‘It doesn’t have to, for Eros’ arrow to sink deep.’
‘It’s foolish even to think of her. I’ll never see her again. This damn war …’ Hanno gestured in exasperation.
‘Aye. It has affected me in that way too. About two years ago, I had managed to persuade my parents to agree to my marrying a girl from Enna whom I’d met and fallen for at a festival to Demeter and Persephone. She was from a poorer family than mine, but I didn’t care. We were to be wed not long after Hieronymus came to power.’ His face darkened.
‘What happened?’
‘Hieronymus became unpopular. There was a lot of unrest — you must have heard about that. When he was assassinated, things went crazy in the city for a time. Scores of nobles were murdered; no one knew who’d be next. Marriage was out of the question. When the brothers seized power, things calmed down. That’s one of the reasons I support them. They might not be the nicest of men, but they’ve kept the peace.’ He chuckled. ‘Apart from with Rome, that is.’
‘Where is she?’
‘In Enna, with her family. We send letters to each other when we can.’ Kleitos’ expression grew a little sad. ‘We’ll wed when the war’s over.’ The slave who’d been cleaning his skin with a strigil finished, and he sat up.
‘That will be a happy day.’
Kleitos threw him a grateful look. ‘Perhaps you will see the Roman girl again. When Hannibal has beaten the Romans, you could seek her out.’
‘She’s married,’ said Hanno more sharply than he’d meant.
‘Well, who’s to say that her husband won’t have fallen in battle?’
‘I’ve thought the same thing more than once. But even if we did meet, she wouldn’t be interested in me — a dirty gugga, one of those who had humbled her people.’ Aurelia had never called him that, but Hanno was trying to harden his heart against further pain.
‘Don’t be so sure. You’ll never be as handsome as me, for example, but I dare say even the flute girls tonight could be persuaded to lie with you.’
Hanno grabbed one of the drying cloths from the pile and flicked it, catching Kleitos on the arse. ‘Cheeky dog!’
Kleitos took the challenge with a whoop. Like two boys, they ran around the room, thrashing each other with their cloths. The slaves looked on, bemused.
Kleitos called a halt eventually. ‘Let’s not miss the start of it. I want to hear what the brothers have to say.’
The bath and massage had sobered the pair up, to Hanno’s relief. Kleitos had awakened Hanno’s devilish side, which wanted to go on an almighty bender. But a public affair like this required his best behaviour, at least for the early part of the night. He did his best to keep this uppermost in his mind as they set off.
Hanno had seen few rooms as grand as the immense banqueting hall in which the party was held. Its grandest feature was the mosaic floor surface — a set of magnificent scenes depicting the war between Greece and Troy: Paris eloping with Helen; Menelaus’ thousand ships setting sail; Achilles defeating Hector; the Trojan Horse full of soldiers. To Kleitos’ amusement, Hanno insisted on wandering around, studying the lot.
‘Carthage is bigger and more beautiful than Syracuse,’ Hanno said. ‘But we have nothing like this!’
‘You Carthaginians are famed for your city, your wandering natures, and your ability to make money where others can’t.’ Kleitos clinked his cup off Hanno’s in salutation. ‘My people’s skill in war may not be what it was in the days of Xenophon, Leonidas and Alexander, but we are still masters of the arts and culture.’
Hanno studied the room, trying not to be awestruck. The ewers of wine and of water carried by the slaves were made of gold or silver. So too were the kraters being passed between the guests. From the hardwood couches and serving tables to the richly painted walls and gilded lamp stands, everything in the room exuded quality and class. His family were wealthy, as was Quintus’, but not on this scale. And despite his stature, Hannibal did not go in for shows of riches. This was the first time that Hanno had been inside the palace of someone — Hiero — who effectively had been a king.
‘Ho, Kleitos!’ called a short man with almost no hair, who was reclining with a group of nobles on a set of nearby couches. ‘Brought a friend?’
‘Come.’ Kleitos beckoned to Hanno. ‘I’ll introduce you to some of my comrades.’
By the time that the sixth krater had been passed around, Hanno was feeling rather inebriated. The wine was watered down, but perhaps not as much as he was used to. He would pass the next time it appeared in front of him, or he’d soon be puking. What time it was, he had no idea, but it had to be late. Not long after his and Kleitos’ arrival, the brothers had appeared, to rapturous applause. Epicydes’ speech had been witty and acerbic, and Hippocrates had waxed long and proud about the gathered men’s bravery. Both discourses had gone down like a house on fire. Toast after toast had been made, and the floor was now awash thanks to the wine that had been poured out as libations to the gods. There had been a spontaneous rendition of the paean, the Greek hymn of triumph, which had set the hairs on the back of his neck atingle. Kleitos’ friends, who seemed a decent lot, had been welcoming and interested to talk with him. Annoyingly, he had heard nothing that would interest Hannibal. Flute girls and dancers in diaphanous robes had moved through the crowd, pausing here and there to perform, and accompanied by musicians with lyres and pipes. Slaves kept the wine flowing without pause. The food, served on silver platters, had been plentiful and delicious: fish and shellfish of all kinds, baked with herbs, stuffed and grilled. There had been spit-roasted lamb and pork, and plenty of fresh-baked flatbread to mop up the juices. If it hadn’t been for the food, Hanno would have been on the floor some time past.
It had been a mistake, he thought blearily, to start drinking when they had. He’d peaked early, and despite the break at the baths, it had all been downhill since then. His plan of retreating to one of the more secluded parts of the room with one of the many attractive flute girls still appealed, but he wasn’t sure if his body was up to the task. His bladder went into spasm, reminding him that he hadn’t yet been for a piss. It seemed perfect timing. If he took his time going and coming, and downed a cup of water taken from a passing slave on the way, he’d start to sober up. Carefully, he got to his feet.
‘Has one of the girls taken your fancy?’ asked Kleitos, leering.
‘More than one. But I need to empty my bladder.’
‘Do it in a corner. No one will notice.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ retorted Hanno. It was unlikely that Hippocrates or Epicydes would hear about it if he did such a thing, but he wasn’t that desperate. ‘Where’s the latrine?’
‘Somewhere over there.’ Kleitos waved vaguely through the crowd at the opposite end of the room.
Hanno hadn’t gone far when he was accosted by a man who introduced himself as Thick Eyebrows’ commander. He made a hearty apology for his men’s behaviour and insisted on sharing his krater of wine. After what he considered enough time to be polite, Hanno made his excuses and left. This time, he was careful to avoid eye contact with the other revellers. His bladder felt as if it were about to burst. Even the sight of a voluptuous flute girl performing a naked dance for a rapt audience of noblemen couldn’t make him pause.
He wandered down a well-lit hallway, trying various doors. They were either locked, or opened into storage rooms. Finally, though, his luck was in. A grander arrangement than he’d seen in an age, the latrine had several wooden seats that emptied into a large-bore angled pipe. Hanno exchanged pleasantries with the other occupant, a fat man whose poisonous farts had Hanno pissing as fast as he could. A little disappointed that his trip hadn’t taken longer — he did not feel any less drunk — he headed in the opposite direction to the banqueting hall. A pleasant breeze cooled his cheeks; Hanno hoped it was coming from a spot where he could sit for a while and let the wine’s effects subside.