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Back Iron Winter Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. Title page
  2. Contents
  3. Map
  4. ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. TWO
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. THREE
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. FOUR
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. Afterword
  88. By Stephen Baxter
  89. Copyright

‘No,’ came a wheezing voice. ‘Not Fabius, but a symbol of him. And that’s what counts, isn’t it?’

They turned, and saw that the party of Hatti dignitaries was approaching, processing up a cobbled street towards the gate. The party was small, just a handful of Hatti nobles in their brightly coloured court robes, with one senior military officer, flanked by an escort of wary Hatti and Carthaginian soldiers. The street had been cleared for the day, to be sure that nobody got a chance to have a swipe at the Hatti in revenge for the long siege.

The man who had spoken was old, stooped; he wore a long robe decorated with the crossed palm-leaves symbol of the Hatti god Jesus, and boots with toes upturned in the Hatti style. Everybody was looking at him, and he smiled. ‘I seem to have spoken out of turn, before the introductions were done. Well, I don’t imagine we need rely on protocol overmuch today, do we? My name is Angulli. I am a priest; my title is Father of the Churches.’ He gestured to the woman he accompanied. ‘And this is My Sun Hastayar the Tawananna.’

Carthalo stepped forward and gravely welcomed the queen. She looked magnificent, Nelo thought, her hair lustrous, her face painted white with vivid red spots on cheeks and forehead. Gold thread shone bright in her robe of rich crimson, despite the clouded sky.

The senior Hatti officer, a general, stepped up to Nelo. ‘I know you.’

This was Himuili, who had commanded the Hatti forces in the field, under the prince, Arnuwanda. ‘Yes, sir, I—’

‘Shut up. You’re the Northlander who Fabius insisted on bringing to his parlays.’ He glanced up at the crucified Roman. ‘Much good it did him, eh? Standing here today you’d never believe that he won and I lost. This is how Carthage treats its victorious generals, is it?’

‘Carthage is always suspicious of its generals, successful or not. And Fabius did take over the government.’

Himuili grunted. ‘Smartest thing he ever did. And so there he dangles with his guts hanging out. As a symbol, of course. The question is, a symbol meant for who? Other uppity Carthaginian officers? Or us, the Hatti? “Look how strong we are, we Carthaginians. We can defeat you and afford to string up our winning general.” By Jesus’ armpit, I hate diplomacy.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Shut up.’