by Ben Kane
‘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 are you doing here?’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘You should have stayed under your blankets anyway. It’s a damn sight warmer than out here,’ Hanno replied.
Bostar crouched down beside Hanno with a sigh. ‘To be honest, I wanted to apologise about what happened yesterday with Sapho. Our argument shouldn’t affect our dealings with you.’
‘That’s all right. I shouldn’t have poked my nose where it didn’t belong.’
A more comfortable air settled about them.
‘We’ve actually been fighting for over a year,’ Bostar admitted a moment later.
Hanno was grateful for the darkness, which concealed his surprise. ‘What, the usual stuff with him being pompous and overbearing?’
Bostar’s teeth glinted sadly in the starlight. ‘I wish it was just that.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It started when you’d been lost at sea.’
‘Eh?’
‘Sapho blamed me for letting you and Suniaton go.’
‘But you both agreed to do so!’
‘That’s not how he saw it. We hadn’t patched things up by the time I was posted to Iberia, and it flared up again the instant he and Father arrived from Carthage months later.’
‘Why?’
‘They’d had news of what had happened to you and Suni. Sapho was furious. He blamed me all over again.’
‘You mean the pirates?’ Suddenly, Hanno remembered Sapho’s comment the day he’d returned, and his father’s promise to tell him what had happened. ‘I’d forgotten.’
‘There was so much going on,’ said Bostar. ‘All that mattered was that you had returned.’
‘We’ve got plenty of time now,’ retorted Hanno. ‘Tell me!’
‘It was a few weeks after you’d disappeared. Thanks to one of his spies, Father got wind of some pirates in the port. Four of them were seized and taken in. Under torture, they admitted selling you and Suni into slavery in Italy.’
Vivid images flashed through Hanno’s mind. ‘Do you know any of their names?’
‘No, sorry,’ said Bostar. ‘Apparently, the captain was an Egyptian.’
‘That’s right!’ said Hanno, shivering. ‘What happened to them?’
‘They were castrated first. Then their limbs were smashed before they were crucified,’ Bostar replied in a flat tone.
Hanno imagined the terrible scene for a moment. ‘Not a good way to die,’ he admitted.
‘No.’
‘But they deserved it,’ declared Hanno harshly. ‘Thanks to those whoresons, Suni and I should have died in the arena.’
‘I know,’ said Bostar with a heavy sigh. ‘Yet seeing what happened to the pirates changed Sapho in some way. Ever since, he’s been much harder. Crueller. You saw how he reacted to what Zamar said. I know that we have to kill any Romans who might cross the river. Orders are orders. But Sapho seems to take pleasure in it.’
‘It’s not nice, but it’s not the end of the world, surely?’ said Hanno, trying to make light of his brother’s words.
‘That’s not all,’ muttered Bostar. ‘He thinks that I’ll do anything to curry favour with Hannibal.’ Quickly, he related how he’d saved Hannibal’s life at Saguntum. ‘You should have seen the expression on Sapho’s face when Hannibal congratulated me. It was as if I’d done it to make him look bad.’
‘That’s crazy!’ Hanno whispered. ‘Are you sure that’s what he thought?’
‘Oh yes. “The perfect fucking officer” he’s taken to calling me.’
Hanno was shocked into silence for a moment. ‘Surely, it hasn’t been all him? There are always two sides to every argument.’
‘Yes, I’ve said some nasty things too.’ Bostar sighed. ‘But every time I try to sort it out, Sapho throws it back in my face. The last time I tried …’ He hesitated for a heartbeat before shaking his head. ‘I’ve given up on him.’
‘Why? What happened?’ asked Hanno.
‘I’m not telling you,’ said Bostar. ‘I can’t.’ He looked away, out over the murmuring river.
Troubled by what Bostar had said, Hanno did not press him further. He tried to be optimistic. Maybe he could act as a mediator? Imagining a world in which Carthage was at peace once more, Hanno pictured himself hunting with his brothers in the mountains south of their city.
Bostar nudged him in the ribs, hard. ‘Pssst! Do you hear that?’
Hanno came down to earth with a jolt. He leaned forward, listening with all his might. For a long time, he could make out nothing. Then, the jingle of harness. Hanno’s senses went on to high alert. ‘That came from across the water,’ he muttered.
‘It did,’ replied Bostar excitedly. ‘Hannibal was right: the Romans want information.’
They watched the far bank like wolves waiting for their prey to emerge. An instant later, their patience was rewarded. The sounds of horses, and men, moving with great care.
A surge of adrenaline pulsed through Hanno’s veins. ‘It has to be Romans!’
‘Or some of their Gaulish allies,’ said Bostar.
It wasn’t long before they could make out a line of soldiers and mounts, winding their way down the track that led to the ford.
‘How many?’ hissed Bostar.
Hanno squinted into the darkness. An accurate head count was impossible. ‘No more than fifty. Probably less. It’s a reconnaissance patrol all right.’
Stopping, the Roman riders gathered together in a huddle.
‘They’re getting their last orders,’ said Hanno.
A moment later, the first man quietly walked his horse into the ice-cold water. It gave a gentle, dissenting whinny, but some muttered reassurances in its ear worked wonders, and it continued without further protest. At once the others began to follow.
Bostar unwound his limbs and stood. ‘Time to move. Go and tell Sapho what’s happening. The Numidians must be alerted immediately. Clear?’
‘Yes. What are you
going to do?’
‘I’ll go along the bank to the next sentry, and keep an eye on them until they’re out of sight. We need to be sure that no more of the bastards are going to cross.’
‘Right. See you soon.’ Hanno backed away slowly until he was behind the cover of the trees. Treading lightly on the hard ground, he sped back to their secret camp. He found Sapho pacing the ground before his tent. Quickly, he filled his brother in.
‘Excellent,’ said Sapho with a savage grin. ‘Before long, you will get to blood your men’s spears, and perhaps your own. A special moment for you.’
Hanno nodded nervously. Was he imagining Sapho’s lasciviousness?
‘Well, come on then! This is no time for standing around. Get your men up. I’ll send out a few of the Numidians, and get my phalanx ready. Bostar will do the same no doubt, when he eventually gets here,’ said Sapho.
Hanno frowned. ‘No need for that,’ he said. ‘He’ll be here any moment.’
‘Of course he will!’ Sapho laughed. ‘Now get a move on. We’ll need to move into position the instant the Romans have gone.’
Hanno put his head down and obeyed. He didn’t understand the feud between his brothers, but one thing was certain: Sapho still liked telling him what to do. Irritated, Hanno began rousing his men. When he heard a man grumbling, Hanno lambasted him from a height. His tactic seemed to work; it didn’t take long for the soldiers to assemble alongside Sapho’s phalanx.
Soon after, Bostar’s shape emerged from the gloom that hung over the trees that lined the riverbank. ‘They’ve gone,’ he declared. He whistled at the last three Numidians. ‘Ride out at once. Trail the dogs from a distance. Return when the ambush has been sprung.’
With a quick salute, the cavalrymen sprang on to their horses’ backs. They headed off at the trot.
Bostar approached his brothers. ‘Our time here was not in vain,’ he said with a smile.
‘Finally,’ drawled Sapho. ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’
Why is he needling him like that? thought Hanno.
Bostar’s jaw bunched, but he said nothing. Fortunately, his soldiers had heard their comrades getting up, and were doing the same. When he was done, the trio convened in front of their men.
‘How are we going to work this?’ asked Hanno.
‘It’s obvious,’ said Sapho self-importantly. ‘The phalanxes should form three sides of a square. The fourth side will be completed by the Numidians, who will drive the Romans into the trap. They’ll have nowhere to go. All we have to decide is which phalanx holds each position.’
There was a momentary pause. Each of them had reconnoitred the ground around the crossing point several times. The left flank was taken up by a dense patch of oak trees, while the right was a large swampy area. Neither constituted ground that horses would choose to ride over if given the choice. The best place to stand was on the track that led to the ford. That was where any action would take place.
As the youngest and most inexperienced, Hanno was content to take whichever of the flanks he was given.
‘I’ll take the central side,’ said Bostar abruptly.
‘Typical,’ muttered Sapho. ‘I want it as well. And you don’t outrank me any more, remember?’
The two glowered at each other.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Hanno angrily. ‘It doesn’t matter which one of you does it.’
Neither of his brothers answered.
‘Why don’t you toss a coin?’
Still neither Bostar nor Sapho spoke.
‘Melqart above!’ exclaimed Hanno. ‘I’ll do it, then.’
‘That’s out of the question,’ snapped Sapho. ‘You’ve got no combat experience.’
‘Exactly,’ added Bostar.
‘I’ve got to start somewhere. Why not here?’ Hanno retorted. ‘Better this, surely, than in a massive battle?’
Bostar looked at Sapho. ‘We can’t stand around arguing all morning,’ he said in a conciliatory tone.
Sapho gave a careless shrug. ‘It would be hard for Hanno to get it wrong, I suppose.’
Feeling humiliated, Hanno looked down.
‘That’s unnecessary,’ barked Bostar. ‘Father has trained Hanno well. Hannibal himself picked him to lead a phalanx. His men are veterans. The chances of him fucking up are no greater than if I were in the centre.’ He paused. ‘Or you were.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Sapho’s eyes were mere slits.
‘Stop it!’ Hanno cried. ‘You should both be ashamed of yourselves. Hannibal gave us a job to do, remember? Let’s just do it, please.’
Like sulky children, his brothers broke eye contact. In silence, they stalked off to stand before their phalanxes. Hanno waited for a moment before realising that it was up to him to lead the way. ‘Form up, six men wide,’ he ordered. ‘Follow me.’ He was pleased by his soldiers’ rapid response. Many of them looked pleased by what had happened, which encouraged him further.
The three phalanxes deployed at the ford, in open order. Once they closed up, the spearmen would present a continuous front of overlapping shields. No horse would approach such an obstacle. The forest of spears protruding from it promised death by impalement to anyone foolish enough to try.
Hanno marched up and down, muttering encouraging words to his men. He was grateful that his father had advised him to recognise as many of his soldiers as possible. It was a simple ruse, yet not a man failed to grin when Hanno spoke to him by name. His efforts didn’t take long, though, and soon time began to drag. Muscles that had been stirred into activity by their movement into position grew cold again. A damp breeze blew off the river, chilling the waiting soldiers to the bone. Allowing them to warm up was not an option, nor was singing, a common method of raising morale.
All they could do was wait.
Dawn came, but banks of lowering cloud concealed the sun. The sole sign of life was the occasional small bird fluttering among the trees’ bare branches; the only sound the murmur of the river at their backs. Finally, Hanno’s grumbling belly made him wonder if they should order an issue of rations. Before he could query this with his brothers, the sound of galloping hooves attracted everyone’s attention. All eyes turned to the track leading west.
When two Numidians came thundering around the corner, there was a massed intake of breath.
‘They’re coming!’ one shouted as he drew nearer.
‘With five hundred of our comrades hot on their tails!’ whooped the other.
Hanno scarcely heard. ‘Close order!’ he screamed. ‘Ready spears!’
Chapter XXII: Face to Face
QUINTUS HAD HOPED that his unease would dissipate as they left the Trebia behind them. Far from it. Each step that his horse took further into the empty landscape felt as final as if he had crossed the Styx to penetrate the depths of Hades itself. The eagerness he’d felt in his father’s tent, with a belly full of wine, had totally vanished. Quintus said nothing, but a glance to either side confirmed that he was not alone in his feelings. The other riders’ faces spoke volumes. Many were throwing filthy glances at Flaccus. Everyone knew that he was responsible for their misfortune.
At the front, Fabricius had no idea, or was choosing to ignore, what was going on. It was probably the latter, Quintus decided. These were some of the most experienced men in his command. Yet they were unhappy. Why had his father accepted the mission? Quintus cursed. The answer was startlingly simple. How would it look to Publius if Fabricius had refused a duty like this? Terrible. Quintus eyed Flaccus sourly. If the fool hadn’t put the idea in the consul’s head, they’d all still be safe on the Roman side of the river. Guilt soon replaced Quintus’ anger. By being so eager, he had probably helped push his father into accepting the suicide mission.
For, despite the fact that there was no sign of the enemy, that is what it felt like.
Quintus waited for only a short time before urging his horse forward to his father’s position. Flaccus was riding alongside. He gave Quintus a broa
d wink. It wasn’t entirely convincing.
He’s frightened too, thought Quintus. That made up his mind.
Fabricius was intent on scanning the landscape. His rigid back told its own story. Quintus swallowed. ‘Maybe this patrol was a bad idea, Father.’ He ignored Flaccus’ shocked reaction. ‘We’re visible for miles.’
Fabricius dragged his gaze around to Quintus. ‘I know. Why do you think I’m keeping such a keen eye out?’
‘But there’s no sign of anyone,’ protested Flaccus. ‘Not even a bird!’
‘For Jupiter’s sake, that doesn’t matter!’ Fabricius snapped. ‘All the Carthaginians need is one alert sentry. If there are any Numidians within five miles of here, they’ll be after us within a dozen heartbeats of any alarm.’
Flaccus flinched. ‘But we can’t go back empty-handed.’
‘Not without looking like fools, or cowards,’ Fabricius agreed sourly.
They rode in silence for a few moments.
‘There might be a way out,’ Flaccus muttered.
Quintus was ashamed to feel a flutter of hope.
Fabricius laughed harshly. ‘Not so keen now, are you?’
‘Are you doubting my courage?’ demanded Flaccus with an outraged look.
‘Not your courage,’ Fabricius growled. ‘Your good judgement. Haven’t you realised yet that Hannibal’s cavalry are lethal? If we so much as see any, we’re dead men.’
‘Surely it’s not that bad?’ protested Flaccus.
‘I should have refused this mission, regardless of how it looked to Publius. Let you lead it on your own. If anyone would follow you, that is.’
Flaccus subsided into a sulky silence.
His father’s outburst revealed the depths of his anger; Quintus was amazed.
Fabricius relented a fraction. ‘So what’s your bright idea? You might as well tell me.’
‘We will report that the enemy cavalry was present in such numbers that we were unable to proceed far from the Trebia,’ said Flaccus with bad grace. ‘It’s not cowardice to avoid annihilation. Who will gainsay us? Your men certainly won’t talk about it, and no one else will be foolish enough to cross the river.’
