Swords of Rome (26 page)

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now, some sense had returned as Gaius turned and looked upon his cohort, which continued to fight. The clattering of swords and the cries of wounded and dying men filled the pristine morning. He collected himself, quickly falling back in line behind the ranks. He would yell encouragements to the men before him, barking orders of support, and issuing men to plug holes where dead Romans eventually fell. And then, how much time, he did not know he was back in the front as the ranks continued to shift, to allow rested men to again reform the shield wall – fighting the ceaseless wave of barbarian Gauls.

By this time, Gaius’ actions were mechanical. The fear he felt when the battle started was drowned out by his will to survive. Eventually, the ground became littered with fallen Gauls, which further waves of attackers were finding it increasingly difficult to advance through.

Another whistle blew, but this wasn’t a signal for Gaius to be replaced, but orders from the commander to advance. At the moment, the barbarians seemed lessened; their formation now tattered as their numbers dwindled.  Those who still fought weren’t as brazened as their seasoned warriors who fell against the Romans when the fighting began.  At the moment, stricken by fear, they began to panic as the Roman line advanced with deadly rhythm. Those that did not flee, attempting to run back up the slippery slope, which was now caked in churned mud, were cut down without mercy by the machine that moved effortlessly towards them, while those wounded upon the ground were either trampled to death by the steady Roman march, or impaled where they lie.

When Gaius could
advance no further, as the rise of the landscape prevented him for advancing, the only vestiges of enemy warriors who remained, fled through the trees, protected by the layers of mist and snow, which still drifted lazily down over the battlefield.

A cheer ran throughout the Roman formation, but any sentiments of victory were quickly dashed as fighting could still be heard further upstream. Gaius knew, without having to see that the men under the command of Sempronius were being slaughtered. The river of blood that flowed behind him was evidence of
the massacre.

A horn
blew; not Gallic, but Roman as the call for retreat was signaled from Gaius’ cohort. Soon, officers began ordering everyone back into ranks, and the wounded Romans collected while there was a lull in the fighting.

It was then that Gaius saw Valerius, still alive, thank the gods. He, like every legionnaire was covered in blood. He too had
sustained a number of cuts, as fresh blood drizzled from a gash to the old veteran’s upper left arm, and a small nick to his neck. In the bank of the river, nearly submerged in bloody water, Gaius saw Valerius’ horse, dead, with numerous spears and arrows sticking out from its body. He was amazed that the legate had survived at all, as he was the obvious target of the Gauls, as was any officer of note.

“Valerius, what of
Sempronius?!" Gaius called out as he moved to join the legate, who rallied his men to make a quick and effective retreat.

“There is nothing I can do for the fool. He’s damned this army. I’ve got to save what I can,” Valerius replied. Gaius wasn’t even sure if the old man recognized him with all the blood and filth that covered him, believing he was just speaking to any number of centurions
who were under his command.

“Let me take a detachment and force our way to him. The consul might still be alive,” Gaius suggested, determined to salvage the day anyway he could. He was perhaps too young to recognize defeat, despite the number of barbarian dead that coated the earth around him.
While the Sixth had found some measure of victory, it was a pinprick against the mammoth that had trapped his countrymen this day.

“The battle is lost, and so will we if we don’t take advantage of this moment and pull back, now!” Valerius reiterated.

Valerius grabbed hold of Gaius’ shoulder, pulling him closer to him and spoke, “There will be other days that we can avenge our fallen. However, this is not one of them. Now, form you men and cover our withdraw!”

Gaius did not argue further. He did as he was
ordered; grabbing those he could find that still had enough fight left in them to stand if challenged. Nevertheless, thankfully, those Gauls who had lived soon realized that the Romans upstream offered less resistance.

Gaius stared without blinking as several bodies floated by him as he knelt down on the edge of the partly frozen Trebia River. The bodies hadn’t stopped drifting
downstream even though the battle had ended five hours ago. Only now did the clear water seem to be restored, as for a long while it ran bright red. Still, trickles of the crimson gore drizzled downstream from time-to-time. Now, however, the quiet stillness of the country returned. 

This army, what was left of it, was broken.
At present, behind enemy lines, within their own country, what remained of Sempronius’ legions had to move quickly, gathering what survivors they could find, and mustering what was left of the supplies before marching south, back towards Rome. The future was uncertain, more so now than it had been before. Hannibal had won a great victory, not against one legion, fought on equal terms on the field, but against a superior force, outsmarted, ambushed and slaughtered like no force Rome had ever assembled before. Now, what was Rome to do? How would the people react? How far would Hannibal go, now?

Gaius rubbed his hands
into the water as he had continued to do so for the past twenty minutes, watching the dead drift by. His hands and much of the rest of him was clean from the blood that had been spilled during the battle. He survived, and had taken lives, for the first time. His mind, however, was
not
trapped on what he had done, but what he had heard, seen and experienced: screaming, terror, the sound of flesh and blood, and the horror in a man’s eye when he felt death’s grip – the easy act of pushing iron through a man’s body.  But, the most troubling thought that haunting him now was, why had he been spared? If it had not been for the image of the white wolf, and the warning, he concluded from it, he would have shared the same fate as those legions under Sempronius’ command.

Why had no one else seen it? Why couldn’t it have shown itself to Sempronius?
The damn fool. Why me?

The snow crackling under someone’s foot indicated to Gaius that someone was walking up behind him. A moment later, the voice of Valerius told him who it was.

“We’ll be moving soon,” Valerius said. There was no real reason why he needed to come down to the river personally, not when any number of runners could have done the job, but Valerius’ voice echoed a deep question, one which he wasn’t sure how to ask,
how did you save us?

Gaius did not give Valerius a reply, or showed that he was listening, even though there was no way he could not hear him. His attention was still fixed on the bodies that drifted down the river, most of them Roma, but barbarian Gauls as well.

Valerius sighed as he stepped closer.

“Whether you want to see it or not, you saved a lot of lives today, Gaius.”

Gaius tilted his head up, looking over his shoulder toward Valerius and replied, “I did not save enough.”

Gaius threw a rock into the river, breaking a chuck of ice from the edge as he stood back to his feet.

“Why didn’t that fool listen to me, you, or any of his officers? We shouldn’t have been on the banks along the river? We shouldn’t have been marching in the storm? Sempronius is a bloody fool,” Gaius remarked bitterly.

“Sempronius was a fool – he is dead.”

Gaius just glanced at Valerius.

“We found his body, or what was left of it, along with the other ranking officers, each missing their heads,” Valerius reported.

“Too bad Sempronius only had one life to give,” Gaius utter with a viper’s tongue. “And how many of our brothers did he take with him?” he then asked.

“By my estimate, at least fifteen to twenty thousand.”

“What
will we do now?” Gaius pondered; a question more for himself than in regard to Rome.

Valerius stood beside
him, watching the sadden sight of his comrades drift by.

“I am proud of you, Gaius. You fought well, but more
importantly you listened to your gut, regardless of the consequences. Those are merits for a true leader, one who seeks the well-being of his men, and not attaining glory; a rare virtue, I’m saddened to say.”

Gaius just looked over at his mentor’s tired eyes. He did not know what to tell him, about what he had seen, and why it compelled him to demand the army to halt. Even he did not understand it, and he doubted he ever would.

“Was it enough?” Gaius asked, his question pertaining to many things.

“We shall see.
However, Rome is not out of this fight, just yet. I assure you that much. In the meantime, I have a new task I need of you and your century.”

“What do you request of me, sir?” Gaius asked as he was starting to regain himself.

“Come, we have planning to do.”

Eleven days after the Battle of Trebia

The migration of five thousand people marched over the countryside as they tried as best they could avoid any of the main roads or settlements throughout the region. This collection of bodies wasn’t an army, nor was it heading north to confront the invaders. These people were innocent civilians: men, women and children driven from their homes, and forced to flee for their lives.

I
t was Gaius’ responsibility to protect them.

He watched them carefully as they walked, rode or
be carried in carts across the cold, snow-covered earth that offered little in the way of fresh game or dry wood to build fires at night. Their destination was Rome, Capua, or any other heavily populated city in the Republic that could shelter them until the threat of Hannibal, and his horde passed.

The people were a ragged collection. Most were on the verge of
starvation; half probably wouldn’t make it to their destination before they froze to death as the nights had gotten colder. However, they had no hope. Hannibal’s tribes ransacked the northern country, pillaging, murdering, and raping. This was done even though envoys from Hannibal had promised sanctuary to any Italian settlements that stood with him against Rome, or offered his army shelter and food. Nevertheless, even those too afraid to stand against him, were terrorized by the barbarians, who cared little for Hannibal’s promises. They were here to claim what they wanted, earned in blood.

Gaius a
nd his century of a hundred men had spent the better part of the past two weeks, since Trebia protecting those he could as they moved away from the conflict zones. When able, he chased down rogue elements of Hannibal’s army and put them to the sword when opportunity presented itself. However, his primary orders were to avoid contact with the enemy, and to remain off the main roads leading to Rome.

Two days ago, Gaius got word from a rider sent by Valerius that he, along with the survivors from Trebia had linked up with a new army sent by Rome, which included the rest of the Sixth Legion. They, forty thousand strong, under the command of Gaius Flaminius, moved to find Hannibal. Gaius wanted to reach Rome, rest and regroup before his century rejoined their commander.

Storm clouds filled the sky, moving in fast from the north and sweeping down across the country like a blanket of death
. As rain began to pour, it brought renewed misery to the refugees. While still midday, already the sun struggled to cast its light down on the land.

As
lightning streaked across the sky, Gaius noticed three riders racing towards him, Maurus leading them. He had sent him out two days ago to scout ahead, and wasn’t expecting him back for another day, not unless he found trouble that called for Gaius’ attention.

“Gaius,” Maurus cried out as he stopped his horse before Gaius’ own. “Smoke beyond the horizon, big, but not large enough to be caused naturally, I fear.”

“There are no settlements or villages in this region,” Gaius pondered.

“None that I’m aware of,
but I fear we may both be mistaking.”