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 he spots two women on horseback. One of the women, riding a large grey stallion immediately gallops off into the woods. Without thinking, Sphax gives chase, but it soon becomes clear he’s met his match! She turns out to be a superb horsewoman. It should be noted that Numidians are the finest horsemen in the world, riding only fleet-footed mares, without the aid of saddles or reins. My extract begins when he’s about to give up on his quarry.
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.
Sphax had never seen skin so pale and unblemished, lips so full and generous, and all framed by lustrous raven curls that tumbled on to her shoulders. He had an irresistible urge to caress those lovely cheeks and wake her with a kiss. Removing his beaverskin cloak he placed it beneath her head as a pillow, bent over her, and waited. Gazing at such loveliness, Sphax knew he had a ridiculous smile on his face, but there was nothing he could do, he just couldn’t help himself. She began to stir. Sphax waited. Then her eyes suddenly opened and she gave out a wordless gasp of fright. The promise of those eyes was more than fulfilled; they were a rich hazel and fathomless, set below thickly arched eyebrows the colour of her hair.
For a few heartbeats they just stared at one another. Tearing himself away from those eyes he sat upright and asked in Latin if she was hurt.
‘No … I don’t think so,’ stretching her limbs a little whilst still resting her head on his cloak. ‘Am I your prisoner?’ Her voice was low and resonant, and she spoke Latin with a strange accent.
‘Maybe … it depends.’ I should be so lucky, thought Sphax. ‘I mean you no harm, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘Pity,’ she muttered in Greek under her breath, ‘I would gladly surrender to a pretty boy like you.’ That’s more like it, he thought, grinning at her and switching to the Greek tongue.
‘I am Sphax, a Numidian. My general is Hannibal, leader of the Carthaginian army that has come to destroy Rome.’ She returned his grin.
‘And you speak excellent Greek, I hear.’ She raised herself on an elbow and gazed about her. ‘Is my horse unharmed? He must have taken a blow to his hoof.’ Sphax gestured over his shoulder.
‘He’s well. Grazing with my mare. A fine stallion, lady. Where did you learn to ride like that?’
‘I have always loved horses, and learned to ride at an early age.’ With a grunt she sat upright and frowned. ‘I also know that only a Numidian could have caught me.’
‘Then you should have known it was futile to run away.’ Her lovely face came alive with a mischievous smile.
‘But I gave you a run for your purse, did I not, Numidian?’
‘You certainly did, lady, but you have not told me your name or your business near this Roman town.’
‘Neither have you! What business has a troop of Numidian cavalry with a Roman town garrisoned by Greeks from Brundisium?’
‘Greeks, you say. Not legionaries,’ his curiosity aroused. She fell silent, got to her feet and begun rearranging her tunic and dusting down her crimson cloak with the flat of her hands. Finally she gazed down at him.
‘My name is Corinna. I’m the woman of the garrison commander, Dasius the Pig,’ she said coldly. ‘Other than that, my business is my own.’
Sphax was shivering. He crawled forward to retrieve his beaverskin cloak, but all he felt was a powerful kick to his shoulder that sent him sprawling on to his back. In the next instant Corinna had drawn a dagger hidden beneath her cloak and had it pointed at his throat. ‘It seems the tables have been turned, my pretty Numidian.’
He stared at a face transformed. Still beautiful, yet all the softness had vanished from those generous lips and soft cheeks, and her eyes had darkened and narrowed.
‘Move but a finger and I swear I’ll slit your throat.’ He didn’t doubt it! Without taking her eyes off him she whistled shrilly for her stallion. Sphax heard hoof beats approaching, but not those of a stallion. ‘Now you’re going to stand, very slowly, and one false step on your part and you will feel this knife bite.’
The Winter of Winters
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!
When I’m not waging war with my pen, I like to indulge my passion for travel and hill walking, and like my hero, I too love horses. I live in Pembrokeshire, West Wales.
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