The young men nodded.
“Who scored a kill yesterday?” Gauda asked them.
Along with several of the other troopers, Hannon raised his hand proudly.
“By the end of the day, all of you will raise your hands. These men are veterans,” Gauda said, turning to Juba. “Pyrrhus himself would have been proud to ride with them.”
“Just remember your training,” Juba said in a commanding tone, ignoring Gauda.
All conversation stopped as the group noticed Masinissa riding around and through the ranks of Numidian horsemen, exhorting the men to do their duty. As predicted, he was wearing the colorful robe he always wore in battle. As he shouted encouragement to the men, his oily black beard beat against the dyed wool of the robe, making a stark contrast to the deep gold and brilliant crimson, lapis lazuli blue and royal purple patchwork of the fabric. The wet ringlets of his hair poured out from beneath a white skullcap. Dressed in such a manner, he was impossible to miss, even over vast distances, and the Numidians all turned and watched him as he threaded his way through the now-silent ranks of cavalrymen, easy to pick out among the simple dun-colored tunics of the massed tribesmen.
Juba worried about him in the colorful robe because it made him a target. He knew that the robe made it easy for the men to see him and gave them a rallying point to fall back on and he also knew that the men would protect him. But there was no doubt that the enemy would be attracted to the man in the robe.
Masinissa walked his horse out from the ranks and faced the entire group. He sat straight and tall on his bareback gray, leaning forward for maximum elevation. His eccentric appearance was captivating, giving him a commanding presence he did not normally possess.
“The Romans have left their foragers undefended,” Masinissa shouted to the assembled company. There was no sound but the sporadic and random nickering and hollow clopping of shuffling hooves. “They are all over the hills on either side of the river,” he said, pointing to a spot somewhere beyond the closed doors. “We are going to hit them as fast as we can, doing as much damage as possible, and then sweep south. If we encounter any large bodies of enemy cavalry, we draw them towards me, as usual.” With both hands, he pulled the breast of his robe, stretching it fully until it looked as if he held a dazzling bolt of cloth over his chest. “If opposition is light,” he went on, letting the robe drop, “we may be able to strike the enemy camp.”
There rose a murmur of excitement among the men and a wave of agitation spread among the horses. The nickering and clopping increased.
“General Hamilcar is leading an infantry force out the south gate,” Masinissa went on in a louder voice. “We will assist the infantry, if necessary… But men,” Masinissa said with a determined grimace of a smile, “I want that enemy camp!”
Javelins and shield arms held aloft, a cheer went up from the two hundred. Just at that moment, the gates started to open.
Flanked on either side by gleaming colonnaded temples, the column of soldiers, five thousand men in all, faced the southern gate of the city. The line of men extended through the agora and into the narrow streets beyond. The men were cramped and uncomfortable in the streets as they waited to move.
Generals Hamilcar and Boodes rode along the head of the column. Hannibal, accompanied by his contingent of mounted guards, came riding up.
“The enemy is about to learn a hard lesson, gentlemen,” he said. “There can’t be more than a thousand of them out there.”
“I was on the walls and have seen their position,” Hamilcar said. “They hold us in utter contempt.”
“They’re out there fortifying their camp behind a thousand men — as if they were in the shadows of Rome and not Carthaginian Acragas! Their foragers are completely uncovered. It is just as our scouts reported. They give no thought to security, whether they are a day’s march away or right underneath our walls.”
“This Megellus believes we will surrender,” Hamilcar reminded the general. “He sees no need for security.”
Boodes shook his head. “He will learn quickly,” he said.
“Indeed he shall learn quickly,” Hannibal agreed. “We attack with five thousand men, enough to overwhelm them if we strike quickly. Once we pass through these gates, we shall deploy our line immediately. We will then advance on the enemy at once in great haste. We shall strike him before he even knows we have arrayed against him. General Hamilcar?”
“Certainly, sir,” Hamilcar said, agreeing with the prearranged plan. He did not like the idea of leaving five thousand men inside the city. The entire army, he felt, should be brought to bear against the Romans. But he knew Hannibal was by nature cautious, despite his personal exuberance. In any case, he did not think it was going to be so easy. Acragas was built on a plateau and there was a steep slope between the walls of the city and the Roman position. Whatever the benefits of a speedy deployment, the sixteen-man-deep phalanx of the Carthaginian army was not made for negotiating rough ground. Hamilcar was afraid the cohesion of his formation would be lost in the descent and they would strike the Roman line piecemeal, inviting disaster. Hannibal thought they could deploy undetected atop the plateau and whatever power was lost due to the lack of cohesion would be more than compensated for by speed and surprise. If that should prevent the Romans from reinforcing their position, he would be correct, Hamilcar thought. But he considered it a long shot and he did not like the idea of marching a phalanx over rough ground.
Hamilcar was a veteran of several campaigns in Libya, but he felt a dread of the Romans. By all accounts, they were a formidable enemy and achieving military glory against them might prove a greater challenge than in Africa. Fueling his reservations was the fact that he was expected to attack under a flawed plan with only half of a hastily assembled, ill-trained army, in a battle he had, by definition, no chance of winning.
“Our cavalry will scatter the foragers and then sweep around from the north to support us if necessary and to cover our retreat back to the city before the Romans can bring an overwhelming force against us,” Hannibal reminded them. “But I want to destroy that covering force, by Tanit! Megellus offers me terms, gentlemen. He will have my reply in Roman blood!”
Hannibal, his eyes blazing fiercely, signaled to the men at the gates and the heavy doors began to move.
Far down the slope, decurion Calpurnius Flamma watched the Roman soldiers enter the broken down farmhouse on the ridge. The house had long been abandoned and Calpurnius knew the soldiers would find little of value. After a few minutes, he saw smoke begin to rise from the structure, white at first and then darkening as the column thickened. Soon flames shot out of the windows, licking the eaves and then engulfing the roof.
“They didn’t find anything, so they’re burning the place down,” Calpurnius said to the two other cavalrymen of his turma. The rest of the thirty men were scattered in packets somewhere between the ditch diggers and the foraging parties.
“I wonder what they thought they would find,” one of the men said. “The place is obviously abandoned.”
“They are an undisciplined lot,” Calpurnius said. His horse raised its head and snorted as if in agreement. Calpurnius laid a calming hand on its neck.
He was disgusted by the lack of professionalism he found in the Roman cavalry. Composed mainly of spoiled, rich boys, scouting and security were beneath them. Most were glory-seeking aristocrats, interested only in making names for themselves through acts of bravado and, from what Calpurnius had witnessed, sheer foolishness. They were not averse to plundering abandoned farmhouses, either.
The three horsemen watched the soldiers come running out of the burning building, like mischief-making boys. Calpurnius leaned forward in attention when he noticed their running take on an urgent air. The men kept running even after they were well clear of the flames. Then one of the soldiers fell and Calpurnius heard men shouting.
He sat up straight in his saddle.
“Did you see that?” One of the horsemen exclaimed.
> “By the gods, they’re under attack!” Calpurnius said.
A lone horseman appeared on the crest of the ridge. His unarmored form stood out starkly against the darkening late afternoon sky. He was holding a javelin and a shield. The soldiers from the farmhouse ran wildly in every direction. Soon another horseman joined the first.
“Those are Numidians!” Calpurnius said. Yesterday, a small Numidian patrol had attacked some foragers. Calpurnius had been nowhere near the incident. Fortune smiled on him today, though.
Calpurnius Flamma was the son of a senator and he was well on his way to fulfilling the military requirement to follow in his father’s footsteps. He had already had a horse killed under him against the Syracusans; and among his trophies was a fine Gallic sword that had been used to decapitate a companion just moments before Calpurnius had killed the fellow wielding it at Messana. Now, he wanted a Numidian javelin — or a shield. Either would look fine on the wall of his father’s villa in Rome.
Calpurnius grabbed up the reins. “Let’s go get them, boys!”
“But shouldn’t we alert the rest of the turma?” The other rider asked. Roman horsemen dotted the valley, their horses placidly munching grass, unaware of the attack.
“These Numidians are mine!” Calpurnius cried. His blood had boiled when he had heard of the murder of the unarmed foragers. He had longed for this moment.
Digging his heels into his horse’s ribs, he was soon charging at full gallop up the long slope, his scarlet cloak flapping and twisting in the wind behind him. His companions followed, and soon they were galloping three abreast, spears at the ready. Calpurnius could see only two of the enemy. He knew there was little chance they would stand and fight, but he hoped to surprise them. He spurred his horse on, but the Numidians saw them at the last moment. They turned and disappeared quickly below the crest of the ridge, leaving behind them a single dead body in the now-empty yard of the burning farmhouse.
It did not surprise him that the lightly armed Numidians would not stand and fight, but he was not prepared for what he saw upon reaching the top of the hill. Scores of the enemy filled the landscape below. He saw horses by the dozen splashing across the River Acragas, while others swarmed up the slope toward his position. All were unarmored Numidians, carrying round shields and javelins and riding swift horses.
“There must be a hundred or more of them!” he called to his companions.
“Let’s call up the full turma!”
Calpurnius snapped his head around and saw that a dozen more armored cavalrymen, drawn by the sight of the enemy, the fleeing foragers and the burning farmhouse, were already galloping up the long slope toward them.
Quickly, Calpurnius surveyed the field. There in the distance he could see the enemy infantry attack developing. Spears bristling before it, the deep enemy line moved with surprising speed toward the waiting Roman covering force, which looked thin and weak by comparison. It looked like it would be crushed to powder as by the grindstone of the enemy phalanx, and Calpurnius’ cavalry was in no position to do anything about it. Calpurnius had not expected anything of the sort. None of the Romans had.
“Look!” he shouted. “It’s a full attack!”
Instantly, he considered calling a retreat. Chasing away javelineers was one thing, facing a full attack was quite another and he needed to formulate a plan. Then he saw the Numidians hesitate and begin to fall back as the dozen equites took up position alongside Calpurnius’ party atop the hill.
“By Jupiter, we’ve got a fight on our hands!” one of the cavalrymen said upon catching a glimpse of the swarm of Numidians below.
“But they’re fleeing!” exclaimed another.
Indeed, the Numidians had turned and on their swift horses were fleeing down-slope back towards the river they had just crossed. On the far side sat a lone horsemen dressed in a colorful robe. Their leader, Calpurnius supposed. All the Numidians were riding towards him. Even from the distance, Calpurnius could see his long black beard and the sharp colors of the robe. That was the man he wanted, Calpurnius thought suddenly with a flush of excitement, not some nameless soldier. But the thought vanished as quickly as it had come.
“They’re getting away!” cried one the equites, and before Calpurnius could react, the newly arrived dozen were galloping at full tilt toward the fleeing enemy.
“Stop!” Calpurnius cried. “Recall those men!” His initial shock had worn off and he felt in command of himself now. “Where is my trumpeter?” He looked all around him, but seeing no trumpeter, shouted uselessly at the men’s backs: “Get those men back here!”
But they continued on, charging into the heart of the enemy position. The faster Numidian horses easily outpaced them. When the Romans had reached the base of the hill, the Numidians suddenly turned as group and began to envelop them from all sides. The world seemed to slow down as Calpurnius watched. The equites, charging confidently just a moment before, were halted in their tracks. Their formation became a jumble of confusion as a hail of enemy javelins rained down upon them. Men and horses began to fall. The surviving equites looked back up the hill but saw that they had outrun any hope of support. They turned and began galloping back up the hill, in panic this time rather than blood lust, leaving half their number behind, a little knot of dead men and horses at the base of the hill. The Numidians sped after them, once again charging towards Calpurnius and his companions en masse.
“Fools!” Calpurnius cried in frustration. He reined his horse around and the trio charged away so that by the time the survivors reached their position, they were already gone.
The Carthaginian phalanx began losing its cohesion almost at once. Hannibal was undeterred. From his position at the center of the line, he urged the troops forward.
“Speed! Speed!” he cried as he rode along behind the advancing line, accompanied by his messengers, signalmen and armed guards. “Get these men moving!” he shouted to the leaders he passed. “Faster! Faster!”
Hamilcar commanded the Carthaginian left and Boodes the right. Boodes’ troops had the most trouble keeping their formation. Hannibal could see him on his mount at the end of the line, exhorting his troops forward, his horse excitedly making half-turns, left and right. He held his sword aloft and waved it over his head. On his left, Hamilcar coolly directed his troops to close up on the gaps. They responded with impressive precision. They did not move with the reckless speed of Boodes’ men, however, and this caused the entire line to bend as well as break apart.
It only got worse as they approached the Roman line and all the men starting running as fast as their balance would allow. No thought was given to cohesion at all now as men leveled their spears. War cries arose from both sides, at once shrill and guttural, a frightening, primal sound.
The first of the Roman heavy javelins began falling just seconds later and the men staggered under the hammering blows. At first, they tried to hide behind their shields as hundreds of missiles blackened the sky. The javelins fell like hailstones against leather, bronze, flesh and wood, the heavy spear points penetrating the shields to strike the ground or men beneath them. A great cry rose from the wounded and as the men resumed their charge, the gaps in the line widened as the fallen soldiers became obstacles to the advance.
“Close up!” Boodes shouted. “Close up! Just as we practiced! Remember your training!” Few men could hear or understand him. Their leaders did their best to convey his exhortations in their own languages. Stragglers felt the wrath of the flat of Boodes’ sword. He brought it down in force on the crown of a reluctant soldier’s head, and Hannibal did not notice the man get up again.
“Forward!” Boodes cried. “Forward!”
By the time the phalanx reached the Roman defenders, there were gaps in the line wide enough to drive entire maniples of Roman troops into.
Hamilcar’s men fared better. Where he was able to keep formation, the Romans tried to sweep the solid wall of spears aside with their swords or chop off their points, but the effort was fu
tile as the spears thrust into them, executing great slaughter. Soon Hamilcar’s phalanx had driven deep into the Roman position. The defenders were forced back under the pressure of the heavier Carthaginian formation.
But even here, the speed of the advance left wide gaps, especially, Hannibal saw, where the two commands of Boodes and Hamilcar came together in the center. Behind their long shields and thrusting short swords, Roman maniples rushed into the spaces and attacked the flanks of the exposed men. The long spears prevented them from turning, so the Carthaginians threw away their pikes and fought with swords and shields, a fight in which they were no match for the legionary forces of Rome. Few of the Carthaginians wore armor and their shields were lighter than the Roman scutum, which covered the legionaries from shoulder to ankle. Men began to fall in heaps as the Romans poured into the spaces.
From the higher ground at the rear of the phalanx, Hannibal saw with horror additional Roman forces stream out of the camp and begin forming up to join the battle. Even though his line overlapped the Roman’s and Hamilcar’s men continued to push them back, he knew he enjoyed only a temporary advantage.
Off to his left he saw his Numidian cavalry sweeping all before them toward the Roman camp.
“Go get me that cavalry!” he told his messenger. “Tell them to hit the Romans in the flank! Go!”
The messenger looked and saw scattered Roman cavalry racing in every direction; he saw swarming Numidians; he saw fleeing men on foot — but no front line, no neat formation to order from one location to the next.
“But where’s the leader?” he asked anxiously. “Where do I go? Who do I give the order to?” It was a perilous no-man’s land, full of friend and foe alike.
“Just bring them, damn you!” Hannibal bellowed, and drew his sword. The messenger galloped off at top speed, plunging headlong into the swirling maelstrom.
Hannibal knew it was not too late. The cavalry was the key.
Hannibal rode over to Hamilcar.
“I have ordered the cavalry up,” he cried over the din of battle.
The War God's Men Page 9