Read Hannibal: The Patrol for Free Online

noise was much louder. Mutt could hear the deep voices of men chanting, and the pounding of a drum.
Booooooooo
. Someone was blowing a horn. Flutes and hand bells could also be discerned, mixed with laughter and shouted conversation. He followed the muddy track between the small huts, aiming towards the centreof the village. On the way, he was passed by a number of small boys, chasing each other and shrieking at the tops of their voices. A man and woman walked by, talking in low tones and with their arms entwined. The sound of people coupling carried from a nearby hut. A beady-eyed crone in ragged clothing glared at Mutt from the open doorway of a tumbledown shack, and he mouthed a prayer against bad luck. Just because Devorix had made them welcome didn’t meant that everyone here felt the same. The old woman was the nearest thing he’d seen to a witch for a while.
    Emerging into a packed, central open area, Mutt felt his concerns ease again. A massive bonfire lit up the place as brightly as day. It looked as if every inhabitant of the village was here. Groups of men and women danced around the blaze, following the swirling tune played by a group of musicians. Three fire pits, with iron frames over, were being used to cook haunches of beef. Despite risk of being burned, hungry warriors were reaching in to slice off chunks of meat with their knives. The biggest crowd was around a pyramid of amphorae, however, in front of which tables and benches had been set up. Here scores of men were sitting, drinking, talking, laughing at jokes. It was also where the bulk of Mutt’s soldiers were. No surprise there, he thought.
    He drew close to the revellers without being noticed, which gave him a useful chance to observe things. As was to be expected, his men were clustered together around half a dozen large tables. Scores of tribesmen manned the rest. The majority of those present seemed quite drunk, but Mutt could see no arguments, which pleased him. An occasional spearman had joined his men; at least two were arm-wrestling with soldiers. It looked as if another was trying to teach one of the spearmen a song. Yet more of his men were standing by the makeshift bar, which was nothing more than planks laid atop four planed down tree stumps. These individuals were deep in conversation with a bunch of Gaulish women. Judging by the giggles and fluttering of eyelashes that was going on, they were getting along fine despite the language barrier.
    It was fine to have a drink, Mutt decided. He elbowed his way onto a bench full of his soldiers and shouted until someone handed him a brimming cup. Hedowned it in one, his eyes watering as the acidity of the wine hit his taste buds. ‘Melqart’s hairy arse, but that tastes like vinegar!’
    ‘That’s because it
is
vinegar, sir!’ yelled Bogu, to roars of laughter.
    ‘But it gets you pissed double quick, sir,’ said another man, grinning. ‘That’s what counts!’
    They hammered their fists and cups on the table top in agreement.
    Mutt saluted Bogu with another drink. ‘I’ll drink to that. Your health! The same to all of you. May you come through the war unscathed, with your cock and balls intact. And missing no more than one limb each.’
    They loved that. Mutt let them laugh for a moment before adding, ‘One more thing — may Hannibal lead us to victory!’
    Inevitably, the cry started up. The soldiers all around joined in at once. ‘HANN-I-BAL! HANN-I-BAL! HANN-I-BAL!’
    Mutt smiled. This was going to be a good night, he could feel it in his bones.
    A hand on his shoulder. ‘Can I join you?’
    Mutt turned, recognised Aios. ‘Of course!’ He nudged the man to his right. ‘Move over.’
    Aios squeezed himself into the tiny space, taking care not to spill his own drink. ‘Your soldiers are enjoying themselves, it seems.’
    ‘It’s impossible for them not to,’ said Mutt. ‘Thanks to your fine hospitality. Fires. Wine. Food. What more could a man want?’ He didn’t mention