Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

With a mocking bow, the Numidian led the way. He hailed the first spearman they met. ‘We are looking for an officer by the name of…’ He looked questioningly at Hanno.

‘Malchus.’

To Hanno’s utter joy, the man jerked a thumb behind him. ‘His tent is three ranks back. It’s bigger than the rest.’

‘So far, so good,’ said the officer, dismounting gracefully. He indicated that Hanno should follow him. Three of his warriors took up the rear, their javelins at the ready. Carefully, they weaved their way between the closely packed tents.

‘This looks like the one.’ The officer came to a halt outside a large leather pavilion. It was held up by multiple guy ropes staked into the ground. A pair of spearmen stood on guard outside.

A volcanic wave of emotion battered Hanno. Terror that his father would not be within. Joy that he might. Relief that, after all his ordeals, he was perhaps about to be reunited with his family. He turned to the officer. ‘Stay here.’

‘Eh? You’re not in charge,’ the Numidian growled. ‘Until I hear otherwise, you’re a damn prisoner.’

‘My hands are tied! Where am I going to go?’ Hanno snapped back. ‘Stick a fucking spear in my back if I even try. But I’m walking over there on my own.’

The Numidian saw the steel in Hanno’s eyes. Suddenly, he realised that his captive might outrank him considerably. There was a gruff nod. ‘We’ll wait here,’ he said.

Hanno made no acknowledgement. Stiff-backed, he walked towards the tent.

One of the spearmen started forward. ‘What’s your business?’ he demanded in a brusque tone.

‘Are these Malchus’ quarters?’ asked Hanno politely.

‘Who wants to know?’ came the surly reply.

The last of Hanno’s patience ran out. ‘Damn your insolence,’ he snarled. ‘Father? Are you there?’

The spearman, who had advanced a step, stopped in his tracks.

‘Father?’ called Hanno again.

Someone coughed inside the tent. ‘Bostar? Is that you?’

Hanno began to grin uncontrollably. Bostar had also survived!

A moment later, Malchus emerged, fully dressed for battle. He looked at his guards first, and frowned. ‘Who called my name?’

‘It was I, Father,’ answered Hanno joyfully, stepping forward. ‘I have returned.’

Malchus went as white as a sheet. ‘H-Hanno?’ he stuttered.

With tears of happiness filling his eyes, Hanno nodded.

‘Praise all the gods. This is a miracle!’ cried Malchus. ‘But what are you doing, tied up like this?’

Hanno jerked his head at the Numidians, who were looking decidedly awkward. ‘They weren’t sure whether to believe my story or not.’

Drawing his dagger, Malchus sawed at the ropes that bound Hanno’s wrists. The instant they had dropped away, he drew his son into his arms. Great shudders of emotion racked his frame, and for long moments, he clung to Hanno with a grip of iron. Hanno delightedly returned the embrace. Finally, Malchus stepped back to study him. ‘It is you,’ he breathed. A rare smile split his face. ‘How you’ve grown. You’re a man!’

In contrast, Hanno could not get over how his father had aged. Deep lines now creased his forehead and cheeks. There were bags of exhaustion under his eyes, and his hair was more grey than black. But Malchus had a new lightness about him, an air Hanno had not seen since well before his mother’s death. It was, he realised with a thrill, because of his return. ‘I heard you call out Bostar’s name. Is Sapho here too?’

‘Yes, yes, they both are. The pair of them should be back any moment,’ Malchus replied, filling Hanno with more joy. He glanced at the Numidians. ‘To whom do I owe my thanks?’

Saluting, the officer hurried forward. ‘Zamar, section leader, at your service, sir.’

‘Where did you find him?’

‘About ten miles east of here, sir.’ Zamar shot an uneasy glance at Hanno. ‘I’m sorry for the rough treatment, sir.’

‘It’s all right,’ Hanno replied. ‘Your men couldn’t be expected to know that I was Carthaginian. At least you stopped them from killing me, and listened to my story.’

Zamar dipped his head in gratitude.

‘Wait here,’ ordered Malchus. Hurrying into the tent, he emerged with a large leather purse. ‘A token of my appreciation,’ he said, handing it over.

Zamar’s eyes widened as he accepted the clinking gift, and his men exchanged excited looks. It didn’t matter what was inside. The bag’s obvious weight spoke volumes. ‘Thank you, sir. I am delighted to have been of service.’ Zamar made a deep bow, and withdrew.

‘Come inside,’ Malchus muttered. Ushering Hanno within, he fussed over him as he hadn’t done in years. ‘Are you hungry? Thirsty?’

Gratefully accepting a cup of wine, Hanno took a seat on a three-legged stool he remembered from their house in Carthage. Malchus sat opposite. Neither could take their eyes off the other, or stop smiling. ‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ Hanno said.

‘Likewise,’ Malchus murmured. ‘I had given you up for dead. To first of all survive a storm at sea… well, Melqart must have laid his hand upon you and Suniaton.’ His brows lowered. ‘Is Suni dead?’