At dawn the next morning we were off again, jogging at double time for large portions of the day. By midafternoon we were descending in altitude. We camped that night, rose at dawn, and set off marching again. As we neared Herdonea, the tribunes warned us that Hannibal could be in the vicinity. The carefree singing of bawdy songs and joking among the soldiers that had been so common when we had marched out of Rome ceased. The scouts spread out front and rear and on both flanks, constantly reporting back to Marcellus with the slightest bit of information. The mindset was to be ready for battle at any moment. Our opponent could be anywhere—in the forest or around the next bend in the road.
The forward scouts reached Herdonea shortly after midday. They returned to report that Hannibal wasn’t there. Neither was Herdonea. After thoroughly plundering the city, the Carthaginians had burned it to the ground. The populace had evacuated to the nearby towns of Beneventum and Arpi. Any nobleman suspected of conferring with Fulvius or being part of the betrayal had been crucified. Crosses lined the last mile of road to the city’s charred ruins. Black vultures roosted on these leafless trees, sated from the abundance of dead. Clearly Hannibal had made Herdonea an example to any other city considering treachery to Carthage.
According to the few Roman survivors we encountered, Hannibal had marched off to the west two days ago, across Italy’s central spine of mountains, headed south toward Lucania—likely passing us as we came from the other direction. Marcellus immediately sent his two best scouts off on horseback to see if they could catch up with him.
That night we made camp outside Herdonea. Two parties of cavalry combed the area for survivors and spoke to any locals they could find, demanding every detail of Hannibal’s two-day visit. The next morning we broke camp and headed west.
CHAPTER 33
The advance scouts met us three days later as we recrossed the Apennines. Hannibal was two days march south, encamped on a hill outside Numistro. The scouts estimated he had about thirty thousand soldiers, a number that we nearly matched as stragglers from Fulvius’ army integrated into ours.
I wondered if Hannibal had expected Marcellus to follow him from Herdonea. No Roman army had deliberately sought him out and attacked him since Cannae. The Fabian tactic of delaying had clearly frustrated Hannibal. When he thirsted for Roman blood, he had to go out and find himself a Roman legion or two. If he didn’t press the point or surprise them, they wouldn’t engage.
Marcellus, however, now back from Syracuse after three years, was an exception. Hannibal had a network of scouts spread up and down the peninsula, and agents in every town in Italy including Rome. No doubt he knew that Marcellus had been elected consul. He must have also known that Marcellus had been assigned to Italy and that he would not back down from a confrontation. It wasn’t impossible that Hannibal’s sudden advance on the napping Fulvius was designed to lure Marcellus into battle.
Spending as much time in headquarters as I did, I knew Marcellus’ thinking wasn’t much different than my own. The closer we got to Numistro the greater his caution. He doubled the scouting brigade and slowed our pace as we came out of the Apennines headed to the verdant valleys of southern Italy. A two-day march turned into three and a half.
We entered the valley west of Numistro just after noon the fourth day. Hannibal was camped on a hill at the south end of the valley. We immediately set camp due north of the Carthaginians, less than two miles away. Twice during the process of setting camp small bands of Numidian cavalry raced up to our half-built palisades, tossed their darts, and scampered off. Marcellus dispatched the entire cavalry to encircle the campsite and defend those doing the work.
Marcellus called his four commanders and Asellus to headquarters as soon as the camp was completed. Marcus and a second tribune, Gaius Decimius Flavus, were added to the council of war. I was there to take notes.
Marcellus stalked from one end of the tent to the other, waiting for the last man, Purpurio, to arrive. The tension in the tent was as taut as the leather stretched from pole to pole above us. The allied prefects, Papus Laetorius and Pacuvius Calavius, seemed particularly uneasy. They were the least experienced of the senior officers and the most concerned about a direct confrontation with Hannibal.
When Purpurio entered the tent, Marcellus led the officers to the map table. Instead of the map of Italy that I had been detailing for several weeks, a map of the valley we were in was spread out on the table. Marcellus had called me to headquarters to begin work on it as soon as the tent was pitched. It was a rough sketch, as close to scale as time had allowed.
The two camps, as well as the walled city of Numistro, were included in the drawing. I had also drawn grid lines across the valley to mark distances. Marcellus had placed markers on the map representing his intended battle formation and the formation he expected from Hannibal.
With chilling focus, Marcellus described the battle plan to his commanders. “We will assemble for battle at dawn. As you can see, I have decided to use a second line. I believe this gives us more flexibility, and greater opportunity to make troop adjustments mid-battle.
“The first line will have the Eighteenth on the right.” Marcellus looked up at Purpurio. The legate for the Eighteenth legion gave the slightest nod.
“The allied troops from Fregellae will be on the left,” continued Marcellus. “The walls of Numistro will serve as an anchor on their wing.” He pointed one by one to the red markers representing our troops. “The Twentieth will be in the second line, behind the allies.” Pollio acknowledged the reference to his legion. “The troops from Aesernia will be behind the Eighteenth. The second line will remain in place as a reserve when the first line advances. Hold order at all costs. Be wary of Hannibal deliberately opening the center as he did at Cannae. As long as we maintain order and hold rank, I believe we are the better army and can handle anything Hannibal has to offer.”
Marcellus turned to Asellus. “With the left flank protected by the walls of the city, I want you over-balanced to the right. Put all twelve hundred allied cavalry on the right flank. I expect them to be matched up against Hannibal’s heavy cavalry. A Carthaginian by the name of Carthalo is the commander. Let nothing get around that flank, no matter how thin you must stretch it. React instead of act. Defend the right.
“Put the Roman cavalry, all six hundred, on the left. Use them to keep Maharbal’s Numidians from running wild. That’s where I want you personally.”
Asellus nodded. I’m certain they had discussed this earlier.
“The Numidians are only on the battlefield to terrorize, as they did this afternoon while we set up camp. They may even circle wide and attack the camp as a diversion. We’ll defend it more heavily than we might otherwise to neutralize any such distractions.” Marcellus drew his finger across the map between the two lines of red markers. “At the first sign of a break in our ranks, I will call for the second line. Two blows from the trumpets signal the advance of the second line to double the first. Three blows mean the first line retreats as the second takes their place. Four blows, only the Twentieth advances. Five, only the legion from Aesernia. We all know the drill.
“I have laid out Hannibal’s troops as I imagine he will counter our deployment. According to the stragglers from Herdonea, he is also using two lines and has modified his phalanx to more closely resemble a legion. I think this works to our advantage. We know the legion better than any army in the world. His mercenaries will revert to their traditional fighting styles when the battle gets heated.
“Hold the line,” emphasized Marcellus. “I expect Hannibal to use his Gauls in the center. He allows them to fight without order. They need space to swing their longswords. Use a close formation against them.
“It’s only been eight days since his victory at Herdonea. He may have camped here to rest his wounded. He may not answer our challenge tomorrow, but prepare your men as though he will. Make sure they get a good meal in the morning. Tell them to expect elephants. Demand that they hold order even against thes
e beasts.
“The velites will open the battle with light skirmishing. As they recede, the first line will advance. The cavalry will play defense and our heavy foot will provide the muscle. Tell your men that a victory is not enough. Tell them we are here to destroy Hannibal’s army and end the war. Tell them that glory tomorrow means going home as heroes.”
Marcellus faced Pollio. The Twentieth legion contained a maniple of scouts. “I want your scouts out all night. Hannibal often hides squadrons of men for late entry into the battle—particularly from the rear or flank. We can’t let that happen. The battlefield is flat and open, but there are woods all around. I want your men to look behind every tree, within every gully, and report back to me before daybreak.”
That night Marcus came by my tent for the first time since we had left Rome. There had been no time for tutoring, and he had told me prior to leaving that he would not socialize with me in camp. I should expect the same treatment from him as I would from any other officer.
I had crawled into by bedroll but was far too nervous to sleep. The others in my unit sat outside sharpening their swords and adjusting the straps on their armor. I heard Pulcher address Marcus as he walked up. Marcus dismissed the formality, then ducked into the tent.
He wore his red tunic and a wide belt. He knelt beside my bed and smiled. “I said I wouldn’t come by.”
I sat up.
“I watched your face this evening while my father was giving his orders. You looked as frightened as my raw recruits. I wanted to reassure you.”
I bowed my head. Even though I would not be part of the combat, I was scared.
“I’m anxious as well, but this is what we Romans do. We go to war.”
“Your father has been waiting for this ever since we left Syracuse. How is he?”
“Probably still pacing in his tent. This is a big battle for all us, but he’s smart enough to know that it might only be the first of several confrontations with Hannibal. I worry that he’s taking too big a chance. I’d like to see him call for another legion.”
“That could take a week and your father doesn’t want to wait. You’ve seen it. He’s been unusually cautious in everything he’s done for the last month. I’m sure it’s the same here.”
Marcus nodded. “Hannibal’s not in the same position he was three years ago. That we know. He’s stretched thin. He’s pulled men from every one of his garrisons to build the army we’ll face tomorrow. Maybe my father’s right. The time is now.” He shook his head as though trying to convince himself of that.
Marcus withdrew a pugio from his belt and extended it to me. “Here, take this. Carry it with you. Should things break down, even you will become a target. Escape to the woods. Use this if you have to.”
I accepted the dagger. I had never used a knife except in a kitchen. I put it beside my bed. “Thank you, Marcus.”
He patted me on the shoulder and smiled. “If you weren’t scared enough before I showed up, my giving you that little blade couldn’t have helped.” He stood up and left the tent.
Shortly afterward, Livius came into the tent. He knelt by his bedroll before lying down. I heard him say a prayer in a shaky, emotional whisper. “Mars, give me the strength to fight bravely tomorrow. And put fortune on our side. If we are victorious, I could be home in two weeks.”
Anxiety ran high that night. I didn’t sleep at all. Except for Pulcher and Troglius, no one else in our tent did either.
CHAPTER 34
Our scouts returned before daylight the next morning and went straight to headquarters. They had found no hidden troops in the area, no sign of trickery from Hannibal. In the auguraculum, out of sight from everyone but the augur’s two priests, Marcellus and Varus Nasica took the pulse of Mars. Shortly afterward, Marcellus’ purple cape hung at the camp gate, signaling to our soldiers, and the Carthaginian camp as well, that the God of War had approved this day for battle.
Decius was the first in our tent to climb from his bedroll. He and bulky Spurius got a campfire going. We boiled wheat and baked flat bread in the dark. No one said a word while we ate. Even the usual slurping sounds of hungry men were lost in the tension of the morning.
The battle formation Marcellus described the night before was in place when the first sunlight bled in long red rays across the valley. Marcellus had instructed me the night before to take notes on the battle from the high ground just west of our camp. I found a good tree a little closer to the battlefield and climbed up into the branches for the best view possible.
From above, the Roman formation had a clear uniformity to it. Half the soldiers were Roman citizens. They were clad in red tunics and chain mail vests and armor that they owned. The allied levies were from Aesernia and Fregellae. They were also Latins and wore red tunics and armed themselves in the manner of the Romans.
The Latin men were not so tall, five and a half feet or somewhat more on average. But their builds were sturdy. If they weren’t hard-working farmers, they were aristocrats trained for war. With long arms and big hands, wielding sharp gladii and nobbed scuta, the Roman soldiers were compact, well-trained killing machines.
Midmorning, about the time I was wondering if Hannibal had decided to decline battle, the Carthaginian army marched out of its camp. As Marcellus had predicted, they formed two lines, matching our use of heavy foot soldiers and cavalry. Hannibal’s soldiers, except for the Carthaginian officers, were mercenaries, including a wide mix of tribal warriors from all over the Mediterranean and into Gaul, each armed in his own native fashion.
The center of the first line was a mixture of barbarians from north Italy—Gaestate, Boii, and Ligurians. On the right were Lusitanians and Celtiberians from Spain. On the left were Libyans mixed with other Africans, Moors and Liby-Phoenicians. The second line appeared to be a mirror of the first, with the Africans on the right.
Twenty elephants stood in the gaps between the phalanxes, their tusks gilded and shining in the sunlight. The beasts wore bronze breastplates and their ears were painted blue. Towers made of wood and leather, howdahs, swayed on their backs, carrying a mahout to guide the animal and four archers.
Hannibal’s heavy cavalry, twice the number of ours at four thousand, covered both flanks, one wing pressed up against the wooded hills and the city of Numistro, the other spread out in the open field to the west.
Their light infantry, much like our velites, stood between the two lines, a mix of Lusitanians and Balearic slingers. The Numidian cavalry was about two thousand in number. Their high-strung ponies pranced in place just behind the light infantry, eager to enter the fray.
At a distance, I couldn’t make out many details, but I could see Hannibal parading back and forth between the lines on a large black war horse, shouting encouragement and instruction to his men.
I always kept the leather pouch containing the two lenses around my neck. I had used the lenses sparingly since I had left Syracuse, but I was hidden now where no one could see me. I removed them from the pouch, and as before, held the disk in one hand and extended that arm. The glass bead I held to my eye. It was never easy to line up the two clear pieces of glass and bring an image into focus. The swaying of the tree made it all the more difficult, and interpreting an upside down image didn’t help, but I was getting better at it. Little by little, coming in and out of focus, in brief peeks and glimpses, I got a look down the length of Hannibal’s front line.
The mixture of armor and weapons, of costume and custom, was both curious and frightening. The Carthaginian officers matched the Roman officers in style. Their armor was the best money could buy, polished brass cuirasses, longswords from Chalicis, helmets from Boetia. All had bright blue capes hanging from their shoulders. The same was true of the Carthaginian cavalry. They had well-bred horses, with bridles trimmed in silver and colorful blankets to sit on.
The rest of the army came in all shapes and sizes. The Lusitanians wore white woolen tunics and hyena-skin slippers, and were armed with Spanish short swords and two jave
lins. They defended themselves with small round shields sheathed in cowhide and painted bright red and white. The Celts covered themselves in brown woolen cloaks, and carried longswords and rough wooden shields. The Libyans, known for their agility and endurance, also wore white tunics, these trimmed in red. Many of the Libyans held Roman shields and gladii that they had harvested from the dead at Cannae. The black Africans wore the skins of lynx or other wild cats. Many went barefoot. Some had wooden rings piercing their ears. Yellow leopard skins stretched across their shields. Peacock and ostrich feathers adorned their spears and shields or dangled from their thick black hair. Strings of teeth from a lion or a tiger were draped around their necks as badges of courage.
The barbarian warriors at the center of Hannibal’s first line so decorated themselves with skulls and bones that I wondered if we were fighting an army from the underworld. These Gaulish men were giants. Half a foot taller than the Romans and just as heavily muscled. They fought bare-chested, girdled for the least possible encumbrance—a triangle of leather for their loins, sandals for their feet, and maybe a wide gold bracelet or two on their wrists or above their biceps. They wore their hair long in braids or bound in animal bones or adorned with beads. Some were blonde with thick blonde beards. Their long, flat swords were beaten from low quality bronze, as were their helmets, which they invariably festooned with the horns of bulls or a skull of some kind—a raven’s or a fox’s. Others wore full fur headdresses fashioned from the skins of bears or wolves with a wide-open mouth of teeth just above the forehead as proof of their ferocity. How different was this mix of men compared to the homogeneity of the Roman and allied legions.
The Death of Marcellus Page 19