Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

‘Nearly three thousand stades,’ agreed Hannibal. ‘As you know, it is generally peaceful as far as the river. After that, up to the border with Gaul, may be a different matter. The place is a jumble of mountains, valleys and passes, and the tribes there are rumoured to be fiercely independent.’ He paused. ‘How many men will you require?’

‘Winning our passage by force of arms is simply not an option. Nor is it our purpose. We are to be an embassy, not an army,’ said Malchus. ‘What’s important are the abilities to move fast and to see off possible attacks by bandits.’ He looked at his sons, who nodded in agreement. ‘Two dozen of my spearmen and the same number of scutarii should be sufficient, sir.’

‘You shall have the pick of any unit you wish. And now, a toast to your success!’ Hannibal clicked his fingers and a slave appeared from the rear of the tent. ‘Wine!’ As the man scurried off, the general looked solemnly at each of those around the table. ‘Let us ask Melqart and Baal Saphon, Tanit and Baal Hammon to guide and protect these valiant officers on their mission.’

As the room filled with muttered agreement, Bostar added a request of his own. Let Sapho and I put aside our differences once and for all .

Braving frost, mud and bitter winter wind, the embassy slogged its way to the Iberus. Thereafter, the inhabitants inland could not be trusted, and so Malchus led them along the more secure coastal route, a densely inhabited area full of towns used to traders from overseas. The party passed by Adeba and Tarraco, before safely reaching the city of Barcino, which was located at the mouth of the River Ubricatus.

There were several routes through the mountains that led to Gaul, and Hannibal had advised that he would probably divide his army between them. This necessitated visiting the tribe that controlled each of the passes. A period of unseasonably calm, dry weather prompted Malchus to head north into the mountainous terrain first, rather than starting with the easiest way into Gaul, that which hogged the coastline via the towns of Gerunda and Emporiae. That could be left until last. Hiring locals as guides, the embassy spent many days on narrow paths that wound and twisted into the hills and valleys. Inevitably, the weather worsened, and a journey that might have taken several weeks stretched into two months. Pleasingly, their ordeals were not all in vain. The chieftains who received the Carthaginians seemed impressed with the tales of Hannibal’s military victories throughout Iberia, and the descriptions of his enormous army. Most importantly, though, they welcomed the gifts Malchus offered: the bags of silver coinage, the finely made kopides and Celtiberian short swords.

Eventually, the only people left to contact were the Ausetani, who controlled the coastal route into Gaul. Having returned to the town of Emporiae to reshoe their horses and stock up on supplies, Malchus retired to the one inn which was large enough to quarter all of his men. He immediately demanded a meeting with their guides, three swarthy hunters. Soon after sunset, they convened around a table in his room. Small oval oil lamps cast a warm amber glow on to the grubby plaster on the wall. Malchus’ sons sat opposite each other. Their relationship remained civil, even fairly cordial, but Bostar had stopped trying to be Sapho’s friend. Each time he’d tried, his brother had remained indifferent to his advances. So be it, Bostar decided. It’s better than fighting all the time. Such thoughts always brought Hanno, and his guilty wish that it had been Sapho who had been lost at sea, to mind. Disquieted, Bostar shoved away the idea.

Malchus himself served the guides with wine. ‘Tell me about this tribe,’ he commanded in rough Iberian.

The three glanced at one another. The oldest, a wiry man with a nut-brown, weather-beaten face, leaned forward on his chair. ‘Their main village is in the foothills above the town, sir. It’s a straightforward journey.’

‘Not like the paths that we had to take before, then?’

‘No, sir, nothing like that.’

Bostar and Sapho were both relieved. Neither had enjoyed the days spent on winding, treacherous tracks, where a single slip meant a precipitous fall.

‘How far?’

‘It’s not quite a day’s ride, sir.’

‘Excellent! We’ll set out at dawn,’ Malchus declared. He eyed his sons. ‘A night’s rest upon our return, and we’ll head south. Spring is around the corner, and we mustn’t keep Hannibal waiting any longer.’

The lead guide cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, sir, we were wondering if…’ His nerve failed him and he stopped.

Keen to get in before Bostar, Sapho jumped in. ‘What?’

The man rallied his courage. ‘We wondered if you could pay us and make your own way there,’ he said falteringly. ‘We’ve spent so long away from our wives and families, you see?’

Malchus’ brows lowered.

‘The directions are simple. There’s no way that you could get lost.’ He looked at his two companions, who shook their heads in vigorous agreement.