The rest of the neighbourhood was primarily residential. Byrsa was one of the richer quarters, as its wide, straight thoroughfares and right angled intersections proved. The majority of the city's winding streets were no more than ten paces across, but here they averaged more than twice this width. In addition to wealthy merchants and senior army officers, the suffetes, judges and many senators also called the area home. For this reason, Hanno ran with his gaze directed at the packed earth and the regular soakaway holes beneath his feet. Plenty of people knew who he was. Having just reached manhood, he was supposed to attend most of the meetings that his father did. The last thing he wanted was to be stopped and challenged by one of Malchus' numerous political opponents. To be dragged back home by the ear would be embarrassing and bring dishonour to his family.
As long as he didn't catch anyone's eye, he and his friend would pass unnoticed. Bare-headed, and wearing tight-fitting red woollen singlets with a central white stripe and a distinctive wide neck band, and breeches that reached to the knee, the pair looked no different to other well-to-do youths. Their garb was far more practical than the long straight wool tunics and conical felt hats favoured by most adult men, and more comfortable than the ornate jacket and pleated apron worn by those of Cypriot extraction. Sheathed daggers hung from simple leather straps thrown over their shoulders. Suniaton carried a bulging leather pack on his back. Although people said that they could pass for brothers, Hanno couldn't see it most of the time. While he was tall and athletic, Suniaton was short and squat. Naturally, they both had tightly curled black hair and a dark complexion, but there the resemblance ended. His face was thin, with a straight nose and high cheekbones, while his friend's round visage and snub nose were complimented by a jutting chin. They did both have green eyes, Hanno conceded. That feature, unusual among the brown-eyed Carthaginians, was probably why they were thought to be siblings.
A step ahead of him, Suniaton nearly collided with a carpenter carrying several long cypress planks. Rather than apologise, he thumbed his nose and sprinted towards the citadel walls, now only a hundred paces away. Stifling his desire to finish the job by tipping over the angry tradesman, Hanno dodged past too, a grin splitting his face. Another similarity he and Suniaton shared was an impudent nature, quite at odds with the serious manner of most of their countrymen. It frequently got both of them in trouble, and was a constant source of irritation to their fathers.
A moment later, they passed under the immense ramparts, which were thirty paces deep and taller than eight men standing on each other's shoulders. Like the outer defences, the wall was constructed from great quadrilateral blocks of sandstone. Regular coats of whitewash ensured that the sunlight bounced off the stone, magnifying its size. Topped by a wide walkway and with towers every fifty steps, the fortifications were truly awe-inspiring. And the citadel was only a small part of the whole. Hanno never tired of looking down on the expanse of the sea wall which came into view as he emerged from under the shadow of the gateway. Running down from the north along the city's perimeter, it swept southeast to the twin harbours, curling protectively around them before heading west. On the steep northern and eastern sides, and to the south, where the sea gave its added protection, one wall was deemed sufficient, but on the western, landward side of the peninsula, three defences had been constructed: a wide trench backed by an earthen bank, and then a huge rampart. The quarters within the walls, which were in total over a hundred and eighty stades in length, could hold twenty thousand troops, four thousand cavalry and their mounts, and hundreds of war elephants.
Home to nearly a quarter of a million people, the city was also worthy of a second look. Directly below them lay the Agora, the large open space which was bordered by the Senate, government buildings and countless shops. It was the area where residents gathered to do business, demonstrate, take the evening air, and vote. Beyond it lay the unique ports – the huge outer, rectangular merchant harbour, and the inner, circular naval docks with its small, central island. The first contained hundreds of berths for trading ships, while the second could hold more than ten score triremes and quinqueremes in specially constructed covered sheds. To the west of the ports was the old shrine of Ba'al Hammon, no longer as important as it had previously been, but still venerated by most. To the east lay the choma, the huge manmade landing stage where fishing smacks and small vessels tied up. It was also their destination.
Hanno was immensely proud of his home. He had no idea what Rome, Carthage's old enemy, looked like, but he doubted it matched his city's grandeur. He had no desire to compare Carthage with the Republic's capital though. The only way he ever wanted to see Rome was humbled – by a victorious Carthaginian army – and then burned to the ground. As Hamilcar Barca, Hannibal's father, had inculcated a hatred of all things Roman in his son, so had Malchus in Hanno. Like Hamilcar, Malchus had served in the first war against the Republic, fighting in Sicily for ten long, thankless years.
Unsurprisingly, Hanno knew the details of every land skirmish and naval battle in the conflict, which had actually lasted for more than a generation. The cost to Carthage in loss of life, territory and wealth had been huge, but the city's wounds ran far deeper. Her pride had been trampled in the mud by the defeat, and this ignominy was repeated only four years after the war's conclusion. Carthage had been unilaterally forced by Rome to give up Sardinia, as well as paying more indemnities. The shabby act proved beyond doubt, Malchus would regularly rant, that all Romans were treacherous dogs, without honour. Hanno agreed, and looked forward to the day hostilities were reopened once more. Given the depth of anger still present in Carthage towards Rome, conflict was inevitable. That didn't mean Hanno wanted to spend all his time listening to boring speeches though.
Suniaton turned. 'Have you eaten?'
Hanno shrugged. 'Some bread and honey when I got up.'
'Me too. That was hours ago though.' Suniaton grinned and patted his belly. 'We could be gone all day. Best get some supplies.'
'Good idea,' Hanno replied. They kept clay gourds of water in their little boat with their fishing gear, but no food. Sunset, when they would return, was a long way off.
The streets descending Byrsa Hill did not follow the regular layout of the summit, instead radiating out so many tributaries of a meandering river. There were far more shops and businesses visible now: bakers, butchers and stalls selling freshly-caught fish, fruit and vegetables stood beside silver and coppersmiths, perfume merchants, and glass blowers. Women sat outside their doors, working at their looms, or gossiping over their purchases. Slaves carried rich men past in litters or swept the ground in front of shops. Dye-makers' premises were everywhere, their abundance due to the Carthaginian skill of harvesting the local murex shellfish and pounding its flesh to yield a purple dye which commanded premium prices all over the Mediterranean. Children ran hither and thither, playing catch and chasing each other up and down the regular sets of stairs which broke the street's steep descent. A group of Libyan soldiers clattered past, a richly dressed Carthaginian officer in their midst. He was wearing a bell-shaped helmet with a thick rim and a yellow horsehair crest, scale armour, and bronze greaves. An expensive-looking cloak was fastened at his right shoulder by a gold brooch wrought in the shapes of a horse's head alongside a palm tree, two of Carthage's sacred symbols. Recognising the officer, who was probably on his way to the very meeting he was supposed to be attending, Hanno quickly pretended to study the nearest array of terracotta outside a potter's workshop.