A tale of Carthage: Carthage PBM

A warm and heavy with humidity sicilian night of the end of the summer of 270bc was heavy on the shoulders of Hanno. The old man was interrogating the two peasants brought by his spies from the countryside, some 60 miles east from Lylibaeum, where the roman army was stationed.

Under any other circumstances Hanno would have left the responsibility to one of his officers, but the air was too heavy for the old man to get any sleep, and the occasion was unbelievably propicious.

The room - a terrace with a font sketching somewhere in the darkness - was illuminated by several torches. Hanno´s infantry commander, Adonibal, and the spy who brought the peasants were also in the room. They, Hanno, and a detailed map of Sicily, where the position of the roman army was marked with blue dye.

-Do you think the elephants will make it?- Hanno´s voice wasn´t tired at all, Adonibal thought, he remembered well, how furious was the 65-year-old general when one of the ships carrying elephants was lost in a storm, some 4 weeks ago. They were lucky to find the ship before the romans did. Or the greeks. That was another one. How would the Syracuse react to an outbreak of hostilities betweek Carthage and Rome?

- Yes, general, the beasts are camped away from the city, but they are faster than our infantry, so they will catch up. - Adonibal was sure Hanno´s eyes looked almost sleepy.

- Here is an order, Adonibal. You gather all the men not absolutely necessary to defend this place and we march tomorrow at night. The city does not have to know our plans. Syracuse can pay anything in here while we are away. He followed with his stare the peasants as they left the room.

Adonibal turned on his heels and left the room.

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Across the sea, in Corduba, Hanno´s son Theophanes is having mostly the same discussion.

- How could they leave only 100 men to defend Carthago Nova? That goes against all common sense! - The 20 year old was excited. - We leave tomorrow, so get your men ready, captain.

- I already gave the orders, sir, as soon as I knew the news. I though you couldnt refuse the opportunity.- smiled the captain, almost twice the age of the prince.

- Good. You may leave.- Theophanes waited for the captain to leave the room and then picked te sword from the oaken table and sliced the air across the room.

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Carthage was also excited. The governor, Hasdrubal, the oldest son of the noble Hanno, left the city with as many cavalrymen as he could take, stripping Thapsus garrison as well, and leaving for the governing council a whole program of upgrades and recruitements to be done in his absense. He headed south. The rumors said that his intention was to sign a peace with the Numidians, but why would anyone need an army to sign a peace?

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270bc winter Three days before the first snows a head rose slowly from the bushes that concealed the body of a man. He was muddy beyond belief. He has been lying there for 4 days without moving except to see the enemy camp, at the other side of the muddy road that followed the natural path between the Etna and the sea.

The man looked back. He knew he had to get on his feet and rudh to the forest half mile away.But he felt weak.Very weak. He thought the old Hanno was somewhere around waiting for the news to attack the small roman army.

He made an effort and rose to his feet. One, two steps, his body felt unusually light and with sudden joy, the man started running as fast as he could to the forest. 2 horsemen waited for him there.

-Let´s go- was the only thing he said.


Hanno walked across the room with the unsure pace of a man who spent the last 50 years of his life riding a horse.

- Only 200? - he muttered. Adonibal remained quiet playing with the feather on his helmet.

- And the general, sir. 40 heavy cavalrymen. - the muddy man was standing in the middle of the room, making a tremendous effort of will to remain on his feet.

- Thank you - the cold green eyes of the leader smiled brefly at the man. - Get some rest. - the man bowed and left the room. They heard that he laughed with exhaustion at the endo of the corridor.

- Well, then, Adonibal. Summon our men. I want a favourable omen from Baal today. We must win. - The gree eyes were as unforgiving as the bottom of the sea. And Adonibal saw there was no devotion for any gods in there. He bowed out of the room.

3 hours later everything was finished. Adonibal personally led the charge that finished with the roman quaestor pinned on a spear.

The roman army they faced was an unexperienced one. 200 young Hastati who have never seen a battlefield lied dead in the muddy field. 3 men, bodyguards of the fallen general were allowed to take his body and go away from the field, and the Carthaginians mourned for 18 of their soldiers.

The numidians were the key to the victory. They lured one of the Hastati units that was shot down by the Lybian foot javelinmen and then walked over by the elephants. The roman general couldnt resist the sight of his men fleeing and ordered a charge. He met an elephant charge that disrupted his bodyguards´formation and then a charge of Numidans that made them turn their backs and run while the rest of the army was massacred.


The night was quiet, but Hanno was pacing around his tent, his bodyguards cursing in silence the unappropriate sleepless state of the general.

- Call Adonibal - finally ordered the old man.
When 10 minutes later the man stood finally in front of his master, interrupted sleep showing on his face despite discipline, Hanno spoke slowly.

- I just heard that Messana is not garrisoned. The garrison leaded by the uncle of the quaestor hurried out in an attempt to reach us and reinforce the other army. - Adonibal understood what was going to follow.

- Do you want me to get ready to leave, sir? - His face had a fatalist expression.

Hanno just shook his head in approval.- I want us on the march before sunrise.- he said.



Six days later the walls of Messana cut the morning sky. And the smoke from the chimneys inside the city was very welcoming.

Hanno did not care. 2 days before they had encountered the other roman army, and teh fact that they retreated to the village on the coast where the port of Messana was located meant that they were going to wait for reinforcements before taking any action. Messana was left to its own destiny.

The elephants had no problem breaking through the gates and the javelinmen backed by the iberian infantry made good account of the half a century of the citycen´s militia guarding the city.



Adonibal walked into the city square in front of the barracks where more than 150 horsemen were readying theyr horses and weapons. Hanno was already sitting in his saddle giving the last orders to the secretary.

- ...The walls are to be repaired, and I want decent stables for my men built as well. Yes, as soon as yo can do it. Here Captain Adonibal will help you to convince them to build everything we need.- He turned to Adonibal. - You are left in charge of the town. I´m only taking the cavalry. That roman army in the port is ctting our trade away and we just cant live here with that army sitting only 10 miles away, can we? -

Before Adonibal could answer, Hanno ordered the march and waved goodbye to the captain.



Less than a week later, Adonibal received the news of another roman defeat, with no losses at the carthaginian side except for the 30 wounded that were brought to the city along with the body of the former roman governor of the city, guarded by 50 numidians.

Hanno came back in 3 days, with the heavy snow. He looked better than when they left Lylibaeum, and he was pleased with the reforms undertaken in the city in his absence, specially with the fact that the new temple to Milkart was build with the same stone that the roman temple was built with.

- The wise man only destroys if he can build something better instead - he said. - I read that in Athens, 40 years ago - he chuckled. - Ah, by the way, did you know that we took 2 roman ships that were transporting supplies to the island? No? Well no you can send you carts to the port to get those supplies...

269 summer

After the snow had melted, Theophanes moved his winter camp away from the montain valley where it has been for most of the winter and re-emprended his march.

The army came into sigh of the city by sunset and the shining roofs of the temples and palaces looked particularly attractive to the men who haven´t been in a proper house in the last 6 months.

The spies sent into the city informed that the city was, effectively, guarded by only 100 men. Theophanes thought that his small, less than 300 men strong army was strong enough as to take and garrison the city til more reinforcements could be fetched.

Despite the fact that the city was protected with only wooden walls, the scutarii mercs or the iberians from Corduba could not breach through without some heavy siege equipment.

Theophanes´ excitement transformed into offended arrogance when he realized the city couldn´t be gloriously assaulted but they had to engage in "dirty" besieging work, bild a permanent camp, wait for the engineers and build the rams needed to breach the city´s walls, the young general employed his energies in recognizing the terrain, watching the enemy ferces nearby, and collecting all the boats and drafts along the river to the camp, to difficult enemy crossings in the case of reinforcements arriving.

One of Theophanes´ bodyguards said once, to cheer up his commander :
- Even Alexander had to besiege, sir. It is indeed a common thing in war...

269 winter

Theophanes stretched as far as he could in an attempt of finding a suitable way of crossing the river that could be unsed by the enemy and murmured a short and satisfied "They can´t cross".

The carthaginian army would have been outnumbered if the reinforcements at the other side of the river could get to their side, but thanks to Theophanes´ recollection of anything that could float along the river, the enemy would have to just stand there and watch the reinforcements that tried to get supplies and men in the besieged city get massacred by Carthaginian superior forces.

As they did. At the end of the bloody day the carthaginians buried 29 of their own soldiers (among them the man that said the sieges were common in warfare) and 200 enemies. Another 40 were kept as prisoners to ensure good relationships with the local tribes they led.

The next day Carthage Nova fell. The 90 men that tried to fight were mercilessly killed. Theophanes was furious about spending more than a year with the city.

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Hasdrubal read the letter from his little brother standing in the dusty street of Lepcis Magna, the pools of blood still staining the pavement and the walls of the buildings. He gave the letter back to his secretary

- Reply, give me the reply before sending. - He thought how naively his brother thought he had almost won the war by taking the city.
"He´ll grow up. He´ll understand" there was a voice in his head. But he was furious with the world. The fighting was swift and harsh and he couldnt understand why the peasants that were holding the town didn´t run away or surrender instead of fighting against well trained and well armed soldiers, forcing him to massacre them all and lose 17 men who couldnt be replaced. Not here in the middle of the desert.

The town was not a welcoming place. When the caravan season started the town controlled the main trading route from Egypt to the rest of North Africa and Spain. That made it important from the strategic point of view, but didn´t make it more attractive. Even the women were unattractive and the wine tasted horrible. In short, Hasdrubal missed Carthage.

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My ship wasn´t carrying good news. The letter sealed in my room informed the council of the death of Hanno in Messana, and the council of Carthage had the right of electing a new leader. I knew most of them and they were not the men to elect a strong leader. They feared exceptional people and cared more about their personal fortunes than the city.

Thats why I was considering a variation of the plan. The north coast of Africa was already visible when I finally made my decision.

- Turn to Lepcis - I ordered my pilot.
His eyebrows rose, but he didnt ask, and gave the orders.
Hasdrubal had the right to know his father was dead before those stupid old men in council. Milqart would forgive me.

The reign of Hasdrubal the Horseman, 268 BC to 254 BC

Lepcis Magna, 268 BC

Hasdrubal put down the scroll telling of his father’s untimely death and looked with irritation at the small dusty town outside his window. Lepcis Magna, a sand-baked, slumbering settlement would never amount to anything. Hasdrubal had to get back to the great city of Carthage, centre of power and arsenal of the kingdom that was now his. He could hear the Priest of Baal intoning rituals of mourning for Hanno, the late King of Carthage, and this added to his frustration. Hasdrubal was not a devout man and indeed, as loving father, felt unease with the religion of his people. We are a hunted people, it is true, he thought. But the child sacrifices that the priests called for in order to enlist the help of the gods seemed acts more of crazed desperation than true faith. To survive, Carthage will have to rely on its own wits and the efforts of its people, not the intervention of bloodthirsty gods. Hasdrubal thought of his own precious son, Bisaltes, only eleven years old and shuddered as he remembered the stained altars in the Temple of Baal. The world could burn and he would join his son in the fires, before he would see him coldly sacrificed to the gods. But these were morbid thoughts and, if publicly revealed, would do him no good with the people he was now called upon to lead, so Hasdrubal turned away quickly and made ready for the long journey back to Carthage.

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Following the death of his father and mother in the same year, Hasdrubal becomes ruler of Carthage. His reign will be greatly assisted by his loyal and talented brothers, but his hopes of a dynasty rest with his only son, Bisaltes.


Thapsus, 267 BC

Burrhus rushed to greet the arrival of his brother and King, Hasdrubal. The signs of battle were unmistakable in the bloodied and battered uniforms of the King’s bodyguard. Hasdrubal lept off his horse and warmly embraced his oldest brother.

“You have routed the rebels.” Burrhus said, more of a statement than a question, for he had seen the wide grin of triumph and relief on his brother’s face.

Hasdrubal nodded, defeating the marauding band of rebels had been a welcome respite from the tedium of the long journey from Lepcis Magna to Carthage. But then the King noticed the restraint on Burrhus’s face. “What news from our lands?”

Burrhus shook his head, sadly. “The Julii now have Caralis under siege while the Spanish are still besieging Cordoba.”

The Carthaginian King patted his brother’s shoulder reassuringly, this was no more than he expected: “Our little brother Theophanes will have to relieve Cordoba. But we must pray that Caralis can hold out long enough for me to get there.”

Burrhus agreed and then took his leave to prepare a feast of victory. The exhilaration of the recent battle fading, Hasdrubal wiped his mouth and then noticed the small flecks of blood on his hand. He looked up and saw a Priest of Baal watching him from the shadows nearby. The Priest gave a knowing smile and nodded approvingly at Hasdrubal. Hasdrubal felt uneasy and turned away from the intrusion, moving hurriedly to catch up with his brother.

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Hasdrubal routs a rebel army encountered during the journey back to Carthage for his coronation. The uncrowned King is seen here personally slaying the rebel general.


Caralis, 266 BC

Hasdrubal tossed away the summary report he had been reading and sat slumped in his chair, dejected. General Theodekles approached him cautiously:

“My Lord, what troubles you? We have slaughtered the Julii army and retaken this town. Surely, this is a time for hope?”

“Hope?” Hasdrubal laughed bitterly, “It is a long time since I have heard that word; I fear it has become a stranger to me. I see the future all too clearly, General. We are beset everywhere. Last year, I learnt that the Roman armies outside the Greek city of Syracuse were not besieging it, as I had thought. They were mustering there under the protection of the Greeks, enjoying their hospitality. And now, I hear this…”

He gestured to the discarded report. “The Greeks have declared war and their fleets are blockading Carthage. In Spain, even as Theopanes drives the Spaniards from Cordoboa, the Gauls are besieging Carthago Nova. And us, we are shipwrecked here with our finest troops on this wretched island of Sardinia, far from where we need to be and with large enemy fleets circling around us.”

From the recesses of the darkened room, a Priest of Baal emerged and approached the King.

“My King, it is in times like this that we must give prayers to our gods. Come with me and we will seek their assistance.”

Theodekles watched bemused, as the King reluctantly allowed himself to be shepherded away by the Priest.

But before he left to go to the Temple, the King turned back to Theodekles:

“General, Theopanes must be reinforced. Send word to Carthage that a relief force must be mustered as soon as the Greek blockade has been lifted. Send my son, Bisaltes, to lead it. It will be good experience for the future ruler of Carthage and he will not find a better tutor than Theopanes.”


Syracuse, 261 BC

The herald stopped outside the King’s tent, shivering with fear. Did he dare enter? Inside, the King was celebrating two great victories as he had driven two large Roman armies - first the Brutii and then the Scipii – from the outskirts of the Greek city of Syracuse. All that remained were the Greeks themselves, a stout force of hoplites led in person by Dionysios of Sparta, ruler of the Greek city states. The revelry inside might have sounded enticing to other Carthaginian soldiers, but to the herald it merely added to his sense of dread. To go in now and deliver his message would be to kill the celebrations – why he might as well go in and plunge his sword into his King’s chest. The herald calmed himself. Although the King was now a legendary commander and had personally led the charge that had routed the Scipii general from the field earlier in the day, he was not bloodthirsty or a man of bad temper. The herald should have no fear for his personal safety and must do his duty. With a shallow intake of breath, the herald entered the tent.

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Hasdrubah charges into a Scipii general’s bodyguard, clearing the road to Syracuse in his second battle against Roman armies quartering outside the Greek city.

In the makeshift temple nearby, the Priest could hear the loud cry of anguish and was startled. The howl was not a cry of physical pain such as might be made by the wounded under the surgeon’s knife, but was a call of grief and loss. The Priest turned and saw Hasdrubah storm into the temple, sword in hand, hastily followed by the herald and his bodyguard. Hasdrubah grabbed the Priest by the throat and pointed the sword at the holy man’s face:

“Not my son! Your god cannot take my son!” the King raged.

Slowly, the Priest understood and calmly addressed the King, “We cannot always choose who Baal takes in sacrifice.” Inflamed, the King drew back his arm and prepared to plunge the sword into the defenceless Priest’s face.

Appalled, the herald grabbed the King’s arm: “My Lord, stop! Your son died bravely. The Priest is right, Bisaltes sacrificed himself for our people. Our vengeance should be directed against our enemies, not ourselves!”

Furiously, the King threw the herald aside, but then all energy seemed to drain from his body and he fell back, dropping his sword. “Tell me again how my son died.”

The herald cautiously picked himself up from the ground. “It was in battle against the Gauls, led by a noble of the name Lugotrik. The Balearic slingers were intercepted and could not join up with Bisaltes army, so he was forced to do battle against the Gauls without being at full strength. Lugotrik’s cavalry moved round both flanks, while his foot approached our front. Bisaltes ordered our Long Shield Cavalry to intercept the horseman turning our flanks, but the barbarians fought like fiends and cut them down. Bisaltes charged his own bodyguard to try to stabilise our right flank, but it was not enough. The barbarian horsemen ran him down…”

The King shook his head, not comprehending. He knew the Carthaginian foot might be hard-pressed against the Gauls, but could not understand how his fine well-trained cavalry could be cut down by mere barbarians on horseback.

“Tell me about this Lugotrik, who trains his warriors so well that they can overrun our troops and kill my son…”

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A bitter trade - Hasdrubah gains a legendary reputation, but loses his only son.


Carthago Nova 258 BC

Theopanes stared at the Gauls waiting across the bridge, “Lugotrik? Are you sure their commander is called Lugotrik?”

“Yes, general” said the Carthaginian horseman. “That is what the prisoner we caught said was his commander’s name.”

“Good.” Theopanes nodded grimly. His brother Hasdrubah’s lust for vengeance had not been satisfied by the blood shed earlier in Sicily. The routing of a vast Greek army - with the over 1500 Greek dead - and the subsequent cornering and execution of the Greek King in the forum at Syracuse had not softened the King’s fury. Nor had the callous extermination of the thousands of Greek men, women and children in the fallen city. Perhaps only Theopanes could perform the blood letting necessary to ease the King’s affliction.

“What orders, Sire? The garrison from Cathago Nova is moving to the rear of the Gaulish horde. Should we storm the bridge?”

“No” Theopanes shook his head. The Gauls were ferocious fighters, especially, it was reputed, those led by Lugotrik. The Carthaginian army was a motley force composed mainly of battered light companies of horse and mercenaries; the garrison of mere town watch. Their only advantage were the four companies of Balearic slingers brought from Palma. They had failed to make their rendezvous with Theopanes’ nephew Bisaltes, now they would help build a pyre of corpses in honour of their lost young general.

“Send over only one company to those chanting barbarians and provoke them to charge." commanded Theopane, "Order their captain to retreat across the bridge once the Gauls take the bait. Line the slingers up on the bank; they will do the rest.”

And so it was to be. One company after another of mercenary foot were fed across the bridge, pursued by impetuous Gaulish foot or horse. Invariably, the foot were mauled by the fleet footed barbarians and suffered heavily from the hail of stone from the slingers. But the Gauls too were cut down mercilessly by the slingers and slowly obliterated. It was distasteful work, butchery - not generalship and Theopanes did not even notice when the infamous Gaulish general himself fell. He ordered the head of a Gaul be sent to his brother in Syracuse, whether actually the head of Lugotrix or not, it mattered little for no Gaul escaped the field of battle alive that day.

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Theopanes runs to ground Lugrotrik, killer of the heir to Carthage, Bisaltes.


Tarentum, 255 BC

Hasdrubal fell exhaustedly onto the fine bed in the Governor’s Palace. For all their Republican declarations, these Brutii had enjoyed a life of luxury. Perhaps that was why they had been unable to stop the Carthaginians driving them out of their homes. Well, they would doubtless find their exile in Greece less comfortable.

As Hasdrubal closed his eyes, the memories of the day’s battle came flooding in. It had been perhaps his greatest triumph. Outnumbered by a powerful Brutii army, including many Principes, he had used his cavalry to hound and disrupt the slower moving Romans. His men had killed 970 Romans, for the loss of only 31 Carthaginians. Even now, Hasdrubal could not believe the extent of his success. His officers were proclaiming him a cavalry commander of genius.

But now in his sixties, Hasdrubal knew he did not have many years left for war. He had summoned one of his general’s to join him in Tarentum and ordered him to oversee the retinue of valuable assistants that Hasdrubal had acquired during his reign. Sometime ago he had changed his successor from his older brother, the mercantile Burrhus, to the younger Theopanes. The Kingdom would be in good hands. Although trapped fighting a vigorous defence of their Spanish holdings, Theopanes had accumulated a string of victories and a reputation that rivalled Hasdrubal’s own.

There was a knock on the door. “Enter.” Hasdrubal ordered.

In stepped the cautious robed figure of a Priest of Baal: “You summoned me, your highness?”.

The King stared at the Priest angrily: “Yes. I wanted you to know… this victory today was not a gift of your blood thirsty god. It was earned by my skill and that of our soldiers, learned over the many battles of the past dozen years. Nor was my son’s sacrifice a blood price for this success. Bisaltes died because he and his men lacked the skill and experience of our army today. And because I was blind to his inexperience.”

The priest bowed his head, there was no point in debating with the blasphemous old King.

“If I had my way, I would demolish your temples and see the blood of your brother priests, not that of our children, flowing down their steps!” The King raged.

Calmly, the Priest replied: “But you dare not. Because the masses in Carthage and our other great cities would not submit to your wars without the calming ministry of my fellow priests. You repel at our few sacrifices of children. How many mothers’ children have been sacrificed in your battles? Are not your victories bought with their blood sacrifice?”

The King turned away sadly: “You know these wars were not started by me; they are wars of survival.”

Triumphantly, the Priest shot back “And you know that these sacrifices at our temples are not matters of choice – they too are necessary for our survival.”

Hasdrubal shook his head and spat back. “You are wrong, priest. If my family succeeds, we will carve out an empire whose achievements will last for thousands of years. But your miserable religion of fear will soon wither and die. In the future, not only will it be forgotten but its nature will be considered so vile that those who hear of it will question whether it ever truly existed. Now, get out before I change my mind and exterminate your wretched religion, starting with you!”

Hurriedly the priest left and the old King fell back onto the bed. A year later, Hasdrubal died peacefully in the same bed, having begun the Carthaginian conquest of Rome.

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In his sunset years, Hasdrubal leads his cavalry into the forum of Croton, the first Roman city on the Italian mainland to fall to the Carthaginians