Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Sapho looked at Hannibal, whose face was now etched with worry. If their general was an actor, he was a damn good one. Fear suddenly clogged Sapho’s throat. What was I thinking to call Hannibal’s dream into question? Sapho couldn’t think of a better way to call down the gods’ wrath than to say what he just had. And there was Bostar, beside him, who was unable to put a foot wrong. Bitterness coursed through his veins.

‘It is very clear,’ the priest announced loudly.

Every man present craned his neck forward, eager to hear.

‘The passage of the mountains will be difficult, but not impossible. The army will descend upon Cisalpine Gaul, and there allies will flock to our cause. The legions that come to meet us will be swept away, as the mightiest of trees are by a winter storm. Victory awaits!’

‘Victory! Victory! Victory!’ chanted the soldiers.

Raising his hands for silence, Hannibal stepped forward. ‘I told you of my dream. You have heard the soothsayer make his pronouncement. Now, who will follow me across the Alps?’

The watching troops surged forward, shouting their acceptance.

Looking elated, Malchus and Bostar were among them. Sapho followed, telling himself that everything would be all right. The knot of fear and unease in his belly told another story, however.

Four days later, Sapho was beginning to wonder if his misgivings had been overblown. While the Carthaginians had encountered some resistance from the Allobroges, it had been swept aside by Hannibal’s fierce response. Life in the mountains had settled into a reassuring routine, the same as they’d followed for months. Rise at dawn. Strike camp. Eat a cold breakfast. Assemble the men. Assume position at the head of the enormous column. Join the path eastwards. March. Sapho was immensely proud that Hannibal had picked his unit to lead the army. Let Bostar suck on that, he thought. His brother’s phalanx marched behind his. Malchus and his soldiers were with the rearguard, more than ten miles back down the stony track.

His duty carried with it huge responsibility. Sapho was on the lookout for danger at all times. For the thousandth time that morning, he eyed the heights around the flat-bottomed valley in which they currently found themselves. Nothing. Intimidated by Hannibal’s seizure of their main settlement and, with it, all their supplies, the Allobroges had vanished into the bare rocks. ‘Good enough for the cowardly scumbags,’ muttered Sapho. He spat contemptuously.

‘Sir!’ cried one of the guides, a warrior of the Insubres tribe. ‘Look!’

To Sapho’s surprise, the figures of men could be seen appearing on the track ahead. Where in the name of hell had they come from? He lifted his right arm. ‘Halt!’ At once the order began passing back down the line. Sapho’s jaw clenched nervously as he listened to it. He was stopping the progress of the entire army. It had to be done, however. Until proven otherwise, every person they encountered was an enemy.

‘Should we advance to meet them, sir?’ asked an officer.

‘Not bloody likely. It could be a trap,’ Sapho replied. ‘The fuckers can come to us.’

‘What if they don’t, sir?’

‘Of course they will. Why else do you think they’ve slunk out of their rat holes?’

Sapho was right. Gradually, the newcomers approached: a group of perhaps twenty warriors. They were typical-looking Gauls, well built with long hair and moustaches. Although some wore tunics, many were bare-chested under their woollen cloaks. Baggy woven trousers were ubiquitous. Some wore helmets, but only a handful had mail shirts. All were armed with tall, oval shields and swords or spears. Interestingly, the men at the front were carrying willow branches.

‘Are the dogs coming in peace?’ asked Sapho.

‘Yes, sir,’ answered the guide. ‘They’re Vocontii, I think.’ He saw Sapho’s blank look. ‘Neighbours – and enemies – of the Allobroges.’

‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ sneered Sapho. ‘Do any of you Gauls get on with each other?’

The guide grinned. ‘Not too often, sir. There’s always something to fight over.’

‘I’m sure,’ Sapho said dryly. He glanced to either side. ‘Front rank, shields up! First and second ranks, ready spears!’

Wood clattered off wood as the spearmen obeyed his command. An instant later, the phalanx presented a solid wall of overlapping shields to its front. Over the shield rims, scores of spear tips poked forward like the spines on a forest of sea urchins.

Looking alarmed, the warriors stopped.

Sapho’s lips peeled upwards. ‘Tell them that if they come in peace, they have nothing to fear.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The guide bellowed a few words in Gaulish.

There was a brief pause, and then the Vocontii continued walking towards them. When they were twenty paces away, Sapho held up his hand. ‘That’s close enough.’

The guide translated his words, and the tribesmen dutifully halted.