Amused by his friend's irrepressible character, Hannibal laughed, which encouraged Suniaton to continue talking as if he were serving guests at an important banquet.
'Not the most expensive wine in Father's collection, I recall, but a palatable one nonetheless.' Using his knife, he prised off the wax seal. Raising the amphora to his lips, he gulped a large mouthful. 'Very tasty,' he declared, handing over the clay vessel.
'Philistine. Taste it slowly.' Hanno took a small sip and rolled it around his mouth as Malchus had taught him. The red wine had a light and fruity flavour, but possessed little undertone. 'It needs a few more years, I think.'
'Now who's being pompous?' Suniaton kicked a tunny at him. 'Shut up and drink!'
Grinning, Hanno obeyed, taking more this time.
'Don't finish it,' cried Suniaton.
Despite his protest, the amphora was quickly drained. At once the ravenous pair launched into the bread, nuts and fruit which Suniaton had bought. With their bellies full, and their work done, it was the most natural thing in the world to lie back and close their eyes. Unaccustomed to consuming much alcohol, they were both snoring before long. It was the cold wind on his face which woke Hanno. Why was the boat moving so much, he wondered vaguely. He shivered, feeling quite chilled. Opening gummy eyes, he took in a prone Suniaton opposite, still clutching the empty amphora. At his feet, the heaps of blank-eyed fish, their bodies already rigid. Looking up, Hanno felt a pang of fear. Instead of the usual clear blue sky, all he could see were towering banks of blue-black clouds pouring in from the northwest. He blinked, refusing to believe what he was seeing. How could the weather have changed so fast? Mockingly, the first spatters of rain hit Hanno's upturned cheeks a moment later. Scanning the choppy waters around them, he could see no sign of the fishing craft which had surrounded theirs earlier. Nor could he see the land. Real alarm seized him.
He leaned over and shook Suniaton. 'Wake up!'
The only response was an irritated grunt.
'Suni!' This time, Hanno slapped his friend across the face.
'Hey!' Suniaton cried, sitting up. 'What's that for?'
Hanno didn't answer. 'Where in the name of all the gods are we?' he shouted.
All semblance of drunkenness fell away as Suniaton turned his head from side to side. 'Sacred Tanit above,' he breathed. 'How long were we asleep?'
'It had to be two hours or more,' Hanno growled. He pointed to the west, where the sun's light was just visible behind the storm clouds. Its position told them that it was late in the afternoon. He stood, taking great care not to capsize the boat. Focusing on the horizon, where the sky met the threatening sea, he spent long moments trying to make out the familiar walls of Carthage, or the craggy promontory which lay to the north of the city.
'Well?' Suniaton could not keep the fear from his voice.
Hanno sat down heavily. 'I can't see a thing. We have to be fifteen or twenty stades from shore. Maybe more.'
What little colour there had been in Suniaton's face drained away. Instinctively he clutched at the hollow gold tube which hung from a thong around his neck. Decorated with a lion's head at one end, it contained tiny parchments covered with protective spells and prayers to the gods. Hanno wore a similar one. With great effort, he refrained from copying his friend. 'We'll row back,' he announced.
'In these seas?' screeched Suniaton. 'Are you mad?'
Hanno glared back. 'What other choice have we? To jump in?'
His friend looked down. Both were more confident in the water than most, but they had never swum long distances, especially in conditions as bad as these.
Seizing the short oars from the floor, Hanno placed them in the iron locks. He turned the boat's rounded prow towards the west and began to row. Instantly he knew that his attempt was doomed to fail. The power surging at him was more powerful than anything he'd ever felt in his life. It felt like a raging, out of control beast, with the howling wind providing its terrifying voice. Ignoring his gut feeling, Hanno concentrated on each stroke with fierce intensity. Lean back. Drag the oars through the water. Lift them free. Bend forward, pushing the handles between his knees. Over and over he repeated the process, ignoring his pounding head and dry mouth, all the while cursing their foolishness in drinking so much wine. If I had listened to my father, I'd still be at home, he thought bitterly. Safe on dry land.
Finally, when the muscles in his arms were trembling with exhaustion, Hanno stopped. At least a quarter of an hour had gone by. Without looking up, though, he knew that their position would have changed little. For every three strokes he made, the current carried them at least two further out to sea. 'Well?' he shouted. 'Can you see anything?'
'No,' Suniaton replied grimly. 'Move over. It's my turn, and this is our best chance.'
Our only chance, Hanno thought, gazing at the darkening sky.
Gingerly they exchanged places on the little wooden benches which were the boat's only fittings. Thanks to the mass of slippery fish underfoot, it was even more difficult than usual. While his friend laboured at the oars, Hanno strained for a glimpse of land over the waves. Neither spoke. There was little point. The rain was now drumming down on their backs, combining with the wind's noise to form a shrieking cacophony that made normal speech impossible. Only the sturdy construction of their boat had prevented them from capsizing thus far.
At length, his energy spent, Suniaton shipped the oars. He looked at Hanno. There was still some hope in his eyes.
Hanno shook his head once.
Suniaton cursed. 'It's supposed to be the middle of summer! Wind like this shouldn't happen without warning. The Scylla must be angry.' He shuddered.
Hanno tried not to think of the winged demon which dwelt in the strait between Carthage and Sicily. Their plight was bad enough already. 'There would have been signs,' he barked. 'Why do you think there are no other boats out here? No doubt they all headed back to shore when the wind began to rise.'
Suniaton flushed and hung his head. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered. 'It's my fault. I should never have taken Father's wine.'
Hanno leaned forward and gripped his friend's knee. 'Don't blame yourself. You didn't force me to drink it. That was my choice.'
Suniaton managed to crack a smile. That was, until he looked down. 'No!'
Hanno was horrified to see some of the tunny floating around his feet. They were shipping water, and enough of it to warrant immediate attention. Uncaring, he began throwing the precious fish overboard. Survival was now his aim, not earning money. With the floor clear, he soon found a loose nail on one of the planks. Removing one of his sandals, he used the iron-studded sole to hammer the nail partially home, thereby reducing the influx of seawater. Fortunately, there was a small bucket on board, containing spare pieces of lead for the net. Grabbing it, Hanno began bailing hard. To his immense relief, it didn't take long before he'd reduced the level of water to an acceptable level.
A loud rumble of thunder overhead nearly deafened him.
Suniaton moaned with fear, and Hanno jerked upright.
The sky overhead was now an menacing black colour, and in the depths of the clouds a flickering yellow-white colour presaged lightning. The waves were being whipped into a frenzy by the wind, which was growing stronger by the moment. The storm was only just beginning to break. More water slopped into the boat, and Hanno redoubled his efforts with the bucket. Any chance of rowing back to Carthage was long gone. They were going only one direction. East. Into the middle of the Mediterranean. He tried not to let his panic show.
'What's going to happen to us?' Suniaton asked plaintively.
Realising that his friend was looking for reassurance, Hanno tried to think of an optimistic answer, but couldn't. The only outcome possible was an early meeting for them both with Melqart, the god of the sea.
In his palace at the bottom of the sea.