CHAPTER 106
Later that day I was in headquarters working on a map of the battlefield when Scipio, Laelius, Lucius, Marcus Ralla, Masinissa, and Cato filed into the tent. I stepped away from the map, and Scipio gathered his commanders at the table.
“I believe we have a force considerably superior to Hannibal’s,” he said. “He has a number of soldiers who came with him from Italy. I imagine they are his best men, but they are not in great number. The majority of his troops have been raised in the last two months or less. They are untrained and inexperienced. He also has a good number of elephants. We have seen them from camp, more than I have ever seen readied for a battle.”
Scipio picked up a few of the markers that were in a pile beside the map. “I don’t pretend to know how Hannibal will deploy his troops, but I have such confidence in ours that we will align much as we did against Syphax and Hasdrubal on the Great Plains.”
One by one he put the markers on the map. “We will use the standard formation of three lines—hastati, principes, and triarii—but it will be six legions across—three Roman and three allied. Ralla will be on the far right with the Sixth. Cato in the center with the Twenty-third, and Lucius to the left of Cato with the Fifth. Between each of you will be an allied legion, with the Numidian infantry taking the position on the far left. Place your velites behind the lines. They will open the battle as skirmishers in the traditional manner.”
No one said anything.
Scipio continued. “Masinissa, I want you on the right flank with your cavalry.” He looked at Masinissa and the king’s eyes held firm in assent. “Laelius, you will be on the left with the Italian horse.”
Laelius nodded that he understood.
“Our strategy will be to repeat what we did on the Great Plains. I want the cavalry to clear the flanks.”
“I know Tychaeus,” said Masinissa. “His men are nothing compared to ours.”
Scipio placed the last of the markers on the map. “Any questions?”
“Maintain rank and order,” emphasized Cato.
“Always,” added Scipio. “We will meet again at sunrise to review the strategy and make adjustments based on what we see from Hannibal. Prepare your men well tonight. Tell them they are about to make Rome the greatest republic the world has ever known and that they will be her greatest heroes.”
CHAPTER 107
That night our tent unit ate in near silence. We all knew that the coming battle with Hannibal, should he actually decide to meet our challenge, was likely to end the war—a war that had been going on for more than half our lives.
The feeling around the fire reminded me of those nights in Marcellus’ camp, when our foe had also been Hannibal, and the weight of the world seemed to sit on our shoulders. I had seen Troglius in this situation before. His demeanor never seemed to change. Whether there was a battle the next day or not, he stared into the campfire and ran his whetstone down the length of his gladius.
Rullo, however, was visibly tense, even more so than before the battle of the Great Plains. The war had been going on his entire life and Hannibal’s name had become synonymous with death and destruction. Something about him seemed supernatural and god-like. Facing him across the battlefield was like facing Homer’s Cyclops or Hercules’ Cacus. There was no dice game that night. No horseplay. Everything was business, tending to weapons and armor, trying to shut out the nerves so that at some point sleep might come.
Though not a soldier, I was as anxious as anyone in our camp, wondering about the battle and how its outcome would impact my reunion with my mother. I struggled to sleep and climbed from my bed roll in the middle of the night to go outside. I hadn’t noticed that Rullo’s bed was also empty. I found him sitting beside the smoldering campfire, staring at the few remaining embers. I sat down beside him, probably just as nervous about the next day as he was.
“Tough night for sleeping,” I said at slightly more than a whisper.
Rullo glanced at me, nodded, then continued staring into the fire.
“Are you all right?”
Rullo, who always maintained an air of confidence, even when ill at ease, muttered, “I’m frightened.”
“As is nearly every person in this camp.”
“Not Troglius.”
“As I said, nearly everyone.”
“It won’t be like the Great Plains,” he said.
“Many men on both sides will die tomorrow. That’s what war is.”
“I don’t want to be afraid.”
“No one does.”
Neither of us said anything for a while. I broke the spell with a question that I had wondered about for a long time. “Do you know who your father is?”
He lifted his eyes to mine in question. “No.”
“It’s Marcus Claudius.”
His eyes widened. “Who said that?”
“Ithius told me.”
This was no small revelation. Rullo’s eyes darted from side to side, turning things over in his head.
“It happened when your mother and Marcus were young. As you must know, Romans don’t acknowledge children fathered with their slaves.”
“Marcus is my father? Truly? And you’ve known all along?”
“For a couple of years.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
Despite my own anxiety, I managed to smile. “I thought it might help you tomorrow—to know what your heritage is, what blood runs through you. I think you might be more than you think you are—yet another reason cheating at dice doesn’t become you.”
“I’m the son of Marcus and the grandson of Marcellus,” he said more to himself than to me.
“A grandfather who was elected five times to consul, and a father who will likely be elected to that position a few times himself. Maybe that knowledge will help you believe in yourself—and allow you get a little sleep tonight.”
“Or none at all,” he said softly.
“I’m going to give it another try.” I got up to go into the tent.
Rullo stopped me. “Thank you, Timon. It’s important to know what you’ve just told me, even if Marcus never acknowledges it.”
“He may not, but it doesn’t change who you are and what courses through your heart.” I turned and went into the tent. I heard Rullo come in shortly afterward.
CHAPTER 108
A centurion came to our tent before dawn and roused me from sleep. He told me the general wanted to see me. I had gotten almost no sleep and stumbled out of the tent into the pre-morning dark. The centurion led me to the front of the camp where Scipio was waiting. Four soldiers came out of the camp after us, carrying a folded tent.
Scipio ordered the men to set up the tent, then drew me aside to talk in private. “These men will have this tent up shortly. I want you to help them position it so that you can recreate what you showed me prior to the battle on the Great Plains.”
“Sir?”
“The image made of light on the tent wall.” Scipio glanced over his shoulder to check the soldiers’ progress. “Put a hole in the side of the tent that faces the battlefield.” He motioned to the open plain below our camp. “When the sun comes up, I want an image of the battlefield projected on the inside of the tent. Can you do that?”
“The angles of the sun will determine whether it’s possible or not, sir. I can’t guarantee anything until midmorning.”
Scipio looked off at the Carthaginian camp across the way. A few lonely trails of smoke twisted up above the ramparts. After a moment, he faced me. “Do what you can. I will meet with my officers in headquarters at sunrise. Shortly afterward, the troops will assemble in the intervallum. We will make no further move until Hannibal has set his formation. That could be immediately at daybreak or at noon or not at all. In any case, when his troops are in formation, I will bring my commanders here to the front of the camp to discuss last minute adjustments before sending our troops out. I want to use the projected image to help describe our strategy.”
“Instead
of simply pointing to the battlefield, sir?”
“Using the image will have more impact.”
“Yes, I imagine it will.”
Scipio nodded, walked away, then came right back, clearly anxious about the upcoming battle. “I also want you to apply the lens to the hole to clarify the image, but don’t let anyone notice what you’re doing. It should be easy enough. Their attention will be on the image, not you. Any questions?”
“No, sir,” I answered, my head swimming with questions.
“Good. Go help the men position the tent. They’re waiting.”
As I walked away, Dilius Strabo came out of the camp trailed by his two attendants and a calf on a lead. Strabo wore a white, hooded robe that reached to his ankles. He strode directly up to Scipio with all the pretense of his religious arts and pointed to the eastern horizon. The faintest hint of light glowed behind the distant mountains.
The two men conversed briefly. Scipio, a man who always followed the sacrificial rituals perfectly and appeared to view them without cynicism, stepped aside to watch the short, fat augur perform his duties.
Dilius began with a prayer to Mars. Then one of the attendants gave him a small cloth bag of mola. While the other attendant held the animal’s lead, Dilius sprinkled mola down the calf’s spine. Dilius traded the cloth bag for an amphora of wine and dribbled some of it over the calf’s forehead. After running the sacrificial knife along the animal’s back, he signaled to the attendants with a tip of his head. They took the calf by the feet and flipped it on its back. Dilius knelt down and slit the screeching animal’s throat. The attendants held the animal so that it bled out, then the augur used the knife to open the animal’s belly. The attendants held the incision open while Dilius fished out the internal organs one by one for inspection. Scipio stood beside the augur, watching closely, anticipating any hint of the God of War’s mood.
Dilius stood. I couldn’t hear all that he said, but I did catch his final words. “Mars will bless you with victory today, General. I have never seen such favorable signs in a set of entrails.”
Of course this pleased Scipio. Even I, a non-believer, welcomed the auspicious reading. The negative readings before Marcellus’ death would never leave me free of these superstitions, but I also knew that Dilius had never given Scipio a bad reading. It seemed that Scipio had attained through soft words what Marcellus had demanded with force—an augur who supported everything he did.
Dilius returned to the camp. The two priests followed, carrying the carcass. Scipio took a moment to look to the heavens. I heard the hush of his voice, whispering a prayer to his father.
Two men with trumpets were standing on either side of the gate, waiting for Scipio’s response to the augur’s reading. Scipio slid the purple cape from his shoulders and hung it from one of the gate posts. As soon as Scipio disappeared into the camp, the trumpets sounded the wake up call.
On such a momentous morning, the camp came to life quickly. I went back to my tent to get some wheat gruel and flat bread, then returned to the front of the camp to wait for the sun to rise.
Using the spyglass, I could see that Hannibal had hung his blue cloak at the entrance to his camp. It was only a matter of time before the armies would begin to file onto the battlefield to culminate sixteen years of war.
When the sun sat on top of the mountains to the east, and long shadows streaked across the landscape, Scipio came out of the camp with his five commanders. Informed by our scouts that Hannibal had accepted Scipio’s challenge, the officers were grim and focused.
Scipio had intended to wait until Hannibal set his formation before giving the signal for our troops to leave the camp, but the early morning passed with no sign of the opposing army. Usually a man of remarkable calm before a battle, Scipio became increasingly agitated as the time passed. Off and on I went into the tent to see if there were enough sunlight to project an image through the hole. Each time, Scipio would look to me for a sign one way or the other. Three times I shook my head, no.
Midmorning Scipio decided not to wait any longer. He told his commanders to give the order to their men to march from camp and align themselves in the formation he had described the day before. On Scipio’s request, the commanding officers, who would usually accompany their men, remained on the hill, leaving supervision of the process to their tribunes.
About the time our troops were assembling on the battlefield and the general order of our formation was becoming obvious, we heard trumpets from the opposition’s camp, signaling for their troops to align opposite ours. This was also when an image of the battlefield began to clarify on tent’s east wall. I passed this on to Scipio.
I was inside, standing beside the hole in the tent, when Scipio entered. He purposely positioned himself so that he blocked the beam of light from reaching the tent wall. As soon as everyone was in the tent, Cato questioned the purpose of the meeting.
“What are we doing in this dark tent, General? What can we learn in here when our opponent’s troops are assembling on the battlefield, and there is still time to make adjustments?”
“Aren’t we wasting critical time, sir?” seconded Marcus Ralla.
Scipio ignored both comments. “I had a dream last night,” he announced dramatically. “I saw the battle take place in a vision on the wall of my tent.”
Cato continued to fret. “General, what are you talking about?”
Scipio took a step sideways so that he was no longer blocking the beam of light. “Just like that,” he said, pointing to the image on the wall as though it had appeared out of nowhere.
All of the men abruptly turned to the patch of light. Scipio stared at it with such intensity the image appeared to be coming from his eyes. “Yes, that’s the vision I saw last night.”
The others stood off to either side of the image, staring at it, gradually deciphering, as I worked to bring the image into focus with the lens, that it was the battlefield outside. All of a sudden, there it was—in stunning clarity. The officers, even Scipio, stood back in awe, then leaned in close to watch in amazement as they saw the men on the battlefield in miniature, moving into place like toy soldiers.
“How can this be?” exclaimed Lucius. “Those are our men and Hannibal’s moving into formation.”
“With his elephants as a first line,” stated Laelius aghast at what he was seeing.
“And his Numidians on the left opposite mine,” added Masinissa, his eyes wide with the magic of the vision.
“What are we seeing?” demanded Cato.
“My dream,” said Scipio. “It’s exactly what I saw last night.”
“Impossible” said someone under his breath.
Lucius left the tent and came back immediately. “It’s identical to what’s going on outside. What kind of vision is this?”
All of the officers looked at each other then back to the image.
“Except for the elephants, his alignment matches well with ours,” said Scipio. “His infantry stands in three lines with his cavalry on the wings.”
“But look at the number of elephants,” added Ralla. “How can we fight against so many?”
“Yes, that could be a problem,” Scipio muttered.
Laelius approached the image from the side and used his gladius as a pointer. “Look here. If we move our maniples so that they’re one behind the other, instead of staggered, we can create lanes in the formation. Some of the elephants might strike our men, but the dumb brutes will seek the openings. I’m sure of it. As they pass through, we can strike them from behind.”
“That might work,” agreed Cato, still staring at the living image on the wall.
“We’ll move the velites forward into the lanes to obscure the change from Hannibal,” said Scipio, excited by Laelius’ observation. “They can throw their javelins when the elephants charge, then retreat back through the openings.”
“And if the elephants catch up with them,” added Lucius, “they can dodge to either side—then hack at the animals’ ham
strings when they pass.”
“Yes, exactly,” affirmed Scipio, glowing like some otherworldly creature.
The others were too stunned by the image to say anything more.
“The gods have spoken,” concluded Scipio. “We will not be denied. Go instruct your men of the changes. Tell them Mars is with us. Tell them that the war will soon be over and that the spoils of Carthage will be ours to divide. Tell them our next voyage will be to Rome with the glory of Rome’s greatest victory.” He then purposely moved in front of the beam of light so that the image vanished.
The men, all astounded, and fully convinced that they had seen Scipio’s dream, filed out of the tent, talking to each other excitedly.
Scipio turned to me when the last man exited. “Not a word.”
“Yes, sir.”
“To succeed against a foe like Hannibal, sometimes the men must be convinced that they are invincible. The magic we have just shown my staff will translate into confidence and their men will feel it.”
I nodded, absolutely amazed by what he had done—all as a show.
Scipio and I had a difficult relationship. I respected him as a brilliant field marshal, and I appreciated that he recognized my intelligence, but I knew the other side of his graciousness. Despite his disarming manners and natural charm, I didn’t like the way he had used a dream to justify his burning of the enemy camps. I also didn’t like the way he had forced Masinissa to renege on his promise to Sophonisba. Even worse, I felt he had missed an important opportunity to end the war during his conversation with Hannibal. Instead, he had decided to enlarge upon his own glory by going into battle. All of that said, his use of the image on the tent wall was a stroke of genius. I saw how his officers looked at him afterward, as though he had a direct line of communication with the gods. It would surely inspire them. But it was deception—and very much an insight into the man and his methods.
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