Just when he thought that things could get no worse, they did. Late the next morning, the vanguard arrived at a point where a landslide had carried away the track for a distance of one and a half stades. Sapho sent word back that neither man nor beast could proceed without losing their life. Here the drop was at least five hundred paces. Undeterred, Hannibal ordered his Numidians to begin constructing a new path across the obstacle. The rest of the army was ordered to rest as best it could. The news made many soldiers break down and weep. ‘Will our suffering never end?’ wailed one of Bostar’s men. Bostar was quick to issue a reprimand. Morale was painfully low, without being made worse by open despair.
All they had to go on were the garbled messages occasionally passed back from the vanguard. Bostar didn’t know which to believe. The cavalry mounts were useful in pulling large boulders out of the way. Most of the work had to be done by bare hand. Hannibal had offered a hundred gold pieces to the first man over the obstacle. Ten men had fallen to their deaths when a section of the track had given way. It would take a week or more to clear the way for the elephants.
As darkness fell, Bostar’s spirits were raised somewhat by a Numidian officer who was passing through Bostar’s phalanx as he returned to his tent.
‘Progress was good today. We’ve laid a new path over more than two-thirds of the landslide. If things proceed like this tomorrow, we should be able to continue.’
Bostar breathed a huge sigh of relief. After nearly a month in the mountains, Cisalpine Gaul would be within reach at last.
His optimism vanished within an hour of work resuming the following morning when the cavalrymen exposed a huge boulder. It completely blocked the way forward. With a diameter greater than the height of two men, the rock was positioned such that only a few soldiers could approach at a time. Horses weren’t strong enough to move it, and there was no space to lead an elephant in to try.
As time passed, Bostar could see the last vestiges of hope disappearing from men’s eyes. He felt the same way himself. Although they weren’t speaking, Sapho looked similarly deflated. It wasn’t long before Hannibal came to survey the problem. Bostar’s usual excitement at seeing his general did not materialise. How could anyone, even Hannibal, find a way to overcome this obstacle? As if the gods were laughing, more snow began to fall. Bostar’s shoulders slumped.
A moment later, he was surprised to see his father hurrying to speak with Hannibal. When Malchus returned, he had a new air of calmness about him. Bostar squinted at the soldiers who were hurrying back along the column. He grabbed his father’s arm. ‘What’s going on?’
‘All is not lost,’ Malchus replied with a small smile. ‘You will see.’
Soon after, the soldiers returned, each man bent double under a pile of firewood. Load after load was carried past and set carefully around the base of the rock. When the timber had been piled high, Malchus ordered it lit. Still Bostar did not understand, but his father would answer no questions. Leaving his sons to observe with increasing curiosity, he returned to Hannibal’s side.
The soldiers who could see were also intrigued, but after the fire had been burning for more than an hour without any result, they grew bored. Grumbles about wasting the last of their wood began. For the first time since leaving New Carthage, Bostar did not immediately react. His own disillusionment was reaching critical levels. Whatever crackpot idea his father had had was not going to work. They might as well lie down and die now, because that was what would surely happen when night fell.
Bostar missed the construction of a wooden framework that allowed a man to stand over the top of the rock. It was only when the first amphorae were carried past that he looked up. Finally, his curiosity got the better of his despair. The clay vessels contained sour wine, the troops’ staple drink. Bostar saw his father gesturing excitedly as Hannibal watched. Quickly, two strapping scutarii climbed the frame. To combat the extreme heat now radiating from the rock, they had both soaked their clothes in water. The instant they had reached the top, the pair lowered ropes to the ground. Men below tied amphorae to the cables, which were hauled up. Without further ado, the scutarii cracked open the wax seals and poured the vessels’ contents all over the boulder. The liquid sizzled and spat, sending a powerful smell of hot wine into the faces of those watching. Realisation of what they were trying to do struck Bostar like a hammer blow. He turned to tell Sapho before biting his lip and saying nothing.
The empty containers were discarded and replaced by full ones, and the process was repeated. There was more loud bubbling as the wine boiled on the superheated rock, but nothing else happened. The scutarii looked uncertainly at Malchus. ‘Keep going! As fast as you can!’ he shouted. Hastily, they obeyed, upending two more amphorae. Then it was four. Still the rock sat there, immovable, immutable. Malchus roared at the soldiers who stood close by to add more fuel to the blaze. The flames licked up, threatening to consume the platform upon which the scutarii stood, but they were not allowed to climb down. Malchus moved to stand at the frame’s base, and exhorted the soldiers to even greater efforts. Another two amphorae were emptied over the boulder, to no avail. Bostar’s hopes began to ebb away.
A succession of explosive cracks suddenly drowned out all sound. Chunks of stone were hurled high into the air, and one of the scutarii collapsed as if poleaxed. His skull had been neatly staved in by a piece of rock no bigger than a hen’s egg. His panicked companion jumped to safety, and the soldiers who had been tending the fire all retreated at speed. More cracking sounds followed, and then the rock broke into several large parts. Parts that could be moved by men, or smashed into pieces by hammers. The cheering that followed rose to the very clouds. As word spread down the column, the noise increased in volume until it seemed that the mountains themselves were rejoicing.
Elated, Bostar and Sapho rushed separately to their father’s side. Joyfully, they embraced him one by one. They were joined by Hannibal, who greeted Malchus like a brother. ‘Our ordeal is nearly over,’ the general cried. ‘The path to Cisalpine Gaul lies open.’
The two friends’ first sight of the capital was formed by the immense Servian wall, which ringed the city and dwarfed Capua’s defences. ‘The fortifications are nearly two hundred years old,’ Quintus explained excitedly. ‘They were built after Rome was sacked by the Gauls.’
May Hannibal be the next to do so, Hanno prayed.
‘How does Carthage compare?’
‘Eh?’ said Hanno, coming back to reality. ‘Many of her defences are much more recent.’ They’re still far more spectacular, he thought.
‘And its size?’
Hanno wasn’t going to lie about that one. ‘Carthage is much bigger.’
Quintus did his best not to look disgruntled, and failed.
Hanno was surprised that within the walls, Carthage’s similarities with Rome grew. The streets were unpaved, and most were no more than ten paces across. After months of hot weather, their surfaces were little more than an iron-hard series of wheel ruts. ‘They’ll be a muddy morass come the winter,’ he said, pointing. ‘That’s what happens if it rains a lot at home.’
‘As in Capua,’ agreed Quintus. He wrinkled his nose as they passed an alleyway used as a dung heap. The acrid odour of human faeces and urine hung heavy in the air. ‘Lucky it’s autumn and not the height of summer. The smell then is apparently unbearable.’
‘Do many buildings have sewerage systems?’
‘No.’
‘It’s not much different to parts of Carthage,’ Hanno replied. It was strange to feel homesick because of the smell of shit.
The fuggy atmosphere was aided by the fact that the closely built structures were two, three and even four storeys tall, creating a dimly lit, poorly ventilated environment on the street. Compared to the fresh air and open spaces of the Italian countryside, it was an alternative world. Most structures were open-fronted shops at ground level, with stairs at the side that snaked up to the flats above. Quintus was shocked by the filth of it all. ‘They’re where the majority of people live,’ he explained.