‘We’re in the east of the city. This is part of the garrison’s quarters,’ explained the officer. ‘Hippocrates and Epicydes live close by. It’ll be quickest to go there via the ramparts. No one will see you this way, and you’ll appreciate the view.’
Hanno’s interest grew as they climbed a stone staircase that ran up the side of the cell block to the top of the defences. A sentry guarding the last step saluted as the officer reached him. Nothing could have prepared Hanno for the magnificence of the sight that greeted him. A little gasp escaped his lips, and the officer chuckled. ‘Most react in the same manner.’
‘It reminds me of Carthage,’ said Hanno, feeling a little homesick. They were facing eastward, and the mid-afternoon sunlight had turned the sea into a blinding white mirror. That didn’t stop him from making out the shapes of dozens of ships in the anchorages far below, and the finger of land that edged out to meet a little fortified island. ‘That must be Ortygia.’
‘You’re well informed. It’s named after a quail, because of its shape. Here we overlook part of Achradina. The harbour that lies on this side of Ortygia is the small one. On the other side, out of sight, lies the great. It’s far more protected from the weather, and can hold hundreds of ships.’ He beckoned.
‘There must be a Roman blockade, surely?’ As he walked, Hanno scanned the sea, but the intensity of the reflection from its surface meant that he couldn’t see a thing.
‘Oh yes, they’re out there somewhere. Ten, twenty, sometimes more triremes. They never go away, but there aren’t enough of them to seal off the city completely, thank the gods. Your people have been very generous to us. They have sent regular convoys bearing supplies.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’ Hanno wondered about taking passage on a Carthaginian vessel, back to his home. Fleeting bitterness took him. There would be no family, and few friends of his there. His mother was dead, and most of his childhood companions would be in one or other of Carthage’s armies.
Reaching a broader section of wall, his attention was drawn to a twin-armed catapult positioned a few steps to the rear of the walkway. It wasn’t manned, but neat piles of large stones lay all around, and its mechanisms looked well oiled. The catapult was ready for use, that was plain. Another stood thirty paces on, and then a third and a fourth. More were visible beyond. He whistled. ‘How many of these are there?’
The officer looked pleased. ‘I’m not sure exactly. Hundreds, at the very least. They line the walls for their entire length, and that’s more than two hundred stadia. These are only the small ones. The larger ones have to be set at ground level. You’ll see one in a moment. If it hadn’t been for Archimedes, we wouldn’t have half the number that we do. He spent his time nagging Hiero about building more of them. I think Hiero had some built just to shut him up, but we’ll be damn glad of them soon.’
‘The Romans are coming?’
A short laugh. ‘Oh yes. Every so often, deserters make their way here. The word has it that it won’t be long before Marcellus moves his legions. It was inevitable, but at least the waiting will be over. We’ll be ready. These walls won’t fall in a decade of siege.’
‘The defences are truly impressive,’ agreed Hanno, thinking with pride of his own city, and its fortifications, which were even greater. It would never see a besieging army, though, as this one would. Hippocrates and Epicydes would hold Syracuse, and he’d play his part in helping to accomplish that. Armies would arrive from Carthage, and the tide of war on Sicily would flow in their favour.
A short distance further along the rampart, they were halted by a group of soldiers. These individuals were a different stamp to the guards such as Thick Eyebrows. Their equipment and weapons shone in the sunlight, and they carried themselves in the manner of men who knew their business. The lead one, a man of Hanno’s age, wore an old-fashioned pilos helmet topped with a fantastic five-spined crest. He saluted as he blocked the officer’s path and said politely, ‘Password, sir.’
‘Herakles.’
Pilos-wearer stood aside with a nod. ‘You and your guest may continue, sir, but your men stay here.’ His comrades parted in the middle, allowing Hanno and the officer to pass between them. More security, thought Hanno. The problems he’d had made more sense now, if even ordinary soldiers were not to be trusted.
Just beyond the sentry point, the walkway broadened out into a great square; it was the roof of a massive dwelling, even a palace. The whole surface had been decorated with swirling patterns of black and white mosaic tiles. Huge clay pots containing vines, lemon and fig trees had been arranged around the sides. Timbers had been set into the floor, their purpose to support a lattice framework that held some of the vines. The ingenious technique had created plenty of shady spots, and mimicked the appearance of a garden. There was even a fountain, the centrepiece of which was Poseidon astride a great dolphin. How the water reached this height, Hanno had no idea.
The officer saw his surprised look. ‘More of Archimedes’ work. A wheel with leather buckets set over a well carries the water aloft.’
‘He must be a man of great talent.’
‘You haven’t seen the half of it.’
A number of figures could be seen near the fountain. Two were reclining on couches. As they drew closer, Hanno saw that two of the party were manacled, and on their knees. Soldiers with drawn swords stood behind them. He could hear questions being asked. When one of the prisoners didn’t answer quickly enough, one of the soldiers kicked him in the back. He fell forward on to his face, moaning, and didn’t try to get up. A question was hurled at his companion, who flinched.
‘Our Carthaginian!’ called one of the men on the couches. ‘Bring him here, Kleitos.’
The officer ushered Hanno in front of him and together, they approached.
Hanno realised that the reclining men were Hippocrates and Epicydes. The brothers were as Hanno remembered seeing them at the time of Cannae, although he could not recall who was who. One had a beard, while the other did not, but that was the only discernible difference between them. Both had tousled black hair, and slender, almost feminine features. They were each clad in a richly embroidered himation, a mark of their status, and calf-high boots that reminded Hanno of those worn by Hannibal.
Ten paces from the couches, Kleitos touched him in the back. Hanno took the prompt and stopped. He bowed. ‘Greetings, O rulers of Syracuse.’
‘Rulers?’ said the bearded one with a chuckle. ‘We’re merely two of the generals who form the ruling council.’
Hanno glanced at Kleitos, but his face was a mask. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Hippocrates is jesting with you,’ said the clean-shaven man with a laugh. ‘It’s true that the other generals are our equals, but they tend to defer to our judgement.’ The emphasis on the word ‘defer’ was light, but the unpleasant gleam in his brother’s eyes suggested that the relationship wasn’t altogether cordial.
Hanno wondered if any of the other leaders enjoyed the pleasures of this rooftop garden, but he kept that to himself. ‘I am honoured to meet you, Generals. My name is Hanno of Carthage. I come from Hannibal Barca, as you will have read in my letter.’
‘I have it here.’ Epicydes flicked a hand at the low table before him, where Hannibal’s ring lay upon the unrolled parchment. ‘You are most welcome to our city. My apologies for the manner in which you were treated on your arrival. The guards on the gates can be a little jumpy.’
And stupid, thought Hanno. ‘I understand, General. These things happen.’
‘You bring no soldiers with you?’ asked Hippocrates in a truculent tone.
‘Regretfully, General, no. For the moment, Hannibal needs every man he has. With every passing season, the Romans raise new legions.’