before him. An iron cuirass decorated with gold and silver inlay protected his midriff; layered pteryges concealed his groin. Under his armour, he wore a red short-sleeved tunic and a padded jerkin, and he was armed with a stabbing sword that hung in its sheath from a baldric over his right shoulder. To either side, Bostar’s men were grinning and saluting. ‘Father,’ he said, dipping his head in respect.
‘You were a world away as I walked up,’ declared Malchus. ‘Thinking about Hanno, I’d wager.’
‘Of course.’
‘My thoughts are full of him too.’ Malchus scratched at a tight grey curl that had escaped from under his felt liner. ‘The best we can hope for is that he died bravely.’
That’s not much consolation, thought Bostar sadly, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he nodded. ‘It would be good to discover what happened to him.’
A grimace. ‘With the mood the Gauls are in after Hannibal’s speech, I wouldn’t bank on finding many Romans alive after the town falls.’
‘That was partly why I wanted to take part in the initial assault,’ whispered Bostar.
Malchus sighed. ‘You know why Hannibal sent in the Gauls first. Disobeying his orders again would not be advisable, however good your reason. The needs of the army come before our own.’
Although the sentiment was true, it was hard to accept. Bostar did his best. He was sure now that Hanno had been attempting to discover information of potential use to Hannibal. If he’d succeeded, it would have been a first step in restoring himself to favour. Instead, it was a move that had ended with his death. Now Bostar was about to lose the only chance of finding out what had happened to his younger brother. He swallowed his anger. Hannibal was their leader. He knew best. ‘Yes, Father.’
‘The gods give, and the gods take away. But at least we will have our vengeance this day.’ Malchus’ lips peeled into a snarl, and he raised his voice. ‘In order that the surrounding towns understand that resistance is futile, Hannibal has ordered that the Romans’ attempt to surrender this morning is to be ignored. Every citizen within the walls is to be killed.’
That set Bostar’s spearmen to cheering.
It wasn’t Bostar’s way to find commands of this type appealing – as Sapho did – but the thought of what Hanno might have been put through made his blood boil. He spun to regard his men. ‘The Gauls had best leave some alive for us, eh?’
‘Yes!’ They bellowed their enthusiasm. ‘Kill! Kill! Kill!’
The chant was taken up from the phalanx that stood a short distance to their right. Bostar raised a hand to the figure who stood at its head. Mutt returned the gesture. With Hanno gone, he had been given temporary command of the unit.
‘Those lads will fight you for a position on the ladders,’ said Malchus. ‘The Romans have to learn the harshest of lessons for there to be any chance of us succeeding in our mission. They won’t be won over by lenient treatment of their towns and of the prisoners we take.’
Malchus took no joy in killing civilians. Nor did Bostar, yet it had to be done. Why did Sapho have to enjoy it? he wondered.
‘That’s why Hannibal is sending in a man like Sapho in the first wave,’ said Malchus, as if reading his mind.
Bostar said nothing.
Malchus gave him a sharp look. ‘You two, eh? Always quarrelling. Hannibal knows that your skills lie elsewhere. Nor will he have forgotten how you saved his life at Saguntum. He will call on you again in the future. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t need Sapho too.’
‘I understand.’ Secretly, Bostar wished that things were different. That Sapho had been the one to have been captured and killed, not Hanno. He’d thought it at other times, but never so strongly and with so little guilt.
‘Maybe you two can see this as a way to move on. To come together a little.’
Their father had no idea of the depth of bitterness between him and Sapho, thought Bostar.
‘You were a world away as I walked up,’ declared Malchus. ‘Thinking about Hanno, I’d wager.’
‘Of course.’
‘My thoughts are full of him too.’ Malchus scratched at a tight grey curl that had escaped from under his felt liner. ‘The best we can hope for is that he died bravely.’
That’s not much consolation, thought Bostar sadly, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he nodded. ‘It would be good to discover what happened to him.’
A grimace. ‘With the mood the Gauls are in after Hannibal’s speech, I wouldn’t bank on finding many Romans alive after the town falls.’
‘That was partly why I wanted to take part in the initial assault,’ whispered Bostar.
Malchus sighed. ‘You know why Hannibal sent in the Gauls first. Disobeying his orders again would not be advisable, however good your reason. The needs of the army come before our own.’
Although the sentiment was true, it was hard to accept. Bostar did his best. He was sure now that Hanno had been attempting to discover information of potential use to Hannibal. If he’d succeeded, it would have been a first step in restoring himself to favour. Instead, it was a move that had ended with his death. Now Bostar was about to lose the only chance of finding out what had happened to his younger brother. He swallowed his anger. Hannibal was their leader. He knew best. ‘Yes, Father.’
‘The gods give, and the gods take away. But at least we will have our vengeance this day.’ Malchus’ lips peeled into a snarl, and he raised his voice. ‘In order that the surrounding towns understand that resistance is futile, Hannibal has ordered that the Romans’ attempt to surrender this morning is to be ignored. Every citizen within the walls is to be killed.’
That set Bostar’s spearmen to cheering.
It wasn’t Bostar’s way to find commands of this type appealing – as Sapho did – but the thought of what Hanno might have been put through made his blood boil. He spun to regard his men. ‘The Gauls had best leave some alive for us, eh?’
‘Yes!’ They bellowed their enthusiasm. ‘Kill! Kill! Kill!’
The chant was taken up from the phalanx that stood a short distance to their right. Bostar raised a hand to the figure who stood at its head. Mutt returned the gesture. With Hanno gone, he had been given temporary command of the unit.
‘Those lads will fight you for a position on the ladders,’ said Malchus. ‘The Romans have to learn the harshest of lessons for there to be any chance of us succeeding in our mission. They won’t be won over by lenient treatment of their towns and of the prisoners we take.’
Malchus took no joy in killing civilians. Nor did Bostar, yet it had to be done. Why did Sapho have to enjoy it? he wondered.
‘That’s why Hannibal is sending in a man like Sapho in the first wave,’ said Malchus, as if reading his mind.
Bostar said nothing.
Malchus gave him a sharp look. ‘You two, eh? Always quarrelling. Hannibal knows that your skills lie elsewhere. Nor will he have forgotten how you saved his life at Saguntum. He will call on you again in the future. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t need Sapho too.’
‘I understand.’ Secretly, Bostar wished that things were different. That Sapho had been the one to have been captured and killed, not Hanno. He’d thought it at other times, but never so strongly and with so little guilt.
‘Maybe you two can see this as a way to move on. To come together a little.’
Their father had no idea of the depth of bitterness between him and Sapho, thought Bostar.
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