Gisco had no way of driving the Hatti off from the seaward side of the wall, or of stopping them tunnelling. So instead he formed up his own men to dig counter-tunnels under the Hatti workings, the idea being to come up from below and attack them. Gisco joined in the digs himself, it seemed only right.

They couldn’t be sure where the Hatti were digging, and had to proceed by guesswork and surveys. Every hour or so the officers would have the men stop work, and listen for the thud and hammer of the Hatti. Gisco knew these intervals of silence would always be vivid in his memory, the gaunt, hungry men stripped to the waist in the light of the candles and oil lanterns, the muscles of their arms like knotted rope, panting, filthy, hot, hearing the scurrying of the Hatti above, like huge mice in a loft.

In the end the climax came unexpectedly.

One moment the Carthaginians were digging calmly – the next the roof fell in with a roar, and earth, broken timbers and struggling soldiers and slaves tumbled down on them. The lamps were extinguished immediately, and Gisco found himself in the pitch-dark, in a compressed mass of men, slipping on mounds of earth and rubble. And a huge, heavy man fell right on top of him, arms and legs splayed, knocking him to the ground. Gisco could smell the horse stink of the man’s sweat, and the tang of some kind of bread on his breath. The man seemed briefly stunned, shocked. The Hatti must have had no warning of the collapse.

So Gisco raised his steel dagger and slammed it into the man’s neck.

The blade scraped on bone. The man convulsed and spewed hot blood, and inadvertently butted Gisco, his forehead slamming into Gisco’s nose. Gisco’s face became a mask of blinding pain, and he swore out loud. Enraged, he hauled out his knife and dragged the blade through soft tissues and cartilage, cutting the man’s throat. The man quivered and died, not having landed a single conscious blow.

Gisco shoved him aside, and on he fought. At first, in the dark, he could only tell who was friend or foe by subtle signals, by muttered curses in an exotic language, or prayers to Teshub or Jesus. He tried to bring his men together, calling out, ‘With me, Carthaginians! With Gisco! With me!’