Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

‘It’s like that, is it?’ Sapho stepped aside, his eyes filled with jealousy. ‘You could have said. Just a hint.’

Bostar looked at him, and knew he’d made a mistake. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Sapho hissed. He lowered his voice even further. ‘Lickarse. Perfect fucking officer.’

A towering fury took hold of Bostar. Somehow, he managed to keep it in check. ‘Actually, I said nothing because I didn’t want you to feel that you’d been overlooked.’

‘You’re so fucking kind,’ Sapho shouted, the veins in his neck bulging. ‘I hope you get killed wherever you’re going.’

Malchus’ mouth opened in rebuke, but Bostar held his hand up. Oddly, his anger had been replaced by sorrow. ‘I trust that you wish the mission to be successful at least?’

Shame filled Sapho’s face, but he had no chance to reply.

Bostar turned to Malchus. ‘Farewell, Father.’

Malchus’ eyes were dark pools of sorrow. ‘May the gods watch over you and your men.’

Bostar nodded and walked away.

‘Bostar!’

He ignored Sapho’s cry.

It felt as if he’d just lost another brother.

Two days later, Bostar and his men were in position. Theirs had been a hard journey. After a long march on the first day, their guides had brought them to a fork in the Rhodanus. The island in the centre of the river had made their crossing much easier. Not knowing if there were any Volcae on the opposite bank, they had waited until nightfall. Then, using rafts constructed from a combination of chopped-down trees and inflated animal skins, Bostar and ten handpicked men had swum to the other side. To their immense relief, the woods had been empty of all but owls and foxes. Soon after, the remaining soldiers had safely joined him. Bostar had not forgotten to give thanks to the gods for this good fortune. Hannibal and the entire army were relying on them. If they failed, hundreds, or even thousands, of men would die at the hands of the Volcae when the Carthaginian forces began to cross.

At sunrise, they had marched south, halting only when the enemy encampment had been identified. Leaving his party to rest in the dense thickets that occupied the high ground overlooking the river, Bostar and a few sentries had spent the night on their bellies, watching the Volcae sitting around their fires. The tribesmen seemed oblivious to any danger, which pleased him. Somehow that made his anguish over the argument with Sapho easier to bear. Bostar had no wish to be enemies with his brother. Let us both survive the struggle to come, he prayed, and make our peace afterwards.

As dawn arrived, it became possible to make out the enormous Carthaginian camp on the far bank. With growing tension, Bostar waited until he could see troops near the water’s edge, cavalrymen climbing into the larger craft, and infantry scrambling into the canoes. He even spied Hannibal in his burnished cuirass, directing operations. Still Bostar held on. Picking the right moment to charge was vital. Too soon, and he and his men risked being slaughtered; too late, and innumerable soldiers in the boats would die.

It wasn’t long before the Volcae sentinels noticed the activity opposite their position and raised the alarm. Clutching their weapons, hundreds of warriors emerged from their tents and ran down to the bank. There they paced threateningly up and down, screaming abuse at the Carthaginians and bragging of their exploits. Bostar was thrilled. The enemy’s camp had been abandoned, and every man’s gaze was fixed on the flotilla of vessels opposite. It was time to move. ‘Light the fires!’ he hissed. ‘Quickly!’

A trio of kneeling spearmen, who had been regarding him nervously, struck their flints together. Clack, clack, clack, went the stones. Sparks dropped on to the little mounds of dry tinder before each man. Bostar sighed with relief as a tiny flame licked first up the side of one pile, and then another. The third heap took flame a moment later. The soldiers encouraged the fires by blowing on them vigorously.

Fretfully chewing a fingernail, Bostar waited until each blaze was strong enough. ‘Add the green leaves,’ he ordered. He watched intently as thick eddies of smoke from the damp foliage curled up into the air and climbed above the tops of the trees. The instant it had, Bostar’s gaze shot to the opposite bank. ‘Come on,’ he muttered. ‘You have to be able to see it now.’

His prayers were answered as Hannibal and his soldiers sprang into action. Boat after boat was pushed out into the water. The larger craft, carrying the cavalrymen, who were each leading six or seven horses, stayed upstream. Their size and number helped to reduce the impact of the powerful current on the smaller vessels containing the infantry. The Volcae responded at once. Every man with a bow or spear pushed forward to the water’s edge and waited for his chance.

‘Come on,’ muttered Bostar to his three spearmen. ‘It’s time to give those shitbags a surprise they’ll never forget.’