‘I–I don’t understand.’
‘Can you sit up?’ Bomilcar extended both his hands.
Struggling to understand, Hanno let the other help him to a sitting position. The first thing he saw was Bogu, hanging limp from his bonds. A fool could tell he was dead. Go well, thought Hanno dully. I will see you in the afterlife. His eyes flickered to the brazier, which had gone cold. Hours, maybe more must have passed. ‘Where are the Romans?’
‘Gone to defend the town.’
Shock filled Hanno before a stab of hope struck home. ‘Hannibal’s army has arrived?’
‘Yes. The Romans marched out to meet him, but he routed them on the road. Hundreds of legionaries were killed, many of them within sight of the town. Hannibal’s troops are attacking from all sides as we speak. The garrison is massively outnumbered. It won’t be long before our men get a foothold on the ramparts.’
Our men. Hanno’s head swirled. He had no doubt that Bostar and Sapho, his brothers, would be among those in the assault’s vanguard. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘A day and two nights. We need to move. Pera swore to come back and kill you once the end was near.’
‘Pera?’
‘The officer who tortured you.’
‘You’re really here to free me?’ whispered Hanno.
‘Of course. You’re a Carthaginian, like me. But if we don’t move fast, it won’t happen at all.’
Hanno’s heart filled. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s nothing.’ Bomilcar offered his hand. ‘Can you stand?’
Hanno was lightheaded with pain, but his desire to live was still strong. He took the grip and let the other haul him upright. That was when he saw the gladius in Bomilcar’s other fist. ‘Where did you get that?’
A conspiratorial wink. ‘I took it from the guard outside — after I’d smashed an amphora over his head and cut his throat with his own dagger.’ He proffered the sword. ‘The knife’s enough of a weapon for me. Can you use this?’
Hanno reached out eagerly. His fingers closed on the hilt. He hefted the blade, which was heavier than his own sword. Gods, but it felt good to be armed again, although he knew in his bones that he was no real match for a legionary right now. Hanno was about to hand it back when he saw the admiration in Bomilcar’s eyes. To him, Hannibal’s arrival outside the town must seem like an intervention by the gods. Hanno’s protest died in his throat. Despite his weakened condition, he had more chance in a fight than Bomilcar, who had probably never handled an edged weapon until a few moments before. ‘Just show me a bastard Roman,’ he muttered.
Bomilcar grinned. ‘With Baal Hammon’s help, that won’t be necessary.’
‘What’s your plan?’
‘I brought you a cloak like mine. Once it’s on, most people won’t give either of us a second look.’ Bomilcar eased it over Hanno’s shoulders, taking care not to touch his wound. He lifted the hood, which concealed Hanno’s neck. ‘We’ll head for the main gate. That’s where Hannibal’s attack is concentrated. They’re using a battering ram on the doors, and catapults have wreaked havoc on the defenders atop the wall.’
‘We can’t just stand around in the street waiting for them to break in.’
‘No. There’s a stable belonging to an inn close to the gate. It’s not far. We can hide in the adjacent hay barn. Once our men get inside the town, we’ll go out and you can make yourself known.’
‘That will be easier said than done,’ replied Hanno, remembering Bostar’s tales of the madness that had descended on Hannibal’s soldiers when Saguntum, in Iberia, had fallen. It would be all too easy for them to be slain in the confusion. He saw Bomilcar’s incomprehension but thought it better not to elaborate. ‘But it’s the best we can do. Lead on.’
‘I’ll take it as slow as I can. Stay close.’ Bomilcar padded to the door, which lay ajar, and peered into the passage beyond. ‘All clear.’
Scarcely believing that his legs would carry him, Hanno followed. The acute pain in his neck had lessened a little. Was it thanks to his level of excitement and fear? Hanno didn’t know, but he prayed that his newfound strength lasted — and that if it came to it, he would have the energy to fight.
Outside the cell, a flickering oil lamp in an alcove shed a dim light on a scene of carnage. A dead legionary lay in an ever-widening puddle of blood. Hanno felt a grim satisfaction at the rictus of dismay twisting the corpse’s face. It was the wall-eyed soldier. He hoped that the opportunity to kill Pera and the other legionary also arose. Don’t be rash, his more prudent side shot back. You couldn’t best a child, let alone a hale legionary. Everything now was about survival. Swallowing his desire for vengeance, Hanno shuffled around the crimson pool.
The dank corridor led from his cell past a number of other doors. Hanno stopped by one and listened. After a moment, he heard a faint moan. What wretch lay on the other side? he wondered.
‘We don’t have time to help anyone else,’ hissed Bomilcar.
Numbing himself to the fate of the anonymous prisoner, Hanno did as he was told. Every step was sheer agony, but he forced his legs to keep moving. Trying to keep up with Bomilcar’s slow pace was difficult, however, and Hanno had to ask him to pause before the end of the passage. The gladius felt as if it were made of lead, but he kept a deathlike grip on it.
At last Bomilcar turned left. Motioning Hanno to stay put, he crept up a stone staircase. He soon returned, looking pleased. ‘It’s the same as when I came in. There’s only one guard on duty. The rest have been sent to man the defences.’
‘Why did he let you through?’
‘I told him that Pera had given me a message for the guard on your door.’ Another wink. ‘He won’t suspect a thing until my dagger has cut him a new smile.’
‘I’ll come too,’ Hanno protested.
‘No. Our best chance is if I go alone. Wait here until I call you.’
Hanno’s wound was throbbing with a new intensity. He could do little but nod.
Padding as silently as a cat, Bomilcar vanished up the staircase.
Trying to ignore his racing heart, Hanno listened with all his might. The murmur of voices, both friendly. A low laugh. The sound of studded sandals moving fast. A question, followed by a cry, cut short. The sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Silence.
Who had died? Unsure, Hanno raised the gladius and prepared to meet his end fighting. When Bomilcar appeared, he let out a relieved sigh. ‘You did it.’
‘The dog didn’t know what hit him.’ Bomilcar’s tone was wondering. ‘I wish I’d done this a long time ago.’
Hanno managed an encouraging smile. ‘You’ll have plenty of opportunities to hone your skills in Hannibal’s army. A man like you will be most welcome.’
Bomilcar gave him a pleased look. ‘Best keep moving.’
At the top of the staircase was a small, square guard chamber. A pair of empty bunk beds lined one wall; chunky logs smouldered in a fireplace. Oil lamps guttered from a few spots around the room. Bronze pots and cooking implements lay to one side of the fire, along with loaves of flat bread and a joint of meat. The man who’d been left to watch over the cells was sprawled on his back before the fire, his three-legged stool lying between his legs. A deep wound in the side of his neck still oozed blood.
They skirted the body, making for the only door. Hanno’s stomach twisted as Bomilcar opened it. Who knew what lay beyond it? The Carthaginian saw his uncertainty. ‘We go up another set of stairs, and then out into the courtyard of the garrison buildings. It’s virtually deserted. Every man who can fight is on the walls.’
‘There’ll be guards on the gate, surely?’
‘Only one.’
‘We’ll have to kill him.’
‘That’s too risky. Lots of people are going by on the street beyond. There’s a storeroom to one side of the prison, though. If we each take an amphora of acetum from there, I can say that we’ve been ordered to take them to the soldiers on the frontline.’