Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Recognising the tent lines of Sapho’s phalanx by their standard, Bostar quickly located the largest tent, which, like his, was pitched on the unit’s right. The main flap was closed, which meant that his brother was either still in bed, or busy with his duties. Given his brother’s recent habits, Bostar suspected the former. ‘Sapho?’ he called.

There was no answer.

Bostar tried again, louder.

Nothing.

Bostar took a step away. ‘He must be with his men,’ he said to himself in surprise.

‘Who is it?’ demanded an annoyed voice.

‘Of course he’s not,’ Bostar muttered, turning back. He untied the thong that kept the tent flap closed. ‘Sapho! It’s me.’ A moment later, he threw wide the leather. Sunlight flooded inside, and Bostar lifted a hand to his nose. The reek of stale sweat and spilt wine was overpowering. Stepping over the threshold, he picked his way over discarded pieces of clothing and equipment. Bostar was shocked to see that every item was filthy. Sapho’s shield, spear and sword were the only things that had been cleaned. They leaned against a wooden stand to the side. He came to a halt before Sapho’s bed, a jumble of blankets and animal skins. His brother’s bleary eyes regarded him from its depths. ‘Good morning,’ said Bostar, trying to ignore the smell. He hasn’t even washed, he thought with disgust.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Sapho’s voice was acid.

‘We’ve been summoned to a meeting with Hannibal.’

Sapho’s lips thinned. ‘The general told you that over breakfast, did he?’

Bostar sighed. ‘Despite what you may think, I didn’t save Hannibal’s life to curry favour, or to make you jealous. You know I’m not like that.’ He was pleased when Sapho’s eyes dropped away. He waited, but there was no further response. Bostar pressed on. ‘Father sent me. We need to be there in less than half an hour.’

Finally, Sapho sat up. He winced. ‘Gods, my head hurts. And it tastes like something died in my mouth.’

Bostar kicked the amphora at his feet. ‘Drank too much of this?’

Sapho gave him a rueful grin. ‘Not half! Some of my men broke into a wine merchant’s when the city fell. We’ve kept it under guard since. You should see the place. There’s vintage stuff from all over the Mediterranean!’ His expression grew hawkish. ‘Shame his three daughters aren’t still alive. We had some fun with them, I can tell you.’

Bostar wanted to punch Sapho in the face, but instead he proffered a hand. ‘Get up. We don’t want to be late. Father thinks Hannibal has a task for us.’

Sapho looked at Bostar’s outstretched arm for a moment before he accepted it. Swaying gently, he looked around at the chaos of his tent floor. ‘I suppose I’d better start cleaning my breastplate and helmet. Can’t appear in front of Hannibal with filthy gear, can I?’

‘Can’t your orderly do it?’

Sapho made a face. ‘No. He’s down with the flux.’

Bostar frowned. Sapho was in no state to wash himself, prepare his uniform and present himself to their general in the time remaining. Part of him wanted to leave his brother to it. That’s what he deserves, Bostar thought. The rest of him felt that their feud had been going on too long. He made a snap judgement. His own servant would have everything ready by now. It would only take him a few moments to get ready. ‘Go and stick your head in a barrel of water. I’ll clean your armour and helmet.’

Sapho’s eyebrows rose. ‘That’s kind of you,’ he muttered.

‘Don’t think I’m going to do it for you every day,’ Bostar warned. He gave Sapho a shove. ‘Get a move on. We don’t want to be late. Hannibal must have something special lined up for us.’

At this, Sapho’s pace picked up. ‘True,’ he replied. He stopped by the tent’s entrance.

Bostar, who was already following with Sapho’s filthy breastplate, paused. ‘What?’

‘Thank you,’ said Sapho.

Bostar nodded. ‘That’s all right.’

The air between them grew a shade lighter, and for the first time in months, they smiled at each other.

Bostar and Sapho found their father waiting for them near Hannibal’s tent. Malchus eyed their gleaming armour and helmets and gave an approving nod.

‘What’s this about, Father?’ asked Sapho.

‘Let’s go and find out,’ Malchus answered. He led the way to the entrance, where two dozen smartly turned-out scutarii stood. ‘The general is expecting us.’

Recognising Malchus, the lead scutarius saluted. ‘If you’ll follow me, sir.’

As they were led inside, Bostar winked at Sapho, who returned the gesture. Excitement gripped them both. Although they had met Hannibal before, this was the first time they’d been invited into his headquarters.

In the tent’s main section, they found Hannibal, his brothers Hasdrubal and Mago, and two other senior officers grouped around a table upon which a large map was unrolled. The scutarius came to a halt and announced them.

Hannibal turned. ‘Malchus. Bostar and Sapho. Welcome!’

Father and sons saluted crisply.