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preceded it and had disappeared up ahead, towards the entry colonnade of the main square.
    ‘Three thousand,’ said an old man when the last file had passed before him.
    ‘Not many,’ commented another with a disappointed tone.
    ‘You’re right,’ replied the first, ‘but they’re crack troops. Did you see how they march? Like a single man. Those men there, when they’re drawn up in line, they’re like a wall, I tell you. Each one of them counts for three.’
    ‘Let’s hope so,’ responded the other, ‘because I don’t think any more help is on the way.’ He walked off into the darkness.
    Diocles held council in the agora with the Himeran officers. ‘I will take supreme command, if you have nothing against that,’ he began.
    No one spoke.
    ‘How many men can you draw up?’ asked Diocles then.
    ‘Seven thousand,’ was the answer. ‘Counting youths of eighteen to men of fifty.’
    ‘There are three thousand of us. That makes ten; ten will be enough. Tomorrow we’ll leave the city in combat formation. A two-thousand-man front, five deep. A long line, but it’ll hold. We’ll be on the front line, because we’re fresh and none of my men are older than thirty. Each one of them has sufficient rations for four days; you’ll only need to supply water.’
    The most highly ranked Himeran officer stepped forward. ‘I want to thank you and your men for having come to our aid. Tomorrow we’ll show you that you won’t regret it.’
    ‘I know,’ answered Diocles. ‘Let us get some rest now. We’ll attack tomorrow at dawn, in silence, without bugles. We’ll wake them up in person.’
    The warriors settled down under the porticoes where hay had been laid out, and soon the whole city plunged into silence. Diocles checked that everything was under control, and then got ready for the night himself.
    Dionysius appeared just then, as if from out of nowhere. ‘It’s all gone smoothly, I see.’
    ‘That’s right,’ replied Diocles, ‘and tomorrow we’ll settle our score with those barbarians down there on the plain.’
    ‘There are more of them on the hills. You know that, surely?’ retorted Dionysius.
    ‘I don’t need you to tell me anything.’
    ‘That’s a relief. Yet I don’t understand all this hurry to attack.’
    ‘It’s evident, isn’t it? The less time we stay away from home, the better for us.’
    ‘Haste is a poor counsellor. I would have tried to understand the situation better, the placement of the enemy forces. Hidden traps.’
    ‘You’re not in charge here.’
    ‘No, unfortunately,’ replied Dionysius, and walked away.

     
    They left at dawn, as Diocles had ordained. Rested and refreshed, they marched for nearly a stadium before the war horns echoed from the enemy camp. The Punic army soon appeared on the open field: there were Libyans wearing light-coloured tunics with iron plates on their chests defending their hearts, their bronze helmets and shields painted with their tribal colours, Sicels donning long, ochre-tinted garments of raw wool with leather helmets and cuirasses, Sicans bearing wooden shields adorned with images of their totemic animals, Iberians wearing white tunics edged in red and embossed greaves decorated with tin; their leather helmets had neckguards which extended over their shoulders and were topped with a red tin crest to give them the look of magical creatures. Then there were the Balearics who whipped their slings, whistling them through the air, and the Mauritanian horsemen with their dark, shiny skin and thick heads of curly hair. They rode fiery steeds from the Atlas mountains barebacked, and carried long spears and antelope- and zebra-hide shields. Infantry and cavalry from many nations, all obedient to a few Carthaginian officers, were fitted out in the Oriental style with conical helmets, heavy leather cuirasses decorated with vivid colours, and green and ochre tunics with red and yellow fringes.
    All of those warriors must have joined the ranks