibal had advised that he would probably divide his army between them. This necessitated visiting the tribe that controlled each of the passes. A period of unseasonably calm, dry weather prompted Malchus to head north into the mountainous terrain first, rather than starting with the easiest way into Gaul, that which hogged the coastline via the towns of Gerunda and Emporiae. That could be left until last. Hiring locals as guides, the embassy spent many days on narrow paths that wound and twisted into the hills and valleys. Inevitably, the weather worsened, and a journey that might have taken several weeks stretched into two months. Pleasingly, their ordeals were not all in vain. The chieftains who received the Carthaginians seemed impressed with the tales of Hannibal’s military victories throughout Iberia, and the descriptions of his enormous army. Most importantly, though, they welcomed the gifts Malchus offered: the bags of silver coinage, the finely made kopides and Celtiberian short swords.
Eventually, the only people left to contact were the Ausetani, who controlled the coastal route into Gaul. Having returned to the town of Emporiae to reshoe their horses and stock up on supplies, Malchus retired to the one inn which was large enough to quarter all of his men. He immediately demanded a meeting with their guides, three swarthy hunters. Soon after sunset, they convened around a table in his room. Small oval oil lamps cast a warm amber glow on to the grubby plaster on the wall. Malchus’ sons sat opposite each other. Their relationship remained civil, even fairly cordial, but Bostar had stopped trying to be Sapho’s friend. Each time he’d tried, his brother had remained indifferent to his advances. So be it, Bostar decided. It’s better than fighting all the time. Such thoughts always brought Hanno, and his guilty wish that it had been Sapho who had been lost at sea, to mind. Disquieted, Bostar shoved away the idea.
Malchus himself served the guides with wine. ‘Tell me about this tribe,’ he commanded in rough Iberian.
The three glanced at one another. The oldest, a wiry man with a nut-brown, weather-beaten face, leaned forward on his chair. ‘Their main village is in the foothills above the town, sir. It’s a straightforward journey.’
‘Not like the paths that we had to take before, then?’
‘No, sir, nothing like that.’
Bostar and Sapho were both relieved. Neither had enjoyed the days spent on winding, treacherous tracks, where a single slip meant a precipitous fall.
‘How far?’
‘It’s not quite a day’s ride, sir.’
‘Excellent! We’ll set out at dawn,’ Malchus declared. He eyed his sons. ‘A night’s rest upon our return, and we’ll head south. Spring is around the corner, and we mustn’t keep Hannibal waiting any longer.’
The lead guide cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, sir, we were wondering if…’ His nerve failed him and he stopped.
Keen to get in before Bostar, Sapho jumped in. ‘What?’
The man rallied his courage. ‘We wondered if you could pay us and make your own way there,’ he said falteringly. ‘We’ve spent so long away from our wives and families, you see?’
Malchus’ brows lowered.
‘The directions are simple. There’s no way that you could get lost.’ He looked at his two companions, who shook their heads in vigorous agreement.
Malchus did not answer. Instead, he glanced at Bostar and Sapho. ‘What do you think?’ he asked in Carthaginian.
