The Libyans had been divided up between the army’s flanks. Hanno’s unit was standing in a narrow but deep formation, behind the left edge of the Gauls and Iberians, and facing forward. It was part of a line of phalanxes, perhaps five thousand men in total, one that had been replicated on the opposite flank. Both groupings were out of sight of the Romans, which meant that Hanno and his men could see nothing at all of the ground between the armies, and that made the tension unbearable. We stay where we are. Hannibal gave us our orders, he told himself. We will follow them exactly. Everything depends on us. His flesh itched again, and he tugged at his cuirass: a pointless exercise. It settled back against his chest the instant he released it.
‘Something wrong, sir?’ asked Mutt.
‘Eh? Nothing much. There’s a rough spot on the inside of the top rim of my breastplate. I should have sanded it down last night.’
‘You’ll be sore by the end of the day, sir,’ observed Mutt dryly.
‘Yes, I know,’ Hanno snapped.
‘Take it off, sir.’ Mutt rummaged in a pouch that hung from a thong around his neck and, with a satisfied smile, produced a small file. ‘I’ll sort it out for you in a moment.’
‘I can’t.’ Hanno gestured at the files of men to their left and right, at the squadrons of cavalry that waited opposite, ready for the order to advance. ‘Something might happen.’
‘We won’t have to do anything for a good while yet, sir,’ said Mutt patiently. ‘Do it now, while you can.’
Mutt was right, thought Hanno. Their skirmishers had deployed only a short time before. The real fighting wouldn’t start for hours, but by sunset, he would have a raw, oozing wound on his chest. If I survive. . ‘Very well.’ He stepped out of line and laid his shield on the hot earth. His helmet and sword were next. Mutt moved to his side, undoing the straps that held the front and back of his cuirass together. Hanno eased off the heavy metal, letting out a sigh of pleasure as warm air moved over his sweat-sodden tunic. ‘Gods, but that feels good.’ He handed the cuirass to Mutt, who found the protruding edge with a finger and got to work at once. Hanno took the opportunity to walk along his men’s lines, chatting and making jokes.
‘Can we take off our mail shirts too, sir?’ asked one grinning soldier.
A rumble of laughter passed up and down the phalanx.
‘I wish you could,’ replied Hanno. ‘Hannibal might have something to say if he saw you, though. Standing here without your helmets on is as much as I can allow, I’m afraid.’
The man pulled a rueful face.
‘Have some water, or a bite of food if you’ve got it,’ Hanno advised and moved on.
‘Taking it easy, brother?’ As ever, Sapho’s tone was mocking.
With gritted teeth, Hanno turned. Bostar and his father — who was in command — were on the opposite flank. Cuttinus, who was leading their side, had his phalanx positioned some units to Hanno’s left. His was the closest to the enemy, whereas Sapho’s phalanx was the next one along to Hanno’s. It wasn’t surprising that he had turned up. ‘I could say the same thing about you, leaving your position.’
Sapho ignored his comment. ‘You look as if you’re taking a stroll along the Choma. Where’s your breastplate? Your sword?’
Hanno barked, ‘None of your business.’
‘Tetchy! Is the heat getting to you?’
Hanno bit back a curse. ‘Sapho, a word.’ He stalked away from his men, towards the lines of cavalry. His brother followed, eyebrows raised. ‘I won’t take shit like this,’ Hanno growled. ‘Like it or not, friendship with Mago or not, you and I are the same rank. It’s not as if we haven’t had this conversation before either. I’m no longer a boy, so don’t patronise me. And I do not take kindly to you making sarcastic remarks in front of my men.’
A short silence.
‘Fair enough,’ said Sapho. ‘I’m sorry.’
Surprised and not a little suspicious at this reaction, Hanno scanned his brother’s face for signs of duplicity. He could see none. ‘Fine.’ He offered his hand. Sapho took it, and they shook. Hanno suddenly felt the need to explain. ‘There was a rough edge on the inside of my cuirass. It was rubbing. Mutt’s filing it down for me.’
‘Good idea. A thing like that can distract a man in the midst of a fight. It’d be a stupid way to die, wouldn’t it? Stuck by a legionary because you were scratching an itch?’
They both laughed, and the tension eased further. ‘Are your men ready?’ asked Hanno.
‘Yes. They’re lean and hungry. Impatient, like me. But the wait will be worth it.’
Hanno latched on to the conviction in Sapho’s voice. He leaned close and muttered, ‘You think we’ll win?’
‘Of course!’
‘It’s not that certain, brother. Many of the Romans might be inexperienced, but they outnumber us nearly two to one. I know that we have more cavalry, but there’s little room for them to manoeuvre. If the legionaries punch through the centre of our line, what we do mightn’t make any difference.’
‘Now you listen to me.’ Sapho’s tone was firm and unusually kind. ‘I’ve been following Hannibal for a lot longer than you. Saguntum seemed impossible to take, but he did it. Only a madman could have thought that tens of thousands of soldiers could march from Iberia to Gaul and over the Alps into Italy, but Hannibal did it. Our army was in pieces after the crossing of the mountains, but he still defeated the Romans at the Ticinus — and the Trebia. You saw what he’s capable of there, and at Trasimene. Our general is intelligent, determined and a great tactician. In my opinion, he’s also a genius.’
‘True,’ said Hanno. ‘He always knows what to do.’
‘By the end of today, Hannibal will have won a victory that will go down in history alongside the exploits of Alexander. And you, Father, Bostar and I will be there to celebrate it.’
The image — and a memory — made a slow smile spread across Hanno’s face. ‘As we did after the Trebia?’
‘Exactly. Rome must pay for all the wrongs it has done to Carthage.’ Sapho raised his fist. ‘In blood.’
‘In blood!’ repeated Hanno.
The sun hadn’t quite reached its zenith, and the heat was incredible. Hanno had had to stop himself supping from his water bag, which was already half empty. He wasn’t as used to not drinking as his men, few of whom he had seen touch their carriers. How long had it been since Hasdrubal had led the Iberian and Gaulish cavalry charge? Hanno had no idea, but his heart felt as if it had been in his mouth since that moment. He’d spent his time craning his head and trying to peer around the back edge of their front line. Even if he had been able to view what lay beyond the massed ranks of soldiers, which he hadn’t, the great dust clouds sent up by the horses’ hooves would have prevented him from seeing a thing. The knowledge hadn’t stopped him, however. It was something to do, something to while away the time, which was moving at the pace of a tortoise.
He eyed Mutt, who was standing beside him. ‘What in hell is happening, do you think?’
A doleful shrug. ‘Who can say, sir?’
Frustration made Hanno want to shake his second-in-command, but there was no point. ‘Don’t you care?’
A solemn look. ‘Course I do, sir, but I can’t help Hasdrubal or the skirmishers, can I? Except by praying, which I’ve done. The best thing to do is to wait, and not think about it. When it’s our turn, then I’ll show you how much I care.’
‘I know you will,’ said Hanno, feeling a little embarrassed. He took a step out of line and peered after the cavalry. ‘Hasdrubal’s men must be containing the Roman horse at the very least, because there’s been no sign of them.’