BOOK DESCRIPTION
The Winter of Winters 218 BC. Hannibal’s exhausted army staggers down from the last Alpine pass like a rabble of half-starved savages, the remnants of a once magnificent army that had set out from the Rhodanus with such hope. Now there is no way back. With the legions of Consul Publius Scipio closing fast, Carthage needs its Gaulish allies like never before. But where are the Insubres? Where are the Boii? Where are the thousands of warriors pledged by solemn oath? In the maelstrom of battle, Sphax, nephew of Hannibal, forges a reputation as the scourge of Rome. But will his ingrained recklessness and quest for honour set him at odds with the forbidding genius of his uncle? Only one thing is certain in this winter of winters, a great battle is coming that will decide the fates of Rome and Carthage.
My hero, Sphax, and his Numidian eshrin (a company of 30 cavalrymen) are on a scouting mission to a small Roman town called Clastidium when my extract begins. It should be noted that Numidians are the finest horsemen in the world, riding only fleetfooted mares, without the aid of saddles or reins.
Nudging Dido around to face the way they’d come, he saw a strange sight. Not more than fifty paces behind them were two women on horseback. One was wearing a sky blue stola beneath a crimson riding cloak, sitting motionless astride a huge grey stallion, the other was a Nubian, clad in palla-grey on her piebald mare. For a few heartbeats they just stared at one another. Then crimson-cloak dug her knees into the stallion and veered off at speed into the woodland , whilst the Nubian headed off in the opposite direction.
Without a moment’s hesitation Sphax gave chase to the stallion and plunged into the woods to his left. The beech and chestnut trees were spaced widely enough apart to enable both horses to gallop at full stretch, although at breakneck speed Sphax soon discovered he needed all his wits about him to avoid calamity. A low branch and then a false stride as Dido’s hoof caught an upturned root almost unhorsed him. The ground was gently falling away downhill, and at a thunderous gallop, a stallion would always have the advantage over a mare, and crimson-cloak was making the most of it, pulling away from him with every stride. Bent low, balanced perfectly over the stallion’s neck with cloak billowing in the wind , she was riding as Numidians were taught to ride, without reins, guiding by subtle touches from either knee or the palms of hands on the animal’s neck. But crimson-cloak was doing far more than that – weaving skilfully through the treesshe was continually feinting a change of direction to left or right, so that Sphax found himself guessing and having to constantly check Dido’s stride.
When he saw they were heading for a wide stream in the woodland floor his heart leapt. She might ride well, but few horsemen, let alone a woman, had the skill to jump. Now he would have her! A quick scan ahead told him there was only one place a clear jump might be attempted, and that was to the left. Anticipating her change of direction gained him half a stride, but there was no slackening of the stallion’s pace, which could mean only one thing. Crimson-cloak was going to risk the jump.
His heart was in his mouth as he watched. Of course he wanted to catch her. She’d thrown down a challenge. But she was no enemy, just an innocent woman out for a ride who was doing her best to avoid him. Yet a perilous leap across a stream as broad as this could prove fatal for rider or horse.
His concerns were misplaced. Timing her approach perfectly, she sailed high over the stream’s bubbling waters, landing so lightly on the far bank that not half a stride of momentum was lost by the leap.
Sphax was mightily impressed. Now he and Dido had to be on their mettle. It needed a big jump. He was relieved when the mare made it across. After he’d landed, rather heavily if he was honest, he caught sight of crimson-cloak turning around to check on her pursuer. He could have sworn he heard her laugh.
The chase continued, but now steeply uphill, and this is where Dido came into her own, being lighter, more agile and with a well of stamina. He sensed the stallion was flagging. Crimson-cloak was having to use her hands and knees more frequently to encourage the stallion onwards, and Sphax was definitely gaining. At one point the stallion stumbled on a bare root and lost a precious stride. Sphax dug his knees into Dido’s flanks and she surged forward so that he could almost reach out and touch his quarry’s cloak. But with his next breath he was cursing his luck. They suddenly emerged from the trees into open fields, scattering goats as the two horses thundered by. Everywhere looked downhill from here, and Sphax realised he now stood little chance of catching her. As they entered yet more woodland at the far end of the field, he began easing Dido’s pace and considered giving up on what had now become a fruitless chase. But then she made her first and only mistake. Jumping the trunk of a fallen tree that lay across her path she mistimed her approach, leaving it half a stride too late. Clipping a hoof on the way over the stallion landed heavily, tossing the rider from her saddle like a bundle of rags.
He brought Dido to a halt and ran over to where she’d fallen. Kneeling beside her prone body he gently turned her over and pulled back her hood. She was out cold, badly winded, her breathing shallow, but other than that he could see no obvious injury. He found it almost impossible to stop himself examining that face. Her eyes were closed, but even without the hidden promise of those eyes, the woman was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
AUTHOR BIO
Robert M. Kidd When Cato the Censor demanded that ‘Carthage must be destroyed,’ Rome did just that. In 146 BC, after a three year siege, Carthage was raised to the ground, its surviving citizens sold into slavery and the fields where this once magnificent city had stood, ploughed by oxen. Carthage was erased from history. That’s why I’m a novelist on a mission! I want to set the historical record straight. Our entire history of Hannibal’s wars with Rome is nothing short of propaganda, written by Greeks and Romans for their Roman clients. It intrigues me that Hannibal took two Greek scholars and historians with him on campaign, yet their histories of Rome’s deadliest war have never seen the light of day. My hero, Sphax the Numidian, tells a different story!
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