Ben Kane - Hannibal - Enemy of Rome

Finally, when the muscles in his arms were trembling with exhaustion, Hanno stopped. Without looking up, he knew that their position would have changed little. For every three strokes’ progress, the current carried them at least two further out to sea. ‘Well?’ he shouted. ‘Can you see anything?’

‘No,’ Suniaton replied grimly. ‘Move over. It’s my turn, and this is our best chance.’

Our last chance, Hanno thought, gazing at the darkening sky.

Gingerly, they exchanged places on the little wooden thwarts that were the boat’s only fittings. Thanks to the mass of slippery fish underfoot, it was even more difficult than usual. While his friend laboured at the oars, Hanno strained for a glimpse of land over the waves. Neither spoke. There was no point. The rain was now drumming down on their backs, combining with the wind’s noise to form a shrieking cacophony that made normal speech impossible. Only the sturdy construction of their boat had prevented them from capsizing thus far.

At length, his energy spent, Suniaton shipped the oars. He looked at Hanno. There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Hanno shook his head once.

‘It’s supposed to be the summer!’ Suniaton cried. ‘Gales like this shouldn’t happen without warning.’

‘There would have been signs,’ Hanno snapped back. ‘Why do you think there are no other boats out here? They must have headed for the shore when the wind began to get up.’

Suniaton flushed and hung his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘It’s my fault. I should never have taken Father’s wine.’

Hanno gripped his friend’s knee. ‘Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t force me to drink it. That was my choice.’

Suniaton managed a half-smile. That was, until he looked down. ‘No!’

Hanno followed his gaze and saw the tunny floating around his feet. They were shipping water, and enough of it to warrant immediate action. Trying not to panic, he began throwing the precious fish overboard. Survival was far more important than money. With the floor clear, he soon found a loose nail in one of the planks. Removing one of his sandals, he used the iron-studded sole to hammer the nail partially home, thereby reducing the influx of seawater. Fortunately, there was a small bucket on board, containing spare pieces of lead for the net. Grabbing it, Hanno began bailing hard. To his immense relief, it didn’t take long before he’d reduced the water to an acceptable level.

A loud rumble of thunder overhead nearly deafened him.

Suniaton moaned with fear, and Hanno jerked upright.

The sky overhead was now a menacing black colour, and in the depths of the clouds a flickering yellow-white colour presaged lightning. The waves were being whipped into a frenzy by the wind, which was growing stronger by the moment. The storm was approaching its peak. More water slopped into the boat, and Hanno redoubled his efforts with the bucket. Any chance of rowing back to Carthage was long gone. They were going one direction. East. Into the middle of the Mediterranean. He tried not to let his panic show.

‘What’s going to happen to us?’ Suniaton asked plaintively.

Realising that his friend was seeking reassurance, Hanno tried to think of an optimistic answer, but couldn’t. The only outcome possible was an early meeting for them both with Melqart, the marine god.

In his palace at the bottom of the sea.

Near Capua, Campania

Quintus woke soon after dawn, when the first rays of sunlight crept through the window. Never one to linger in bed, the sixteen-year-old threw off his blanket. Wearing only a licium, or linen undergarment, he padded to the small shrine in the far corner of his room. Excitement coursed through him. Today he would lead a bear hunt for the first time. It was not long until his birthday, and Fabricius, his father, wanted him to mark his transition to manhood in fitting fashion. ‘Assuming the toga is all well and good,’ he’d said the night before, ‘but you have Oscan blood in your veins too. What better way to prove one’s courage than by killing the biggest predator in Italy?’

Quintus knelt before the altar. Closing his eyes, he sent up his usual prayers requesting that he and his family remain healthy and prosperous. Then he added several more. That he would be able to find a bear’s trail, and not lose it. That his courage would not fail him when it came to confronting the beast. That his spear thrust would be swift and true.

‘Don’t worry, brother,’ came a voice from behind him. ‘Today will go well.’

Surprised, Quintus turned to regard his sister, who was peering around the half-open door. Aurelia was almost three years younger than he, and loved her sleep. ‘You’re up early,’ he said with an indulgent smile.

She yawned, running a hand through her dense black hair, a longer version of his own. Sharing straight noses, slightly pointed chins and grey eyes, they were clearly siblings. ‘I couldn’t sleep, thinking about your hunt.’

‘Are you worried for me?’ he teased, glad to be distracted from his own concerns.

Aurelia came a little further into the room. ‘Of course not. Well, a little. I’ve prayed to Diana, though. She will guide you,’ she declared solemnly.

‘I know,’ Quintus replied, expressing a confidence that he did not entirely feel. Bowing to the figures on the altar, he rose. Ducking his head into the bronze ewer that stood by the bed, he rubbed the water from his face and shoulders with a piece of linen. ‘I’ll tell you all about it this evening.’ He shrugged on a short-sleeved tunic, and then sat to lace up his sandals.

She frowned. ‘I want to see it for myself.’

‘Women don’t go hunting.’

‘It’s so unfair,’ she protested.

‘Many things are unfair,’ Quintus answered. ‘You have to accept that.’

‘But you taught me how to use a sling.’

‘Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,’ Quintus muttered. Much to his surprise, Aurelia had proved to be a deadly shot, which had naturally re-doubled her desire to partake of forbidden activities. ‘We’ve managed to keep our secrets safe so far, but imagine Mother’s reaction if she found out.’

‘You’re on the brink of womanhood,’ said Aurelia, mimicking Atia, their mother. ‘Such behaviour does not befit a young lady. It must come to an immediate end.’

‘Precisely,’ Quintus replied, ignoring her scowl. ‘Never mind what she’d say if she knew you were riding a horse.’ He didn’t want to lose his favourite companion, but this matter was beyond his control. ‘That’s how life is for women.’

‘Cooking. Weaving. Taking care of the garden. Supervising the slaves. It’s so boring,’ Aurelia retorted hotly. ‘Not like hunting or learning to use a sword.’

‘It’s not as if you’re strong enough to wield something like a spear anyway.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Aurelia rolled up one sleeve of her nightdress and flexed her biceps. She smiled at his surprise. ‘I’ve been lifting stones like you do.’

‘Eh?’ Quintus’ jaw dropped further. Keen to get as fit as possible, he’d been doing extra training in the woods above the villa. He’d clearly failed to conceal his tracks. ‘You’ve been spying on me? And copying me?’

She grinned with delight. ‘Of course. Once my lessons and duties are over, it’s easy enough to slip away without being noticed.’

Quintus shook his head. ‘Determined, aren’t you?’ Persuading her to give it all up would be harder than he had thought. He was glad that the duty wouldn’t fall to him. Guiltily, Quintus remembered hearing his parents talking about how it would soon be time to find her a husband. He knew how Aurelia would take that announcement. Badly.