at his reflection. ‘It’ll have to do,’ he muttered.
As he walked to Hannibal’s headquarters, Hanno was grateful that none of the soldiers hurrying to and fro gave him a second look. It wasn’t until he reached the scutarii who stood guard outside the large pavilion that he became the focus of attention.
‘State your name, rank and business!’ barked the officer in charge of the sentries.
‘Hanno, junior officer of a Libyan phalanx, sir. I’m here to see the general.’ Hanno blinked, half expecting to be told to get lost.
Instead, the officer nodded. ‘You’re expected. Follow me.’
A moment later, Hanno found himself in a large, sparsely furnished chamber. Apart from a desk and a few hide-backed chairs, it held only a weapons rack. Hannibal was there, surrounded by a circle of his commanders. Among them were his father and brothers.
‘Sir! Announcing Hanno, junior officer of the Libyan spearmen!’ the officer bellowed.
Hanno flushed to the roots of his hair.
Turning, Hannibal smiled. ‘Welcome.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘You all know about Malchus’ prodigal son?’ asked Hannibal. ‘Well, here he is.’
Hanno’s embarrassment grew even greater as the senior officers studied him. He could see Bostar grinning. Even his father had the trace of a smile on his lips. Sapho, on the other hand, looked as if he’d swallowed a wasp. Hanno felt a surge of annoyance. Why is he like that?
Hannibal looked at each of the brothers in turn. ‘You’re probably wondering why I summoned you this morning?’
‘Yes, sir,’ they answered.
‘I’ll come to my reason in a moment.’ Hannibal looked at Hanno. ‘You’ve heard no doubt of our severe casualties, suffered during the crossing of the Alps?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Since then, we’ve been short of not just men, but officers.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Hanno replied. What was Hannibal getting at? Hanno wondered.
The general smiled at his confusion. ‘I’m appointing you to the command of a phalanx,’ he said.
‘Sir?’ Hanno managed.
‘You heard me,’ replied Hannibal. ‘It’s a huge leap, I know, but your father assures me that you’ve returned a man.’
‘I…’ Hanno’s gaze flickered to Malchus and back to Hannibal. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘As you know, a phalanx should number four hundred men or so, but yours now barely musters two hundred. It’s one of the weakest units, but the men are veterans, and they should serve you well. And, after your extraordinary ordeals, I have high expectations of you.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Hanno, acutely aware of the huge responsibility he’d just been handed. ‘I am deeply honoured.’ Bostar winked at him, but he was irritated to see that Sapho’s lips were pursed.
‘Good!’ Hannibal declared. ‘Now for the reason I called you all here today. As you probably know, there’s been no action since we sent the Romans packing over the Trebia. Nor is there much chance of any in the near future. They know that our cavalry greatly outnumbers theirs, as does our infantry. From our point of view, it would be pointless to attack their camp. It’s on such uneven ground that the advantage our horsemen grant us would be negated. The Romans know that too, so the mongrel bastards are happy just to block the road south and wait for reinforcements. We may have to wait until those forces arrive, but I’m not happy to sit about doing nothing.’ Hannibal turned. ‘Maharbal?’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the cavalry commander. ‘To try and encourage the enemy to send some men over the river, we’ve been giving the impression that our riders have become quite lax. Do you want to know how?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ the three brothers replied eagerly.
‘We never appear on our side of the Trebia until late in the morning, and we always leave well before dark. Understand?’
‘You want them to try a dawn patrol, sir?’ asked Bostar.
Maharbal smiled. ‘Exactly.’
Hanno felt his excitement grow. He didn’t feel confident enough to ask a question, however.
Sapho did it for him. ‘What else, sir?’
Hannibal took over once more. ‘Maharbal has five hundred Numidians permanently stationed in the woods about a mile from the main ford over the river. If the Romans take the bait, and send out a patrol, they’ll have to ride past our men. Not many of the dogs will escape when the Numidians fall on them from behind, but some might. Which is where you and your Libyans will come in.’
Hanno shot a glance at Bostar and Sapho, who were grinning fiercely.
‘I want a strong force of infantry to remain hidden near the crossing point. If any Romans do cross, they’re not to be hindered, but when they return…’ Hannibal clenched a fist. ‘I want them annihilated. Is that clear?’
Hanno glanced at his brothers, who gave him emphatic nods. ‘Yes, sir!’ they cried in unison.
‘Excellent,’ declared Hannibal. His gaze hardened. ‘Do not fail me.’
Shortly after darkness had fallen the following evening, Hanno and his brothers led their units out of the Carthaginian camp. As well as their tents and sleeping rolls, the men carried enough rations for three days and nights. To Hanno’s delight, the Numidians who were to guide them into position were led by no less than Zamar, the officer who’d found him near the Padus. Following the horsemen, the phalanxes quietly marched to the east, following little-used hunting tracks. As the sound of rushing water filled everyone’s ears, Zamar directed them to a hidden dell which lay a couple of hundred paces from the area’s main crossing point over the River Trebia. It was a perfect hiding place. Spacious enough to contain their entire force, but sufficiently close to the ford. ‘I’m leaving you six riders as messengers. Send them out the moment you see anything,’ Zamar muttered before he left. ‘And remember, when the Romans come, none are to be left alive.’
‘Say no more,’ Sapho snarled.
Although Bostar said nothing, Hanno saw a look of distaste flicker across his face. He waited until Zamar was out of sight before turning to his brothers. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Sapho defensively.
‘You two are permanently like a pair of cats in a bag with each other. Why?’
Bostar and Sapho scowled at each other.
Hanno waited. The silence dragged on for a few moments.
‘It’s really none of your business,’ said Bostar at length.
Hanno flushed. He glanced at Sapho, whose face was a cold mask. Hanno gave up. ‘I’m going to check on my men,’ he muttered and stalked off.
They waited in vain through what remained of the night. By dawn, the Carthaginians were chilled through and miserable. To avoid any possibility of being spotted, no fires had been lit. While it hadn’t rained, the winter damp was pervasive. Following strict orders, the soldiers remained in the clearing during daylight. The sole exceptions to this were a handful of sentries, who, with blackened faces, hid themselves among the trees lining the riverbank. Everyone else had to stay put, even when answering calls of nature. While some found the energy to play dice or knucklebones, most men stayed in their tents, chewing on cold rations or catching up on lost sleep. Still annoyed by his brothers’ pettiness, Hanno spent his time talking to his spearmen, trying to get to know them. He knew by their muted reactions that his efforts would mean little until he’d led them into combat, but it felt better than doing nothing.
The day dragged past without event.
Night fell at last, and Hanno took charge of the sentries, who were stationed along the river’s edge for several hundred paces either side of the ford. He spent his time wandering the bank, his eyes peeled for any enemy activity. There was little cloud cover. The myriad stars above provided enough light to see relatively well, yet hours went by without so much as a flicker of movement on the opposite side. By the time dawn was approaching, Hanno had grown bored and annoyed. ‘Where are the fuckers?’ he muttered to himself.
‘Still in their beds, probably.’
Hanno jumped. Turning, he recognised Bostar’s features in the dim light. ‘Tanit above, you scared me! What
