‘Oh yes. “The perfect fucking officer” he’s taken to calling me.’
Hanno was shocked into silence for a moment. ‘Surely, it hasn’t been all him? There are always two sides to every argument.’
‘Yes, I’ve said some nasty things too.’ Bostar sighed. ‘But every time I try to sort it out, Sapho throws it back in my face. The last time I tried…’ He hesitated for a heartbeat before shaking his head. ‘I’ve given up on him.’
‘Why? What happened?’ asked Hanno.
‘I’m not telling you,’ said Bostar. ‘I can’t.’ He looked away, out over the murmuring river.
Troubled by what Bostar had said, Hanno did not press him further. He tried to be optimistic. Maybe he could act as a mediator? Imagining a world in which Carthage was at peace once more, Hanno pictured himself hunting with his brothers in the mountains south of their city.
Bostar nudged him in the ribs, hard. ‘Pssst! Do you hear that?’
Hanno came down to earth with a jolt. He leaned forward, listening with all his might. For a long time, he could make out nothing. Then, the jingle of harness. Hanno’s senses went on to high alert. ‘That came from across the water,’ he muttered.
‘It did,’ replied Bostar excitedly. ‘Hannibal was right: the Romans want information.’
They watched the far bank like wolves waiting for their prey to emerge. An instant later, their patience was rewarded. The sounds of horses, and men, moving with great care.
A surge of adrenaline pulsed through Hanno’s veins. ‘It has to be Romans!’
‘Or some of their Gaulish allies,’ said Bostar.
It wasn’t long before they could make out a line of soldiers and mounts, winding their way down the track that led to the ford.
‘How many?’ hissed Bostar.
Hanno squinted into the darkness. An accurate head count was impossible. ‘No more than fifty. Probably less. It’s a reconnaissance patrol all right.’
Stopping, the Roman riders gathered together in a huddle.
‘They’re getting their last orders,’ said Hanno.
A moment later, the first man quietly walked his horse into the ice-cold water. It gave a gentle, dissenting whinny, but some muttered reassurances in its ear worked wonders, and it continued without further protest. At once the others began to follow.
Bostar unwound his limbs and stood. ‘Time to move. Go and tell Sapho what’s happening. The Numidians must be alerted immediately. Clear?’
‘Yes. What are you going to do?’
‘I’ll go along the bank to the next sentry, and keep an eye on them until they’re out of sight. We need to be sure that no more of the bastards are going to cross.’
‘Right. See you soon.’ Hanno backed away slowly until he was behind the cover of the trees. Treading lightly on the hard ground, he sped back to their secret camp. He found Sapho pacing the ground before his tent. Quickly, he filled his brother in.
‘Excellent,’ said Sapho with a savage grin. ‘Before long, you will get to blood your men’s spears, and perhaps your own. A special moment for you.’
Hanno nodded nervously. Was he imagining Sapho’s lasciviousness?
‘Well, come on then! This is no time for standing around. Get your men up. I’ll send out a few of the Numidians, and get my phalanx ready. Bostar will do the same no doubt, when he eventually gets here,’ said Sapho.
Hanno frowned. ‘No need for that,’ he said. ‘He’ll be here any moment.’
‘Of course he will!’ Sapho laughed. ‘Now get a move on. We’ll need to move into position the instant the Romans have gone.’
Hanno put his head down and obeyed. He didn’t understand the feud between his brothers, but one thing was certain: Sapho still liked telling him what to do. Irritated, Hanno began rousing his men. When he heard a man grumbling, Hanno lambasted him from a height. His tactic seemed to work; it didn’t take long for the soldiers to assemble alongside Sapho’s phalanx.
Soon after, Bostar’s shape emerged from the gloom that hung over the trees that lined the riverbank. ‘They’ve gone,’ he declared. He whistled at the last three Numidians. ‘Ride out at once. Trail the dogs from a distance. Return when the ambush has been sprung.’
With a quick salute, the cavalrymen sprang on to their horses’ backs. They headed off at the trot.
Bostar approached his brothers. ‘Our time here was not in vain,’ he said with a smile.
‘Finally,’ drawled Sapho. ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’
Why is he needling him like that? thought Hanno.
Bostar’s jaw bunched, but he said nothing. Fortunately, his soldiers had heard their comrades getting up, and were doing the same. When he was done, the trio convened in front of their men.
‘How are we going to work this?’ asked Hanno.
‘It’s obvious,’ said Sapho self-importantly. ‘The phalanxes should form three sides of a square. The fourth side will be completed by the Numidians, who will drive the Romans into the trap. They’ll have nowhere to go. All we have to decide is which phalanx holds each position.’
There was a momentary pause. Each of them had reconnoitred the ground around the crossing point several times. The left flank was taken up by a dense patch of oak trees, while the right was a large swampy area. Neither constituted ground that horses would choose to ride over if given the choice. The best place to stand was on the track that led to the ford. That was where any action would take place.
As the youngest and most inexperienced, Hanno was content to take whichever of the flanks he was given.
‘I’ll take the central side,’ said Bostar abruptly.
‘Typical,’ muttered Sapho. ‘I want it as well. And you don’t outrank me any more, remember?’
The two glowered at each other.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Hanno angrily. ‘It doesn’t matter which one of you does it.’
Neither of his brothers answered.
‘Why don’t you toss a coin?’
Still neither Bostar nor Sapho spoke.
‘Melqart above!’ exclaimed Hanno. ‘I’ll do it, then.’
‘That’s out of the question,’ snapped Sapho. ‘You’ve got no combat experience.’
‘Exactly,’ added Bostar.
‘I’ve got to start somewhere. Why not here?’ Hanno retorted. ‘Better this, surely, than in a massive battle?’
Bostar looked at Sapho. ‘We can’t stand around arguing all morning,’ he said in a conciliatory tone.
Sapho gave a careless shrug. ‘It would be hard for Hanno to get it wrong, I suppose.’
Feeling humiliated, Hanno looked down.
‘That’s unnecessary,’ barked Bostar. ‘Father has trained Hanno well. Hannibal himself picked him to lead a phalanx. His men are veterans. The chances of him fucking up are no greater than if I were in the centre.’ He paused. ‘Or you were.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Sapho’s eyes were mere slits.
‘Stop it!’ Hanno cried. ‘You should both be ashamed of yourselves. Hannibal gave us a job to do, remember? Let’s just do it, please.’
Like sulky children, his brothers broke eye contact. In silence, they stalked off to stand before their phalanxes. Hanno waited for a moment before realising that it was up to him to lead the way. ‘Form up, six men wide,’ he ordered. ‘Follow me.’ He was pleased by his soldiers’ rapid response. Many of them looked pleased by what had happened, which encouraged him further.
The three phalanxes deployed at the ford, in open order. Once they closed up, the spearmen would present a continuous front of overlapping shields. No horse would approach such an obstacle. The forest of spears protruding from it promised death by impalement to anyone foolish enough to try.
Hanno marched up and down, muttering encouraging words to his men. He was grateful that his father had advised him to recognise as many of his soldiers as possible. It was a simple ruse, yet not a man failed to grin when Hanno spoke to him by name. His efforts didn’t take long, though, and soon time began to drag. Muscles that had been stirred into activity by their movement into position grew cold again. A damp breeze blew off the river, chilling the waiting soldiers to the bone. Allowing them to warm up was not an option, nor was singing, a common method of raising morale.