‘Sapho!’ Bostar yelled. ‘Sapho!’
Eventually his brother heard him. ‘What?’ he snarled over his shoulder.
‘We must pull back!’
Sapho’s face contorted with anger. ‘You’re crazy! Any moment, the whoresons will break, and then we’ll have them. Victory is at hand!’
‘No, it isn’t!’ Bostar bellowed. ‘We have to retreat. NOW.’
Some of Sapho’s soldiers began to look uneasy.
Sapho glared furiously at Bostar, but realised that he was serious. Shouting encouragement to his men, Sapho elbowed his way out of the front rank. With his arms and face covered in blood, he was like some creature from the underworld. ‘Have you entirely lost your wits?’ he hissed. ‘The enemy is giving ground at last. Another big push, and they’ll break.’
‘It’s too late,’ Bostar replied in a flat tone. ‘Have you not seen what those fucking falaricae have done to the troops behind us?’
Sapho’s rejoinder was instantaneous. ‘No. I keep my eyes to the front, not the back.’
Bostar’s fists clenched at the imputation. ‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘let me tell you, our entire attack has come to a halt.’
Sapho bared his teeth. ‘So? Those motherless curs will turn and run any moment. Then we’ll get a foothold inside the walls.’
‘Where we will be cut off and annihilated.’ Bostar jabbed a finger into Sapho’s chest for emphasis. ‘Don’t you understand? We’re on our own up here!’
‘Coward!’ Sapho screamed. ‘You’re scared of dying, that’s all.’
Bostar’s anger surged out of control. ‘When the time comes, I will fight and die for Hannibal,’ he shouted. ‘What’s more, I will do it proudly. But there’s a difference between dying well, and like a fool. There’s nothing to be gained from sacrificing your life, or those of your men, here.’
Spitting on the ground, Sapho made to return to the fight.
‘Stop!’ Bostar’s order was like the crack of a whip.
Stiff-backed, Sapho came to a halt, but he did not turn to face Bostar.
‘As your superior officer, I command you to withdraw your men at once,’ Bostar cried, making sure that every soldier within earshot heard him.
Defeated, Sapho spun around. ‘Yes, sir,’ he snarled. He raised his voice. ‘You heard the order! Fall back!’
It didn’t take long for Sapho’s men to get the idea. Re-energised by the effect that their volleys had had on the ascending Carthaginian troops, the defenders were beginning to advance again. Behind them, freshly lit falaricae were being carried forward. Encouraged by this, even the civilians who were repairing the breach joined in, hurling stones and fist-sized pieces of masonry at the spearmen.
This increased the ignominy and fuelled Sapho’s anger to new levels, all the more because he could now see that Bostar had been right to sound the recall. ‘Fool,’ he told himself nonetheless. ‘It was there for the taking.’
Hannibal was waiting with Malchus and Alete at the bottom of the slope. The general greeted the brothers warmly. ‘We were getting worried about you,’ he declared.
Malchus rumbled in agreement.
‘Sapho here didn’t want to leave the fight,’ said Bostar generously.
‘Last on the field?’ Hannibal clapped Sapho on the shoulder. ‘But still with the sense to withdraw. Good man! Once the whoresons had panicked your reinforcements, there was no point staying there, eh?’
Sapho flushed and hung his head. ‘No, sir.’
‘It was a good effort from both of you,’ said Malchus encouragingly. ‘But it wasn’t to be.’
Hannibal took Sapho’s reaction to be disappointment. ‘Never mind, man. My spies tell me that their food is fast running out. We’ll take the place soon! Now, see to your injured.’ He waved a hand in dismissal.
‘Come on,’ said Bostar, leading Sapho away.
‘Let go!’ Sapho whispered after a few steps. ‘I’m not a child!’
‘Stop acting like one then!’ said Bostar, releasing his grip. ‘The least you could do is thank me. I didn’t have to cover up for you there.’
Sapho’s lip curled. ‘I’m damned if I’ll do that.’
Bostar threw his eyes to heaven. ‘Of course not! Why would you recognise that I just saved your arse from a severe reprimand?’
‘Fuck you, Bostar,’ Sapho snapped. He felt completely backed into a corner. ‘You’re always right, aren’t you? Everyone loves you, the perfect fucking officer!’ Turning on his heel, he stalked off.
Bostar watched him go. Why couldn’t he have gone fishing instead of Hanno? he thought. His remorse for even thinking such a thing was instant, but the feeling lingered as he began organising rescue parties for the injured.
For the next two months, the siege went on in much the same fashion. Every full frontal assault made by the Carthaginians was met with dogged, undying determination by the defenders. The vineae regularly smashed more holes in the outer wall, but the attackers could not press home their advantage fully, despite their overwhelming superiority of numbers. Relations between Bostar and Sapho did not improve, and the constant activity meant that it was easy to avoid each other. When they weren’t fighting, they were sleeping or looking after their wounded. Malchus, who had not only his own phalanx to deal with, but the extra duties given him by Hannibal, remained unaware of the feud.
Incensed by the manner in which the siege was dragging on, Hannibal eventually ordered the construction of more siege engines: vineae, which protected the men within, and an immense multi-storey tower on wheels. This last, holding catapults and hundreds of soldiers on its various levels, could be moved to whichever point was weakest on a particular day. Its firepower was so great that the battlements could be cleared of defenders within a short time, allowing the wooden terraces which would protect the attacking infantry to be carried forward without hindrance. Fortunately for the Carthaginians, the ramparts had been built on a base of clay, not cement. Using pickaxes, the troops in the terraces set to work, undermining the base of the walls. In this way, a further breach was made, and the attackers’ spirits were briefly lifted. Yet all was not as it seemed. Beyond the gaping hole, the Carthaginians found that a crescent-shaped fortification of earth had been thrown up in preparation for this exact eventuality. From behind its protection came repeated volleys of the terrifying falaricae.
At this point, despite the showers of burning javelins, the Carthaginians’ relentless determination and superior numbers began to tell. The Saguntines did not have time to rebuild the new damage to their defences properly, and repeated waves of attack finally smashed a passage behind the walls. Despite the defenders’ heroism, the position was held. Further successes followed in the subsequent days, but then, with winter approaching, Hannibal was called away by a major rebellion of the fierce tribes that lived near the River Tagus. Maharbal, the officer he left in command, proceeded vigorously with the assault. He gained further ground, driving the weakened defenders into the citadel. The attackers’ situation was strengthened by the fact that cholera and other illnesses were now causing heavy casualties among the Saguntines; their food and supplies were also running dangerously low.
By the time Hannibal had put down the uprising and returned, the end was near. The Carthaginian general offered terms to the Saguntine leaders. Incredibly, they were rejected out of hand. With the end of the year nigh, preparations were made for a final, decisive assault. Thanks to their repeated valour, Malchus, his sons and their spearmen had been chosen to be part of the last attack. Typically, Hannibal and his corps of scutarii were also present.
Long before the winter sun had tinted the eastern horizon, they assembled some fifty paces from the walls. Behind them, reaching all the way to the bottom of the slope, were units from every section of the army except the cavalry. Apart from the occasional jingle of mail or muted cough, the soldiers made little noise. The breath of thousands plumed the chill, damp air, the only manifestation of the excitement every man felt. As reward for their long struggle and because of the Saguntines’ refusal to parley, Hannibal had told his troops that they had free rein when the city fell. Carthage would take some of the spoils, but the rest was theirs, including the inhabitants: men, women and children.