Hannibal: Clouds of War (2 page)

‘Of course, sir. I grew up on my father’s tales of it.’

‘Did he ever tell you of the occasions when the Roman fleets had been sunk, and their treasuries were empty?’

Sapho flushed a little, remembering. ‘Yes, sir.’

Hanno could recall the story too.

‘Any normal people would have recognised defeat after such major disasters. Instead, the Roman nobles sold their own properties to raise money for the construction of new ships. The war went on, because the stubborn bastards would not admit that they had been beaten. And we all know what happened at the end of that conflict.’

Angry murmurs, mention of reparations and territories lost.

‘The Romans have never been vanquished as they were here, though, sir,’ said Sapho.

‘True,’ admitted Hannibal. ‘And therefore my hope and expectation is that they will sue for peace. With that in mind, Carthalo’ – here he pointed to one of his senior cavalry officers – ‘will tomorrow lead an embassy to Rome, there to deliver terms to the Senate.’

This might work.
‘What terms, sir?’ asked Hanno.

‘Rome will recognise the honour and power of Carthage. It will return to us Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica, and acknowledge our pre-eminence in the seas west of those islands. If the Republic does not accept these terms, then, as the gods are my witness, it will see enough death and destruction visited upon its citizens to make the battle here look like a skirmish. This, while the non-Roman peoples who come over to us shall live under our protection.’

Maharbal shook his head, but many officers exchanged pleased looks. ‘Those demands are reasonable enough,’ said Bostar. ‘Rome will see that, surely?’

They had been releasing captured non-Romans for a good while, but Hanno hadn’t fully appreciated Hannibal’s purpose before. ‘You want to break up the Republic, sir?’

‘I do. It isn’t that long since peoples such as the Samnites, Oscans and Bruttians were conquered or came under Roman influence. I want them to seize their liberty with both hands. Allied to Carthage, they will be free to determine their own futures. Few of you will know, but there have already been approaches from leaders of cities such as Capua about severing their links with Rome.’

That went down well with the officers.

Sapho looked disappointed, but Hanno didn’t notice. Defeating Rome was what he had always craved, but he had another reason for wanting the war to be over. Quintus’ sister, Aurelia, had flashed into his mind. If the fighting ended, he would be able to seek her out. A burning hope lit in Hanno’s heart. Let Rome see that it is beaten, he prayed. Let there be peace.

‘Would it not be better, sir, to be more aggressive? Why not let me ride ahead with our cavalry?’ asked Maharbal, his expression eager. ‘The dogs will only hear of our approach after we have arrived. I could deliver your message with thousands of horsemen at my back. You and the rest of the army can follow on behind. If the Romans have not agreed to the terms by then, your appearance would make up their minds.’

‘I agree, sir,’ said Sapho. ‘We should march on Rome.’

‘
Should?
’ Hannibal studied Sapho for a moment, and his lips thinned. Sapho met his stare at first, but he couldn’t keep it up. Hannibal’s face softened as he cast his gaze at Maharbal. ‘My mind is made up. Carthalo and his companions will carry my words to Rome. The troops need rest, and so do your riders. I am going to give it to them.’

‘Truly the gods do not grant everything to the same man,’ said Maharbal sombrely. ‘You know how to win a victory, Hannibal, but you do not how to use one.’

PART ONE

Chapter I

Two and a half years later …
Apulia, late winter

IT WAS A
fresh morning. A light, cool breeze carried in from the east, where the sea lay, one hundred stadia away. The worst of the winter weather had gone, for which Hanno was grateful. Over the previous few months, the temperatures had not often been harsh, but he still missed the warmth of Carthage, his home. The sun’s heat on his face, and signs that the plants were beginning to grow again, would be welcome.

As usual, he found Muttumbaal among the Libyans of his phalanx. If his second-in-command wasn’t sleeping, he was with their men. They were his entire world, for he had neither wife nor family, and he was assiduous in their care. No one had ever called Mutt by his full cumbersome name, except perhaps his mother, thought Hanno wryly. To the world, his dour subordinate was just known as Mutt. He was a damn fine officer, and had covered for Hanno on innumerable occasions. Saved his life more than once too.

Mutt was drilling the men on the open ground beyond the camp perimeter. It was a habit that Hanno continued to find amusing. They were some of Hannibal’s most hard-bitten veterans, who knew their craft inside out. Career soldiers, they had travelled from Carthage to Iberia, from there to Gaul, over the Alps and into Italy. They had fought – and won – more battles for Hannibal than anyone could remember. Yet that didn’t stop Mutt from insisting on regular drill and marching sessions. ‘Let them sit on their arses for too long, sir, and they’ll get rusty,’ he’d said when Hanno had questioned the tactic. Over time, Hanno had had to admit that Mutt’s reasoning was sound, given the existence that they had all lived since Cannae. There was still occasional fighting, but much of their routine was to stay in camp. Yes, there were marches to defend a pro-Carthaginian town or city from a Roman army that was threatening it, but their fearsome reputation meant that this tactic usually made the legions withdraw without a fight. Large swathes of southern Italy were now on their side, which meant that combat had become less common. Frustratingly, that didn’t mean that the war had been won. Far from it, Hanno thought bitterly. Plenty of Rome’s allies remained loyal, even when their territory was surrounded by those friendly with Carthage.

Capua was allied to Hannibal, but nearby towns were not. He pictured Quintus’ sister Aurelia, how she’d been when he had last seen her near Capua, and his heart squeezed. There had been no chance to find her since, and there probably never would be. He swallowed down his feelings. It was as well, for she would have forgotten him by now.

Spotting a dust-covered rider urging his horse towards the camp, his mood soured a little more. ‘Who’ll be begging for help this time?’ he said to no one in particular.

Mutt heard him, and wandered over. ‘It’ll be the same old story, sir. “A Roman army is at our gates. We need your assistance. Come with all haste.”’

Hanno laughed, before saying something that he would admit to few others. ‘Sometimes it seems as if Cannae wasn’t enough. If only their new legions would take us on. We’d kick their arses.’

Mutt hawked and spat. ‘I’d be surprised if they’re that stupid again, sir.’

Mutt was right, thought Hanno angrily. Since Cannae, their enemies had recruited and trained more than ten new legions. They operated in consular-sized forces of two legions throughout the peninsula – substantial enough to be militarily potent without losing the ability to be manoeuvrable and fast-moving – concentrating on the defeat of cities and peoples who had deserted the Republic.

‘Cannae taught them a real lesson, sir.’

‘They’re scheming dogs.’ Hanno knew all too well how it worked. If Hannibal tried to face these legions, or to draw them into pursuit, they backed away or retreated into the mountains where the huge Carthaginian superiority in cavalry was negated. Not for the first time, Hanno remembered Maharbal’s warning just after Cannae. Had their general made the wrong decision when he decided not to march on Rome? Hanno wasn’t sure, nor would he mention it to a soul other than Mutt or Bostar. As well as feeling disloyal by discussing it, no one really knew the answer. It was impossible to predict what might have happened. Obsessing about the past did nobody any good, he decided. They had to deal with the present. ‘We’re hardly doing badly. Hannibal is undefeated; at no time since Cannae has it looked any other way.’

‘’Scuse me, sir.’ Mutt had noticed something untoward. He strode towards the men, shouting orders.

Hanno fell back to brooding. In Iberia, the situation was not as good as it had been. A number of Carthaginian defeats had seen many tribes changing sides to support Rome. Happily, Sicily was another story. There Carthage had new, powerful supporters. Hippocrates and Epicydes, two Syracusan nobles who had fought with Hannibal, and been subsequently sent by him to the island to foment unrest, had of recent days seized control of the great fortress of Syracuse. This advance – upsetting the city’s fifty-year status as an ally of Rome – increased the likelihood of further help from Carthage on the island. Hanno prayed that the Syracusan and Carthaginian troops on Sicily would be victorious. That outcome would see Hannibal receive reinforcements, which would be warmly received.

The war has taken us from one end of Italy to the other, thought Hanno. His right hand strayed to his neck, the fingers slipping under the cloth that hid his scar from the world. He’d received it as a prisoner in Victumulae, thousands of stadia to the north. Pera, the Roman officer who had given it to him, had been a sadistic bastard. No doubt the sewer rat had been killed in the sack of the town, but Hanno wished that he could have personally seen him on his way to the underworld. Bomilcar, the Carthaginian who had saved Hanno’s life, had been assigned to a different Libyan phalanx afterwards. He had survived Trasimene and Cannae, and the campaigning since. Hanno felt a stab of guilt that he hadn’t been better at keeping in touch. I’ll seek him out tonight, he decided. Bring along a jug of decent wine.

Hanno tramped over to join Mutt. The pair spent the next couple of hours sweating, shouting at the men and getting involved in the more complicated manoeuvres. By the time that they had finished, Hanno had forgotten all about Aurelia and his concerns with the campaign. ‘Mutt, come with me this evening,’ he said as they led the soldiers back to the camp.

‘Where, sir?’

After this long, the honorific still jarred. Hanno had told his second-in-command on numerous occasions not to bother with it, but Mutt was intransigent. ‘The men need to know that there’s a difference between you and me, sir, just as there is between me and them,’ he had replied. Mutt was as stubborn as a mule, so Hanno said nothing.

‘I want to find Bomilcar. The man who got me out of the cell in Victumulae,’ he explained when Mutt’s face remained blank. ‘I haven’t seen him in months. It’d be good to have a few cups of wine with him. I would appreciate your company. He would too.’

‘Aye, sir, that sounds—’ Mutt broke off as a troop of chattering Numidians cantered past, as ever clad in nothing but their sleeveless tunics. ‘—good,’ he finished.

‘Excellent.’ Hanno clapped him on the shoulder. He could feel a fine session looming. On the rare occasions that he’d persuaded Mutt to drink with him, things had got very messy indeed. It didn’t matter if that happened, though. Life was quiet at the moment. No one more senior would care if he spent the following day in his blankets, recovering.

It was then that he caught sight of Sapho walking towards them. Hanno’s mood dampened. No one more senior would disapprove perhaps, but his oldest brother, who was of equivalent rank, undoubtedly would. Since their youth, Sapho had liked to act as if he were Hanno’s moral guardian. ‘Not a word about tonight,’ he hissed.

Mutt knew Hanno well enough. ‘My lips are sealed, sir.’

‘Ho, brother!’ Sapho called out. ‘Well met.’

‘Well met indeed.’ Hanno pulled a smile that was only half fake. Some of the time, he got on with Sapho. To his endless annoyance, he could never quite predict which brother would greet him: the snide, ruthless Sapho who had – probably, although Hanno had no proof – considered letting him drown in a mud pool in Etruria, or the jovial, considerate Sapho who brought wine and told him what Hannibal was planning, as had happened before Trasimene.

‘Training your men?’ Sapho fell into step beside him.

‘Indeed.’

‘Mine are on a hundred stadia run with my second-in-command.’

Hanno heard his soldiers’ dismayed mutters as Sapho’s words carried over his shoulder. ‘Any special reason for that?’

‘They’re getting wine bellies from lying about, doing nothing but drink. It’s time that they got back into shape.’

A devilment took Hanno, and he poked at his brother’s stomach, which wasn’t as flat as it had been. ‘Shouldn’t you be with them?’ He heard Mutt’s snort quickly converted to a cough.

Sapho shoved back at him, annoyed. ‘I’m as fit as I ever was, you cheeky pup!’

‘Of course you are,’ said Hanno. I shouldn’t have said a word, he thought. It’s not worth the aggravation. To his relief, Sapho let it drop.

They made idle chitchat on the walk back, passing through the large gateway that granted access through the tall earthen fortifications. Relieved that Sapho appeared not to have sought him out for any particular reason, Hanno began to relax. He was beginning to consider the idea of inviting Sapho along that night – surprising himself – when he spotted Bostar with a couple of other officers, coming their way. His heart sank. Any time his two older brothers got together, there was potential for trouble.