They had left the column behind at dawn, taking only their spears, some water and food. Hanno judged that it was now some time after midday. They’d been gone for more than five hours and, in that time, hadn’t found any dry ground that persisted for more than a few score paces. Everywhere he looked, there was still endless water. Grateful that the clouds had parted, Hanno checked the position of the sun. At least he could use that to maintain a rough course to the south. They would keep moving in that direction and, with the gods’ help, find a path that the army could take.
He trudged on, each step feeling more difficult than the last.
Time passed, and the sun fell towards the western horizon. The midges continued to focus on Hanno’s neck. The scar ached, his belly grumbled and his throat was parched. The clods of mud on his feet grew so heavy that he was forced to stop and scrape them off from time to time. He didn’t know why he bothered. The relief granted lasted on average all of twenty steps before the operation needed to be repeated. Hanno began to think that a fight against a Roman force far stronger than his own would be preferable. Anything to stop the torment.
His gaze roamed from left to right, taking in the usual clumps of rushes. Beyond them, far away, a line of trees. And something else. ‘What’s that?’
‘What, sir?’ Using his spear as a crutch, Mutt squelched to his side.
‘That.’ Hanno pointed slightly off to their left.
Mutt squinted for a moment, and then his dour expression cracked. ‘It’s a small boat, sir.’
‘By all the gods, so it is,’ said Sapho.
Hanno fought his excitement. They’d seen hardly a soul since entering the floodplain. It wasn’t surprising that the local inhabitants had fled, but it had meant there had been no chance to hire guides. ‘It’ll be someone fishing.’
‘Could be, sir,’ said Mutt.
‘What shall we do?’ asked Sapho, making no attempt to take charge.
‘If they see twenty of us, they’ll vanish.’
‘You’re not going on your own, sir,’ said Mutt at once.
‘I’ll come,’ offered Sapho.
Hanno’s lips tugged into a smile. ‘You’re like two old women. But I suppose I’d better not go alone, or I’ll never hear the end of it.’
Even though there was precious little dry ground to sit on, the spearmen were content at the idea of a break. Ordering them to keep out of sight, Hanno set off with Sapho. They left their helmets and shields behind, taking just their spears. A peasant would be terrified by the sight of soldiers — any soldiers — so Hanno wanted to pose as little threat as possible.
They crept along quietly. Hanno was so busy watching the boat through the breaks in the rushes and shrubby bushes that he paid less heed to where he was going than before. Suddenly, the ground underfoot vanished. He lurched forward into a deep pool, remembering somehow not to cry out, for fear of alerting their quarry. As the water closed over his head, Hanno struck out with one arm, trying to right himself. The other arm was useless to swim with thanks to his spear, yet he instinctively clung on to it. He reached down with tiptoes, trying to find the bottom.
After what felt like eternity, he felt something solid. Relief turned to horror as his right sandal sank deep into mud. His arms splashed the surface as he struggled to free it. He thrashed about with his other leg, but it made no difference. Water sloshed into Hanno’s open mouth, and he began to cough, in the process swallowing some more. It was difficult to keep his chin above the surface. His eyes were blurred, full of water. Panic tore at him. I could easily drown here, he thought. His head spun frantically, looking for Sapho. If he reached out with his spear, his brother might be able to drag him out.
It might have been Hanno’s imagination, but as he focused on Sapho’s face, he could have sworn it bore a curious, satisfied look, like that on a cat’s when it has trapped a mouse. Hanno blinked, and it was gone. ‘Help!’ he hissed. ‘My foot is stuck in the mud.’
‘I thought you were enjoying a swim.’
It was an odd time to make a joke, thought Hanno. He was so desperate, however, that the thought vanished. ‘Can you reach this?’ He shoved his spear in Sapho’s direction.
Using his own weapon to probe for secure footing, Sapho moved a few steps towards him. Before long, he was able to grab the spear’s tip. ‘Hold on!’
Hanno had rarely felt so relieved as he did when he felt his sandal suck free of the mud at the bottom. Drowning was not the way he wanted to die. The damp soggy ground beneath his feet felt wonderful. ‘Thanks.’
‘Anything for a brother. You all right?’
‘Just wet, but that’s nothing new.’
Sapho clapped him on the shoulder, and they moved on, using their spears to assess the water’s depth with even more care than before. Fortunately, the ground became a little drier for some distance, allowing them to close in on the boat. At about two hundred paces, Hanno reckoned that its occupant hadn’t been disturbed by the noise of his immersion. The craft had not moved at all. The figure within was busy leaning over the side, adjusting what looked like a fishing net. Hanno’s pace picked up. Perhaps another thirty paces later, his foot came out of the mud with an extra loud sucking noise. He cursed and ducked down, but it was too late. The figure stiffened, stared in their direction and straightaway began pulling his net out of the water.
Shit, thought Hanno. This was what he’d worried would happen.
‘He’ll be long gone before we can get close,’ observed Sapho dourly.
‘I know.’ Hanno cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Help!’ he shouted in Latin.
The fisherman’s urgency did not waver.
‘Come on,’ said Hanno. ‘The instant that he’s taken in that net, he’ll be gone.’
Half walking, half swimming, they managed to narrow the gap by half before the last strands of the net had been heaved aboard. The fisherman seized his oars and set them in the rowlocks. Leaning forward, he began to row.
Utter frustration took Hanno. ‘Please,’ he roared. ‘Help us, please! We mean you no harm.’
The figure stared at them, hesitated and then renewed his efforts at the oars.
‘We can pay you! Silver. Gold. Weapons!’
A glance over his shoulder. The oars went still in the water.
Hanno shot a look at Sapho and pushed a dozen steps closer. ‘We need a guide. Can you help?’
‘A guide?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ He made it another ten paces. ‘To lead us through the floodplain to the south. Do you know the way?’
A short laugh. ‘Of course.’
Now Hanno could see that the fisherman was in fact a boy of about ten years. Scrawny, with lank hair, he looked wary and ill fed. A tunic full of holes was his only garment. ‘Can you take us? You will be well rewarded, I swear it. How does a bag of silver sound?’
‘What need have I of silver?’ retorted the boy. ‘It’s of no use to me here.’
‘How about a spear like this?’ asked Hanno. With a flash of inspiration, he raised his weapon in the air. ‘It’s good for hunting.’
The boy scowled. ‘Maybe. Arrows are more useful, though.’
‘I can give you arrows,’ promised Hanno. ‘As many as you want!’
For the first time, there was a hint of warmth. ‘Really?’
‘I swear it to you on my mother’s grave.’
There was no immediate answer. Hanno let the boy think. Then he said, ‘Can I come closer?’
‘Just you. Not the cruel-looking one.’
Sapho, who didn’t speak much Latin, was oblivious. Hanno hid his surprise at the comment. ‘Wait here,’ he said to his brother. He moved towards the boat. At about twenty paces, the boy signalled him to halt. ‘No nearer.’
He did as he was told. ‘My name is Hanno. What’s yours?’
‘Sentius. Mostly, though, I’m just called “Boy”.’
Hanno sensed that however hard his life in Quintus’ household had been, it had been nothing compared to this boy’s existence. ‘I’ll call you Sentius, if that’s all right?’