‘Take the place by storm.’
‘Prisoners?’
‘Leave none alive. Not a man, woman or child.’
Sapho’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, sir!’
His words were echoed by a rumble of agreement from the others.
Hannibal stared at Bostar. ‘What is it? Are you unhappy with my command?’
‘Must everyone die, sir?’ Terrible images from the fall of Saguntum filled Bostar’s mind.
Hannibal scowled. ‘Unfortunately, yes. Know that I order this for a particular reason. We are in a very fragile position. If a Roman army presented itself tomorrow, we would indeed struggle to defeat it. When they hear of our weakness, the Boii and Insubres will think twice before giving us the aid that they so eagerly promised last year. If that happens, we will have failed in our task before it has even begun. Is that what you want?’
‘Of course not, sir,’ Bostar replied indignantly.
‘Good,’ said Hannibal with a pleased look. ‘Slaughtering the inhabitants of Taurasia will send a clear message to the area’s tribes. We are still a lethal fighting force, and they either stand with us, or against us. There is no ground in between.’
Humbled, Bostar glanced down. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t understand.’
‘Some of the others probably didn’t either,’ answered Hannibal, ‘but they didn’t have the courage to ask.’
‘I understood, sir,’ Sapho snarled.
‘Which is the reason you’re standing here today,’ said Hannibal grimly. ‘Monomachus too.’ He nodded at a squat man with a bald head. ‘The rest of you are present because I know that, as my finest officers, you will do exactly what I have ordered.’ He pointed his spear at the fortress walls. ‘I want the place reduced by nightfall. After that, your men can have the rest they so well deserve.’
Bostar joined in the cheering with more enthusiasm this time. He caught a sneering Sapho trying to catch his eye, and ignored him. He would follow Hannibal’s orders, but for a very different reason to his brother. Loyalty, rather than sheer bloodthirstiness.
Despite Quintus’ generosity in accompanying him north, Hanno found the journey grating. He still had to act like a slave. Quintus rode a horse, while he had to sit astride a cantankerous mule. He could not eat with Quintus, or share the same room. Instead, he had to take his meals with the domestic slaves and servants of the roadside inns they frequented, and to bed down in the stables with the animals. Oddly, Hanno’s physical separation from Quintus began to restore the invisible differences between them.
In a bizarre way, both were relieved by this. What they’d seen and heard in Rome had hammered reality home as never before, shredding the camaraderie that had developed on the farm. They were travelling to a place where there could be no friendship between Carthaginian and Roman, only combat and death. Not speaking to each other obviated the need to think about what might happen in the future. Of course their silently adopted tactic did not work. Both felt great pain at their impending separation, which in all likelihood would be permanent.
The three hundred miles from Rome to Placentia dragged by, but the pair finally reached their destination having encountered few problems. All the empty ground outside the town was taken up with vast temporary encampments, full of legionaries, socii and cavalry. The tracks were jammed with units of marching men and ox carts laden with supplies. Stalls lined the margins of every way, hawking food, wine and equipment. Soothsayers offered their services alongside blacksmiths, butchers and whores. Musicians played drums and bone whistles, acrobats jumped and tumbled, tricksters promised a cure for every ailment under the sun. Snot-nosed children darted to and fro, playing with scrawny mongrels.
It was utter chaos, thought Hanno, but there was no denying that Hannibal had set himself a Herculean task. There were already tens of thousands of Roman troops in the area.
Quintus wasted no time. He hailed a passing centurion. ‘Has the consul arrived from Rome?’
‘You’re behind the times! He got here four days ago.’
Quintus was unsurprised. Unlike them, Publius and his party would have been changing their mounts every day. ‘Where are his headquarters?’
The centurion gave him an odd look, but did not ask why. While young, Quintus was clearly an equestrian. He pointed down the road. ‘That way. It’s about a mile.’
Quintus nodded his thanks. ‘What news of Hannibal?’
Hanno stiffened. This was the question he had been burning to ask.
The centurion’s face darkened. ‘Well, believe it or not, the whoreson succeeded in crossing the Alps. Who’d have thought it?’
‘Amazing.’ Quintus did not want to look at Hanno in case he was gloating. ‘What has he been up to since?’
‘He attacked the Taurini stronghold of Taurasia, and massacred its inhabitants. Apparently, he’s now on his way here, to Placentia. We’re blocking his route to the scumbag Boii and Insubres, see?’ The centurion half drew his gladius from its scabbard and slammed it home again. ‘There ’ll be one hell of a fight very soon.’
‘May Mars and Jupiter keep us in the palm of their hands,’ said Quintus.
‘Aye. Now, I’d best be off, or my tribune will string me up by my balls.’ With a cordial nod, the centurion marched away.
Quintus and Hanno looked at each other. Neither spoke.
‘You’re taking up half the fucking road. Get out of the damn way!’ shouted a man leading a train of mules.
They led their mounts to one side and into a gap between two stalls.
‘This is it, then,’ said Quintus unhappily.
‘Yes,’ Hanno muttered. He felt awful.
‘What will you do?’
Hanno shrugged. ‘Travel west until I run into some of our forces.’
Your forces, thought Quintus, not mine. ‘The gods grant you a safe passage.’
‘Thank you. May you find your father quickly.’
‘I don’t think that will be a problem,’ Quintus replied, smiling.
‘Even you would find it hard to get lost now,’ joked Hanno.
Quintus laughed.
‘I wish that we could part under different circumstances,’ said Hanno.
‘So do I,’ answered Quintus passionately.
‘But we both have to do our duty by our people.’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe we’ll meet again one day. In peacetime.’ Hanno cringed inwardly. His words sounded false even to his own ears.
Quintus did not rebuke him, however. ‘I would like that too, but it will never happen,’ he said gently. ‘Go well. Stay safe. May your gods protect you.’
‘The same to you.’ At last, Hanno’s eyes filled with tears. Clumsily, he reached out and embraced Quintus. ‘Thank you for saving me and Suniaton. I will never forget that,’ he whispered.
Quintus’ emotions welled up. He awkwardly clapped Hanno on the back. ‘You saved my life too, remember?’
Hanno’s nod was jerky.
‘Come on,’ said Quintus, growing businesslike. ‘You need to get as far from here by nightfall as you can. No point having to try and explain yourself to one of our patrols, is there?’
Hanno drew back. ‘No.’
‘Help me up.’ Quintus lifted his left foot.
Grateful for the distraction, Hanno linked his hands together so that Quintus could step up and climb on to his horse’s back. When it was done, he forced a smile. ‘Farewell.’
‘Farewell.’ Quickly, Quintus pulled his horse’s head around and urged it on to the roadway.
Hanno watched as his friend was swallowed up by the mass of men jostling along on the muddy track. It was only when he could no longer see Quintus that Hanno realised he had forgotten to send a last farewell to Aurelia. Sadly, he clambered aboard his mule and headed in the opposite direction. Despite the inevitability of their parting,
