“I do remember,” he answered with a smile. His mind at no time left those days far behind. Some days, when the world was hard and brutal, he would escape to those fantasies — reliving his youth with Antony and Julia, wishing those times would never leave.
“It was only games, played by young children who thought nothing of the world or their place in it. I know that now. However,” she looked up at him, clutching him tighter in her grip. “I knew when I was with you, I was safe. Not just from practical dangers, but from anything. I knew you would never surrender under any circumstances, and that gave me hope.”
Julia’s eyes filled suddenly with sadness as she reached up and touched the side of his face, staring for a long while into his deep brown eyes.
“You promise me, Gaius, the day you left home that you would grow up strong, so you could protect me from the monsters of the world. I fear, no matter what my father or Paullus says, the coming days will be dark. Terrible things are going to happen, and I’m frightened, Gaius. I’m fearful what may happen to you. Just promise, even if it is a lie that you will come back for me.”
Julia drove her head into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, waiting for his answer as she demanded once more, “Promise me!”
Gaius was silent as he held her, afraid to speak. However, like he did when he was a boy, he swallowed his fears and said what needed to be said.
“I swear it, my love. I swear I will always be here for you.”
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Late July
Gaius’ attention was focused as he came within a hundred paces of his target, a pair of men on horseback racing away from him as quickly as their animal could run, impaired by its heavy load. One of them frequently glanced back, yelling at the other to push the horse faster, which was impossible.
Both were Carthaginian, or more so, dark-skinned Numidians that served Hannibal on his crusade, and these men were raiders, which were part of a party that had attacked the outstretched Roman supply lines for going on a month now, since the legions left Rome.
The vulnerability to the consuls Paullus and Varro’ vast army was apparent. There simply were not enough men to protect every stretch along the road as the caravans that traveled across it, tasked with feeding the legions, were under constant attack.
Hannibal had tried his usual tactics, which had worked for him against the previous legions sent against him. He kept his troops on the move, using the natural topography of the land to his advantage, and with fewer numbers, around forty thousand, he had been able to stay ahead of the legions that pursued him relentlessly.
Gaius and some of his Wolves had been recently charged with protecting the lines. It was not his preferred duties, but after the cavalry, prefect had been injured during a previous encounter, he had been ordered to take the man’s place until a suitable replacement could be found. And while Gaius preferred marching with the legions, he had always had a knack for horsemanship, which made him a quantified choice.
Gaius closed the gap between him, and his target that he could see the terrified expression on the rear rider’s face as he glanced back once again.
They had belonged to a group of a dozen other riders, but when Gaius’ men broke them, they scattered. He’d given the order for pursuit, and to cut them down. At the moment, however, he feared that he was alone in the chase as he dared not to lose momentum by glancing behind him to see if he was followed by his men.
Reaching back and grabbing one of the three short spears in a satchel behind him, Gaius quickly brought the weapon to bear, holding it high as he aimed, and waiting for his target to come within range. And when he narrowed the gap between him and the two Numidians to less than twenty-five paces, he let loose his spear.
The man in the rear looked back just in time to see Gaius throw his spear. He could do nothing to prevent the point from tearing threw his back, which was unprotected, save for a loose tunic.
Blood shot out his mouth from the force of the spear impacting through him, pushed him forward, which unbalanced the driver who lost control over the horse, which veered violently, throwing both men to the ground, hard.
Gaius’ own momentum carried him past the two riders before he could rear his animal back around.
As he circled, he saw that both were down as the enemy horse quickly trotted away. The man he attacked lay still, his arms and legs bent and twisted, broken from the fall. It would have been painful if he wasn’t already dead.
The second man lied a few feet from the dead man, face down in the tall grass, also not moving.
Gaius slowed his horse before hopping off. He wanted to check and make sure the Numidians were dead, even though neither man was moving.
Gaius removed his sword from its scabbard and slowly began to move towards the man he knew he hadn’t killed. He couldn’t help but notice the sudden quiet. He was in the middle of nowhere, in a large field with knee-high grass as far as he could see. He only heard the sounds of distant birds, and the gentle summer wind blowing through the field. Any other day, he would have taken the time to enjoy such calm and peacefulness.
Gaius inched his way closer to the rider. Suddenly, before he could check to see if the man was dead, the rider leapt to his feet and swung his sword in a violent arch that nearly took Gaius’ head from his shoulders.
Gaius backpedaled quickly, keeping his own sword up in a defensive position as the man, nearly as black as the night sky, grinned at him with bloodied teeth, saying something to him in his native language, but it was only the word, Roman he understood.
The Numidian was at least twice Gaius’ age and the numerous crisscrossing scars that stood pronounced against his dark features, showed that he was a veteran of many battles, most of which he probably won.
Gaius regained his composure, realizing that he must have looked like a frightened child, and fell back into a fighting stance, as he was trained.
He had killed before, at Trebia, and had trained against many skilled combatants in single combat, but he knew that a legionnaire’s strength wasn’t in one-on-one battle, but in a group: a century, cohort or a legion. The Numidian, on the other hand, had no quarrel about facing Gaius in lone combat. Still, an unwelcome and unfamiliar fear ran up from his stomach and spilled over him like a sickness.
Clearing his head, Gaius tried to bring himself into focus, not thinking about the man’s obvious size, his scars, or the madness that stared at him in the man’s bloodshot eyes.
“I wasn’t planning on dying this day. I’m just letting you know,” Gaius said with the best and bravest grin he could muster. It seemed to work as the over-confident warrior rushed, attacking first.
Gaius moved to his right as the Numidian struck high.
Easily, the man rebounded from his first failed attack and came at Gaius with the same determination, countering with a wide horizontal swing that he must have hoped would throw the younger Roman off balance, but Gaius, to even his surprise, kept pace with the older man. He had done this so many times, both in practice and war that his reactions were second nature.
Parrying one blow, Gaius instantly felt the dominant vibration run through his hands, up to his arms and into his chest, where his heart beat furiously. The dark-skinned man was powerful, but he lacked form and proper control.
The larger and heavier sword hit Gaius’ smaller gladius time and time again, but each time, he was wearing himself down as he was confident in his strength.
Gaius wished he hadn’t, but he couldn’t help but scream in pain as a wayward sword blow finally struck home, as the tip of the Numidians blade sliced just under his shoulder garment.
Blood drizzled down from the open wound as the Numidian couldn’t help but laugh, as he said something that Gaius assumed was mocking in his native tongue.
Gaius ignored the sensation of his blood running down his arm, as well as the Numidian’s mocking as squared himself for more savage blows.
Think, Gaius. Y
ou’ve faced bigger men than this one before, Gaius thought to himself. He was no small man himself, but there had been others larger than he during his training with the Sixth, men like his now dead friend Agrippa.
The Numidian attack again, yelling at the top of his lungs as he swung for Gaius’ head, however, the blow came up short as the younger Roman dove out of the blade’s path, and quickly rose back to his feet.
Gaius kept his distance from the Numidian who attacked once more, but again, Gaius failed to meet his challenge as the man swung with the force to bring down a tree.
The Numidian screamed, yelling something fowl as his frustration was painted over his face.
Gaius smiled as he began to understand that this man had a short temper, and had difficulty controlling it. He wanted a proper fight, to prove he was stronger and better than his Roman opponent. However, war wasn’t fair, as Hannibal had proven already, so Gaius played the part as he grinned wide, making sure to keep easy distance from the Numidian.
“Come now, old man, can’t you keep up?” Gaius mocked, which the Numidian seemed to understand, at least the meaning from Gaius’ amused tone.
The Numidian rushed forward with his sword held over his head, screaming with rage as he brought the blade down. Again, however, Gaius moved from the man’s path.
Seeing an opening, Gaius struck quickly. The wound he caused was superficial, as he drew a line of red across the flat of the Numidian’s back.
“You are too slow. You should have stayed in Africa and fought men of equal value as yourself, my friend.” Gaius felt odd speaking as he was. It wasn’t in his nature so rude, but his tactic seemed to be doing its trick. With the hot summer’s sun overhead, and the heavy sword in the Numidian’s hand, he was beginning to sweat buckets as he struggled with each new attack, as his reactions lessened.
Again, with another murderous roar, the Numidian lunged forward, but this time the man’s fatigue was getting the better of him as his speed was drastically reduced. It was hot, and while Gaius was weighed down by his armor, he wasn’t as bothered by the dry air.
As the dark-skinned warrior was sweating profusely, his grip on his sword loosened, held lower with each attack. His chest heaved with considerable effort, yet stood, refusing to withdraw his and fight on the defensive, to conserve energy.
Gaius saw his opportunity.
“You come to my land, my country, and bring war,” Gaius yelled as he moved closer, waiting for his opening. “Why, to murder my people in a war not of our making? Your people are cowards, and will one-day face judgment for the lives you have taken!”
The man did not like what he was hearing, obviously, to some degree he understood what Gaius was saying as sounded repeatedly what seemed like the same word, none of which Gaius understood. It did not matter, regardless; Gaius was done with this fight.
As the heavy Numidian sword came crashing down, striking the earth with a savage blow, driving nearly a full foot into the soft soil, Gaius dodged a moment earlier as the blade came rushing past him. He danced around his opponent and saw his opening: the Numidian’s exposed ribcage, where Gaius drove all twenty-four inches of his sword into the Numidian’s chest.
The Numidian screamed in agony, baring his teeth like a caged beast as Gaius’ sword was quickly withdrawn from his torso.
The man tried to strike at Gaius with what remaining strength he had left, but again, the Roman easily ducked under the counterattack.
Dark crimson blood poured out from the wound, which the man’s hastily tried to cover with his freed hand. Gaius had missed the heart, which he had been aiming for, but the angle prevented him from dealing a quick blow. No matter, his opponent was done, both knew it.
The Numidian began to stagger as his color turned a ghostly shade of choky blue. An artery had been severed, that much Gaius knew as his opponent seemed to be no longer aware of where he was standing.
For a moment, as the man dropped his sword, Gaius thought about leaving him as he stood — let the man bleed out. However, he could not bring himself to do so.
Moving carefully toward the Numidian, Gaius aimed the tip of his sword for his opponent’s throat. Slowly, but effectively he drove his sword into the man’s gullet. The act was easy as the Numidian’s eyes opened wide.
The Numidian’s eyes rolled back into his head as he tumbled over, his body twitching violently for several long seconds, before finally he was still.
Gaius breathed deeply as he stared down at the man he killed. He felt nothing, to his own surprise. It was not like Trebia, as he had been horrified by battle and seeing his brothers floating down the icy river. He had done as he had been trained. He bested a superior foe in combat, but he felt no joy in the act, or pity for the man.
A moment later four Roman riders trotted up behind Gaius, happy to see the two dead warriors at his feet. Right away, they congratulated him as the leapt down from their horses, wanting to hear the details. Gaius, however, said nothing beyond ordering his men to mount and ride back to their patrol. A moment later, looking down at the men he’d killed, Gaius pondered the action a moment longer, as he wondered if these men left anyone to their name, far from the foreign soil they had invaded.
It did not matter Gaius decided. He was content to let them rot in the sun, and be eaten by the birds then to ponder these men’s lives a moment longer.
As the sun moved over the horizon, Gaius and twenty of his men, all of them tired from a weeklong patrol, safeguarding the supply-lines, were finally in sight of the Roman camp, much to their relief.
The consul army had been moving from day-to-day, tracking Hannibal and his forces for weeks. At the moment, they seemed to have cornered him near the town of Cannae, which Gaius knew had to be a bad sign for Rome, as the town hosed an important supply depot.
Gaius did not know the logistics at this time, but he figured that Hannibal must have taken the town purposefully. At least now Rome knew where he was.
As Gaius observed briefly during his short ride through the camp, the plains surrounding Cannae offered neither side any advantage — it was flat, mostly featureless with a few low-lying hills covered by dried grass. Gaius hoped the field, if battle was soon to start wouldn’t allow Hannibal to try his tricks. A pitched battle was what Rome had been seeking, and now it seems they’ve gotten it.
Already thousands to torches lit the Roman camp, making it look like a small town among the sea of stars, which were just now starting to break through the night sky as the sun disappeared below the western horizon. A few miles away he could just barely make out the glow from Hannibal’s camp and while considerably less bright, it still stood as a stark reminder of the apparent threat.
“I guess Hannibal has finally stopped running,” Maurus commented as he hadn’t turned his head from Cannae since they reached the plain.
“So it would seem so,” Gaius replied.
“A shame really. If we were going to give him Cannae and all the supplies within its walls, we could have spent the last few days doing something better with our time than patrolling the supply caravans. Bloody ridiculous,” Maurus snorted his frustration.
“Indeed,” Gaius replied. He felt the same but did not voice his opinion as openly as his subordinate. He was just thankful to be back among his people, and happy that he hadn’t lost any of his men during the deployment. They had been in three engagements, counting the skirmish this afternoon as Hannibal’s raiders had been picking off any foraging party and supply convoy they could find. The toll had been heavy on those unprotected as one hundred thousand men needed mountains of food and water to remain affective.
The rumbling in Gaius’ stomach reminded him that he needed food as well, so he did not prolong his ride to the camp a moment longer.
Hours later Gaius had been ready to bed down for the night once he rejoined the rest of the Sixth Legion when he was called by an aide who had been instructed to tell him that his presence was requested at a gathering of senior officers. Now, with the full mo
on hanging high over his head, Gaius walked through a series of large tents that had been erected at the center of the camp.
“Going my way?” Valerius called from behind him.
“It is to the viper’s nest I suppose, we might journey together,” Gaius replied with a wide smile.
“It is good to see you back. I trust all went well?”
“Nothing that couldn’t be handled with a good sword and a fast horse, which I have both,” Gaius replied. “It would seem that you’ve had troubles of your own.”
“Indeed. Hannibal took Cannae two days ago, and the grain storage we had in there. As a result, we’ve put our men on tight ration. I’m afraid what is arriving by caravan isn’t enough to sustain us for very long.”
“It is good to know that my work was for nothing,” Gaius sneered with a mocking tone. “Aren’t the consuls going to confront Hannibal?” he asked.
“We’ve tried, but that snake won’t come out of his hole. For now, he seems bent on standing between us and breakfast. In the meantime, his riders continue to harass our foraging parties, apparently hoping to starve us out of food and water.”
“Then, what are the consul's planning?” Gaius asked.
Valerius laughed. His distaste for politicians was legendary, but Gaius did not know if his laughter was out of disrespect, or if there was meaning behind it.
“Well, normally the consuls would lead their own respective legions, but since this is a combined army, they share command on rotating bases — swapping command like two children sharing toys. Paullus has been cautious. He probably doesn’t want to strain his reputation by getting this army wiped out. While Varro is brash, trying to force Hannibal’s hand, and remove him from behind Cannae’s walls.”
“I’m afraid to ask — whose turn is it to lead tomorrow?” Gaius wondered.
“Varro, I’m sorry to say.”
Gaius did not know what to think. He did not understand the Roman system as well as Valerius. He liked Varro well enough — he was the father of Antony and Julia, and had always treated him with respect. However, Gaius was concerned. Varro was not a military man, but he was a career politician, businessman, and land owner. Gaius knew the truth well enough: it was fame and glory that both Varro and Paullus sought. If they defeated Hannibal, not only would their future interests be assured, but their names would live on forever, and generations to come would celebrate their victory and their decedents. However, waiting for an enemy that refused to budge while their own men slowly starved wasn’t the way to victory. The food shortage might cause one or both consuls to act foolish; Gaius feared.
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