How could this have happened again?
It was hard to see beyond a few paces, as a thick fog hovered over the shores of Lake Trasimene. It was cold too as the long winter seemed not to want to give way to the warmth of spring. This only served to make the battle harder as the bitter nip of the morning air seeped into Valerius’ old bones, stiffening his reactions and ability to think.
Valerius’ sword again struck home, boring into the top of a man’s skull, but as more enemy warriors fell to him, more continued to come. It was only with decades of honed skills earned in countless battles that the veteran could hold out as long as he had.
Valerius grabbed hold on the man he had just killed, and pushed him at a Gallic barbarian that swung a two handled axe.
Valerius ceased the advantage quickly as the dead warrior collided with the Gaul. His sword was still stuck in the Carthaginian’s skull, so he was forced to pull his dagger out from his belt.
Dashing forward, Valerius forced the blade into the Gaul’s right eye, twisting the blade so that he may open the wound deeper.
The man screamed in agony as his eyeball ruptured, thick gore and blood spraying out from the socket as Valerius withdrew the dagger.
Before the Gaul could recover, Valerius thrust the dagger into his opponent’s throat, before yanking it with all his strength to the right, tearing the iron across the man’s neck, severing his jugular.
Blood sprayed out across the battlefield showering Valerius in the crimson mist before he quickly retrieved his sword from the other’s man’s skull.
“Romans!” Valerius roared as high as his powerful lungs could bear, “Form ranks around me, on the double!” he ordered, hoping that the dozen standing could hear him. While they were still engaged in their own struggles, his orders were carried out as quickly as they could be heard.
Valerius was enraged, as once again, due to the ignorance of another general, this time Gaius Flaminius. The army fell into another trap set by Hannibal.
After the Battle of Trebia River, Valerius had taken the survivors and joined the four new legions that Flaminius had formed, and marched north to avenger those slain in the previous two engagements. However, just like before, under Sempronius’ command, Flaminius was fooled into chasing after Hannibal, who used the terrain and bad weather to his advantage. With fewer men, Hannibal could move faster, and Flaminius, under greater pressure from the Senate to defeat the rogue, rushed headlong into another situation he couldn’t handle.
The attack plan had been brilliant Valerius hated to admit as even he did not see the strategy beforehand until it was too late.
Hannibal lured Flaminius to the banks of Lake Trasimene. With the water to their backs, surrounded from all sides by hills, Hannibal’s army waited in the woods, using the fog that rolled across the lake during the early-morning hours to blind the Romans to his movements.
Flaminius had faith he had Hannibal trapped, believing the general had set camp in clear sight upon a nearby hill. However, Hannibal had set torches around the camp, giving the impression that he was where he wasn’t.
The attack came early, at the break of first light. While the Romans still looked towards Hannibal’s supposed camp, a safe distance away, he struck on three fronts. So fast and devastating was the strike that the Romans weren’t able to get into proper formation to meet the ambush.
This was not the battle the legions were trained to fight. They were a well-oiled machine of mechanized warfare. As a whole, they were nearly unbeatable, and Hannibal was smart enough to know that. Using the savage fighting skills of his own men, and those of his barbarian allies, man-to-man, save for the most experienced and capable, such as Valerius, the Roman soldiers weren’t the equal to their opponents, not in this compactly.
Valerius wanted to order the retreat two hours ago, but even at the moment the voice of Flaminius could be heard as his battle horns continued to blow, blinding giving ill-fated orders to his broken legions. Even so, few Romans fought under his guidance now, as they battled for their lives and not to seek some measure of victory. However, the only means of escape was, either to push through Hannibal’s lines, or attempt to cross the lake. Those men most capable of swimming had stripped themselves of their kit and armor, but nearly iced over, few men could make it to the other shore alive, as the banks of the lake were already timing with Roman dead.
Sometime later, as Valerius had gathered several hundred men to him, a blood smeared lad came rushing up to him, pushing his way between his tightly packed comrades and cried out, “Legate Valerius! I seek Legate Valerius!”
“I am here, boy!” Valerius called back, unable to see who called his name quite yet until the man pushed his way between two soldiers.
“Sir, Flaminius is dead, as well as his command staff and much of his legion. I was giving orders by Prefect Varo to seek you out, and to receive orders, if you were still alive that is,” the young soldier puffed between long and deep breaths.
“What is the status of his men, or any, for that matter?” Valerius demanded to know, forced to raise his voice as more barbarians poured against the shield wall his men had managed to form.
“We are near collapse. Two other legions and the auxiliary are already overwhelmed, beyond salvation. Do we stand and fight to the end, sir?” the boy asked, almost expecting that Valerius would demand such a foolish course — better to die brave than to return to Rome in shame.
“Don’t be so damn foolish. Order whoever is still in command of the legion to join with the Sixth, if they can manage. We are going to make a break, and just maybe take a few more of these bastards with us as we do. Perhaps we can use this damn fog to our advantage as well, before it lifts with the higher sun.” Valerius knew that not everyone was going to be saved. He was going to have to order that a full cohort would have to be left behind to hold the line. Their fates would be certain, but it had to be done for the rest of his legion, and what was left of Flaminius’ to break through the Carthaginian formations and make for safety.
“Wouldn’t it be best that we try for the lake, sir?” The boy asked.
“Boy, how well can you swim?”
“Not very well, sir.”
“Then don’t be a bloody fool. Now, be gone with my orders, and be quick about it.”
“Sir!” the legionnaire saluted, and then turned, pushing his way back through his comrades and out of sight once more.
“May the gods be with you, Gaius, for they aren’t with us now,” Valerius uttered under his breath as he watched a large formation of Numidian horsemen come charging toward his formation. He doubted suddenly that he would ever see Gaius again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Gaius pushed his way through the gathering crowd that stood outside the west gate of Rome, which had been sealed shout, guarded by a century of city cohorts that forbade entrance. For the thousands of refugees who'd fled into the city seeking refuge, this had caused panic.
The chorus of voices cried out, demanding that they be allowed within the city. This same scene was repeated at each of the city gates, some more violent as the people had been standing outside, undefended and exposed to the elements for days, at least what Gaius had heard since his arrival an hour prior.
Gaius didn't expect to see this many people. He and his men had just returned, crossing over the Tiber River a day ago. Now, after Rome had promised its citizens protection, the city was closed. He had noticed the white smoke that billowed from within the walls when he first arrived as if dozens, if not hundreds, of buildings had been set ablaze. Why, he hoped to find out soon.
As he and his century forced their way towards the gate, the mob swarmed. His men had to form a defensive line around Gaius, holding their shields up and basing away any that dared to challenge them, blocking thousands of fingers that were reaching for Gaius once they realized he was an officer, and could, perhaps, get them access to the city, or worse, held for ransom.
The peoples’ collective voices cried out, demand
ing help, stating they were hungry, that they had come to Rome for protection, and that it was the Senate's duty to allow them entrance.
“Get back you bloody fools! No entry I said, on orders of the Senate!”
“What is going on here?!" Gaius roared as his men pushed away the people that hung from the gate.
“What in Hades are you doing out there?” The soldier asked with a dumbfounded expression on his blank face. “There aren’t supposed to be any more men outside the city walls. Didn’t you get your orders properly?”
“Are you touched?! Open the bloody gates and allow us in before this crowd has our heads!” Gaius demanded as rocks, clumps of mud and other assorted garbage was thrown at his men with increasing ferocity.
“At once, sir — Open the gates!”
Two dozen guards rallied to the gate and took up formation, interlocking their shields together, ready to repel anyone who dared to follow Gaius and his men through.
Gaius’ men were barely able to hold back the rushing mob that ceased opportunity once they saw the gates were rising, as hundreds of bodies pressed forward.
“Forward, quickly!” Gaius yelled as he and his men rushed through the city gates.
Several dozen people took advantage and ran forward as well, forcing their way through. Their efforts were cut short as the city cohorts attacked them, beating anyone they grabbed with clubs before pushing them back outside. The larger mass of people met with the Roman formation once Gaius and his century were safe. They bashed blunted swords against their shields as they carefully marched.
Some of the bravery men challenged the approaching Romans, urging those behind them to try their best to overwhelm the guards, but most, fearful of bruise and broken bones, after watching other refugees beaten down, decided against heeding the encouragement from those in front.
Moments later, the savage beating of already sickly and starving refugees began as the city guards easily manhandled the mob back outside the gates, before the heavy iron bars came crashing down. Those that were still trapped inside, were rustled to the ground, their foreheads bloodied, arms broken, crying out in pain as they were dragged away.
“What the hell is going on here? Why are the gates sealed, and these people forced to suffer beyond our walls?” Gaius demanded between heavy breaths.
“I apologies, sir but two day ago the Senate declared martial law, recalling all soldiers beyond the walls back into the city, and the gates to be sealed until further notice. I wasn’t aware that any of our men were left outside during the recall,” the guard captain reported.
“We’ve only just returned from the north. Now tell me, why would the Senate do such a thing as forbade these people entrances into the city? Do you know what they have already endured? For crying out loud, man, there are thousands left along the road leading to Rome, dead, food for the birds.” Gaius could not hold back his disgust. He had promised those he escorted that Rome would be haven for them, that the Senate would embrace them and bandage their wounds. However, the sight upon reaching the city, and the fowl stench within Rome’s walls, made him sick to his stomach.
“I am sorry, sir. After the riots, which left much of the city in ruins, the Senate did what it felt was best.”
“Why then do the people riot?” Gaius asked, dreading what his gut was telling him. Rumors had already reached him, which he prayed to the gods couldn’t be true. However, from the sorrowfully stare from the guard captain; he knew the truth before a word was uttered.
“Trasimene, sir — Flaminius’ legions, all of them, to the last man — they are gone — thirty thousand men, just gone.”
“My word…” Gaius could hardly contain himself. He felt weak in the knees, his mind struggling to comprehend what his ears were hearing. So many men…The Sixth…Valerius, all gone,
“What about survivors?” Gaius asked.
The guard captain scratched his head, seemingly trying to remember.
“There have been a few trickling in, here and there. Even so, the Carthaginians have been hunting them down, slaughtering them like wild game, or so I’ve heard. Needless to say, when the word reached the mob, well, they acted like anyone would, I suppose. They rioted, nearly burning down the Senate House. Damn near a quarter of the city went up in flames. Those few days, well, I’m glad you weren’t here to see it, sir. I don’t enjoy putting the sword to our people, but orders are orders.”
The guard captain sighed heavily as he spoke again.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No. Thank you. Carry on,” Gaius answered. The captain saluted and then rushed off, barking orders at his men as they continued to hold back the mass of people beyond the gates. Gaius hoped, but knew it was wishful thinking that this same scene wasn’t repeated at every entrance to Rome.
“Well, what do we do now,” Maurus asked, having overheard the entire conversation.
Gaius wasn’t too sure. He had been hoping to rejoin Valerius and Sixth Legion up north, but that was obviously out of the question now. At the moment, however, only one other person came to mind.
“I need more answer as to what is going on. Come, gather the men, we march, now,” Gaius replied.
The streets were nearly empty save for a few citizens who ran, with fear as they saw Gaius and his men marching down the narrow road. It was eerie. He was used to the volume of business and trade that normally occupied every block, but what greeted him was empty shops and boarded-up windows. Soldiers were everywhere, patrolling with orders to take anyone into custody that were out passed the curfew, or looting those shops that were abandoned or burnt-out.
Gaius understood the reasoning behind the riots well enough. Two armies sent north, tens of thousands of men and two consuls, dead, left to freeze in waning winter months before the thaw. The mob wanted answers as to why their fathers and sons would never come home — what was the Senate going to do, and how would it protect Rome from Hannibal, who was fast become a man of mythical standing. However, the sights that Gaius witnessed, the stacks of dead, piled up like winter logs on carts, the smell of lingering death and burnt wood, and the sense of sorrow and hopelessness was overpowering. Rome felt like a blotted corpse — a defeated city, and Hannibal wasn’t even within sight of its walls.
For the moment, Gaius’ only concern was checking on his friends. He prayed every step he made that Antonyand Julia were safe. Had they left Rome before the riots, or had they endured? These questions plagued him without end until finally, he saw his destination as, he, and his men marched around the block, and turned down the street that led to Varro’ estate.
Gaius’ eyes opened wide as instinctively his right hand fell to the hilt of his sword, when he saw two dozen men, armed, standing outside the home of Antony and Julia. With them were several more slaves as they moved an assortment of furnishings, statues and other personal items into horse-drawn wagons.
“Looters, you suspect?” Maurus asked as he saw Gaius’ sudden reaction.
“I do not know. However, they don’t look too friendly. Stand ready on my mark. I don’t want to give them a moment to act if this should turn bad.”
“Never fear, my friend, we have the numbers,” Maurus mussed.
“Numbers haven’t worked so far in our favor,” Gaius added.
The steady marching of his men quickly drew the attention of the armed men around the home of Senator Varro. Their leader, a tall broad-shouldered man, shaved head and numerous scars, most likely a former gladiator, eased his hand over his sword, watching with careful attention as Gaius and his century came closer.
Many of the big man’s men weren’t as seasoned, or ready for a fight. Some seemed panic by the sight of a hundred Romans marching towards them, but still, more than a few stood ready to fight if one was called for.
“I am Centurion Lucius Gaius of the Sixth Legion,” Gaius called out with a firm and commanding voice, one that showed nothing of his apprehension. “And I am looking for the master of this house, or his child
ren.”
The leader of the gang sneered as he stood firmly between Gaius and the entrance into the house. Smoothly, not quickly, he drew his sword, but held it down in a relaxed position. Gaius in return did not order his men to draw their weapons, even though many of his boys were edgy about drawing their iron.
“You can look, Centurion Lucius Gaius, but you cannot see,” the gang leader replied with a strong hint of distaste in his voice.
It was then that Gaius wondered if these men weren’t here to rob Varro’ home, but hired to protect it. If so, a hundred Roman soldiers marching toward the front gate could be seen as an act to arrest Varro, who would be paying these men to keep him safe. So, Gaius eased himself, controlling his next words so not to sound too threatening, but still remained firmed in his determination to get through those gates.
“I am not here to harm the senator or his family. I seek an audience with them, to ensure that they are safe. Now, kindly move aside before bloodshed is required,” the threat was purposeful, which got the reaction he was hoping from a number of the opponents as they seemed to shiver at the prospect of fighting well trained soldiers.
The gang leader smiled as he leveled his sword, aiming its point at Gaius. This action caused nearly all of his men, those most eager for a fight, and not fearful of Roman soldiers, to draw their weapons.
There was nothing Gaius could do to stop his men from responding, as a hundred swords were pulled, save for his own. He did not want blood to be shed, but he doubted words were going to work against this man either.
“The senator has all the protection he needs. Now, be gone with you, before I carve my name in your pretty young face.”
The threat was implied, and Gaius knew this man would not allow him to say another word before a sword came at his head. There was only one course for him to take right now — he needed to see Antony and Julia — he promised to keep her safe, and a gang of thugs weren’t going to stop him from keeping that oath.
A voice called out, distracting everyone’s attention away from the conflict.
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