‘If we must fight them to the finish there will be a great war – the kind of war which both sides lose, a veteran of too many wars might say. If we can turn them away with words we may be spared great destruction.’

‘He is a soldier who would sue for peace. And a Roman too!’

‘The Hatti want Carthage. We know that. They want to destroy us so they can gorge on Egyptian wheat. They won’t accept peace, they won’t accept anything short of our obliteration.’

‘But it’s worth a try, brother. Talking may buy us time for the siege that is sure to come.’

‘Well, you may be right. What have we to lose? We can spare a Roman and his Northlander runt . . .’

The great men of Carthage, Nelo quickly learned, were very suspicious of their generals, even as they relied on them to fight and die on their behalf. It was the way the Carthaginian system worked, with a split of powers between the civilian and the military, neither one dominant. The Tribunal of One Hundred and Four particularly was charged with keeping the soldiers on a tight leash. In history, it seemed, it had not been unknown for generals to win famous battles, against the Romans or the Persians or the Muslims or the Mongols, only to return home to face trial for a lack of loyalty or other perceived crimes, with the penalty often being execution, which was traditionally by crucifixion. They were especially suspicious of Fabius, because he was brilliant, popular, and a Roman. But he was the best they had.

‘You may proceed, General. One of us will travel with you. But go with caution. And don’t make any promises.’

‘I understand. Come, gentlemen; come, Nelo.’

On a late spring morning the mission to the Hatti formed up outside the city gates: Fabius and his officers, one of the suffetes, a man called Carthalo, with his own advisers, and a small squad of soldiers as guard. They gathered under a banner especially made for the occasion, an ornate image of Jesus Sharruma, Son of Teshub Yahweh, the Storm God of the Hatti, with the crescent moon sigil of Baal Hammon over his head: a gesture of peace, the gods of Hattusa and Carthage intertwined. The details had been agreed by ambassadors exchanged between the two nations.

The party was slow in forming up, the horses being harnessed and saddled, a few wagons loaded with rations and water, the soldiers checking their boots. The day was fine, bright, and though the winter snow was long gone nothing but scrubby grass and weeds grew away from the roads. Another hungry summer was coming, Nelo thought gloomily.