Sapho blinked. ‘Yes,’ he muttered.
‘It doesn’t look like it,’ said Hanno hotly.
‘That’s because he isn’t,’ Bostar growled. ‘Our older brother gets jealous of anyone who might win favour from our general.’
The veins in Sapho’s neck bulged with fury. ‘Fuck you,’ he snapped.
‘Sapho!’ shouted Malchus. ‘Curb your tongue! You too, Bostar. Can we not forget our differences for once, on this most joyful of days?’
Shame-faced, Sapho and Bostar nodded.
Taking Hanno by the hand, Malchus led him away. ‘Come on,’ he ordered over his shoulder. Pointedly ignoring each other, Sapho and Bostar followed.
Hanno couldn’t get over the level of animosity between his brothers. What on earth had happened between them? He was amazed too at the ease with which Sapho still got his back up. Seeing Hannibal’s tent in the distance, Hanno put his concerns from his mind. He was going to meet the finest Carthaginian general in history. The man who dared to attack Rome on its own territory.
With a ragtag, half-starved army, his cynical side added. Hanno could not let go of this worrying thought as his father led him and his brothers onward. How could they ever match the numbers of soldiers Rome could call upon?
Soon they had reached a large open area before their general’s headquarters. The place was thronged. Hanno’s eyes widened. Flanking the perimeter were hundreds of soldiers from all over the Mediterranean, men whom he’d heard much about, but never seen. Numidian and Iberian infantry mixed with Lusitanians. Spiky-haired, bare-chested Gauls stood shoulder to shoulder with Balearic slingers and Ligurian warriors. There were several nationalities of cavalrymen: Iberian, Gaulish and Numidian. Outside the main tent stood a large group of senior officers, resplendent in their polished muscled cuirasses, pteryges and crested helmets. Hannibal’s purple cloak made him easy to pick out. A group of musicians was positioned nearby, their instruments at the ready: curved ceramic horns and carnyxes, vertical trumpets made of bronze, each topped by a depiction of a wild boar.
Hanno glanced at his father. ‘What’s going on?’
Even Sapho and Bostar looked confused.
Frustratingly, Malchus did not answer. He walked on, up to the party of officers. A quick word in the ear of one of Hannibal’s bodyguards saw them led straight to their leader’s side. Recognising Malchus, Hannibal smiled. Hanno felt as if he were in a dream come true.
Malchus saluted. ‘A word, if I may, sir?’
‘Of course. Make it quick, though,’ Hannibal replied.
‘Yes, sir. You know two of my sons, Sapho and Bostar,’ said Malchus. ‘But there is a third, Hanno.’
Hannibal gave Hanno a curious look. ‘I seem to remember a tragedy at sea in which he’d been lost.’
‘You have a fine memory, sir. I discovered afterwards, however, that by some miracle, Hanno had not been drowned. Instead, he and his friend were found adrift by some pirates. They sold both into slavery. In Italy.’
Hannibal’s eyebrows rose. ‘This couldn’t be him?’
Malchus grinned. ‘It is, sir.’
‘Gods above!’ Hannibal exclaimed. ‘Come here!’
Self-conscious in his ragged, filthy clothes, Hanno did as he was told.
Hannibal appraised him for several, breath-holding moments. ‘You have the look of Malchus all right.’
Hanno didn’t dare reply. His heart was thumping off his ribs like that of a wild bird.
‘How did you escape?’
‘My owner’s son let me go, sir.’
‘Did he, by Melqart’s beard? Why?’
‘I saved his life once, sir.’
‘Intriguing.’ Hannibal stroked his chin. ‘Have you travelled far?’
‘No, sir. He released me near Placentia.’
‘You are welcome. Your father and brothers are valuable officers. I hope that you will be too.’
Hanno made an awkward half-bow. ‘I will do my best, sir.’
Hannibal made a gesture of dismissal.
‘Wait, sir,’ said Malchus eagerly. ‘Hanno’s awe at meeting you has curdled his brains. He didn’t say that Placentia is where Publius and his army were camped.’
Hannibal’s face came alive with interest. ‘Publius, you say? One of the Scipiones?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Hanno replied, aware that every officer within earshot was now listening. ‘After missing you at the Rhodanus, he returned to Italy with all speed.’
There was a general gasp of dismay.
‘Has he brought his entire army with him?’ asked Hannibal softly.
‘No, sir. He sent it to Iberia, under the command of his brother.’
‘A shrewd general, then.’ Hannibal let out a slow breath. ‘Hasdrubal and Hanno will also have a fight on their hands. It is to be expected, I suppose.’ He fixed Hanno with his dark eyes again. ‘What of Publius now?’
‘He has thrown a bridge over the Padus, and was intending to march west on the day I fled.’
Hannibal leaned forward. ‘When was that?’
‘Three days ago, sir.’
‘So he cannot be far away. Excellent news!’ Hannibal smacked a fist into his palm. ‘What of his forces?’
Hanno did his best to recount all that he had seen and heard since leaving Rome.
‘Well done, young man,’ said Hannibal when he was done, making Hanno flush beetroot. ‘We shall face the first of our great tests soon. What we are about to observe now seems even more apt. Stay here with me and watch, if you will.’
Stuttering his thanks, Hanno stood with Hannibal, Malchus and his brothers and watched as dozens of prisoners were led out into the open area before them.
‘Who are they?’ Hanno asked.
‘Allobroges and Vocontii, prisoners taken during the passage of the Alps,’ replied his father.
Hanno’s stomach clenched. The men looked terrified.
A fanfare from the musicians’ horns and carnyxes prevented any further conversation. Hannibal stood forth when it finished. At once an expectant hush fell over the gathered troops. Everyone watched as a line of slaves carried out bronze trays, some of which were laden with glittering mail shirts. On others, helmets were piled high. There were gold arm rings and torcs, fine cloaks decorated with wolf fur and gilt-handled swords.
Hannibal let the prisoners feast their eyes on the treasure before he spoke. ‘You have been brought here to make a simple choice.’ He paused to allow his message to be relayed to the captives. ‘I will offer six men the chance to win their freedom. You will divide into pairs, and fight each other to the death. The three who survive will receive a good horse, their choice of everything on show and a guarantee that they will ride out of here unharmed. Those who do not volunteer will be sold as slaves.’ Again Hannibal waited.
A moment later, the warriors began shouting and raising their clenched fists in the air.
The lead interpreter turned to Hannibal. ‘They all want the honour, sir. Every last one.’
Hannibal smiled broadly. ‘Announce that to my troops,’ he ordered.
A loud sigh of appreciation rose from the watching soldiers as the Allobroges’ reply was translated.
Malchus bent to whisper in Hanno’s ear. ‘Single combat to the death is much revered among the Gauls. This end is far superior to a life of slavery.’
Hanno still didn’t understand.
‘I will not allow every man to do this,’ Hannibal proclaimed. ‘Form up in two lines.’ He waited as the prisoners were shoved into position. ‘Pick out every fourth man until you have six,’ he bellowed. His command was obeyed at once, and the remainder of the captives were shepherded to one side. The half-dozen warriors who had been chosen were each handed a sword and shield and, at a signal, were ordered to begin fighting. They went at each other like men possessed, and soon first blood had been spilled on the rock-hard ground.
‘What’s the point of this?’ Sapho muttered after a few moments. ‘We should just kill them all and have done.’