Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

After a while, Sapho stirred. Although he didn’t want to, it was time to check the sentries. It was also good for morale for him to be seen. He shed his blankets, pulled on a second cloak and wrapped a scarf around his head. As he unlaced the leather ties and opened the tent flap, a gust of bitingly cold wind entered. Sapho flinched, before forcing himself outside. Two sentries, Libyans, stood by the entrance. A pitch-soaked torch held upright by a small pile of stones cast a faint pool of light around them.

The pair stiffened to attention as they saw him. ‘Sir,’ they both mumbled through lips that were blue with cold.

‘Anything to report?’

‘No, sir.’

‘It’s as cold as ever.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the nearest man replied. He doubled over as a paroxysm of coughing took him.

‘Sorry, sir,’ said his companion nervously. ‘He can’t help it.’

‘It’s all right,’ Sapho replied irritably. He eyed the first soldier, who was wiping bloody sputum from his lips. A dead man walking, he thought. Sudden pity filled him. ‘Take the wretch inside to the brazier. Try and get him warm. You can stay there until I get back from my rounds.’

Stunned, the second Libyan stammered his thanks. Sapho grabbed the torch and stalked off into the darkness. He would only be gone for a quarter of an hour, but it might provide the sick man with some relief. A sour smile traced his chapped lips. I’m getting soft, like Bostar. Sapho hadn’t seen his brother since their argument over the Vocontii prisoners. As far as he was concerned, that was fine.

Taking great care on the icy ground, Sapho traced his way past his soldiers’ tents. He glanced at the pair of elephants Hannibal had ordered to stay with the vanguard. The miserable beasts stood side by side, trying to maximise their warmth. Sapho even pitied them. Soon after, he reached the first sentries, who were stationed some two hundred steps from his tent. They were in a line across the path where the advance had stopped for the night. Exposed on three sides, it was the worst place to stand watch in the whole army. No fire could survive in the vicious, snow-laden wind that whistled down from the peaks. In order that the soldiers here didn’t all die from exposure, Sapho had ordered their periods on duty shortened to just an hour at a time. Even so, he lost men every night.

‘Seen anything?’ he shouted at the officer in charge.

‘No, sir! Even the demons are in bed tonight!’

‘Very good. As you were.’ Pleased by the officer’s attempt at humour, Sapho began to retrace his steps. He had only to check the sentries at the rear of the phalanx, and then he was done. Peering into the gloom, he was surprised to see a figure emerging around the corner of the outermost tent. Sapho frowned. The cliff might be twenty steps from the tent lines, but the wind was so powerful that a man could easily be carried over the edge. He had seen it happen several times already. Consequently, everyone walked between the tents, not around them. The man was carrying a torch, which meant that he was no enemy. Yet he’d just taken the most dangerous route past his phalanx. Why? What had he to hide?

‘Hey!’ Sapho shouted. ‘Stop right there!’

The figure straightened, and the hood of his cloak whipped back. ‘Sapho?’

‘Bostar?’ said Sapho incredulously.

‘Yes,’ his brother replied. ‘Can we talk?’

Sapho staggered as a particularly savage gust of wind struck him. He watched, aghast, as it buffeted an unsuspecting Bostar sideways and on to one knee. As he struggled to stand up, another blast of air hit, carrying him backwards and out into the blackness.

Sapho couldn’t believe his eyes. He ran to the edge of the precipice, where he was astonished to find his brother clinging desperately to the protruding branch of a stunted bush several steps below him.

‘Help me!’ Bostar shouted.

Silently, Sapho stared down at him. Why should I? he asked himself. Of what benefit is it to me?

‘What are you waiting for?’ Bostar’s voice cracked. ‘This damn branch will never hold!’ Seeing the look in Sapho’s eyes, he blanched. ‘You want me to die, don’t you? Just as you were happy when Hanno was lost.’

Sapho’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth with guilt. How could Bostar know that? Still he didn’t act.

The branch split.

‘Fuck you to hell and gone!’ screamed Bostar. Letting go with his left hand, he threw himself forward, searching for a fingerhold on the track. There would only be a moment before his body weight pulled him backwards and into the abyss. Knowing this, Bostar scrabbled frantically to gain any kind of purchase in the rock-hard, ice-covered earth. He found none. With a despairing cry, he started to slide backwards.

Sapho’s gut instinct took over, and he leaned forward to grab his brother by the shoulders. With a great yank, he pulled him up and over the edge. A second effort saw them several paces away, on safer ground. They lay side by side for a few moments, their chests heaving. Bostar was the first to sit up. ‘Why did you save me?’