Hanno shook his head once.

‘It’s supposed to be the summer!’ Suniaton cried. ‘Gales like this shouldn’t happen without warning.’

‘There would have been signs,’ Hanno snapped back. ‘Why do you think there are no other boats out here? They must have headed for the shore when the wind began to get up.’

Suniaton flushed and hung his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘It’s my fault. I should never have taken Father’s wine.’

Hanno gripped his friend’s knee. ‘Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t force me to drink it. That was my choice.’

Suniaton managed a half-smile. That was, until he looked down. ‘No!’

Hanno followed his gaze and saw the tunny floating around his feet. They were shipping water, and enough of it to warrant immediate action. Trying not to panic, he began throwing the precious fish overboard. Survival was far more important than money. With the floor clear, he soon found a loose nail in one of the planks. Removing one of his sandals, he used the iron-studded sole to hammer the nail partially home, thereby reducing the influx of seawater. Fortunately, there was a small bucket on board, containing spare pieces of lead for the net. Grabbing it, Hanno began bailing hard. To his immense relief, it didn’t take long before he’d reduced the water to an acceptable level.

A loud rumble of thunder overhead nearly deafened him.

Suniaton moaned with fear, and Hanno jerked upright.

The sky overhead was now a menacing black colour, and in the depths of the clouds a flickering yellow-white colour presaged lightning. The waves were being whipped into a frenzy by the wind, which was growing stronger by the moment. The storm was approaching its peak. More water slopped into the boat, and Hanno redoubled his efforts with the bucket. Any chance of rowing back to Carthage was long gone. They were going one direction. East. Into the middle of the Mediterranean. He tried not to let his panic show.