Hannibal Enemy of Rome (46 page)

Sapho’s second foe was a bellowing bull of a man with a thick neck and hugely muscled arms. To Sapho’s shock, the triangular point of his enemy’s spear punched clean through the bronze and leather facing of his shield and smacked into his cuirass. A ball of agony exploded from Sapho’s lower belly, and he reeled several steps backwards, dropping his sword. Fortunately, the soldier behind was ready, and leaned forward, thereby preventing Sapho from falling over. Jammed in Sapho’s shield, the tribesman’s weapon was no longer usable. Quick as a flash, however, he ripped out a long dagger and reached over the top of Sapho’s shield to lunge at his throat. Desperately, Sapho jerked his head backwards. Slash after slash followed, and he knew that it would only be a moment before his throat was ripped open by the wickedly wielded blade.

It was with the utmost relief that Sapho saw a spear come in from the side to pierce the warrior’s throat. It stabbed right through, emerging scarlet-tipped from the right side of his neck. A dreadful, choking sound left the Gaul’s gaping mouth. It was followed by a tide of bright red blood, which spattered the front of Sapho’s shield and, below, his feet. The spear was withdrawn, letting the dead warrior collapse on top of Sapho’s first opponent.

‘Gods above,’ Sapho muttered. He’d never been so close to death. He turned his head to regard his saviour. ‘Thank you.’

The spearman, a gap-toothed youth, grinned. ‘You’re welcome, captain. Are you all right?’

Sapho reached a hand under the bottom edge of his cuirass, which had a great dent in it. He probed upwards, wincing at the pain this caused. When he pulled out his fingers, he was relieved to see that there was no blood on them. ‘I seem to be,’ he answered with relief. He stooped to pick up his sword. Returning his gaze to the fight, Sapho was gratified to see that the Vocontii charge had smashed apart against the phalanx’s solid wall of shields. He wasn’t surprised. While a few of his men might have been killed, it would take more than a charge by disorganised tribesmen to break them. It was time to lead a counter charge, thought Sapho. All reason left him, however, as he saw the wall-eyed warrior no more than twenty steps away, stooping to kill an injured Libyan even as he himself retreated. Dropping his useless shield, Sapho leaped forward. His desire to kill the deceitful tribesman gave him extra speed and he had covered maybe a third of the ground between them before the other even saw him. The warrior took one look and fled for his life. So did his comrades.

‘Come back, you fucking coward!’ Sapho screamed. He was oblivious to the fact that the phalanx’s front-rankers had followed him. He increased his pace to a sprint, aware that if the other reached the gap in the rock, any chance of catching him would disappear. It was no good. The warrior seemed to have winged heels. But then fate intervened, and Sapho’s enemy tripped on a protruding rock. He stumbled and fell to one knee. Sapho was on him like a dog cornering a rat. Instead of killing the tribesman, he smashed the hilt of his sword across the back of his head. Straightening, Sapho was able to slash another warrior’s arm as he ran past. With a howl, the man blundered into the fissure and out of sight.

‘Don’t go in there!’ Sapho shouted as the first of his spearmen arrived and made for the gap in the rock. ‘It’s a death trap.’

The soldiers reluctantly obeyed.

‘I want twenty men stationed right here to make sure they don’t try a counter attack.’ Sapho kicked the wall-eyed warrior, who groaned. ‘Someone, pick up this sack of shit. Find any of his compatriots who are alive, and tie them all up.’

‘What are you going to do with them, sir?’ asked an officer.

‘You’ll see,’ Sapho replied with a wolfish smile. ‘First, though, we need to see what’s going on behind us.’

By the time they had reached the rear of the phalanx, the Vocontii who had been attacking there were gone. The corpses of fifteen or more warriors were sprawled on the ground, but that was of little satisfaction to Sapho. In this small section alone, at least fifty Carthaginian soldiers had been critically injured or crushed to death. Just beyond, so had the same number of mules and cavalry mounts. The ground was covered with blood, and the mangled bodies of men and beasts lay everywhere. The screaming of the injured, especially those who had been trapped when the boulders finally came to rest, was awful. Sapho closed his ears to their clamour, and concentrated on finding out what else had happened. Bostar was among the officers who reported to him.

Panicked by the falling rocks, an elephant had dashed three men to death with its trunk, before charging backwards into the column, there to cause untold damage. Fortunately, its companions had been kept calm by their mahouts. The most frustrating discovery was that the Vocontii had stolen dozens of mules, leading them up the same precipitous paths that had served to launch their daring attack. They had even seized some captives. Despite this, Sapho knew that there was no point in pursuing the raiders. Moving on was more important than trying to save a few unfortunate soldiers. Once the dead and the blocks of stone had been rolled out of the way, the column would have to resume its advance.

Before that, however, there was something that Sapho had to do.

He made his way back to where the Vocontii prisoners were. With the ten hostages, they had twenty-two in total, sitting together and surrounded by a ring of spearmen. The only one who did not look fearful was the wall-eyed warrior, who spat at Sapho as he approached.

‘Shall we execute them, sir?’ asked an officer eagerly.

An angry mutter of agreement went up from the Libyans.

‘No,’ Sapho replied. He ignored his men’s shocked response. ‘Tell them that despite their brethren’s treachery, they are not to be killed,’ he said to the interpreter. As his words were translated, Sapho was gratified to see traces of hope appear in some warriors’ faces. He waited for a moment, enjoying his power.

‘Please, sir, reconsider!’ an officer enjoined. ‘They can’t go unpunished. Think of our casualties.’

Sapho’s lips peeled into a snarl. ‘Did I say that they would go unpunished?’

The officer looked confused. ‘No, sir.’

‘We shall do to them what they did to us,’ Sapho pronounced. ‘Do not translate that,’ he snapped at the interpreter. ‘I want them to watch, and wonder.’

‘What do you want us to do, sir?’

‘Tie the shitbags in a line. Next, get one of the elephants. Use it to shift a large rock. A rock so big that no men could ever move it.’

A slow smile spread across the officer’s face. ‘To dash out their brains, sir?’

‘No,’ reproached Sapho. ‘We’re not going to kill them, remember? I want the boulders dropped on their legs.’

‘And then, sir?’

Sapho shrugged cruelly. ‘We’ll just leave them there.’

The officer grinned. ‘It’ll be dark before their scumbag companions can return. They’ll be begging for death by that stage, sir.’

‘Precisely. They might think before attacking us a second time.’ Sapho clapped his hands. ‘See to it!’

He watched as the Vocontii prisoners were forced to lie down by a rocky outcrop. Sapho intervened to make sure that the wall-eyed warrior was last in the line. There was a short delay as an elephant was brought up from its position with the baggage train. Sapho waited with the interpreter by the first of the warriors, whose eyes were now bulging with fear.

Sapho looked up at the mahout. ‘Can you shift that boulder there?’ He pointed.

‘Yes, sir. Where?’

‘On to these men’s legs. But they mustn’t be killed.’

The mahout’s eyes widened. ‘I think so, sir.’

‘Get on with it, then.’

‘Sir.’ Leaning forward, the mahout whispered in his huge mount’s ear before tapping it behind the ear with his hooked staff. The elephant lumbered up to the stone that Sapho had indicated, and gripped the top of it with its trunk. There was a moment’s silence before the slab began to move out of its resting place. The mahout muttered another command, and the elephant stepped up to rest the front of its head against the boulder,
preventing it from picking up speed. Slowly, the beast reversed towards the prisoners, controlling its load’s progress down the slight slope. Realising at last what was about to happen, the Vocontii warriors began to wail in fear.

Sapho laughed. He scanned the heights above, and fancied he saw movement. ‘Yes, you fuckers,’ he screamed. ‘Look! We’re about to give your friends a dose of their own medicine.’

Several steps from the captives, the mahout made the elephant pause. He looked at Sapho questioningly.

‘Do it.’

A murmured word in its ear, and the elephant moved aside, letting the stone roll on to the first three warrior’s legs. Strangled screams shredded the air. The sound was met by an immense cheer from the hundreds of watching Carthaginian soldiers. This, in their eyes, was vengeance for their dead comrades. Meanwhile, the tribesmen’s companions struggled uselessly against their bonds, which had been pegged to the ground.

‘Tell them that this is Hannibal’s retribution for double-crossing us,’ Sapho thundered.

Pale-faced, the interpreter did as he was told. His words were met by a gabble of terrified voices. ‘Some are saying that they didn’t know that we would be attacked,’ he muttered.

‘Ha! They’re liars, or fools, or both.’

‘They’re asking just to be killed.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Sapho waved a hand at the mahout. ‘Do it again. Don’t stop.’

Rock after rock was lowered into place, smashing the legs of all but the last Vocontii warrior. When the elephant had manoeuvred the final piece of stone into place, Sapho ordered the mahout to wait. Clicking his fingers to make sure that the interpreter followed him, he made his way to where the wall-eyed warrior lay. Purple-faced with rage, the tribesman spat a string of obscenities.

‘Don’t bother,’ said Sapho with a sneer as the interpreter began to speak. ‘I know what he’s saying. Tell him that this is repayment for his deceit, and that a coward like him will never reach the warriors’ paradise. Instead, his soul will rot for all eternity in hell.’ He eyed the mahout. ‘When he’s finished, let the stone fall.’

The elephant driver nodded.

‘What in the name of all the gods is going on?’ Somehow Bostar’s voice penetrated the cacophony of screams echoing throughout the narrow gorge.

The interpreter stopped speaking. The mahout sat motionless atop his beast. Stiff-backed with fury, Sapho turned to find his brother regarding him with an outraged expression. He inclined his head mockingly. ‘I’m punishing these worthless whoresons. What does it look like?’

Bostar’s face twisted. ‘Could you think of a crueller way to kill them?’

‘Several ways, actually,’ Sapho replied amiably. ‘They all took too long, though. This method might be crude, but it’s effective. It will also send a strong message to the rest of their pox-ridden, louse-infested tribe that to fuck with us carries a heavy price.’

‘You’ve already made your point!’ Bostar indicated the line of screaming men. ‘Why not just stab this man in the throat and have done?’

‘Because this one’ - and Sapho kicked the wall-eyed warrior in the head - ‘is their leader. I’ve saved him until last, so he could watch his comrades suffer, and anticipate his own fate.’

Bostar recoiled. ‘You’re sick,’ he spat. ‘I command you to halt this outrage.’

‘You might outrank me still,
brother
, but Hannibal entrusted the vanguard to me, not you,’ Sapho said in a loud voice. ‘I’m sure that our general would love to hear why you countermanded his orders.’

‘Hannibal ordered you to kill any prisoners like this?’ Bostar muttered in disbelief.

‘He said I was to do as I saw fit,’ snarled Sapho. ‘Which I am doing. Now stand back!’ He was delighted when, with slumped shoulders, Bostar obeyed. Sapho looked down for a final time at the wall-eyed warrior, who tried to spit at him again. Inspiration seized Sapho and he drew his dagger. Kneeling down, he shoved the tip into the man’s right eye socket. With a savage wrench, he hooked out the eyeball. His victim’s courage disappeared and a shriek of pure agony ripped free of his throat. Wiping his bloody hands on the warrior’s tunic, Sapho stood. ‘I’m leaving him one eye so that he can watch the mightiest army in the world pass by,’ he said to the interpreter. ‘Tell him that.’ He glanced at Bostar. ‘Watch and learn, little brother. This is how enemies of Carthage should be treated.’ Without waiting for a response, Sapho jerked his head at the mahout. ‘Finish it.’

Full of impotent anguish, Bostar walked away. He was unwilling to watch. Unfortunately, he couldn’t block out the screams. What had his older brother become? he wondered. Why was Hanno the one who had been carried out to sea?

For the first time, Bostar allowed himself that thought without guilt.