Then the Hatti workings collapsed altogether, with another rush of earth. The pit was opened up to the night sky, where a half-moon hung, tinted orange by the dusty air of this dry summer. Even by moonlight the men looked alike, all half-naked, none of them wearing uniforms or much in the way of armour. It didn’t help that such a variety of races fought on either side, the Carthaginians with their Libyan levies and Iberans and Balearic herdsmen, and on the Hatti side Scand. They were men from across the known world dumped in a pit to struggle for their lives, like playthings of some malevolent god.

But gradually, Gisco perceived, the Carthaginians were prevailing. They had had the marginal advantage of knowing what to expect; it must have been a great shock for the Hatti when the floor fell out from under them.

Finally a Hatti officer cried out in his own tongue, and repeated the word in Carthaginian. ‘Yield! Yield!’ For a time the killing went on, of its own momentum, and Gisco thought he heard the officer himself take a blade in the chest.

But at last it was done.

Gisco, panting hard, slippery with blood and sweat, tried to organise his surviving men to round up the captives and see to the wounded.

A man came up to him with a lantern. It was Suniatus, a grinning brute. Blood leaked from a long cut on his forehead into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to be aware of it. ‘Good scrap, sir.’

Gisco clapped the man on his bloody shoulder. ‘It was indeed, Suni. Carthage is saved, for now.’

Suniatus turned and whooped. ‘Hear that, boys? We’re heroes. The tarts in Megara are going to take some punishment today! Even from you, sir, despite the mess some bugger has made of your face.’

Gisco reached up to touch his imploded nose, and a wave of agony convulsed his face. ‘Yes, all right, Suni—’

There was a tremendous groaning crack from above ground, and the earth shuddered as if massive weights had tumbled down. The men started shouting. What now?

‘A ladder, Suniatus. Quickly, man!’

Gisco worked his way up the ladder to the level of the Hatti digs. He had time to be briefly impressed by how well constructed the Hatti tunnels were, the walls and roof of packed earth, the tunnel wide and spacious. There was even timber to prop up the roof, although widely spaced, for timber was desperately scarce. But he reminded himself that his own more modest mole runs had done their job in the end. He clambered on up above the Hatti works to ground level.