Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

The warrior stepped closer and Sapho saw death looking him in the eyes. He waited until his enemy had begun to swing downwards, and then, with all his might, he rolled away into the centre of the circle. Behind him, Sapho heard his opponent’s sword slam into the ground with a bone-jarring thump. Knowing that speed was of the essence, he turned over and over before trying to get up. Mocking laughs from the watching Ausetani filled the air, and the huge warrior raised his arms in anticipation of victory. Rage filled Sapho at their treachery. He knew too that this fight couldn’t be won by ordinary means. It was time to cast the dice. Take his chance. He drew his dagger with his left hand, ignoring the jeers this provoked.

Breathing deeply, Sapho waited. What he needed the warrior to do was take a great sideways slash at him. The only way he could think of drawing the hulk in was to stay put – without defending himself. It was a complete gamble. If the other didn’t take the bait and respond exactly as he wished, he’d be dead, but Sapho couldn’t think of anything else to do. Weariness threatened to overcome him, and his shoulders slumped.

The huge warrior shuffled in, grinning.

With a thrill, Sapho realised that his opponent thought he’d given up. He didn’t move a muscle.

‘Prepare to die,’ the warrior growled. Lifting his right arm, he swung his sword around in a curving arc, aiming for the junction between Sapho’s neck and shoulders. The blow was delivered with unstoppable force, at a target that was standing stock still. To those watching, it looked as if the duel was over.

At the last moment, Sapho dropped to his knees, letting the other’s blade split the air over his head. Throwing himself forward, he stretched out his arm and plunged his dagger into the warrior’s left thigh. It wasn’t a fatal wound, but nor was it meant to be. As he landed helplessly on his chest, Sapho heard a loud scream of pain. A grimace of satisfaction twisted his lips as he scrambled to his feet, still clutching his sword. A few steps away, the bleeding warrior was listing to one side like a ship in a storm. All his attention was focused on pulling the knife from his leg. Stabbing him in the back would be simple.

A quick glance at the snarling faces surrounding them helped Sapho to make a snap decision. Mercy would be far more useful here than ruthlessness. Swiftly, he swept in and completed the task. Drawing his blade across the back of his enemy’s left leg, he hamstrung him. As the bellowing warrior collapsed, Sapho stamped on his right hand, forcing him to drop his weapon. Touching the point of his blade to the other’s chest, he growled, ‘Yield.’

Moaning with pain, the warrior extended both his hands upwards, palms extended.

Sapho lifted his gaze to the chieftain, whose face registered stunned disbelief. ‘Well?’ he asked simply.

Eventually, the chief managed to compose himself. ‘I apologise for insulting Hannibal, your leader. The Ausetani accept these generous gifts, with thanks,’ he muttered with bad grace. ‘You and your companions are free to go.’

‘Excellent,’ replied Sapho with a broad smile. ‘Your son will be coming with us.’

The chief jumped to his feet. ‘He needs medical attention.’

‘Which he will receive in plenty. We will leave him in the care of the best surgeon in Emporiae. You have my word on that.’ Sapho leaned on his sword slightly, eliciting a loud moan from the huge warrior. ‘Or I can end it right here. It’s your choice.’

The chieftain’s lips peeled back with fury, but he was powerless in the face of Sapho’s resolve. ‘Very well,’ he replied.

Only then did Sapho glance at his father and Bostar. Both gave him fierce nods of encouragement. Sapho found himself grinning like an idiot. Against all the odds, he had redeemed the situation, won his father’s approval and his brother’s admiration. Inside, though, he knew that the Ausetani would have to be defeated before this particular passage to Gaul was safe.

Chapter XII: Plans

A boot in the ribs woke Hanno the next morning. Grunting in pain, he opened his eyes. Agesandros was standing over him, flanked by two of the largest slaves on the farm. Hanno knew them for dumb brutes who did whatever they were told. Sets of manacles hung from their ham-like fists. Confusion and dread filled Hanno. Quintus’ and Fabricius’ absence hit home like hammer blows. This had to be more than coincidence. ‘What was that for?’ he croaked.

Instead of answering, the Sicilian kicked him again. Several times.

Protecting his head with his hands, Hanno rolled into the foetal position and prayed that Aurelia would hear.

At length, Agesandros ceased. He’d made no effort to remain quiet. ‘Gugga son of a whore,’ he snarled.

Through squinted eyes, Hanno looked up. He was alarmed to see the Sicilian clutching a dagger in one hand and a small purse in the other.