Hearing the stairs that led to the main deck creak, he fell silent. Someone was approaching. A moment later, the Egyptian stooped over Hanno. ‘You’ve come back to us,’ he said. ‘Good. A man who sleeps too long after a beating like that often doesn’t wake.’
Hanno glared.
‘Don’t give me that look,’ said the Egyptian reproachfully. ‘If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead by now. Raped before you died, like as not.’
Suniaton flinched, but Hanno’s fury knew no bounds. ‘Am I supposed to be grateful?’
The Egyptian squatted down alongside him. ‘Spirited, aren’t you? A different prospect to your friend.’ He nodded in approval. ‘I hope to sell you as a gladiator. You’d be wasted as an agricultural or household slave. Are you able to get up?’
Hanno let the other help him to a sitting position. A stabbing pain from his chest made him grimace in pain.
‘What is it?’
Hanno was disconcerted by the Egyptian’s concern. ‘It’s nothing. Just a couple of broken ribs.’
‘That’s all?’
‘I think so.’
The Egyptian smiled. ‘Good. I thought I’d come too late. It wouldn’t be the first time that one of Varsaco’s little games got out of hand.’
‘“Little games”?’ Suniaton asked faintly.
The Egyptian made an offhand gesture. ‘Usually, he’s content to screw whichever poor bastard takes his fancy. Several times a day, normally. As long as that’s it, I don’t mind. It doesn’t affect their sale value. After what you did, though, he would have killed you both. I don’t mind him having his fun, but there’s no point destroying valuable merchandise. That’s why you’re up here, where I sleep. Varsaco has a key to the cage, and I wouldn’t trust him not to slip a knife between your ribs one night.’
Hanno longed to wrap his fingers around the captain’s throat, choking the life out of him, ridding his face of its perpetual smug expression. It stung that their lives had been saved for purely financial reasons. Deep down, though, Hanno was unsurprised by the Egyptian’s action. He’d once seen his father stop a slave from beating a mule for much the same reason.
‘This is the best place on the ship. You’re out of the sun here, and it catches the evening breeze as well.’ The Egyptian got to his feet. ‘Make the most of it. We’re on course for Sicily, and then Italy,’ he said, disappearing from view.
‘At least in Iberia or Numidia, we might have had a chance of getting word to Carthage,’ muttered Suniaton despairingly.
Hanno’s nod was bitter. Instead, they were to be sold to their people’s worst enemies, as gladiators. ‘Melqart can’t be solely responsible for this ill fortune. There’s more to it.’ He cast his mind about, wondering why they should suffer such a terrible fate. All at once, the memory of how he had left home came crashing back. Hanno cursed. ‘I’m a fool.’
Suniaton threw him a confused look. ‘What is it?’
‘I didn’t ask for Tanit’s blessing as I walked out of the front door.’
Suniaton’s face paled. Although she was a virginal mother figure, Tanit was the most important Carthaginian deity. She was also the goddess of war. Angering her carried the risk of severe punishment. ‘It’s not a crime to forget,’ he said, before quickly adding, ‘but you could ask pardon of her anyway.’
In a cold sweat, Hanno did as his friend advised.
Great Mother, he pleaded. Forgive me. Do not forget us, please.
The next morning, Hanno had not returned home. In itself, that was not particularly unusual. But the hours passed, and still there was no sign of him. At midday, Bostar began to look worried. He paced up and down the corridor from the courtyard, checking the street for his youngest brother. By the early afternoon, he could take it no more. ‘Where is Hanno?’
‘Nursing a hangover somewhere, probably,’ Sapho growled.
Bostar pursed his lips. ‘He’s never been this late before.’
‘Maybe he heard about Father’s speech, and got even drunker than normal.’ Sapho looked at their father for approval. Surprisingly, he got none.
Malchus’ face now also registered concern. ‘You’re right, Bostar. Hanno always comes back in time for his lessons. I’d forgotten, but this afternoon, at his request, we were to discuss the battle of Ecnomus again.’
Sapho frowned. ‘He wouldn’t miss it then.’
‘Precisely.’
Suddenly, the situation felt very different.
A familiar voice cut through their dismay. ‘Malchus? Are you at home?’
All three turned to see a stout, bearded man appearing in the courtyard’s entrance. A long cream linen robe reached almost to his feet, and a headcloth concealed his hair.
Bowing, Malchus hurried forward. ‘Bodesmun. I am honoured by your presence.’
Behind him, Sapho and Bostar were also making obeisance. Eshmoun was not their family’s favoured god, but he was an important deity. His temple at the top of Byrsa Hill was the largest in Carthage, and Bodesmun was one of the senior priests there.
‘Can I offer you refreshment?’ asked Malchus. ‘Some wine or pomegranate juice? Bread and honey?’
Bodesmun waved a podgy hand in dismissal. His round, gentle face was worried. ‘Thank you, but no.’
Malchus was nonplussed. He had little in common with a peace-loving priest. ‘How can I help you?’ he enquired awkwardly.
‘It’s about Suniaton.’
Malchus’ response was instant. ‘What’s Hanno made him do?’
Bodesmun managed a weak grin. ‘It’s nothing like that. Have you seen Suni today?’
Malchus’ heart gave an involuntary leap. ‘No. I could ask you the same about Hanno.’
The smile left Bodesmun’s face. ‘He hasn’t returned yet either?’
‘No. Apparently, the tunny were running in their thousands yesterday. Any fool with a net could catch a boatload, and I’m sure they did the same. When Hanno didn’t return, I presumed they had gone out to celebrate,’ Malchus replied heavily, his imagination already running riot. ‘It’s odd that you should arrive when you did. I was just starting to get worried. Hanno has never skipped a lesson on tactics before.’
‘Suni has never missed the devotions in the temple at midday either.’
Bostar’s face fell. Even Sapho frowned.
The two older men stared at each other in disbelief. All at once, they had a great deal in common. Bodesmun was close to tears. ‘What should we do?’ he asked in a quavering voice.
Malchus refused to let the panic that had flared in his breast grow. He was a soldier. ‘There’ll be some easy explanation to this,’ he declared. ‘We might have to check every inn and whorehouse in Carthage, but we’ll find them.’
Bodesmun’s normal commanding demeanour had disappeared. He nodded meekly.
‘Sapho! Bostar!’
‘Yes, Father,’ they replied in unison, eager to be given something to do. By now, Bostar was distraught. Sapho didn’t look happy either.
‘Rouse as many soldiers as you can from the barracks,’ Malchus ordered. ‘I want the city combed from top to bottom. Concentrate on their favourite haunts around the ports. You know the ones.’
They nodded.
Despite his best efforts, Malchus’ temper frayed. ‘Go on, then! When you’re done, find me here, or in the Agora.’
Bostar turned at the entrance to the corridor. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Talk to the fishermen at the Choma,’ Malchus answered grimly. His mind was full of the storm that had battered the city the previous night. ‘I want to know if anyone saw them yesterday.’ He glanced at Bodesmun. ‘Coming?’
The priest pulled himself together. ‘Of course.’
With a sinking feeling in their bellies, they left the house.
On the Choma, Malchus and Bodesmun found scores of the fishermen who plied the waters off the city. Their day’s work was long done. With their boats tied up nearby, they lounged about, gossiping and repairing holes in their nets. Unsurprisingly, the appearance of a noble and a high-ranking priest filled them with awe. Most went their entire lives without ever being in the presence of someone so far up the social scale. Their guttural argot was also quite hard to understand. Consequently, it was hard to get a word of sense out of them.