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The boy had always been in awe of his father.

He didn't know the man well.

For the first decade of the youngster's life, the great general had been away from Carthage,

first in Sicily, fighting the Romans, then bouncing around Africa to fight the rebellious Libyans

and mercenaries.

Even when he was near the boy, Hamilcar Barka, the Thunderbolt, had obligations.

There were Carthaginian officials, showfants, whom Hamilcar had to meet.

Syracusan merchants and Numidian horse dealers were granted moments of his time.

A steady stream of scarred soldiers from Iberia, Gaul, and even far off Sparta,

was always waiting for a pat on the shoulder and a familiar word.

Hannibal, that was the boy's name, had rarely received such undivided attention from his

famous father, at least until the last several months. Now, something big was happening.

There were more soldiers coming in and out of their big house on the hill looking down at

Carthage's magnificent harbors than he could ever remember. He overheard discussions of shipping capacity and the

procurement of elephants. A sailor from Gadir, far off to the west, had sat and talked with

Hamilcar for an hour in private. That had been the key that told Hannibal what was happening.

His father was leaving again, bound for Iberia.

This time, Hannibal wouldn't be left behind with his mother, sisters, and two younger brothers.

He was going. To the boy's surprise, Hamilcar had laughed when Hannibal made his demand.

It was good that Hannibal wanted to go, Hamilcar told him, because he was, in fact, going.

...