Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Bostar eyed the figures on the other side of the Rhodanus. Although the deep, fast-flowing water was more than five hundred paces across at this point, the Volcae camp was easy to make out between the trees that dotted the far bank. There were scores of tents and lines of tethered horses, denoting the presence of hundreds of warriors. Sentries patrolled the water-line day and night. Given that the tribesmen normally lived on both sides of the river, their intent could not be more plain. They would pay dearly for their combative stance, thought Bostar. Hannibal had given him his orders not an hour since. Once he’d made an offering to the gods, it was time to go. His phalanx and the three hundred scutarii the general had insisted he also take were already assembled beyond the Libyans’ tent lines. Their destination, an island at a narrow point in the river, was a day’s march to the north.

Sapho’s voice made him jump. ‘Why couldn’t the stupid bastards be like the other tribes around here?’

‘Sell us boats and supplies, you mean?’ Bostar asked, trying to look pleased to see his brother. What was Sapho, who still had no idea of his mission, doing here at this early hour? Why did I mention it to Father? thought Bostar, panicking. He took a deep breath. Calm down. I asked him not to mention it to a soul. He won’t have.

‘Yes. Instead, they’ll kill a tiny fraction of our troops before being annihilated themselves. Even simple savages such as they must know that our army can’t be stopped from crossing the Rhodanus.’

Bostar shrugged. ‘I suppose they’re like the Ausetani. Defending their territory is a matter of pride. It doesn’t matter how badly they’re outnumbered. Death in battle is not something to be ashamed of.’

‘Sheep-shagging inbreds,’ said Sapho with a derisive snort. ‘Why can’t they understand that all we want to do is cross this poxy river and be on our way?’

Bostar refrained from asking the obvious question: wasn’t the response of the Volcae how Sapho, or he, might act in a similar situation? ‘Never mind. Hannibal gave them their chance. Now, what was it that you wanted? I was about to take my phalanx out on a march,’ he lied bluffly, unable to think of what else to say.

‘Gods, your men must love you. Haven’t we done enough of that recently? That explains why you’re in full uniform at this hour.’ Sapho made a dismissive gesture. ‘It was nothing that can’t wait. Just that I noticed plenty of game trails leading down to the water’s edge. I thought I’d follow them beyond the camp. Would you like to come along?’

Bostar was completely taken aback by this. ‘What, and go looking for boar?’ he faltered.

‘Or deer.’ Sapho threw him a crooked, awkward grin. ‘Anything to vary our current diet.’

‘A bit of fresh meat wouldn’t go amiss,’ Bostar admitted ruefully. He felt torn. The proposal was clearly a bridge-building effort on Sapho’s part, but he couldn’t disobey Hannibal’s orders; nor could he reveal them. They were still top secret. What to say? ‘I’d love to, but not today,’ he managed eventually. ‘Who knows what time I’ll get back?’

Sapho wasn’t to be put off. ‘How about tomorrow?’ he asked cheerfully.

Bostar’s anguish grew. Great Melqart, he thought, what have I done to deserve this? He and his men would only be getting into position by the following evening. On the far bank. ‘I’m not sure…’ he began.

Sapho’s good humour fell away. ‘So you’d rather spend time with your men than your own brother?’

‘It’s not that,’ Bostar protested. ‘Going hunting with you sounds wonderful.’

‘What is it then?’ Sapho snarled.

Bostar’s mind was empty of ideas. ‘I can’t say,’ he muttered.

Sapho’s lip curled even further. ‘Admit it. I’m not good enough for you, am I? Never have been!’

‘That’s not true. How can you say such a thing?’ Bostar cried, horrified.

‘Bostar!’ Their father’s cheerful voice cut across the argument like a knife. Startled, both brothers glanced around. Malchus was approaching from the direction of his tent lines. ‘I thought you’d be gone by now,’ he said as he drew nearer.

‘I was just leaving,’ replied Bostar uneasily. Let me get away without any more problems, Baal Saphon, he prayed. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Bostar’s plea was not answered; Malchus gave him a broad wink. ‘Good luck.’

‘Eh?’ said Sapho with a puzzled frown. ‘Why would he need that on a training march?’

Malchus looked uncomfortable. ‘You never know, he might break an ankle. The trails around here are very uneven.’

‘That’s a lie if I ever heard one. Besides, when have you ever wished us luck for so trivial a matter?’ Sapho scoffed. He turned on Bostar. ‘Something else is going on, isn’t it? That’s why you won’t come hunting!’

Bostar felt his face grow red. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he muttered, picking up his shield.

Furious, Sapho blocked his path. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Get out of my way,’ said Bostar.

‘Is that an order, sir?’ Contempt dripped from the last word.

‘Move, Sapho!’ snapped Malchus. ‘Your brother’s orders come from Hannibal himself.’