“Yes,” said Hannibal, turning back to the prisoners. “The young man in the shiny breastplate. I doubt if a standard-bearer, or a consul’s bodyguard, could have owned such armour.”

If his consonants got any crisper, the Italians would keel over where they stood. “True,” said the Etruscan. “It was much too shiny.”

“Carved with sun rays, I think I saw," said the Campanian.

“And those bronze nipples!”

Mago let out a bark of laughter. Hannibal gave him another quelling stare, somewhat ruined by his drooping eye. “Indeed. The young man in the shiny breastplate with the sun rays and the bronze nipples. If anyone can tell me who he was, I shall be very grateful. Perhaps grateful enough to set you free.”

Of course, then, the prisoners began to call out names at random. Most of them began with Gaius or Marcus, but the consensus was that the consul Publius Cornelius Scipio had a son, also called Publius Cornelius Scipio, and that this benippled fellow sounded just like him. “Oh?” said Hannibal. “How old is the lad?”

“Can’t be past twenty,” said a Samnite.

“Or thirty.”

“More than twelve, for sure.”

“And he’s already known for his courage?”

“No, no,” said the Campanian. “Just for his breastplate. We were talking about his breastplate, weren’t we?” And as Hannibal flung away from the fence in disgust—“Can we go now?”

Chapter II, "The Man on the Elephant"

Another nugget from my new novel Hostis!

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