Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Responding to a shouted order, the enemy lines came to a halt perhaps fifty paces away. Drawing back, the Saguntines threw their falaricae up in a steep arc, far over their own men. Over Bostar and Sapho’s soldiers.

‘Clever bastards,’ Bostar muttered. ‘They don’t want to hit us.’ He watched in total dread as the flaming javelins turned to point downwards. Like deadly shooting stars, they returned to earth to land amidst the still ascending Carthaginian troops. Thanks to the clouds of dust, these densely packed men had no idea what was about to hit them until the very last moment. Understandably, the falaricae caused utter chaos. Practically every one found a home in human flesh, running through shields and mail shirts with impunity. Yet their effect was far more profound. It was why the Saguntines had aimed at the unsuspecting soldiers to the rear, thought Bostar as the screams and wails of the injured filled his ears. The falaricae struck fear into the heart of every man who stood in their path. He knew exactly why. Who could bear to watch his comrades being turned into pillars of flame, or having the flesh blistered from their bones? No amount of training could prepare soldiers for that.

The entire advance below him had already come to a halt. As Bostar watched, the second wave of enemy javelins came rocketing down. An instant later, the Carthaginian attack became a rout. Despite the shouts of their officers, hundreds of men turned and fled. They hurled themselves down the slope with such abandon that many fell and were trampled by those following. The soldiers to either side, who had not been struck by the enemy volley, took one look at their retreating comrades and stopped dead. Then, as one, they turned on the spot and began running too.

Bostar cursed. The moment was lost. No one, even Hannibal, could turn this situation around. He caught the arm of the nearest spearman. ‘Pull back! Our reinforcements are withdrawing. We have to save ourselves. Spread the word.’ Repeating his command to every soldier he passed, Bostar fought his way through the press to Sapho’s side. Oblivious to the volley’s effect, his brother was urging a quartet of spearmen forward at a bunch of poorly armed defenders.

‘Sapho!’ Bostar yelled. ‘Sapho!’

Eventually his brother heard him. ‘What?’ he snarled over his shoulder.

‘We must pull back!’

Sapho’s face contorted with anger. ‘You’re crazy! Any moment, the whoresons will break, and then we’ll have them. Victory is at hand!’

‘No, it isn’t!’ Bostar bellowed. ‘We have to retreat. NOW.’

Some of Sapho’s soldiers began to look uneasy.

Sapho glared furiously at Bostar, but realised that he was serious. Shouting encouragement to his men, Sapho elbowed his way out of the front rank. With his arms and face covered in blood, he was like some creature from the underworld. ‘Have you entirely lost your wits?’ he hissed. ‘The enemy is giving ground at last. Another big push, and they’ll break.’

‘It’s too late,’ Bostar replied in a flat tone. ‘Have you not seen what those fucking falaricae have done to the troops behind us?’

Sapho’s rejoinder was instantaneous. ‘No. I keep my eyes to the front, not the back.’

Bostar’s fists clenched at the imputation. ‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘let me tell you, our entire attack has come to a halt.’

Sapho bared his teeth. ‘So? Those motherless curs will turn and run any moment. Then we’ll get a foothold inside the walls.’

‘Where we will be cut off and annihilated.’ Bostar jabbed a finger into Sapho’s chest for emphasis. ‘Don’t you understand? We’re on our own up here!’

‘Coward!’ Sapho screamed. ‘You’re scared of dying, that’s all.’

Bostar’s anger surged out of control. ‘When the time comes, I will fight and die for Hannibal,’ he shouted. ‘What’s more, I will do it proudly. But there’s a difference between dying well, and like a fool. There’s nothing to be gained from sacrificing your life, or those of your men, here.’

Spitting on the ground, Sapho made to return to the fight.

‘Stop!’ Bostar’s order was like the crack of a whip.

Stiff-backed, Sapho came to a halt, but he did not turn to face Bostar.

‘As your superior officer, I command you to withdraw your men at once,’ Bostar cried, making sure that every soldier within earshot heard him.

Defeated, Sapho spun around. ‘Yes, sir,’ he snarled. He raised his voice. ‘You heard the order! Fall back!’

It didn’t take long for Sapho’s men to get the idea. Re-energised by the effect that their volleys had had on the ascending Carthaginian troops, the defenders were beginning to advance again. Behind them, freshly lit falaricae were being carried forward. Encouraged by this, even the civilians who were repairing the breach joined in, hurling stones and fist-sized pieces of masonry at the spearmen.

This increased the ignominy and fuelled Sapho’s anger to new levels, all the more because he could now see that Bostar had been right to sound the recall. ‘Fool,’ he told himself nonetheless. ‘It was there for the taking.’