‘We don’t have the authority to grant that,’ growled Sapho.
‘Of course we don’t,’ Bostar replied witheringly. ‘But it’s not a climb-down either.’
‘I like it,’ breathed Malchus. He glanced at Sapho, who gave a sulky shrug. ‘I think it’s our best shot. Tell him.’
Calmly, Bostar delivered their answer.
A ferocious scowl spread across the chieftain’s face straightaway, and he spat out an irate, lengthy response. It was delivered so fast that Malchus and Sapho struggled to understand much of it. Bostar did not bother translating before he replied. At once the leader’s bodyguards and the huge warrior moved forward in unison. Simultaneously, the men who had followed the Carthaginians inside fanned out on either side of the party, surrounding it.
‘What in the name of all the gods did he say?’ Malchus demanded.
Bostar’s lips thinned. ‘That the Ausetani have no need of an alliance with the louse-ridden son of a Phoenician whore.’
Sapho clenched his fists. ‘How did you answer?’
‘I told him that an immediate sincere apology might mean Hannibal’s clemency when the army arrives. Otherwise, he and his entire tribe could expect to be annihilated.’
Malchus clapped him on the arm. ‘Well said!’
Even Sapho gave Bostar a look of grudging admiration.
Malchus eyed the circle of warriors around them. ‘It appears that our road ends here then,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘We will never have the opportunity to avenge Hanno. Yet we can die well. Like men!’ He turned towards their escorts, and repeated his words. He was pleased when, as one, they laid hands to their weapons.
‘On your command, sir,’ muttered the officers in charge.
‘Wait,’ interrupted Sapho. ‘I have an idea.’ Without asking for Malchus’ approval, he drew his sword and moved to stand in front of the hulk who had laughed at them when they arrived. The warrior leered unpleasantly. ‘Can this freak actually fight?’ Sapho demanded in reasonable Iberian.
The Ausetani leader couldn’t believe his ears. Sapho barely reached up to the warrior’s shoulder. ‘That’s my eldest son. He’s never been beaten in single combat.’
‘What’s he doing?’ Bostar whispered to Malchus.
For once, Malchus looked worried. ‘I don’t know, but I hope the gods are smiling on him.’
Sapho raised his voice. ‘If I defeat him, then you will apologise, accept Hannibal’s gifts and allow us to leave unharmed. When our army arrives, you will offer it safe passage.’
The chieftain laughed. So did everyone within earshot. ‘Of course. If you fail, though, he will take your head, and those of all your companions, as trophies.’
‘I would expect no less,’ Sapho replied disdainfully.
The chieftain gave a callous shrug. At his command, the mass of warriors formed a large, hollow circle. Malchus seized the initiative and used his soldiers to force a passage through so that they could form part of what was to be the combat area. He and Bostar stood at the very front. Many of the Ausetani did not like this move, and began pushing and shoving at the Carthaginian troops, until an angry shout from their leader stopped them. Surrounded by his bodyguards, the chief took up a position directly opposite Malchus.
Gripping his drawn sword, Sapho stalked through a narrow corridor of leering, unfriendly faces. A few paces behind him, the huge warrior received a rapturous welcome. When they were both in the centre of the circle, the crowd of Ausetani closed ranks. From a distance of perhaps a dozen paces, the two faced each other. Sapho was armed with a sword and a dagger. In contemptuous concession, his opponent had laid aside his shield and saunion, leaving him with a long, straight, double-edged blade. It still looked like a totally uneven match.
Bostar’s gorge rose. Sapho was a skilled swordsman, but he’d never faced a prospect like this. Judging by his father’s clenched jaw and fixed expression, he was thinking similar thoughts. Whatever he had been thinking about Sapho recently, Bostar didn’t want him to die losing to this giant. Closing his eyes, he prayed to Baal Saphon, the god of war, to help his brother. To help them all.
Sapho rolled his shoulders, loosening his muscles and wondering what was his best course of action. Why had he thrown down such a stupid challenge? The explanation was simple. Since Bostar had saved Hannibal’s life, Sapho’s jealousy had soared to new heights. There had always been a keen rivalry between them, but this was a step too far. In the months since they’d left Saguntum, Sapho had appeared to go along with Bostar’s wish to lay the matter to rest, but the feeling gnawed constantly at his guts like a malignant growth. Perhaps now some of his wounded pride could be reclaimed. Sapho studied his opponent’s bulging muscles and tried not to despair. What chance had he of succeeding? He had only one, Sapho realised with a thrill. His speed.
The chieftain raised his right arm, and a hushed silence fell. Glancing at both men to ensure they were ready, he made a downward chopping gesture.
With an almighty roar, the warrior launched himself forward, his sword raised high. For him, the contest was to be ended quickly. Brutally. Closing in on Sapho, he hammered down an immense blow. Instead of cleaving flesh, the blade whistled through the air to clash off the pebble-strewn ground, sending up a shower of sparks. Sapho was gone, dancing nimbly around to his opponent’s rear. The warrior bellowed with rage and spun to face him. Again he swung at Sapho, to no avail. He didn’t seem to care. With greater strength and reach, and a longer weapon, he had all the advantage.
Speed isn’t enough, thought Sapho. Desperately, he twisted away from a thrust that would have driven through both his bronze breastplate and his ribcage had it connected. So far, the warrior’s quilted linen tunic had turned away the glancing blows he had managed to land. Without getting dangerously close, it was impossible to do any more. Backing away from his sneering opponent, Sapho did not see one of the Ausetani stretch out his foot. An instant later, he tripped over it and fell backwards on to the hard packed dirt. Fortunately, he retained hold of his sword.
The warrior stepped closer and Sapho saw death looking him in the eyes. He waited until his enemy had begun to swing downwards, and then, with all his might, he rolled away into the centre of the circle. Behind him, Sapho heard his opponent’s sword slam into the ground with a bone-jarring thump. Knowing that speed was of the essence, he turned over and over before trying to get up. Mocking laughs from the watching Ausetani filled the air, and the huge warrior raised his arms in anticipation of victory. Rage filled Sapho at their treachery. He knew too that this fight couldn’t be won by ordinary means. It was time to cast the dice. Take his chance. He drew his dagger with his left hand, ignoring the jeers this provoked.
Breathing deeply, Sapho waited. What he needed the warrior to do was take a great sideways slash at him. The only way he could think of drawing the hulk in was to stay put — without defending himself. It was a complete gamble. If the other didn’t take the bait and respond exactly as he wished, he’d be dead, but Sapho couldn’t think of anything else to do. Weariness threatened to overcome him, and his shoulders slumped.
The huge warrior shuffled in, grinning.
With a thrill, Sapho realised that his opponent thought he’d given up. He didn’t move a muscle.
‘Prepare to die,’ the warrior growled. Lifting his right arm, he swung his sword around in a curving arc, aiming for the junction between Sapho’s neck and shoulders. The blow was delivered with unstoppable force, at a target that was standing stock still. To those watching, it looked as if the duel was over.
At the last moment, Sapho dropped to his knees, letting the other’s blade split the air over his head. Throwing himself forward, he stretched out his arm and plunged his dagger into the warrior’s left thigh. It wasn’t a fatal wound, but nor was it meant to be. As he landed helplessly on his chest, Sapho heard a loud scream of pain. A grimace of satisfaction twisted his lips as he scrambled to his feet, still clutching his sword. A few steps away, the bleeding warrior was listing to one side like a ship in a storm. All his attention was focused on pulling the knife from his leg. Stabbing him in the back would be simple.
A quick glance at the snarling faces surrounding them helped Sapho to make a snap decision. Mercy would be far more useful here than ruthlessness. Swiftly, he swept in and completed the task. Drawing his blade across the back of his enemy’s left leg, he hamstrung him. As the bellowing warrior collapsed, Sapho stamped on his right hand, forcing him to drop his weapon. Touching the point of his blade to the other’s chest, he growled, ‘Yield.’
Moaning with pain, the warrior extended both his hands upwards, palms extended.
Sapho lifted his gaze to the chieftain, whose face registered stunned disbelief. ‘Well?’ he asked simply.
Eventually, the chief managed to compose himself. ‘I apologise for insulting Hannibal, your leader. The Ausetani accept these generous gifts, with thanks,’ he muttered with bad grace. ‘You and your companions are free
