Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

He found Hannibal in pensive mood. The general barely glanced up as Malchus entered. As ever, he was leaning over his campaign table, studying a map of the area. Maharbal, his cavalry commander, stood beside him, talking in a low voice. A thin man with long, curly black hair and an easy grin, Maharbal was popular with officers and ordinary troops alike.

Malchus came to a halt several steps from the table. He stiffened to attention. ‘Reporting for duty, sir.’

Hannibal straightened. ‘Malchus, welcome.’

‘You asked to see me, sir?’

‘I did.’ Still deep in thought, Hannibal rubbed a finger across his lips. ‘I have a question to ask you.’

‘Anything, sir.’

‘Maharbal and I have come up with a plan. An ambush, to be precise.’

‘Sounds interesting, sir,’ said Malchus eagerly.

‘We’re hoping that the Romans might send a patrol across the river,’ Hannibal went on. ‘Maharbal here will organise the cavalry that will fall upon the enemy, but I want some infantry there too. They will lie in wait at the main ford, and prevent any stragglers from escaping.’

Malchus grinned fiercely. ‘I’d be honoured to take part, sir.’

‘I didn’t have you in mind.’ Seeing Malchus’ face fall, Hannibal explained, ‘I’m not losing one of my most experienced officers in a skirmish. I was thinking of your sons, Bostar and Sapho.’

Malchus swallowed his disappointment. ‘They’d be well suited to a job like this, sir, and I’m sure delighted to be picked for it.’

‘I thought so.’ Hannibal paused for a moment. ‘And so to my question. What about your other son?’

Malchus blinked in surprise. ‘Hanno?’

‘Is he battle-ready yet?’

‘I put him into training straight after he returned, sir. Not being in Carthage, it was a little improvised, but he performed well.’ Malchus hesitated. ‘I’d say that he’s ready to be commissioned as an officer.’

‘Good, good. Could he lead a phalanx?’

Malchus gaped. ‘Are you serious, sir?’

‘I’m not in the habit of making jokes, Malchus. The crossing of the mountains left many units without officers to command them.’

‘Of course, sir, of course.’ Malchus gathered his thoughts. ‘Before Hanno was lost at sea, I would have had grave reservations.’

‘Why?’ Hannibal’s gaze was as fierce as a hawk’s.

‘He was a bit of a wastrel, sir. Only interested in fishing and girls.’

‘That’s hardly a crime, is it?’ Hannibal chuckled. ‘I thought he was too young to serve in the army back then?’

‘He was, sir,’ Malchus admitted. ‘And, to be fair, he was excellent when it came to lessons in military tactics. He was skilled at hunting too.’

‘Good qualities. So, has your opinion changed since his return?’

‘It has, sir,’ Malchus replied confidently. ‘He’s changed. The things he experienced and had to live through would have broken many boys, but it didn’t Hanno. He is a man now.’

‘You’re sure?’

Malchus met his general’s gaze squarely. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Fine. I want you and your three sons back here in an hour. That’ll be all.’ Hannibal turned back to Maharbal.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Grinning with excitement, Malchus saluted and withdrew.

Confusion filled Hanno when his father told him the news.

‘What does he want with a junior officer like me?’

‘I couldn’t say,’ Malchus replied neutrally.

Hanno’s stomach twisted into a knot. ‘Are Sapho and Bostar also to be present?’

‘They are.’

That did little to reassure Hanno. Had he done something wrong?

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Malchus. ‘Make sure you’re there in half an hour.’

‘Yes, Father.’ With a racing mind, Hanno set to polishing his new helmet and breastplate. He didn’t stop until his arms burned. Then he rubbed his leather sandals with grease until they glistened. When he was done, Hanno hurried to his father’s tent where there was a large bronze mirror. To his relief, Malchus wasn’t there. He scowled at his reflection. ‘It’ll have to do,’ he muttered.

As he walked to Hannibal’s headquarters, Hanno was grateful that none of the soldiers hurrying to and fro gave him a second look. It wasn’t until he reached the scutarii who stood guard outside the large pavilion that he became the focus of attention.

‘State your name, rank and business!’ barked the officer in charge of the sentries.

‘Hanno, junior officer of a Libyan phalanx, sir. I’m here to see the general.’ Hanno blinked, half expecting to be told to get lost.

Instead, the officer nodded. ‘You’re expected. Follow me.’

A moment later, Hanno found himself in a large, sparsely furnished chamber. Apart from a desk and a few hide-backed chairs, it held only a weapons rack. Hannibal was there, surrounded by a circle of his commanders. Among them were his father and brothers.

‘Sir! Announcing Hanno, junior officer of the Libyan spearmen!’ the officer bellowed.

Hanno flushed to the roots of his hair.

Turning, Hannibal smiled. ‘Welcome.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘You all know about Malchus’ prodigal son?’ asked Hannibal. ‘Well, here he is.’