XIV.
CANNAE.
The cavalry trumpets rang out their clear notes, and Sergius and hiscompanions threw themselves upon their kneeling chargers. Then theyrode out and down the bank, behind the consul who, with head hangingupon his breast, had turned his rein the moment he had given the word.What if the dust did swirl up in blinding sheets from the south?Before them lay the Roman battle, horse and foot--such an army as thecity had never sent forth. What if its masses were somewhat cramped?its front narrow? its general an amateur? They were to fight at last,and how should a mongrel horde of barbarians, but half their number,stand firm against the impetus of such a shock. A moment's hush; thenmeasured voices rose in calm cadence--the voices of the tribunesadministering the military oath to each cohort, "Faithful to thesenate, obedient to your imperator." What Roman could doubt that thevoice of victory spoke in the thunderous response!
And now the clangour of cymbals and the roll of drums came up on thebreezes from the south, and, with them, a strange uproar of barbarousshouts and cries. Then it was that the Roman legionaries began tocrash their heavy javelins against their great, oblong shields untilthe din drowned everything else, and the thunder of Jove himself mighthave roared in vain.
Sergius had ridden up the bank, almost at the consul's rein, and hiseyes wandered eagerly over Varro's array. Eight full legions withtheir quota of allies seemed welded into one huge column: Romans on theright, Italians on the left. The sun was well up, and its rays playedupon a very sea of bronze from which the feathered crests rose andshivered like foam. Far beyond the column, on the extreme left, hecould make out squadrons of allied horse, and then he turned to takehis place amid the cavalry of the city: young men well born, burningwith courage and ardour and wrath. Despite himself his heart rose witha leap of triumph. A moment later he caught the little, beady eyes ofthe consul looking through him, as it were, while the thin mouthbeneath writhed itself into a sneer.
"You hope? That is well," said Paullus. "Young men fight better anddie better when they hope; but I will show you how a Roman soldier cangive up his life for naught. I would wish," he added with loweredvoice and speaking as if in self-communion, "that more of our horsemenhad adopted the Greek arms. Reed spears and ox-hide bucklers will notstand long against heavy cavalry. A temple to Mars the avenger, if Ihad but a front of Illyrian horse! See now! There are the scum!"
His voice rose eagerly at the last words, and Sergius turned from thedark face now flashing with a sudden animation, and looked southwardover the plain. For a moment the dust was too thick; then it seemed toclear away, and the Carthaginian army burst into view.
Undulating like the open sea and rolling steadily on like the long,slow sweep of billows upon a level shore, the glory of barbaric wardrew near. On their left, resting upon the river's bank, rode theSpanish and Gallic cavalry, strengthened here and there by a horse andman in full armour like those of the Clinabarians; and the face ofPaullus clouded again when he noted what opponents he must meet: men,horses, arms--all heavier than his own with the exception of a fewturmae newly equipped in the Greek fashion. Beyond them, thrown backin echelon, marched Africans in little squares of sixteen front. Thesehad substituted for their own equipment the Roman spoils of Trasimenusand Trebia. Then, and again somewhat in advance, came alternatecompanies of Gauls and Spaniards spread out in long thin array; theformer stripped to the navel, their hair tied up in a tufted knot, andbearing their great swords upon their shoulders; the Spaniardsglittering in their purple-bordered tunics of snowy linen. The wavingpikes of phalanges told of more Africans who seemed to lie in echelonbeyond, while far away, toward the low hills overgrown with copsewoodthat formed the eastern horizon, clouds of swift-moving dust, amidwhich shadows darted hither and thither at seeming random, marked thepresence of the wild riders of Numidia who were to face the horsemen ofItaly and of the Latin name. In front of all, the plain was dottedwith naked men advancing at regular intervals and bearing smallbucklers of lynx-hide--the famous Balearic slingers that always openedthe day of battle for Carthage. The heart of Sergius swelled withinhim, beating hard and fast under the tension of the moment. Only a fewminutes more, and those magnificent armies would crash together, not topart until the plain should be heaped with corpses that were now men;until the gods should adjudge the sovereignty of Italy. Then he grewcalm, calm as the consul himself, and gazed enraptured upon thepicture, as if it meant no more than art and show--only the wind camefresher from the south, and the fine dust, ground up by marchingthousands, smarted and blinded his eyes.
Nearer and nearer they drew, with steady, slow advance, while Romestood still and awaited their coming. And now a commotion seemed tostart from the far distant south: the roar of voices, the blindingflash of the sun on tossing swords, a cloud of dust distinct upon theplain, a clump of horse-head standards rising amid it, and a group ofriders urging their galloping steeds along the invaders' front. Richarmour of strange pattern shone among them, and, a length ahead of therest, Sergius could see a white stallion with close-cropped mane, andhoofs and fetlocks stained vermilion, that danced and curvetted andarched its proud neck under the touch of a master. He was not anover-tall man, but his figure as he rode seemed well knit and graceful.His armour was of brown-bronze scale-work, rich with gold and jewels,while a white mantle fringed with Tyrian purple hung from hisshoulders; a helmet of burnished gold, horned and crested, gleamed likea star upon his head, while, even at the distance, even through theswirl, of dust, Sergius saw the crisp curled, black beard, and dreamedthat he caught the flash of dark, deep-set eyes. There was no need ofthe beating of weapons against shields, no need of the roar and howlsand shrill screaming in a score of tongues to tell the stranger's name.Most of the soldiers kept ranks, but here and there a Gaul would boundforward, dancing with strange leaps and whirling his sword about hishead, to throw himself prone before and beneath the vermilion hoofsthat never paused or swerved in their gallop. Not a movement, not aglance of the rider gave sign of acknowledgment or recognition; not alook was cast upon the grovelling form, safe or hurt or maimed--onlythe soldier's comrades howled their plaudits, mingled with laughter andrude jeers whenever the devotee lay still or writhed or rose staggeringfrom some stroke of the vermilion hoofs.
But when the horseman drew bridle before the extreme left of thecentre, and, with eyes shaded by his hand, gazed long and earnestly atthe Roman array, the plaudits that had greeted his passage died awayinto low murmurs and then silence. "The general is studying the enemy.Be silent! Who knows but he would commune with Baal and Moloch? Besilent!" So the word ran around and through the African squares.
Suddenly peals of laughter broke from the group of Carthaginianofficers that had ridden behind and who now clustered around him. Thecalm that no devotion, no suffering, no danger of men could move, wasgone; the schalischim had turned from his measuring of the enemy tosmile and jest with his friends. Thereupon they threw back their headsand laughed loud and long; and then the Africans noted it, and hoarsecries of joy broke from their ranks. "The schalischim must be sure ofvictory. Praise be to Melkarth!" Sergius saw a captain of one of thesquares run out and touch his forehead to the earth before hiscommander; but no Roman heard the man's words pregnant with fate.
"Now, my father, let The Lion's Brood lead the beasts of all the fieldsto their feast. We hunger, father, we hunger!"
And Hannibal had made answer, pointing northward toward theplume-crested sea of blazing bronze, "Lo! friend; there are your meatand wine."
Then a new roar of acclamation broke upward and rolled away to theeast. Two richly armed riders parted from the group and dashed off:Maharbal, light and slender, bending far over his horse's neck, rodeheadlong in Numidian fashion to his Numidians; Hasdrubal, erect anddignified, galloped to head the Gaulish and Spanish horse upon thebanks of Aufidus; trumpets, drums, cymbals, crashed out in mad,barbaric discords; and, with their horse-head standards tossing amidthe forest of spears, the Carthaginian line drove forwa
rd to the attack.
Running fast before the line of battle, Sergius could still make out,even through the dust, those same naked men with lynx-hide bucklers,dotting the plain at regular intervals, and each man's right arm seemedalways whirling about his head. The Roman light troops had pushed onto skirmish, and now they began to fall back, though no arrow orjavelin could have reached them--could have flown to the foe. Sergiuswatched in surprise their confusion and terror as they sought to plungeamong the legionaries or hide themselves behind the horsemen; nor hadthey fled unscathed. Here a man ran by screaming and clasping hisshattered hand to his breast; then another staggered up, with armhanging broken at his side, while the big drops of blood fell slowlyfrom his fingers; and yet a third appeared, pale and helpless,supported between two companions.
Sounds, too, now dull and heavy, and again ringing and metallic, seemedto punctuate the roar of the advancing host. Sergius saw a horsemannear him clap his hand to his forehead and plunge headlong to theearth: horses reared and snorted, some fell with ugly, red blotches ontheir breasts and throats; the clangour and the thuds camefaster--faster; for now the clay and leaden bullets of the slingersfell in showers, like hailstones, and it was good armour that turnedthem.
Manlius had leaped down to aid a friend who was reeling helplessly,with both eyes beaten out, and, a moment later, he approached Sergius,holding up a slinger's bullet. The red had sunken into the lines ofthe stamped inscription, and displayed them in hideous relief, "This toyour back, sheep!"
"That is always the way with barbarians," sneered Marcus Decius. "Noblow without an insult--look! They shall have blows themselves, soon,that will need no insults to piece them out."
Paullus had watched with eagerness, with anxiety, for the signal toadvance. Varro seemed to hesitate, while the great masses of Rome,lashed by the bitter rain of the slings, writhed and groaned in anguishand rage; the light troops had disappeared, and the Balearians, nowclose at hand, leaped and slung without let or hindrance. Then it wasthat Paullus, waiting no longer, made a sign to his trumpeters."Scatter me that rabble!" he cried, and the cavalry clarions raisedtheir voices in one long, swelling peal of sound.
"Close! close!" rose the shout of battle, and the Roman horse dashedforward into the dust cloud--forward upon the slingers that suddenlywere not there, had vanished, as it were, into the earth itself.
The straight trumpets and curved horns of the legions were ringingbehind them, stirred to life at last, but the horsemen did not hear.What were those looming up ahead? Not naked slingers--armouredcavalry! Hasdrubal with his Gauls and Spaniards were before them--uponthem; and all sense and volition were lost in the terrific shock.
Line after line went down, as if at touch, while fresh lines poured onover the heaving mass of men and horses, until those who were face toface seemed to fight upon a hill. Fiercer grew the pressure, tighterand more dense the throng; horses, crushed together, powerless to move,snorted and tossed their heads in terror, while the riders leanedforward and grappled with those opposite. Weapons first, then handsclutching at throats were doing the deadly work, and the dead, man andhorse, stood fast amid the press, unable even to fall and become mergedinto the hideous, purple thing beneath their feet.
Mere weight, though, was beginning to tell. The human ridge that hadmarked the joining of battle seemed far back among the enemy, andsquadron after squadron, in close array, breasted its top and plungeddown to mingle with the living or take their places among the dead.The Romans were giving ground, slowly, stubbornly, but unmistakably,and still, above the shouts and shrieks, the trampling and the clash ofweapons, the groans and the hard, short breathing, they could hear theharsh voice of the consul, Paullus, urging his men to make battlefirmly.
Backward, steadily backward; and now, in one of those mad rushes, inwhich men who seemed immovably wedged were swirled about like the waterin a maelstrom, Sergius found himself close to the consul, with Manliusbut a few paces in front. The thin, cruel lips had writhed away fromthe white teeth, the helmet was gone, and the scant, black hair wasdabbled with blood that flowed from a slight cut upon the general'sbrow; the snake-like eyes sought those of the young patrician with alook wherein exultation and despair were strangely mingled.
"To the earth! to the earth, all!" he cried, at the same momentplunging his sword into his horse's throat, and lighting firmly on hisfeet, as the animal sank suddenly down. "We _must_ stand. Gods! whereare the legions? Clashing shields and waving javelins, while we arecut to pieces! Gods! they shall pay for it!" Then he drew close toSergius' ear and whispered as calmly as if in the praetorium: "Learn,now, a lesson of war, my son. Hannibal destroys us piecemeal, choosingwhere he is strong and we are weak, while Varro allows _his_ strengthto stand and rest and wait for its turn to come. Down! down all!"
Outnumbered, outarmed, borne down and back, the Roman cavalry stillfought, but the press had grown looser, the mass less dense; and now,at the word of the consul, all that could hear his voice obeyed theorder of despair, ancient as the day of Lake Regillus. Man after mansprang to earth. Here was freer swing for weapons, here was surerfoothold, better chance to stand fast, and, for a moment, the throngingfoe seemed to recoil before the determined onslaught.
But it was not recoil. It was only the devouring of the foremost bythat red monster underneath. Who could recoil, with the squadronsstill pouring on, over the hill of corpses behind? Beaten, a man couldbut die in his place, and that much they did. Many, too, had followedthe Roman example, leaping from their steeds and fighting hand to hand,till the cavalry battle had changed into a thousand combats of managainst man.
It was here that Caius Manlius fell. Sergius was but a few feet fromhim when he saw the youth sway gently, and, bowing his head, sink down.He had made an effort to push to his side, and then the front of theenemy seemed to receive some new impetus and surged forward over thespot. What mattered it? He had seen the red spear point peeping outbetween his friend's shoulders. He was dead, as they would all soonbe, and the couch was purple and kinglike. At that moment, he felt hisarm gripped hard, and turned to look into the consul's face.
"Do you not see it is over?" said Paullus, sharply.
"How?"
"We are falling back--_forced_ back--faster and faster. We are wherewe first stood. Do you see that sapling by the river? I marked itbefore we rode out. Soon we shall break; come!"
"Where?" asked Sergius.
"Where there may yet be hope, if the gods will it,--if they strike downVarro: the centre, the legions. I do not believe they have fairlyadvanced their standards yet."
"Do we fly?" and, as he spoke, Sergius frowned darkly.
"Fool! We _fight_. Later, perhaps, we shall die, but not here. Inthe _centre_--"
As he spoke, a new, swirling rush seemed to carry them away, stilltogether, first with furious violence, then more slowly.
"Ah! it has come," said the consul, quietly. "This way. The dust isblinding, but I think the sun is behind us." Pushing on and strikingright and left as he went, Aemilius Paullus fought a pathway throughflying and pursuing men. Sergius followed and once, when he saw theconsul cut down the boy who had stood near and talked to them thatmorning, he stopped still and shuddered.
Paullus paused and laughed at him over his shoulder.
"A flying man in the path of a general is much worse than a dead one,"he said. "Besides, none of them can save his life in thatdirection--so it is nothing."
At that moment, indeed, the prophecy that no man of the Roman cavalrywould escape, seemed fair for fulfilment. Few fought on, and thesewere soon ridden down, while Gauls and Spaniards thundered upon therear of such as sought safety of the rein, and slew them with steady,measured strokes. Only the consul with perhaps a dozen others were,for the time, safe. They were clear of the rout; within the protectingreach of the great, legionary column, that was but just beginning tomove, and they turned, gasping for breath, and, with dazed eyes,watched the flight and pursuit sweep by along the riv
er bank.
The Lion's Brood Page 15