Taking a deep breath, Hanno began. His father and brothers hung off his every word. When he explained how he and Suniaton had been captured by the pirates, Sapho let out a grim chuckle. ‘They got their just deserts eventually.’
‘Eh?’ Hanno gave his brother a confused look.
‘I’ll explain later,’ said Malchus. ‘Go on.’
Quelling his curiosity, Hanno obeyed. His family’s fury over the pirates was as nothing compared with their reaction to his purchase by Quintus.
‘Roman bastard!’ Sapho spat. ‘I’d love to have him here right now.’
Hanno was surprised by the defensive feelings that flared up at once. ‘Not all Romans are bad. If it wasn’t for him and his sister, I wouldn’t be here.’
Sapho scoffed. Even Bostar looked unconvinced. Malchus alone did not react.
‘It’s true,’ Hanno cried. ‘You haven’t heard all of my story yet.’
‘True,’ admitted Bostar.
Sapho raised an eyebrow. ‘Surprise us,’ he said.
Amazed by the speed at which his customary anger towards his eldest brother had returned, Hanno continued with his story. He emphasised how Quintus had engineered not only his escape, but that of Suniaton, and how the young equestrian had accompanied him to Cisalpine Gaul rather than be reunited with his father in Rome.
‘He sounds like a decent person. So does his sister, for all that she is a child. That in turn means that their father must be an honourable man,’ Malchus agreed. His jaw hardened. ‘It is a shame that the Roman Senate does not possess the same morals. You heard from the horse’s mouth how the whoresons demanded Hannibal be handed over to receive Roman “justice”, how they lied about us breaking the treaty which confined us to the area below the River Iberus. Their arrogance is without parallel! That’s before dragging up Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica.’
Sapho and Bostar growled in agreement.
Hanno felt a momentary sadness. Yet it was time to forget the kindness he had received. His father’s words had made old resentment bubble up from the depths. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Finally, I am where I longed to be, he thought. With my family. With Hannibal’s army. And I am a soldier of Carthage. The Romans are our enemies. So be it. ‘You’re right, Father. What is Hannibal’s plan?’
Malchus gave him a wolfish smile. ‘To attack! We continue our march east tomorrow, in search of their legions.’
‘I know exactly where they are,’ Hanno replied, trying, and failing, not to think of Quintus.
‘We’d best take you to Hannibal then,’ said Malchus, looking pleased.
‘Really?’
‘Of course. He’ll want to hear everything you know.’
Hanno turned to his brothers. ‘I’m to meet Hannibal!’ he cried delightedly. Bostar grinned, but Hanno caught Sapho shooting him a sour glance. Old emotions flared up yet again. ‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Are you not pleased?’
Sapho blinked. ‘Yes,’ he muttered.
‘It doesn’t look like it,’ said Hanno hotly.
‘That’s because he isn’t,’ Bostar growled. ‘Our older brother gets jealous of anyone who might win favour from our general.’
The veins in Sapho’s neck bulged with fury. ‘Fuck you,’ he snapped.
‘Sapho!’ shouted Malchus. ‘Curb your tongue! You too, Bostar. Can we not forget our differences for once, on this most joyful of days?’
Shame-faced, Sapho and Bostar nodded.
Taking Hanno by the hand, Malchus led him away. ‘Come on,’ he ordered over his shoulder. Pointedly ignoring each other, Sapho and Bostar followed.
Hanno couldn’t get over the level of animosity between his brothers. What on earth had happened between them? He was amazed too at the ease with which Sapho still got his back up. Seeing Hannibal’s tent in the distance, Hanno put his concerns from his mind. He was going to meet the finest Carthaginian general in history. The man who dared to attack Rome on its own territory.
With a ragtag, half-starved army, his cynical side added. Hanno could not let go of this worrying thought as his father led him and his brothers onward. How could they ever match the numbers of soldiers Rome could call upon?
Soon they had reached a large open area before their general’s headquarters. The place was thronged. Hanno’s eyes widened. Flanking the perimeter were hundreds of soldiers from all over the Mediterranean, men whom he’d heard much about, but never seen. Numidian and Iberian infantry mixed with Lusitanians. Spiky-haired, bare-chested Gauls stood shoulder to shoulder with Balearic slingers and Ligurian warriors. There were several nationalities of cavalrymen: Iberian, Gaulish and Numidian. Outside the main tent stood a large group of senior officers, resplendent in their polished muscled cuirasses, pteryges and crested helmets. Hannibal’s purple cloak made him easy to pick out. A group of musicians was positioned nearby, their instruments at the ready: curved ceramic horns and carnyxes, vertical trumpets made of bronze, each topped by a depiction of a wild boar.
Hanno glanced at his father. ‘What’s going on?’
Even Sapho and Bostar looked confused.
Frustratingly, Malchus did not answer. He walked on, up to the party of officers. A quick word in the ear of one of Hannibal’s bodyguards saw them led straight to their leader’s side. Recognising Malchus, Hannibal smiled. Hanno felt as if he were in a dream come true.
Malchus saluted. ‘A word, if I may, sir?’
‘Of course. Make it quick, though,’ Hannibal replied.
‘Yes, sir. You know two of my sons, Sapho and Bostar,’ said Malchus. ‘But there is a third, Hanno.’
Hannibal gave Hanno a curious look. ‘I seem to remember a tragedy at sea in which he’d been lost.’
‘You have a fine memory, sir. I discovered afterwards, however, that by some miracle, Hanno had not been drowned. Instead, he and his friend were found adrift by some pirates. They sold both into slavery. In Italy.’
Hannibal’s eyebrows rose. ‘This couldn’t be him?’
Malchus grinned. ‘It is, sir.’
‘Gods above!’ Hannibal exclaimed. ‘Come here!’
Self-conscious in his ragged, filthy clothes, Hanno did as he was told.
Hannibal appraised him for several, breath-holding moments. ‘You have the look of Malchus all right.’
Hanno didn’t dare reply. His heart was thumping off his ribs like that of a wild bird.
‘How did you escape?’
‘My owner’s son let me go, sir.’
‘Did he, by Melqart’s beard? Why?’
‘I saved his life once, sir.’
‘Intriguing.’ Hannibal stroked his chin. ‘Have you travelled far?’
‘No, sir. He released me near Placentia.’
‘You are welcome. Your father and brothers are valuable officers. I hope that you will be too.’
Hanno made an awkward half-bow. ‘I will do my best, sir.’
Hannibal made a gesture of dismissal.
‘Wait, sir,’ said Malchus eagerly. ‘Hanno’s awe at meeting you has curdled his brains. He didn’t say that Placentia is where Publius and his army were camped.’
Hannibal’s face came alive with interest. ‘Publius, you say? One of the Scipiones?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Hanno replied, aware that every officer within earshot was now listening. ‘After missing you at the Rhodanus, he returned to Italy with all speed.’
There was a general gasp of dismay.
‘Has he brought his entire army with him?’ asked Hannibal softly.
‘No, sir. He sent it to Iberia, under the command of his brother.’
‘A shrewd general, then.’ Hannibal let out a slow breath. ‘Hasdrubal and Hanno will also have a fight on their hands. It is to be expected, I suppose.’ He fixed Hanno with his dark eyes again. ‘What of Publius now?’
