Hannibal: Fields of Blood by Ben Kane Page B

Their feud had been going on since they had left Hannibal’s base in southern Iberia more than a year and a half previously. It had alleviated somewhat during the elation after the victory at the Trebia, but it had soon returned. Sapho would stop at nothing to become one of Hannibal’s favoured officers. His desire for Roman blood seemed unquenchable. But Bostar’s conscience nagged at him. Sapho was still his brother. His only living brother, who had saved his life in the Alps – despite not really wanting to. Bostar had sworn to repay the debt. Until that had been achieved, he’d have to make a pretence for his father’s sake. Maybe their relationship would improve as a consequence. He pulled a weary smile. ‘I’ll talk to him, Father, I promise.’
    ‘Hanno would approve.’
    ‘He’d also like to know that we sent him on his way with a fitting sacrifice,’ said Bostar, giving the walls of Victumulae a pitiless stare.
    ‘I think we can guarantee him that,’ growled Malchus.
    Hanno woke, lying on the floor, screaming. The pain was even worse than before. A constant thrumming sensation centred in his neck. It made all his other hurts disappear. It consumed Hanno as flames eat away at dry tinder. All he wanted was for it to end. ‘Help,’ he mumbled. ‘Help.’
    A soft voice answered.
    Hanno didn’t recognise it. He opened his eyes, puzzled. Instead of the Roman officer, he saw a dark-skinned figure crouched over him, a man he vaguely recognised. He licked dry lips. ‘W-who are you?’
    ‘I’m called Bomilcar.’
    ‘Bomilcar?’ As confusion filled Hanno, the darkness took him again.
    When he awoke, he could feel something cool trickling into his mouth. Water. His eyes blinked open. Bomilcar was leaning over him, holding a cup to his lips. Hanno’s thirst was overwhelming, but terror consumed him at the thought of the agony that swallowing would cause.
    ‘You must drink,’ urged Bomilcar.
    Hanno had seen men drop from lack of water during the summers in Carthage. Since his capture, all he’d had was the few mouthfuls the officer had given him. He forced himself to take a tiny sip. The pain in his throat was extreme, but the pleasure as the liquid hit his stomach was worth it. He kept swallowing until he could take no more. The effort used up a lot of his strength. Hanno lay back on the cold stone, wondering where the officer and his two men were, but feeling too tired to care. His eyelids fluttered and closed.
    ‘Wake up! You can’t sleep. Not now.’
    Hanno felt a hand take his arm. The movement set off a fresh wave of pain in his neck. ‘Gods, that hurts! Leave me alone,’ he snarled.
    ‘If you want to live, you need to get up.’
    Bomilcar’s urgent tone sank in. Hanno eyed him askance. ‘You have a Carthaginian name.’
    ‘That’s right. I was brought here to translate what your comrade said, remember?’
    Slowly, it came back to Hanno. ‘You’re the slave?’
    A flicker of emotion. ‘Yes.’
    Suspicion filled Hanno. ‘Have they sent you to see what you can find out from me on your own?’
    Sounds from beyond the cell. A man shouting.
    Bomilcar’s gaze shot to the door. After a few heartbeats, the noise died away and he relaxed a fraction. ‘No. I’m here to get you out.’
    ‘I-I don’t understand.’
    ‘Can you sit up?’ Bomilcar extended both his hands.
    Struggling to understand, Hanno let the other help him to a sitting position. The first thing he saw was Bogu, hanging limp from his bonds. A fool could tell he was dead. Go well, thought Hanno dully. I will see you in the afterlife. His eyes flickered to the brazier, which had gone cold. Hours, maybe more must have passed. ‘Where are the Romans?’
    ‘Gone to defend the town.’
    Shock filled Hanno before a stab of hope struck home. ‘Hannibal’s army has arrived?’
    ‘Yes. The Romans marched out to meet him, but he routed them on the road. Hundreds of legionaries were killed, many of them within sight of the town.