‘Hanno!’ Bostar’s voice was genial.

He pretended not to hear.

‘Hanno! Come back!’ barked a deeper, more commanding voice, that of Sapho.

Unwillingly, Hanno turned.

Suniaton tried to sidle away, but he had also been spotted.

‘Eshmuniaton! Get over here,’ Sapho ordered.

With a miserable expression, Suniaton shuffled to his friend’s side.

Hanno’s brothers shouldered their way forward to stand before them.

‘Sapho. Bostar,’ Hanno said with a false smile. ‘What a surprise.’

‘Is it?’ Sapho demanded, his thick eyebrows meeting in a frown. A short, compact man with a serious manner like Malchus, he was twenty-two. Young to be a mid-ranking officer, but like Bostar, his ability had shone through during his training. ‘We’re all supposed to be heading to listen to the elders. Why aren’t you with Father?’

Flushing, Hanno looked down. Damn it, he thought. In Sapho’s eyes, duty to Carthage was all-important. In a single moment, their chances of a day on the boat had vanished.

Sapho gave Suniaton a hard stare, taking in his pack and the provisions in his hands. ‘Because the pair of you were skiving off, that’s why! Fishing, no doubt?’

Suniaton scuffed a toe in the dirt.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ Sapho asked acidly.

Hanno moved in front of his friend. ‘We were going to catch some tunny, yes,’ he admitted.

Sapho’s scowl grew deeper. ‘And that’s more important than listening to the Council of Elders?’

As usual, his brother’s high-handed attitude rankled with Hanno. This type of lecture was all too common. Most often, it felt as if Sapho was trying to be their father. Unsurprisingly, Hanno resented this. ‘It’s not as if the greybeards will say anything that hasn’t been said a thousand times before,’ he retorted. ‘Just about every one is full of hot air.’