‘How’s the head?’
‘Not too bad. And yours?’
Sapho shrugged. ‘A little tender, but it will soon pass.’
‘We did well yesterday,’ said Hanno.
‘Indeed we did. You’re not a boy any longer.’
‘No, I’m not. I’ve been through too much since I was washed out to sea with Suni that day.’ Hanno fingered his scar. Many of his memories were dark and unpleasant and better forgotten. ‘Maybe I should have listened to you, eh?’
Unbelievably, Sapho’s chest puffed up. ‘Well, I haven’t said so before, but-’
Hanno’s irritation became real anger. ‘Piss off, Sapho! You always know best, eh? You didn’t have a clue a storm would blow up that day any more than I did. Admit it: you were just being your usual overbearing self by trying to stop me and Suni going fishing.’
Sapho’s face went bright red. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’
‘I’ll do as I please,’ Hanno retorted, getting to his feet. ‘Just fucking try and stop me. I’ll soon put you right.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’ Sapho’s eyes glittered with anger.
Breathing hard, they glared at each other. Hanno was not prepared to back down. He’d had enough of being the younger brother, the one who was patronised. After the patrol’s success, he’d assumed that Sapho would see him through different eyes. Clearly not. In that moment, all his concerns about his brother’s previous actions returned to haunt him. Did Sapho yet hold a grudge against him? he thought furiously. He wanted to leap upon his brother, fists pounding, but to his surprise, Sapho made a conciliatory move.
‘I didn’t come here for an argument,’ he said.
‘I didn’t invite you in for one,’ Hanno admitted. He stuck out his jaw, unwilling to give any more ground without good reason. ‘What did you come here for?’
‘I was going to invite you on a hunt. The mountains on the peninsula to the east are reported to be rich in game.’
‘Now?’ Riding all day was the last thing Hanno wanted to do, hunt or not.
‘No, tomorrow.’
‘We’d need permission to go that far, surely?’
Sapho couldn’t stop his smugness from returning. ‘There’s no need to worry. Mago is coming too.’
‘Mago?’ Hanno had been in the same tent as Hannibal’s brother a number of times, but never done more than exchange polite greetings with him. Sapho, on the other hand, had been with Mago — and Bostar — when he’d led two thousand men to ambush the Romans’ rear at the Trebia. They must have hit it off well since, Hanno thought. Sapho’s star was indeed rising if he now hobnobbed with one of the most senior officers in the army.
‘Yes. He tried to persuade Hannibal to join us, but had no luck. Our general is too busy. He’s given his blessing to the expedition, though,’ Sapho drawled. ‘Says it will do us all good. Especially for you and me, after the patrol.’
‘Who else is going?’
‘Bostar, Cuttinus. A few other phalanx commanders. The Numidian Zamar will be there too. That was his condition for lending us the horses.’
Hanno’s enthusiasm grew. He got on well with Bostar. Zamar and Cuttinus, another phalanx commander, were good company too. ‘Father?’
‘No! You know what he’s like,’ answered Sapho with a laugh. ‘He’s far too serious.’
Hanno chuckled at the truth of that. ‘I’d love to tag along.’
The tension eased at once. Sapho slapped a hand off his knee. ‘Excellent. The more, the merrier.’
‘Have some more wine,’ said Hanno, leaning over to pour.
‘I don’t mind if I do.’ Sapho smacked his lips after swallowing. ‘That’s not bad stuff. Where did you get it?’
‘It’s some of what we took on the patrol.’
‘You didn’t steal it from the whorehouse then?’ Sapho smirked, and Hanno fought his irritation again. ‘Peace,’ said his brother, raising a hand, ‘I don’t want to start fighting again.’
Hanno grunted, not in a friendly way but not arguing either.
‘Just think,’ said Sapho after a moment. ‘We’re here in a shitting tent. All right, we’ve got some half-decent wine, but we’ve frozen our balls off all winter. Soon, we’ll be baking in summer heat. Suni, however, has probably been enjoying the spring sunshine in Carthage. Drinking in one of the inns near the Choma. Maybe he’s even balling a whore right now, while we’re stuck in the arsehole of Italy with nothing better to talk about than hunting. Have you thought about that?’
The wine coursed through Hanno’s veins. He scowled at his brother. ‘Suni’s not doing any of those things.’
‘Eh?’ scoffed Sapho. ‘Have you learned to divine the future, or to read men’s minds from afar?’
‘He’s fucking dead!’ shouted Hanno, his anger bubbling over again. ‘He’s rotting in a grave near Capua.’
‘Dead? How can you be sure?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I just know.’
Sapho’s eyes grew calculating. ‘You can only have found that out when you left your men that time. My gods, did you go back to the estate where you’d been enslaved?’
Hanno stared at the glowing wood in the brazier and said nothing.
‘You must have.’
‘I talked to a slave there, yes. I wanted to find out if Suni had left safely. You remember that I told you he’d been injured.’ Let him swallow that, Hanno thought. It wasn’t so far from the truth.
Sapho’s eyes studied his for a moment before they dropped away. ‘You two were always thick as thieves. It’s a damn shame that he’s dead. What happened to him?’
‘He’d been found in the woods — I don’t know how — and taken in as a runaway. He played dumb, but for some reason the overseer became suspicious of him. The bastard accused Suni of stealing a knife from the kitchens,’ lied Hanno. ‘He was executed in punishment.’
‘Fucking Romans. They’re bloodthirsty savages.’ Sapho drew a hand across his throat. ‘This for them all.’
Except Aurelia. And Quintus. Even their parents weren’t all bad. Hanno grunted in agreement, relieved that his brother appeared to have accepted his story. ‘Forget about the Romans. There’ll be time enough to think about them in the months to come. Tell me about this hunt. Have we any hounds?’
Sapho nodded happily. ‘We’re taking along a group of Gauls to use as beaters. Some of them have hunting dogs.’
‘It looks to be a promising outing, then. We will be sure to find some game.’
‘I haven’t hunted since before we crossed the River Rhodanus.’
‘And I since leaving Carthage!’
They grinned at one another, their argument forgotten — temporarily at least.
Spring was well under way, but the chill had been evident through Hanno’s blankets nonetheless. It was nothing like the winter had been, however. He had grown used to extreme weather by now, but he was still glad that the worst of it had passed some time since. As he emerged from his tent, he smiled at the beauty of the dawn. Above, the rising sun had turned the sky every imaginable shade of red, orange and pink. The rock-hard ground glittered with dew; here and there it was possible to see lines of footprints made by men who had been up before the dawn. A layer of condensation coated every tent in sight. Plumes of exhaled breath meandered up from between them, marking the path of walking soldiers. Grey clouds of it hung over the cavalry’s horse pens. Little trails of smoke rose from the cooking fires that had been lit.
Hanno stamped his feet, already glad that he had donned socks before lacing up his boots. Underneath his woollen cloak, he was wearing a thick tunic. Remembering the tale of Quintus’ bear hunt, he had impulsively put on a mail shirt as well, cinching it at the waist with a belt. Hanno had seen the tusks on dead boars at Quintus’ house. The risk might be small, but it wasn’t worth taking. One thrust to the groin or the belly and a man’s life was over. He put the macabre idea from his mind, offering up a quick prayer. Today would be about companionship and good sport, nothing else. He shook his limbs. It was time to find Mutt and make a quick circuit of his men’s tents before shovelling down a bowl of porridge and meeting the others.