‘No! You’ll eat them all anyway.’ Hanno pushed his friend out of the way with a grin. It was a standing joke between them that his favourite pastime was getting covered in ash and grime while Suniaton would rather plan his next meal. He was so busy laughing that he didn’t see the approaching group of soldiers — a dozen Libyan spearmen — until it was too late. With a thump, Hanno collided with the first man’s large, round shield.
This was no street urchin, and the spearman bit back an instinctive curse. ‘Mind your step,’ he cried.
Catching sight of two Carthaginian officers in the soldiers’ midst, Hanno cursed. It was Sapho and Bostar. Both were dressed in their finest uniforms. Bell-shaped helmets with thick rims and yellow-feathered crests covered their heads. Layered linen pteryges hung below their polished bronze cuirasses to cover the groin, and contoured greaves protected their lower legs. No doubt they too were on their way to the meeting. Muttering an apology to the spearman, Hanno backed away, looking at the ground in an attempt not to be recognised.
Oblivious to Sapho and Bostar’s presence, Suniaton was snorting with amusement at Hanno’s collision. ‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘We don’t want to get there too late.’
‘Hanno!’ Bostar’s voice was genial.
He pretended not to hear.
‘Hanno! Come back!’ barked a deeper, more commanding voice, that of Sapho.
Unwillingly, Hanno turned.
Suniaton tried to sidle away, but he had also been spotted.
‘Eshmuniaton! Get over here,’ Sapho ordered.
With a miserable expression, Suniaton shuffled to his friend’s side.
Hanno’s brothers shouldered their way forward to stand before them.
‘Sapho. Bostar,’ Hanno said with a false smile. ‘What a surprise.’
‘Is it?’ Sapho demanded, his thick eyebrows meeting in a frown. A short, compact man with a serious manner like Malchus, he was twenty-two. Young to be a mid-ranking officer, but like Bostar, his ability had shone through during his training. ‘We’re all supposed to be heading to listen to the elders. Why aren’t you with Father?’
Flushing, Hanno looked down. Damn it, he thought. In Sapho’s eyes, duty to Carthage was all-important. In a single moment, their chances of a day on the boat had vanished.
Sapho gave Suniaton a hard stare, taking in his pack and the provisions in his hands. ‘Because the pair of you were skiving off, that’s why! Fishing, no doubt?’
Suniaton scuffed a toe in the dirt.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ Sapho asked acidly.
Hanno moved in front of his friend. ‘We were going to catch some tunny, yes,’ he admitted.
Sapho’s scowl grew deeper. ‘And that’s more important than listening to the Council of Elders?’
As usual, his brother’s high-handed attitude rankled with Hanno. This type of lecture was all too common. Most often, it felt as if Sapho was trying to be their father. Unsurprisingly, Hanno resented this. ‘It’s not as if the greybeards will say anything that hasn’t been said a thousand times before,’ he retorted. ‘Just about every one is full of hot air.’
Suniaton sniggered. ‘Like someone else not too far away.’ He saw Hanno’s warning look and fell silent.
Sapho’s jaw clenched. ‘You pair of impudent-’ he began.
Bostar’s lips twitched, and he lifted a hand to Sapho’s shoulder. ‘Peace,’ he said. ‘Hanno has a point. The elders are rather fond of the sound of their own voices.’
Hanno and Suniaton tried to hide their smiles.
Sapho missed Bostar’s amusement, but he lapsed into a glowering silence. He was acutely aware, and resentful, that he was not the senior officer present. Although Sapho was a year older, Bostar had been promoted before him.
‘It’s not as if this meeting will be a matter of life and death,’ Bostar continued reasonably. His wink — unseen by Sapho — told Hanno that all hope was not lost. He slyly returned the gesture. Like Hanno, Bostar resembled their mother, Arishat, with a thin face and piercing green eyes. Where Sapho’s nose was broad, his was long and narrow. Rangy and athletic, his long black hair was tied in a ponytail, which emerged from under his helmet. Hanno had far more in common with the gentle Bostar than he did with Sapho. Currently, his feelings for his eldest brother often verged on dislike. ‘Does our father know where you are?’
‘No,’ admitted Hanno.
Bostar turned to Suniaton. ‘I would assume, therefore, that Bodesmun is also in the dark?’
‘Of course he is,’ Sapho butted in, eager to regain control. ‘As usual where these two are concerned.’
Bostar ignored his brother’s outburst. ‘Well?’
‘Father thinks I’m at home, studying,’ Suniaton revealed.
Sapho’s expression grew a shade more self-righteous. ‘Let’s see what Bodesmun and Father have to say when they discover what you were both really up to. We have enough time to do that before the Council meets.’ He jerked a thumb at the spearmen. ‘Get in amongst them.’
Hanno scowled, but there was little point arguing. Sapho was in a particularly zealous mood. ‘Come on,’ he muttered to Suniaton. ‘The shoals will be there another day.’
Before they could move a step, Bostar spoke. ‘I don’t see why they shouldn’t go fishing.’
Hanno and Suniaton stared at each other, amazed.
Sapho’s brows rose. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Such activities will shortly be impossible for both of us, and we’ll miss them.’ Bostar made a face. ‘That same day will come for Hanno soon enough. Let him have his fun while he can.’
Hanno’s heart leaped; the gravity of Bostar’s words was lost on him.
Sapho’s face grew thoughtful. After a moment, though, his sanctimonious frown returned. ‘Duty is duty,’ he declared.
‘Lighten up, Sapho. You’re twenty-two, not fifty-two!’ Bostar threw a glance at the spearmen, who were uniformly grinning. ‘Who would notice Hanno’s absence apart from us and Father? And you’re not Suni’s keeper any more than I am.’
Sapho’s lips thinned at the teasing, but he relented. The idea of Bostar pulling rank on him was too much to bear. ‘Father won’t be happy,’ he said gruffly, ‘but I suppose you’re right.’
Hanno could hardly believe what he was hearing. ‘Thank you!’ His cry was echoed by Suniaton.
‘Go on, before I change my mind,’ Sapho warned.
The friends didn’t need any further prompting. With a grateful look at Bostar, who threw them another wink, the pair disappeared into the crowd. Broad grins creased both their faces. They would still be held to account, thought Hanno, but not until that evening. Visions of a boat full of tunny filled his mind once more.
‘Sapho’s a serious one, isn’t he?’ Suniaton commented.
‘You know how he is,’ Hanno replied. ‘In his eyes, things like fishing are a waste of time.’
Suniaton nudged him. ‘Just as well I didn’t tell him what I was thinking, then.’ He grinned at Hanno’s enquiring look. ‘That it would do him good to relax more — perhaps by going fishing!’
Hanno’s mouth opened with shock, before he laughed. ‘Thank the gods you didn’t say that! There’s no way he would have let us go.’
Smiling with relief, the friends continued their journey. Soon they had reached the Agora. Its four sides, each a stade in length, were made up of grand porticoes and covered walkways. The beating heart of the city, it was home to the building where the Council of Elders met, as well as government offices, a library, numerous temples and shops. It was also where, on summer evenings, the better-off young men and women would gather in groups, a safe distance apart, to eye each other up. Socialising with the opposite sex was frowned upon, and chaperones for the girls were never far away. Despite this, inventive methods to approach the object of one’s desire were constantly being invented. Of recent months, this had become one of the friends’ favourite pastimes. Fishing beat it still, but not by much, thought Hanno wistfully, scanning the crowds for any sign of attractive female flesh.