Hanno had nearly finished his rounds for the evening. In warm weather, and in such a beautiful location, it was a real pleasure to wander among the tents, chatting with his men, sharing a cup of wine and assessing their mood. The temperature was balmy and warm, light still filled the western sky, and overhead, hundreds of swifts darted to and fro, their high-pitched cries reminding him of Carthage. Beyond the last of the tents and the rushes that lined the shore, he could see the surface of the lake. Earlier, it had been a vivid azure colour. Now, it had become a mysterious and inviting dark blue. Not for the first time, Hanno wondered about having a swim. Even though his phalanx hadn’t been involved in the sacking and pillaging of the previous weeks, the day’s march had been long and hot. Their duties done, thousands of the soldiers had already been sporting in the shallows. It had gone quiet by the shore of late; not many men would choose to enter the water as night fell, but Hanno wasn’t that superstitious. He and Suni had spent many an evening fishing from the Choma, the man-made quay at the southeastern edge of Carthage. Taking a dip at night held immense appeal. Gods, it would be wonderful if Suni were here, he thought. He offered up a prayer to safeguard his friend.
A frown creased his brow as he recognised Sapho’s stocky shape. Hanno was still a little pissed off with his oldest brother. His return to the column with Sentius in tow had been a proud moment for him. Hannibal had been pleased with the boy, which had thrilled Hanno. As long as Sentius performed as asked, his reputation would grow. That was when Sapho, for whatever reason, had turned around the situation by mentioning how he’d had to save Hanno from drowning in a puddle. Everyone present had laughed, especially Hannibal. ‘That’s another one of your lives lost,’ he’d said, smiling. Hanno had been mortified, and he wondered after the army had marched out of the floodplain if Hannibal would remember who it was that had secured them the guide. When he remonstrated with his brother, Sapho had laughed it off, saying he had merely been trying to lift men’s spirits.
‘Hanno?’
Of course that’s all Sapho was doing, thought Hanno loyally, dismissing the memory. He would have preferred Bostar to have appeared, but his other brother would do. Perhaps he would find a swimming companion after all. He might even get his own back and shove Sapho’s head under the water when he wasn’t expecting it. ‘I’m here.’
‘At last I find you.’ Sapho strode over. Like Hanno, he had shed his bronze cuirass and pteryges and was clad in just his tunic. A baldric slung from one shoulder held a knife in a leather sheath. They gripped hands in greeting.
‘Fancy a swim?’ asked Hanno.
‘Eh?’
‘The water’s lovely and warm.’
‘Maybe. There’s something I need to talk to you about first, though.’
Hanno felt a tickle of unease. ‘Walk with me.’ He led the way towards the shore; Sapho followed. Hanno moved fast, dreading what his brother might have to say.
Since leaving the Arnus behind, every soldier’s task, on Hannibal’s express orders, had been to cause as much destruction as possible. At first, only the skirmishers and cavalry had been deployed, but then the infantry had been put to use too. Thus far, Hanno and his phalanx had escaped being part of the raiding parties who daily ranged far and wide to either side of the army. By now, much of Etruria had been laid waste. What couldn’t be taken away was burned or despoiled. The population had suffered too. Slaves were not to be harmed, but Roman citizens of all ages were fair game. Each time that Hanno had spoken with Sapho, his oldest brother had taken particular delight in describing what his soldiers had done. By contrast, Bostar and his father, who had been allotted the same duties, had said nothing. Since his torture, Hanno didn’t much care what happened to enemy civilians, but he didn’t wish to hear the gory details. It reminded him too much of what might happen to Aurelia — if their army ever made it that far south.
A week earlier, he had been surprised when the chance to approach Flaminius’ legions at Arretium had been discarded in favour of sacking yet more farms and villages. By veering east along the lake, they were now threatening to do the same to Umbria. As Hanno had realised, Hannibal’s intention all along had been to force Flaminius’ hand, and in that he had succeeded. The consul had been tailing their forces for some days, albeit at a decent distance. A battle was inevitable, but Hanno worried if it would come soon enough. Flaminius had to want to catch Hannibal between his legions and those of Servilius, who no doubt had been advised of the enemy’s march towards him. The further they marched east, the more risk there was of being caught between two Roman armies.
Hannibal had decided to act, brooded Hanno. Sapho had come to tell him that Flaminius was to be goaded into a more hasty response. An entire village needed to butchered out of hand, or worse. Thus far, it had been Hanno’s good fortune not to have to commit such acts of brutality. For his general to order him to do so would be something that he could not refuse, no matter how objectionable he found it. Yet it would ensure his return to the fold, Hanno told himself. What were the lives of a few civilians compared to that? ‘What does he want me to do?’ he asked, without looking at his brother.
‘Who?’
‘Hannibal, of course.’
‘What makes you think I’ve come to tell you something like that?’ Sapho’s tone was curious.
‘Is that not it?’ replied Hanno, trying to cover his confusion.
‘It might be. You’re not supposed to know yet, but I thought you might like to hear it early.’
Despite his desire to win Hannibal’s approval once more, a leaden feeling settled in his belly. ‘What will I have to do?’
‘Is my little brother reluctant to fight?’ Sapho’s fingers brushed at the scar on his neck. ‘Did your time in Roman hands break your spirit?’
‘Don’t touch me!’ Hanno spun on his brother, eyes blazing, wishing he’d left on the scarf that protected his still sensitive flesh from the unforgiving metal of his cuirass. ‘Show me a line of Roman soldiers, and see how long it takes me to butcher every last one!’
‘I’m glad to see that you’re still angry,’ said Sapho. ‘I would love a few hours alone with the whoreson who mistreated you.’
His anger at Sapho for touching his scar lessened. ‘Thank you, but that’s to be my privilege. May the gods grant that I meet Pera again one day, if he yet lives. He will have an end that even he couldn’t imagine.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’ Sapho raised the little amphora that he’d been carrying, unseen, by his side. ‘Like some?’
Suddenly, Hanno really wanted a drink. ‘Yes.’
They found a parting in the rushes, a small sandy area where the lake came right in to the solid ground, and sat down side by side. Sapho cracked the seal, prised out the cork with his knife and took a long slug. He smacked his lips. ‘That’s very tasty. Try it.’
Hanno hooked a forefinger into one of the amphora’s handles. Balancing it against his forearm, he took a sip. The wine had a deep, earthy taste, and a smooth feel quite unlike most he had drunk before. He swallowed a mouthful, and then another. He was about to drink again, when Sapho gave him a nudge. ‘Don’t finish it!’
Hanno swigged again before handing it back. ‘Sorry. It’s delicious.’
‘As I thought it would be,’ said Sapho triumphantly. ‘I took it from a large villa, one of the grandest I’ve ever seen. The man who owns it must be incredibly wealthy.’
‘Is he dead now?’
‘No, the prick wasn’t there, more’s the pity. We had to make do with killing his family.’
Hanno closed his eyes. Aurelia. ‘Is it just the one amphora you’ve got?’
Sapho snorted with laughter. ‘Of course not! There are another twenty where this one came from. Stick with me, little brother, and you can get pissed every night for the foreseeable future.’
That prospect appealed, especially if he was going to have to supervise his men slaughtering women and children. ‘Give it here,’ he growled.