‘That’s right, fool.’ The guard’s thick black eyebrows met in a frown. ‘I’m not looking at anyone else, am I?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Come here. Quickly!’ A man in middle age, he wore a dented bronze cuirass and a Boeotian helmet in similarly poor condition. He was armed with a sword and a long thrusting spear. Hanno had seen his type before. Given a little bit of power, and without an officer present, the guard liked to act as if he were Zeus Soter himself. Prick him hard enough, and he’d deflate like a goatskin bladder of wine. For all that that appealed, Hanno wasn’t in a position to do so. Appease the cocksucker and get into Syracuse, he thought.
‘Now, I said!’
As fast as he could, Hanno threaded his way past a farmer in a mule-drawn wagon who had just been waved inside. ‘Sir?’ he asked, avoiding eye contact.
‘Name?’
Hanno’s mouth opened to say ‘Alcimos’, but Thick Eyebrows jabbed him in the chest with a finger. ‘Cat got your tongue, peasant?’
Furious, Hanno decided it was time to reveal who he was. ‘Hanno,’ he said, pitching his voice so that the people walking in behind him could not hear. Some could be Roman spies, and he had no wish for it to be known that a Carthaginian was entering Syracuse in disguise.
‘What’s that? Speak up!’
Hanno leaned forward. ‘My name is Hanno; I am a Carthaginian officer. I’ve been sent by Hannibal Barca, with messages for your generals, Hippocrates and Epicydes.’
Thick Eyebrows looked incredulous for a moment, then he laughed. ‘And I’m fucking Appius Claudius Pulcher, propraetor. What’s that on your back?’
‘My things. Clothing, food, a sword.’
‘A sword?’ Shoving Hanno backwards, Thick Eyebrows levelled his spear. ‘Alarm! I’ve got one with a weapon!’
Shouts of panic rose as the travellers around Hanno broke and ran, both into and out of the city. Within a few heartbeats, he was alone within a ring of grim-faced guards, all of whom were threatening him with spears. Hanno dropped his bag, threw his dagger down and raised his hands in the air. ‘I’m unarmed,’ he said loudly. Thick Eyebrows was shouting that they should kill him there and then; a good number of his comrades appeared to agree. Thankfully, the rest seemed fearful but indecisive. Beyond them, people were crowding in to see what was happening. ‘A spy! A spy!’ he heard a man say.
The circle of spear points wavered. Thick Eyebrows cursed and took a step towards Hanno.
Hanno fought to stay calm. ‘I need to speak to your commanding officer,’ he said, even louder than the previous time.
‘We’ll decide what to do with you, vermin,’ snarled a voice from behind him.
Hanno began to turn, but a heavy weight smashed into the back of his head, and he knew no more.
Hanno gasped as a bucket of water was emptied over his head. He came to, lying on his side, bound with ropes like a pig for the slaughter. A blinding headache beat an unpleasant rhythm inside his skull, and his mouth felt dry and sticky. Rolling on to his back, he found himself being regarded suspiciously by four men. One was Thick Eyebrows. Two others were also ordinary soldiers, but the last was an officer, clad in a polished breastplate and pteryges that protected his shoulders and groin. Hanno’s relief died away as the officer pointed at his neck. ‘You’re a slave?’
Hanno’s nerves jangled. He hadn’t noticed that they’d removed the protective piece of cloth, in the process revealing the ‘F’ mark that Pera had given him. ‘F’ stood for fugitivus. ‘No! I was captured by the Romans some time ago, and tortured. This was one of the results.’
‘A likely story,’ said the officer.
Yet it didn’t take long for Hanno’s story to appear more believable when he mentioned Hannibal’s ring and letter. They hadn’t been found when he had been searched. When they were produced — by stripping him naked — the officer scowled at his men. ‘How did you miss these?’ They hung their heads resentfully. Hanno ignored them, concentrating instead on speaking rapid, fluent Greek to the officer, telling him a little of his mission. The officer made to open the seal on the letter. ‘Do that at your own peril,’ warned Hanno. ‘It’s to be read by Hippocrates and Epicydes alone.’
The officer halted. As if to convince himself, he asked Hanno a couple of questions in hesitant Carthaginian. The speed of Hanno’s answers seemed to provide the last proof he needed. The officer had the grace to flush a little as he ordered Hanno to be freed and his clothing and possessions to be restored to him — apart from his weapons. ‘My apologies for the confusion. We have orders to be on the alert for Roman spies.’
‘I would hardly have made myself known, and as a Carthaginian, if I’d been sent by Marcellus,’ said Hanno sarcastically as he got dressed.
‘I know. I’m sorry. My men will be disciplined.’ Here, a scowl at Thick Eyebrows, who looked away. ‘I’ll take these to Hippocrates and Epicydes.’
Hanno eyed the ring and letter with some alarm. ‘I had thought to present them in person.’
‘I’m just doing my duty,’ replied the officer awkwardly. ‘It shouldn’t take long. In the meantime, can I offer you food? Drink?’
‘Yes, thank you. A drop of something for the pain too, if you have it. My head is splitting.’ Hanno aimed a poisonous stare at Thick Eyebrows and his fellows.
‘Of course.’ The officer barked an order that sent the soldiers hurrying from the room. ‘I’ll return as soon as I can,’ he said with a friendly nod, before locking the door behind him.
Hanno swallowed down his anger. Being confined to a prison cell after being assaulted by Syracusan guards was not how he’d expected his visit to the city to begin. The fact that the officer believed him clearly wasn’t enough. He hoped that Hippocrates and Epicydes realised that his letter and the ring were genuine, or his stay in this bare, dank room might turn out to be permanent.
His spirits were lifted a little while later by the arrival of a slave bearing a platter of bread, olives and wine. A surgeon was next to enter. He tutted with disapproval when Hanno told him how he’d received the wound to the back of his head, but pronounced after an examination that it was not serious. Three drops of poppy juice in Hanno’s wine would dull the pain but not make him drowsy, he said, unstoppering a tiny glass vial.
Some time passed — in the windowless cell, with just an oil lamp as light, Hanno had no idea how long — before the officer reappeared. He was smiling. ‘I’m to convey you to the generals,’ he said. ‘Are you rested? Is your head any better?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. They read my letter?’
‘Yes. They want to meet you at once. I must apologise again for your treatment and this period of … detention. Twice, assassins have made attempts on Hippocrates’ and Epicydes’ lives.’
‘I understand.’ It made sense, thought Hanno, even if Thick Eyebrows was an imbecile. He smoothed down his chiton and smiled. ‘I’m ready.’
The officer half bowed. ‘If you could follow me, then.’
A pair of soldiers fell in behind them as they exited the cell. Hanno’s sword and dagger had not been returned to him either. The brothers’ trust only went so far.
The four walked down a long corridor lined with flagstones. The whimpering sounds from behind some of the doors on each side made Hanno’s skin crawl. He remembered Victumulae, and he reached in reflex under the cloth, to his scar.
Emerging into daylight, Hanno squinted. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that they were in a large courtyard, which was bordered by stables, barracks and workshops. Soldiers were everywhere, talking, cleaning gear, being chivvied by their officers. The cells were in a building that had been erected as part of the defensive wall, and the great limestone blocks he’d seen on his approach were just as impressive from the inside.