Swords of Rome

by Christopher Lee Buckner

  The officers nodded their agreement. They knew that this battle would be remembered for ages to come. This was their moment, their chance to right all the wrongs that had befallen their country. Seven years of tireless war was coming to an end.

  Scipio walked around the table as each of his generals’ eyes was glued to him.

  “Like our forefathers who drove the last Etruscan kings from our homeland, and those who kept the northern barbarians at bay for all these centuries, we, today, shall etch our own names into the altar of our beloved Republic’s history. The world will know that no nation, now or ever shall equal our might; that no matter the losses or the cost, the Roman Republic shall forever burn the brightest in the entire world.”

  Scipio embraced each of his officers as friends and comrades alike, as if it were the last time he would see them again. He preferred speaking to them as equals, even if some in the room did not respect him for it.

  Gaius was one of the last that Scipio approached, purposely so.

  “You stood alone on the walls of Rome, my friend, when all others ran away. I know that above all other men in this room I can count on you and the Sixth the most. Help me win this war, Gaius, and we can all return home to those we love.”

  “Victory or death,” Gaius replied.

  “Victory or death.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  More than, an hour later, Gaius stood alongside a number of officers, including Scipio astride his white horse, surveying the Carthaginian lines, which stretched for several miles. The strategies laid out during the meeting changed very little. For the most part, what he saw was what he had placed on the map. Gaius hoped the general’s foresight would prove just as fruitful when the fighting started.

  “Well, I guess it was too much to ask for him not to show up, or just surrender,” Commodus, one of the generals besides Scipio commented with a smirk.

  “By the gods’ man, do not say such things. Not when we’ve come all this way,” another officer spoke.

  Each man chuckled lightly before Scipio put his heels to his horse’s side, urging the steed forward as he spoke.

  “Come and let’s see what our esteemed colleges have come to say.”

  He and his men rode the short distance across the field of battle to meet the Carthage contingent. The two armies were separated by five thousand paces; only the cracked and scorched earth separated them, which soon would run red with blood.

  The two groups stood poised for a moment, staring at each other, sizing up the opposition before Scipio broke rank and trotted toward the enemy riders. One of the Carthaginian officers did so as well.

  Gaius and the other Romans remained where they were, but they would still be near enough to hear the conversation between the respective generals.

  Gaius had to narrow his eyes to get a better look at the Carthaginian commander across from Scipio, as the two men stopped their horses a few feet across from one another. And after a moment of close observation, it dawned on him that the officer could only be Hannibal Barca.

  Hannibal became the most feared individual in Roman history — a man who single-handedly brought the Republic to its knees, killer of tens of thousands. Gaius had never seen him in person, until now, although he had faced the general’s army once before.

  During the long cold nights in the Roman camp, soldiers around the fire wondered if Hannibal was a god, for all that he had accomplished in such a short time. He seemed to be conjured from every man’s worst nightmares: cold, calculating, deceptive and cunning to a fault. It was hard not to admire him. He may have given Alexander a challenge worthy of history.

  Hannibal was not what Gaius had expected. Rumors were many: He was a giant of a man standing fifteen feet tall. He wore armor fashioned by the gods rendering him indestructible. He had the gift of foresight, so he knew in advance how to defeat any army sent against him, and that his sword possessed the souls of every man whom Rome had slaughtered in its history. Many more legends had surrounded him, but what Gaius saw now, seated on horseback before the most celebrated Roman general of this era, was not the villain he had pictured.

  Hannibal was no small man. He had a large build and broad shoulders; clearly, he trained to be a warrior from birth. Despite his fame among his own people, he was not dressed in the attire of an officer or nobleman but was far less expensive and impressive. He was covered by a simply-made leather chest piece, which was worn and badly scratched from decades of use. He wore no helmet; numerous scars lined his bald head and rough face. His horse was no different than the animal that his senior officers rode. His sword, which was longer than a Roman blade but made from the same Spanish iron, hung low on his left hip. It seemed generations old, and had probably been handed down from father to son.

  Most noticeable, and perhaps the only truth among the rumors, was that he had one eye. His right eye, having been lost, was covered by a black leather patch: proof, at the least, that he was indeed mortal.

  To Gaius’ surprise, he found that Hannibal was not the cold bloodthirsty monster as had been described: horned head, breathing fire, harden scales on his flesh, dragon wings, standing the height of five men. He was a man, to be sure. He could see in his posture and carriage the same confidence and sense of duty and honor that Gaius had admired in many men. What hatred for Rome and its people that boiled, deep down, in the recesses of his soul, could not be seen — but was surely just below the surface.

  Hannibal broke the long awkward silence first as he tilted his head in a respectful manner.

  “It is an honor to meet you, General Scipio,” he spoke in perfect Latin; his voice easily carried over the desert floor.

  Scipio had no kind remarks to exchange with his rival. He moved his horse back and forth while Hannibal remained still. What this display of power was doing to Scipio’s mind, Gaius could only imagine. If it was apprehension, Scipio did not show any signs.

  “What are your terms?” Scipio demanded, louder than Gaius had ever heard him speak before this day.

  Hannibal smiled at Scipio’s blunt speech.

  “You have come a long way. Many soldiers have given their lives to defend your Republic bravely, I might add. There is no need for us to sacrifice the lives of our men further — not today, and hopefully never again.”

  Scipio smiled as he reined in his horse and learned forward over his saddle, crossing his arms over the pommel.

  “You wish to surrender then?”

  Hannibal managed a faint smile. “No. I only convey my government’s terms.”

  “Then enough with your pitiful pleasantries, I grow bored. Let us finish this tiresome conversation and tell me your terms,” Scipio repeated.

  Gaius could plainly see Hannibal’s officers’ displeasure at Scipio’s disrespect. They held their place a few feet behind their general and dared not interrupt the proceedings.

  “My Senate has issued the following terms for Rome: To end the war between our nations, once and for all, Carthage offers Rome full control over the Spanish territories, plus Sicily, Sardinia, and a guarantee that neither, I, nor my country, will ever again raise arms against Rome or its allies, directly or indirectly. Along with these terms, the Senate agrees to pay your Republic an annual sum of fifteen million aureus for the next ten years,” Hannibal seemed to force his words between his gritted teeth as if someone was forcing him to say them against his will.

  Scipio’s smile widened as he positioned his horse closer to Hannibal before he gave his reply.

  “My dear general, Rome already controls these lands. We took them, from you and your brother, or has your memory faded in your waning years?” Scipio let his mocking words sink in before he continued.

  Hannibal grunted at him with contempt, but maintained his composure.

  “My army is at your country’s doorstep. I think, general that I will bring my terms to your Senate personally, once I have razed Carthage to the ground, and disbanded this excuse for an army you have brought to meet me.”


  Hannibal leaned closer to Scipio. “You forget that my army lies between you and Carthage,” Hannibal replied with an icy glare.

  “Oh, it does, does it?” Scipio replied.

  “You would be foolish to sacrifice your life, and the lives of your men. Do you do this in an attempt to defeat me on my own soil for the sake of glory or reward? If so, don’t be a fool, Roman, when needless bloodshed can be avoided. What my government has offered you are more land and wealth than your Republic could have hoped to achieve in a hundred years. Take the offer and remove your forces from my country with the satisfaction that you have won. Your celebrity is assured.”

  “Oh, my fame will be earned when you rabble has been ground into the dirt, general.”

  “Hannibal smiled. “You know who I am. I doubt that you have brought anything I have not faced, and crushed, before,” Hannibal sneered.

  “And you know who I am. When you are defeated, I will have earned more fame and wealth than I can imagine. It will make me immortal in the eyes of my people. However, that is not why I refuse your offer.”

  Scipio drew closer to Hannibal, his words low and hard — the bitterness in his voice conveyed the anger of millions who had suffered since Hannibal started the war years ago.

  “You brought this war to my people, to my homeland — and for what? You have killed so many, entire villages, cities, generations of people, and for what?”

  Of course, Hannibal did not answer.

  “You came to my homeland for your own glory, which was fueled by hatred against people who never offended you personally. You destroyed much, and have taken many lives, and none of it was for your people, your country, or for justice — only for your selfish ends. You are a monster, Hannibal whose terror will end today. I will destroy your army, and with it, your legacy. There can be no other way to end this war.”

  “Then that is how it must be.”

  A smile appeared on Scipio’s face as he sealed the fate of his men. He stood, higher in the saddle, as he presented Rome’s official response to Hannibal’s terms.

  “General, I’m afraid that on the behalf of the Senate, the People, and the Republic of Rome, I cannot accept, in good conscience the offer that your government has proposed.”

  Hannibal sneered with an annoyed grunt as he pulled the reins of his horse, forcing the animal to turn as he prepared to rejoin his troops.

  “You are either brave, or very foolish. History will decide which.”

  Scipio turned and rode past each of his waiting officers who followed one-by-one. However, Gaius noticed that one of Hannibal’s men had not turned and joined his general, but remained seated on his horse, staring at him with a sinister grin — dangling in his massive fist was an object that he recognized immediately.

  Gaius’ right hand flew down to the hilt of his sword at the sight the clay medallion that dangled on a leather string between the soldier’s fingers, seemly taunting him with it. However, he steadied himself, slowly taking his hand off from his sword. To draw it while the Carthaginian and Roman generals were still on the field would have violated the brief truce.

  “My dear friend, it has been so long since last we met,” Calfax’s voice was harsh and mocking. His Latin was bad, every word spoken as if it were an insult.

  “Look at you; your desire for revenge must be overwhelming. You can barely contain yourself. But that pitiful sense of honor is standing in your way isn’t it? You want this back, don’t you? It was your friend’s after all,” Calfax mocked as he moved his horse nearer to Gaius.

  “This is the way it should be, just like in the arena, two warriors standing against one another — not with forty thousand me between us ready to tear each other apart. Don’t you agree, Roman?” The very word, Roman, was said with so much hatred that Gaius’ skin crawled.

  “Strike me down, young Roman. It is easy. Put your hands down on that sword and draw it. Take my life and have your revenge upon me. Forget all of this. Forget your duty and sense of honor, and just kill me — you know you want it this way. Let these fools fight. Their struggle means nothing compared to ours.”

  Calfax waited as he threw open his arms, exposed his powerful chest, inviting Gaius to attack.

  Despite his hatred for this man, Gaius did not give into his darker instincts and lash out.

  “You are no fun, not like he was.” Calfax gestured to the clay medallion. It hung around his neck, among other trinkets that had belonged to other Roman lives he had ended.

  “He whimpered like a baby when I slit his throat,” Calfax said. “I trust when you face your end, you will have more courage than he did?”

  Gaius leaned in closer to Calfax. He wasn’t going to play the gladiator’s games any longer.

  “On the field, to the south, I will be there. I will find you, and we will finish this once and for all,” Gaius finally spoke as he dug deep to draw on as much courage as he could find. His words, thankfully, were firm, because Calfax’s presence was terrifying. The man feared nothing and no one. Gaius knew he had to be strong before him; the old gladiator could smell fear like a dog and would exploit it without hesitation.

  Calfax’s smile widened as Gaius turned his horse and galloped back towards the Roman lines.

  “Then on the field it shall be, Roman! On the field!” Calfax cried out several times, roaring with laughter.

  This battle had a whole new meaning for Gaius. While Rome needed to defeat Hannibal to move beyond the man’s legacy, he needed to face the gladiator to avenge the savagery of the man’s own sins.

  Live or die, he would find him and thrust his sword into the man’s chest. This he vowed with every fiber of his being. This he would do even it took his last breath.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Gaius stared into the faces of his men. All of them now, each and everyone he knew. They, like he, were the survivors who had lived, fought and bled in the long war against Hannibal and his horde. Each man listened to him with full attention. Everyone man knew what this day meant, but so too they knew who they were going to face.

  “I can see it in your eyes. I have heard it during the silent nights. You fear what lies across this valley and the man who leads this army against us.” Many of Gaius’ men grumbled disapprovingly, which caused him to smile. “You fear Hannibal as all Romans do. You fear that the gods have forsaken us and have blessed this man with immortality and foresight.”

  The rumbling between the men grew louder and angrier with each new word.

  “We are just another long line of walking dead, only we don’t know it yet. This is what you believe, isn’t it? We should turn around and run, or at the very least, have the decency to fall on our swords. For Hannibal cannot be defeated. He is better than any million Roman sons — is he not?!"

  A chorus of voices rose louder and angrier. Gaius’ smile grew wider as his words rose higher, carrying over his men.

  “Well, I tell you now, what they say is fabrications! Hannibal has never faced this army — these men — my Wolves before!”

  The men cheered louder, which was mixed in with enraged laughter. Gaius allowed his men to carry on for several seconds longer before he continued.

  “Romans,” his words grew lower now. “We have suffered greatly — not a brother here hasn’t been touched by the sorrow that this man has brought to each of us, but here today, all of Rome has come united and will cry out in one voice; the Republic shall not fall, now or ever!”

  The men of the Sixth Legion roared with excitement as Gaius rode back and forth in front of his men.

  “When the signal comes, we will ride out and face the enemy. We will engage them and slaughter them to the man. We will ride behind Hannibal’s lines and cut his veterans to pieces, and when that is done and this war is over, he and the whole world will forever know the name of this legion, and tremble with fear!”

  The roars of the Wolves carried over the whole battlefield. All sides, Roman and Carthaginian could hear them, and perhaps wonder was this the
day that the unbeatable Hannibal would finally be defeated?

  “Very inspiring,” Maurus said with a cheerful smile as Gaius rejoined him. “A bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Whatever works, my friend,” Gaius replied with a wide grin.

  The Sixth remained still a bit longer as Gaius could feel the anticipation build. Across the field, beyond the haze of the sun, he could hear the roar of his enemy, the echoes of the powerful elephants and the beating of Carthage’s drums.

  “I am coming home, my love,” Gaius uttered to himself as he drew his sword, which was followed by the thousands of men who stood in formation behind him. And then, carried over the distant horizon, he and all the Sixth heard it, the final horn blow — the signal to attack.

  “For Rome!” Gaius roared as he kicked his horse and raced across the desert — the whole of the Sixth charging behind him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  The cavalry charge was intense. Gaius had never been in one so large and this furious, as over five thousand, men collided with a thunderous clap of flesh and iron. The sounds of men and animals screaming as they were being chewed to pieces with deadly efficiency was overpowering, yet Gaius stayed poised as he rode through the first wave of riders who had charged headlong into his men. Now, the charge had ended and both Roman and Carthaginian were mixed together in a deadly duel — the victor would break the other’s lines and ride around to the main center, enveloping the army and claim victory. It was a simple tactic that was devoid of any trickery or surprises. The battle would be decided by the merit of the men, their equipment, training and experience.

  Blood splashed across Gaius’ face. He couldn’t avoid a mouthful of the salty — coopery taste of his opponent’s gore going down his throat. He had learned a long time ago to ignore the strange unnatural taste as his sword cut across the face of one horseman who charged towards him. For the moment, he was with a group of a dozen or more Roman riders, but with each savage micro battle between the greater engagement, men fell or were pushed further into the melee.