the Carthaginians. ‘Typical guggas,’ he’d said.
He calmed himself with thoughts of how a Roman — Quintus — was at this very moment trying to free Suniaton, a Carthaginian condemned to die. His ploy didn’t last long. As the hours dragged by, Hanno found it ever harder not to head for Capua. His promise to Quintus was what made him stay. He busied himself by repairing the hut, which had been left damaged after the fight. First Hanno collected every piece of fallen wood he could find. Then, using some old but serviceable tools he found lying inside, he sawed and chopped the timber into suitable lengths. He was no carpenter, but the construction was straightforward. All he had to do was study the undamaged sides, and copy them. It was undemanding yet rewarding labour and, as the sun set, Hanno stood back and admired his handiwork.
Worry was niggling away at him, however. He could no longer ignore the fact that Quintus would not return that day. Did this mean that his attempt had failed? Hanno had no idea. He pondered his options for some time, concluding that it was too dangerous to return to the farm. Agesandros would be on the lookout for trouble. Nor was there any point in making for Capua. Hanno knew no one there, and if he didn’t manage to find Quintus, he would have no idea what had transpired since the morning. His only choice was to stay put. Slightly more at ease, Hanno lit a fire in the hut’s stone-ring fireplace, and wolfed down some of the olives, cheese and bread he found in the satchel.
Wrapped in Quintus’ cloak, Hanno sat watching the yellow-orange flames and thinking of the people he held most dear in the world. His father. Sapho and Bostar. Suniaton. Hanno paused before adding two more individuals to the list. Quintus. Aurelia. How many of them would he ever see again? Sadness, his constant companion since the storm, washed over Hanno in great waves. In all likelihood, he would never be reunited with his family. They were probably with Hannibal’s army in Iberia by now, with every chance of being killed. Although it was his greatest desire to find them, doing so in the midst of a war would be virtually impossible. Finding Suniaton was perhaps his best hope, Hanno realised. If, by some stroke of luck, this came to pass, he would leave, never to see Quintus or Aurelia again. That conclusion brought even more pain. All he could wish for was a reunion with his loved ones in the next world. This bleak insight was the last thing Hanno remembered as sleep drew him into its embrace.
Dawn found Hanno in a better frame of mind. There was much to be grateful for. Despite what he had been through, he was no longer a captive. Moreover, Quintus had a greater chance of freeing Suniaton than he did. If the attempt was successful, he and his friend had a reasonable chance of making it to the coast, and finding a ship bound for Carthage. Never give up hope, Hanno thought. Without it, life is pointless.
He spent the morning practising with his gladius and scanning the slopes below for movement. It was nearly midday when Hanno spotted a lone figure on horseback. His heart leaped in his chest at the sight. There was no way of knowing who it was, so he withdrew into the cover granted by a clump of juniper trees some fifty paces from the hut. With bated breath, Hanno waited as the rider drew nearer. From its broad shoulders, he judged it to be male. There was no sign of any dogs, which pleased him. It increased the likelihood that this was not someone sent to track him down.
Finally, he recognised Quintus’ features. Disappointment flooded Hanno that Suniaton was not with him. As the other drew close enough to speak, Hanno emerged from his hiding place.
Quintus raised a hand in apologetic salute.
‘What happened? Did you discover anything about Suniaton?’
Quintus’ lips twisted in a grimace. ‘He’s still alive, but he was injured during training two days ago. The good news is that he won’t be able to take part in the munus.’ He saw Hanno’s alarm. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. Apparently, he’ll be fine in a month or so.’
Hanno closed his eyes to relish the wave of relief. Suni wasn’t dead! ‘The official’s son wouldn’t sell him, then?’
Quintus shook his head. ‘He didn’t seem to care that you and Suniaton wouldn’t be fighting each other,’ he said. ‘But he didn’t want to sell Suni either. Stupidly, I let the mangy dog see how much I wanted to buy him. The prick told me to come back when Suniaton is fully recovered and I can see a demonstration of his full abilities. “That will show you his true worth,” he said. I wouldn’t hold your breath, though. The man fancies himself as a gladiator trainer. There must have been a dozen slaves with weapons training in his yard. I’m sorry.’
Hanno felt the last of his reborn hope slipping away.
Quintus glanced uneasily down the slope. ‘You’d be wise to get moving.’
Hanno gave him a questioning look.
‘Agesandros was furious when he discovered that you were gone,’ Quintus said. ‘The arrogant bastard wouldn’t take it from me that I had freed you. He said only my father had the power to do that. Naturally, my mother agreed with him. She’s furious with me,’ he added glumly.
‘But your father won’t be back for months.’
Quintus gave him a grim nod. ‘Precisely. Which makes you a runaway, and hunting them down is something Agesandros is rather good at. I told him that you headed towards Capua, and I think he believed me. He started looking in that direction.’ He winked. ‘Fortunately, Aurelia made Elira drag an old tunic of yours all the way to the river, and then swim downstream to a ford where her tracks would be mixed up with plenty of others. She left the garment in the water, which should trick the hounds.’
‘Your sister is incredible,’ said Hanno in amazement.
Quintus grinned briefly. ‘It would still be best to get a head start now. Skirt around the farm to arrive at Capua tomorrow morning. Agesandros should have returned home by that stage, and you can catch a boat downriver to the coast.’
A knot formed in Hanno’s stomach. ‘I can’t desert Suniaton,’ he muttered. ‘He’s so near.’
‘And so far,’ Quintus replied harshly. ‘He might as well be in Hades for all you can do.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ Hanno retorted. ‘But you said the official’s son would talk again in a few weeks.’
Unsurprised, Quintus sighed. ‘Stay, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring you food every two or three days. I will try to keep an eye on Suniaton. We’ll work out some way of getting him out.’
Hanno could have cried with relief. ‘Thank you.’
Quintus pulled around his horse’s head. ‘Be vigilant. You never know when Agesandros might appear.’
Bostar’s phalanx was marching behind those of Sapho and his father, so the messenger reached him first. ‘Is there a Captain Bostar here?’ he cried.
‘Yes. What do you want?’
‘Hannibal wants to talk to you, sir. Now,’ he said, matching the Libyans’ pace easily.
Bostar stared at the strapping scutarius, who was one of the general’s bodyguard. ‘Do you know what it’s about?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Did he want to see my father or brother?’
‘Just you, sir,’ replied the Iberian stolidly. ‘What shall I say to the general? He’s pulled out of the column about a mile back.’
‘Tell him I will be there at once.’ Bostar thought for a moment. ‘Wait! I’ll come with you.’
The scutarius looked pleased. ‘Very good, sir.’
Bostar muttered instructions to his second-in-command, who was riding beside him, before turning his horse’s head and directing it out of his soldiers’ way. Few of the men looked up as he trotted by, but those who did grinned. Bostar nodded in acknowledgement, glad that his efforts in winning their trust had paid off. The Libyans’ large round shields knocked off their backs as they walked, and their short spears looked skywards in a forest of points. A junior officer was situated every fifty paces, and beside each marched a standard-bearer. Their wooden poles were decorated with sun discs, lunar crescents and red decorative ribbons.
Bostar eyed the long, winding column approaching from the southwest. ‘Feast your eyes on that,’ he said to the scutarius, who was trotting alongside. ‘It’s some spectacle.’
‘I suppose so, sir.’ The man cleared his throat and spat. ‘It would look a damn sight better with forty thousand more of my countrymen, though.’
‘Not all are as loyal as you and your comrades,’ replied Bostar. In his heart, he too was sorry that the host had shrunk by more than a third in little over three months. Much of the decrease could be accounted for by the casualties suffered thus far, and those who made up the garrisons along the route back to Iberia. In addition, plenty of men, perhaps ten thousand more, had been discharged by Hannibal before they could desert. To discuss the matter with an ordinary soldier was bad for morale, so Bostar kept his lips sealed. His spirits soon lifted, however.
