Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Sapho reached a hand under the bottom edge of his cuirass, which had a great dent in it. He probed upwards, wincing at the pain this caused. When he pulled out his fingers, he was relieved to see that there was no blood on them. ‘I seem to be,’ he answered with relief. He stooped to pick up his sword. Returning his gaze to the fight, Sapho was gratified to see that the Vocontii charge had smashed apart against the phalanx’s solid wall of shields. He wasn’t surprised. While a few of his men might have been killed, it would take more than a charge by disorganised tribesmen to break them. It was time to lead a counter charge, thought Sapho. All reason left him, however, as he saw the wall-eyed warrior no more than twenty steps away, stooping to kill an injured Libyan even as he himself retreated. Dropping his useless shield, Sapho leaped forward. His desire to kill the deceitful tribesman gave him extra speed and he had covered maybe a third of the ground between them before the other even saw him. The warrior took one look and fled for his life. So did his comrades.

‘Come back, you fucking coward!’ Sapho screamed. He was oblivious to the fact that the phalanx’s front-rankers had followed him. He increased his pace to a sprint, aware that if the other reached the gap in the rock, any chance of catching him would disappear. It was no good. The warrior seemed to have winged heels. But then fate intervened, and Sapho’s enemy tripped on a protruding rock. He stumbled and fell to one knee. Sapho was on him like a dog cornering a rat. Instead of killing the tribesman, he smashed the hilt of his sword across the back of his head. Straightening, Sapho was able to slash another warrior’s arm as he ran past. With a howl, the man blundered into the fissure and out of sight.

‘Don’t go in there!’ Sapho shouted as the first of his spearmen arrived and made for the gap in the rock. ‘It’s a death trap.’

The soldiers reluctantly obeyed.

‘I want twenty men stationed right here to make sure they don’t try a counter attack.’ Sapho kicked the wall-eyed warrior, who groaned. ‘Someone, pick up this sack of shit. Find any of his compatriots who are alive, and tie them all up.’

‘What are you going to do with them, sir?’ asked an officer.

‘You’ll see,’ Sapho replied with a wolfish smile. ‘First, though, we need to see what’s going on behind us.’

By the time they had reached the rear of the phalanx, the Vocontii who had been attacking there were gone. The corpses of fifteen or more warriors were sprawled on the ground, but that was of little satisfaction to Sapho. In this small section alone, at least fifty Carthaginian soldiers had been critically injured or crushed to death. Just beyond, so had the same number of mules and cavalry mounts. The ground was covered with blood, and the mangled bodies of men and beasts lay everywhere. The screaming of the injured, especially those who had been trapped when the boulders finally came to rest, was awful. Sapho closed his ears to their clamour, and concentrated on finding out what else had happened. Bostar was among the officers who reported to him.

Panicked by the falling rocks, an elephant had dashed three men to death with its trunk, before charging backwards into the column, there to cause untold damage. Fortunately, its companions had been kept calm by their mahouts. The most frustrating discovery was that the Vocontii had stolen dozens of mules, leading them up the same precipitous paths that had served to launch their daring attack. They had even seized some captives. Despite this, Sapho knew that there was no point in pursuing the raiders. Moving on was more important than trying to save a few unfortunate soldiers. Once the dead and the blocks of stone had been rolled out of the way, the column would have to resume its advance.

Before that, however, there was something that Sapho had to do.

He made his way back to where the Vocontii prisoners were. With the ten hostages, they had twenty-two in total, sitting together and surrounded by a ring of spearmen. The only one who did not look fearful was the wall-eyed warrior, who spat at Sapho as he approached.

‘Shall we execute them, sir?’ asked an officer eagerly.

An angry mutter of agreement went up from the Libyans.

‘No,’ Sapho replied. He ignored his men’s shocked response. ‘Tell them that despite their brethren’s treachery, they are not to be killed,’ he said to the interpreter. As his words were translated, Sapho was gratified to see traces of hope appear in some warriors’ faces. He waited for a moment, enjoying his power.

‘Please, sir, reconsider!’ an officer enjoined. ‘They can’t go unpunished. Think of our casualties.’

Sapho’s lips peeled into a snarl. ‘Did I say that they would go unpunished?’

The officer looked confused. ‘No, sir.’

‘We shall do to them what they did to us,’ Sapho pronounced. ‘Do not translate that,’ he snapped at the interpreter. ‘I want them to watch, and wonder.’

‘What do you want us to do, sir?’