The War God's Men

by David Ross Erickson

  “You don’t know what the Romans would do,” Belenus said.

  “I know what I would do,” Iliatos said. “And I think the Romans would do the same thing.”

  In the distance, they heard the trumpets of the Roman deployment. Then they heard the sound of men shouting coming from the direction of the Heraclea gate. The sun was almost fully set. It was almost too dark inside the room to see Iliatos’ stacks of coins.

  “It is too late now, anyway,” Belenus said.

  “Caratacus, run out and make sure none of our people go to the gate,” Iliatos said. “Stop them before they get there. Hurry!”

  “I should have killed that Numidian,” Belenus said. He sat down at the table, and took one of the stacks of coins for his own.

  “Numidian?” Iliatos asked, and Belenus told him of his encounter on the acropolis.

  “Oh, no,” Iliatos said. “It wasn’t the Numidian. It was your Roman friends and their silly deployments. That is how the Carthaginians knew of your plan. It was your stupid Romans.”

  “I fear you have just signed our death sentence, Iliatos,” Belenus said.

  “We will be gone before the Romans ever take the city,” Iliatos said. “You worry too much.”

  “They’re advancing!” General Hamilcar cried.

  “Advancing?” Hannibal rushed to the window and craned his neck to see along with Hamilcar and Boodes.

  “They’re not withdrawing back into their lines tonight,” Hamilcar went on, “but advancing towards the gates!”

  Wide-eyed, Hannibal shot looks at both of his generals. “Are the troops deployed?” he asked. Even though he knew this moment would come, he felt unprepared for it. To see the Romans advancing on the city was frightening, given the condition and ever-dwindling size of his garrison. What if his threats to the Celtic chieftain had gone unheeded—or were too late? What if another group was bent on betraying the city and not the Celts at all?

  “Of course,” Hamilcar said. “We have deployed our defenders the same every night.”

  Hannibal dashed from the room, followed by his two generals. By the time they arrived at the guard tower at the Heraclea gate, soldiers were already hurling javelins, stones and insults at the Romans below. Hannibal was relieved to see the gates securely closed and locked against them, backed by a column of ready troops.

  He looked over the battlements and saw a group of perhaps one hundred of the enemy moving against the gates. They first tried slamming against the doors with their shields. When that failed to achieve anything, they made a roof of shields over their heads and began hacking at the gates with their swords. Carthaginian troops on top of the wall and from both guard towers flanking the gates showered the Romans with stones and javelins. Some of the stones ripped the shields from the soldiers’ hands, exposing the men to the points of the plunging spears. Other of the stones cracked the shield wall and crushed the bones of the men beneath. Roman screams mingled with the increasingly exultant insults thrown down by the defenders, as fresh Roman soldiers tried to drag their mangled fellows clear of the deadly rain only to themselves collapse under a hail of stone and iron. After just a few minutes of this, the attackers turned and sprinted in wild disorder away from the unassailable gates. The men on the battlements let loose a deafening cheer when they saw the Romans run.

  “They came at the doors like they expected them to be open!” one of the soldiers recounted to the general in his excitement. He held a great stone, and as he spoke, he bent over and placed it gently at his feet.

  “Oh, but that is exactly what they were expecting, soldier,” Hannibal said, smiling. “Exactly what they were expecting.”

  Below, amid the dead, a single wounded Roman valiantly struggled to drag himself away from the gates. A group of laughing slingers on the battlements took potshots at him as he tried to crawl away.

  “The Romans had a little surprise tonight,” Boodes said. “A surprise they won’t soon forget.”

  “By the gods!” Hamilcar exclaimed. “It was the Celt! That whoreson bastard!” There was something akin to a look of admiration on his face — whether for Iliatos or Hannibal’s narrowly thwarting the plan was impossible to tell.

  “How was that for a crippling blow, General?” Hannibal asked him triumphantly. “Of course, I haven’t finished with that whoreson yet.”

  Chapter 12

  The old shepherd was as good as his word. From the hilltop of ‘Toros,’ Hanno could see the entire Roman position covering the western side of Acragas. Immediately below him, perhaps a mile away, stood the great camp of one of the consular armies. Its timbered palisade had been reinforced with stone and guard towers had been positioned in the corners. His eye followed the double-ditched line all the way to the south where he found the camp for the other army at the junction of two shallow rivers, the waters of which sparkled like multitudes of darting silver fish in the sunlight. Beyond the rivers, on a rise, stood an impressive colonnaded temple, its roof painted bright red, so diminutive in the distance that it looked like a toy or model. Other structures, both within and without the Roman lines, had fallen into ruin, the Romans having looted and re-looted and plundered them until nothing remained but hollow shells of ransacked stone and mud brick.

  In the center of all was the walled city itself. To the north, its massively tall defensive wall merged with a rugged cliff face. At its summit stood another great temple. Many other buildings crowded each other down into the city itself, lost behind the walls. Smoke rose from several places within the city and many places within the Roman lines. But the siege works of the Romans were oddly quiet and still. Given both the natural and man-made defenses of the city, Hanno could see why the Romans could not storm the place. It was one of the strongest cities in Sicily. What made it vulnerable was that it had no direct access to the sea and could easily be blockaded, as the Romans demonstrated.

  “It was a mistake defending this city,” Hanno said.

  “Obviously,” Yaroah agreed.

  “Well, what’s done is done,” Hanno said with a sigh.

  Hanno’s spirit had sagged at first sight of the Roman lines. Until seeing the position with his own eyes, he had failed to appreciate just how formidable a task lay ahead of him. Even in its currently moribund state after their loss of Herbesos, it would be no simple matter breaking through the Roman cordon. Making matters worse was the needlessness of the whole operation.

  But his heart stirred anew at the sight of his Numidian cavalry riding down the forward slope of the hill. Clouds of dust rose from each individual rider as they descended toward the Roman lines, the clouds trailing away cross-slope in the breeze. Of the four-thousand horsemen Hanno had ordered to attack, half of them remained hidden in the folds of the rugged Sicilian terrain not far from the summit of the hill. Hanno found the sight both magnificent in its martial glory and gripping in its sheer scope. It was something that could not be duplicated on the training fields of Carthage.

  “There they go!” Yaroah said.

  “We will shortly announce our presence to these lazing Romans. Then we’ll see what kind of fight they have in them.”

  “They haven’t spotted us yet.”

  “They will wake to the cock-crow of two thousand galloping horsemen.” Hanno shook his head. “What a way to pierce their pleasant dreams!”

  There had been hardly any rest for the Numidians. At the end of the Carthaginian’s twenty-mile march from Heraclea Minoa, their crack light cavalry went directly into action. Hanno wanted to draw the Roman horse out of the camp and lead it in chase back toward the hill where it could be set upon and destroyed by the remaining two-thousand concealed Numidians. That would free the Numidians to then pursue the destruction of any supply convoy attempting to reach the Roman lines, especially from the east. Hanno did not want to risk a full-fledged battle until he was sure the Romans were so weakened from want that victory was all but assured. That might take some time. But the first step was to destroy the Roman horse.


  The remainder of the Carthaginian army rested in two great columns on the reverse slope of the hill. In the unlikely event that the Roman cavalry broke through the Numidian trap, awaiting them on the reverse slope were first the javelineers and slingers of the light infantry, and two-thousand heavy cavalry—Iberian and Libyan mainly—mailed and armed with spears and shields. If this failed to stop them, they would be met by the serried ranks of thrusting infantry pikes, massed behind the light troops and cavalry. Far to the rear with the baggage train were the elephants. All told, it was a force of nearly sixty-thousand men. After the cavalry action, they would come down and build their fortified camp on the forward slope of ‘Toros’ to await the inevitable deterioration of the Roman legions, now themselves besieged between their ditches.

  Hanno watched as the cavalry approached the Roman camp. He could see the soldiers in the guard towers react with alarm and begin soundlessly blowing their trumpets. The sound did not reach him until moments later. Then he could hear the trumpets blaring from all corners of the camp. By the time the horns blew, the javelins had already been loosed. The empty perimeter inside the walls of the camp was too wide for the javelins to cross, so the Numidians concentrated their fire on the walls and guard towers themselves, achieving more clatter and fuss than execution.

  Soon, as expected, Roman cavalry began streaming through the gates in long, disorderly files. The Numidians nearest the camp immediately turned and galloped away in wild flight. Others loosed javelins and peeled off to flee alongside their fellows. The Romans followed close on their heels. Endless streams of cavalry issued from the Roman camp. Soon, hundreds of Roman cavalry took up the chase, the equites urging on their mounts to top speed as the Numidians raced away back up the hill in seeming panic.

  Hanno felt oddly detached as he watched the tiny horsemen dashing to and fro trailing plumes of dust across an immense landscape of sparse grass dotted about with rocky outcrops and patches of bare earth. He decided that it was how the gods must feel as they observed the unfathomable endeavors of men.

  As he took it all in, he noticed a small group of Romans far below rein up and begin frantically waving to their comrades, perhaps at the last moment realizing the trap. But the Romans were beyond stopping now. As the leading horses of the pursuers approached the top of the hill, the concealed Numidians sprang from their cover and unleashed their killing javelins. At the same time, their fleeing fellows suddenly wheeled about, turning on their pursuers who were now trapped in a three-sided vise of flying iron. Confused, the Romans stopped dead in their tracks as javelins flew past their ears from all directions, their horses rearing in terror. Crumpled scarlet cloaks of dead cavalrymen soon covered the hillside as riderless horses scampered aimlessly across the slope.

  The Roman horsemen not yet inside the triangle of death turned and fled in panic, with no sense of order or discipline. The few hundred equites, who just moments before thought themselves on the verge of a great triumph, found themselves pursued by four-thousand of the enemy, and many more fell before they made it back to the safety of the camp. The Numidians pursued to the gates and, horses rearing outside the range of any Roman missiles, held their javelins aloft in triumph. Others fanned out and speared the wounded in the field. Then, regrouping, the Numidian horse sped off to the north to begin their encirclement of the Roman siege lines.

  Hanno stood and gave the signal for his army to advance. His heavy cavalry were the first to appear on the ridgeline, followed by the iron-bristling column of his infantry, banging their shields and uttering their wild war cries. Hanno could see the tiny figures of men crowd in awe onto the ramparts of the Roman siege works—he could even see the men who had climbed onto the walls of Acragas to gaze across at the multitude that now filled the distant hilltop.

  General Hanno’s army had arrived — and at that moment, every man in it felt invincible.

  The theatre was already full by the time the sun peeked over the horizon and flooded the stage with dawn light. The crowd was in a high state of excitement and King Hiero sat back in the cool dawn and enjoyed the sound of the eager throng. Each muttering and explosion of laughter filled him with joy and anticipation. It was shaping up to be an exceptional commencement of the weeklong festivities. The only blemish was that not all who wanted to attend could as even the standing room only areas were full and Hiero wanted this to be a day for all the citizens of Syracuse to enjoy. But there would be plenty of opportunity for the king had commissioned the greatest actors of Greece to perform the most renowned plays in a weeklong festival of theatre. He even had with him as his special guest the great Athenian playwright Philemon, a native of Syracuse.

  Hiero spoke of the honor of having such an esteemed guest among his entourage.

  “Perhaps a greater honor for you than me,” Philemon said. “To force me to sit through The Grouch…” Philemon shook his ancient head, the long curls of his white beard brushing his chest. Hiero reflected that the man was approaching one-hundred years old. Perhaps he had already surpassed it. “It is perhaps more honor than an old man can stand.”

  “But surely,” Hiero began. Half Philemon’s age, his chiseled features were a mask of amiability. “It is well-known that of the two — Philemon and Menander — Philemon is the greater. Who does not know this?”

  “Well, it is I who will be the grouch by the time this day is done!” Philemon complained. Hiero saw the twinkle in the old man’s lively eyes, and barked out a laugh.

  “An error in planning, perhaps,” the king said. “Next year we shall commence with a performance of The Merchant.”

  “Hear, hear!” Archimedes said from his seat next to Philemon. Twenty-five years Hiero’s junior and the king’s nephew, Archimedes was a brilliant but little known mathematician and inventor. Hiero knew that he would be famous one day. For now, he was just his nephew and he relied on him heavily. Grinning, Archimedes’ already sparse beard became sparser still as it spread over his expanding cheeks. “If you could survive the ship from Athens, then I suppose you will survive a performance of Meander’s The Grouch.”

  Philemon forced a smile.

  “May I introduce you to my kinsman, Archimedes,” Hiero said. “If his name is not yet known to you in Greece, it will soon be known throughout the world. He is the greatest mind in Syracuse.”

  Philemon looked at the young man with renewed interest. “You have an esteemed family, that is clear,” he said, bowing once again to the lovely Queen Philistis and the royal family, the boy Gelo and his two sisters Damarata and Heraclia. “Syracuse is in good hands.”

  “Certainly, with a king wise enough to make use Archimedes for the betterment of his kingdom,” Philistis said, acknowledging the solicitations of the aged playwright.

  “Do you recognize this crown?” Hiero asked, suddenly remembering that he had worn the gold laurel leaf crown specifically for this purpose.

  “Of course,” Archimedes said. “It is the fraudulent crown of the deceitful goldsmith.”

  “Ever the diplomat!” Hiero laughed. He removed the crown and handed it to Philemon, who inspected it with interest. “It is laced with silver,” Hiero told him.

  “I would have said it was solid gold,” Philemon said, rubbing a golden leaf between his wrinkled fingers.

  “Who could know?” Hiero asked. “Archimedes alone uncovered the goldsmith’s deceit.”

  “But how?” asked Philemon, handing the crown back.

  “Through the principles of density and water displacement. It is ingenious. Archimedes explained it to me once, but my head was immediately enveloped in fog. He discovered it by observing the displacement of water caused by his own body in the bath.”

  “Oh, please, sire…” Archimedes rolled his eyes to the gods.

  “He became so excited by his discovery that he immediately jumped from his bath and ran out into the street, shouting “Eureka! Eureka!” Naked as a newborn!”

  Hiero laughed uproariously and Philistis looked away, blushing and suppr
essing a smile of her own.

  “Certainly an event worthy of renown!” Philemon said.

  “I think it is probably no different for you, Philemon, in the throes of your own creations,” Archimedes said. “It is essential that one be fully committed to the task at hand.”

  Philemon rubbed his chin and nodded. “It is true,” he said.

  “And what is your task at hand now?” Hiero asked.

  “The Grouch!” Archimedes answered.

  Hiero laughed. “Archimedes has designed all manner of enhancements for our city,” he told Philemon. “From the layout of defenses to great siege engines. Ingenious devices! Now he works on a device for accurately measuring long distances.”

  Hiero had embarked on a program of road building, starting with the construction of a good road from Syracuse to Leontini. He wanted a system of accurate distance markers to be placed along the roads to facilitate the movement of troops from one part of the kingdom to another. Eventually, he wanted these roads to extend all the way to Tauromenium. But he needed accurate measurements, and he was certain Archimedes’ device would provide them.

  “You can visit my workshop anytime, sire, and see my drawing tablets. But right now — this moment! — I have put all these things aside and am preparing only to consider the machinations of the gods and the human spirit.”

  “Oh, how I wish the matters of state could be swept aside so easily!”

  “It is a matter of the will, sire, and not of circumstance.”

  “I daresay the Romans could use your siege engines at Acragas.”

  Archimedes considered for a moment. “There is difficult terrain at Acragas,” he said. “Demetrius himself might not be able to take Acragas.”

  “Ah, but Archimedes could!” Hiero said.

  Below, an actor strode to center stage and announced that the play was about to begin. An excited murmur spread through the audience as it collectively shifted its weight to settle in for the performance. With an expansive sweep of his arm, the actor introduced the king and queen of Syracuse. The audience looked back toward the royal party, applauding as it struggled to locate the king. Then, finding him, a vigorous applause rose, accompanied by stamping feet and raised voices. With a huge grin, Hiero stood and waved to the crowd, Philistis at his side. The stamping increased, and a rising chorus took up a chant of “Hiero! Hiero!”