“What do you really think they’re doing?”
“I do not think there is cause to fret, my brother. I suspect that Paullus has counseled caution, and Varro must make it appear that he is considering his fellow consuls’ opinion. Or perhaps their fool general thinks that standing in this heat affects our men more than it does theirs.”
Mago laughed at that. “Most of our men are from Africa or Spain! This feels like winter to them. But what if they do not attack? What do we do then?”
“That is an easy question, brother. We think of a new way to destroy them.”
* * *
Varro’s Bedside, Main Roman Camp
9:10 a.m.
August 2
Along with Paullus, Aurelius, and two Senators, the only other person beside Varro’s bed was his physician. Slaves stood in the corners, as always. The other commanders had gathered outside the tent, below the steps, to await news of the commanding general. Paullus had left Servilius in charge of the legions in case Hannibal attacked.
Varro moaned in his sleep. Sweat poured off his face, and you didn’t need to be a doctor to know that his gray pallor meant he was in grave danger.
“I gave him the most powerful sedative that I know of,” the doctor said, scratching his well-trimmed beard. “He needs surgery but I’m not a surgeon. I will set the leg and close the wounds as best I can.”
“I have to formally ask this question, Doctor,” Paullus said. “Will Consul Varro be able to return to his duties as commander of this army?”
“Consul Varro may never wake up, Consul Paullus,” the doctor said, regarding Paullus as if the latter were insane. “And if he does, he certainly will be in no condition to command an army, not for many months.”
“Heed me as the senior senator present,” said one of the two Senators, a bent, white-haired man from a famous Patrician family named Marcus Horatius Pulvillus. The other Senator was his brother Publius. Pulvillus looked almost comical in armor that once fit him but was now much too large for a withered old man.
“It is my opinion that until the Senate either decides whether the fallen consul can finish his duties or appoints a replacement to finish out his term, you are in sole command of this army. What are you orders, General?”
Paullus physically sagged under the weight of his new responsibility, but while he was a more cautious commander than Varro, he was still a Roman. From his earliest days the aggression expected of a Roman in war had been inculcated into his very being. And commanding the army was something he already did, every other day.
“You are correct, Marcus, this is my burden now. Aurelius, send word to each legion that I want to see the tribuni militum (tribunes of the soldiers) at a council of war in my tent. Marcus Horatius, would you and Publius attend as representatives of the Senate?”
“We can attend as observing Senators.”
“That will be fine. Also Aurelius, summon Gaius Sempronius Blaesus and Tiberius Sempronius Blaesus. Bid them make haste.”
“What do you want with the Sempronii?” Marcus Horatius said, either unable or unwilling to keep a hint of contempt out of his voice.
“Come now, Marcus,” Paullus said, actually smiling. In the insular world of the Roman Senate, everyone knew every feud among every patrician family, and that of the Sempronii and the Horatii had been going on for centuries. “On a day such as today we are all Romans.”
* * *
The Main Roman Camp
9:54 a.m.
August 2
More than thirty men crowded into Paullus’ tent, which was even more crowded with comfort items than Varro’s. As the day heated up, the air inside the square enclosed space became stale and hot. Slaves poured wine and brought small loaves and olives for anyone who might be hungry. Although taller than most of them already, Paullus stood on a chair so he could be heard by all.
“Gentlemen, with one exception I do not intend to vary far from the battle plan of my fallen fellow consul. The army is already deployed to carry out that plan and to redeploy now would be to invite disaster—”
“Then we had better be about marching soon,” cried out one of the Tribunes. “The men are baking out there.”
Paullus eyed him. The Tribune was correct, but no Roman senator liked being interrupted. “I am well aware of the condition of the men, Tribune…?”
“Marcus Minucius Augurinus.”
“My remarks will be brief, Tribune Marcus Minucius Augurinus,” Paullus continued, his tone making it clear he would brook no more interruptions. “The decision of how I will vary from the plan of Varro shall be made on the field, at the moment I decide. Hannibal has prepared a plan to defeat us, and I wish to give him a chance to put that plan into motion. Then I will decide how to proceed. I know that many of you think him a toothless lion unable to withstand the might of Rome, yet three times has he beaten us, and severely mauled two consular armies. The very numbers we put on the field today stand as a testament to his generalship. I will not underestimate him.”
“Fabius Maximus is not the dictator anymore!” yelled another tribune.
“I go to kill our enemy,” Paullus said in a vicious tone that at once expressed outrage and implied the speaker was being cowardly. “Not to be killed by him. However, if any of you will not follow my directives once battle is joined, then say so now, to my face, as is wont for a true Roman. Does anyone wish to speak now?”
The senators appeared more amused than intimidated, but Paullus knew they heard this sort of thing all the time during debates in the Senate. It was the tribunes to which he aimed the words. Although equites themselves, they were young and hot-headed. The silence indicated none were so foolish as to openly challenge him, however.
“Very well, then. From this point forward any disobedience will be considered by me to be treason in battle, and I will act accordingly. One change I am going to make now is this…Varro designated ten thousand men to guard this camp, most of them triarii. I believe that to be excessive. I therefore order all but twenty-five maniples containing the oldest men to cross the river and take up position behind the other camp. If needed to defend this camp, they should see the enemy coming and have time to recross the river, or they can act as a last reserve, if needed. Does anyone have questions or comments?”
“Why not send those mainples against Hannibal’s camp?” asked Tribune Marcus Minucius Augurinus. “Would that not force him to split his forces?”
The question betrayed the speaker’s inexperience and impetuosity, which allowed Paullus to adopt a condescending smile.
“Hannibal will have planned for such a move, as would any competent general. Also, triarii are not meant for such an independent move, they have not the stamina of younger men. What they have is experience at killing. That makes them ideal camp guards, or on the battlefield a force to deliver the final blow to an enemy. Now the day grows long and our men grow tired. The time for battle has come.”
* * *
Behind the Carthaginian Center
10:48 a.m.
August 2
Never one to ignore the needs of his men, Hannibal had ordered carts from the supply train brought forward loaded with barrels of water, which the teamsters then carried down the lines to allow the men a drink. As he mulled allowing them to rest in place and having a light meal brought forward, distant trumpets cancelled those plans.
“It took the Romans a long time to grow a pair of balls,” Mago said.
Hannibal laughed and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, Mago, now I know what to say to the men.”
With the slightest pressure from his knees, Hannibal turned Zinnridi and cantered until he reached the rear of Hasdrubal’s heavy cavalry on the far left. Drawing his sword he rode behind his men, repeating the same lines every so often.
“The Romans finally grew balls, men, now let’s castrate them!”
* * *
The Battlefield Near Cannae
10:52 a.m.
August 2
Officers surrounded them both, including the young up and coming Publius Cornelius Scipio, an officer acknowledged by all to have a great career ahead. Scipio had saved his father during the Battle of Ticinus by charging through a horde of enemies surrounding the fallen consul and then cutting the way out for both of them. Recognizing his energy and leadership, Paullus put him in charge of the seven thousand triarii in deep reserve behind the smaller camp north of the river. Scipio did not like being removed from the battle line but did as he was told.
The Romans advanced at a moderate rate, as was usual, and were preceded by unarmored skirmishers carrying spears and swords. In front of the Carthaginian Army came archers and the famed Baeleric Island slingers, while the infantry came forward slower than the Romans. The two sides’ skirmishers drew first blood as they fought each other, with the main purpose of each side being to keep the enemy missile throwers away from their main force of infantry. As the two armies closed on each other they mashed the bodies of the fallen skirmishers into a bloody paste.
Paullus had the equivalent of fourteen legions available for battle, after deducting the ten thousand men guarding the two camps. He sent eight of those legions forward in the initial assault, so that the numbers engaged for each side were about the same. Four more he kept in close reserve three hundred yards behind his position. But the last two he had lie down in the grass behind the four standing reserve legions. It was a trick Hannibal himself had used at the Battle of Lake Trasimene. With the ground quickly being trampled into dust, which rose like a brown fog over the field, he counted on Hannibal not seeing those last two legions, or Scipio’s manipels now repositioned behind the smaller camp.
“I must admit that I did not expect you to fight on this day,” Servilius said.
“Whatever plans Hannibal has made for today he cannot now change. That is how we shall crush him.”
* * *
Behind the Carthaginian Center
11:00 a.m.
August 2
Arrayed behind Hannibal, Mago, and their officers were five signal flag men, holding long poles on which various colored standards could be raised. At Hannibal’s signal, two men raised large square red panels, which meant attack. On both wings, the cavalry began to move, the heavy Spanish and Celtic horsemen on the left and the light Numidians on the right.
“What is the key to our victory today, Hannibal?” said Mago.
“Victory or defeat is up to us, brother. God has given no man a greater spur to victory than contempt for death.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t be afraid?”
“Are you?”
Mago grinned, as he so often did. “If I was, I surely would not tell you.”
“There is no advantage to fear, it only leeches courage.”
“So you know our path to victory?”
“If one does not exist, I will make one.”
* * *
Behind the Roman Center
11:32 a.m.
August 2
Paullus and Servilius watched the battle unfold with differing emotions. Servilius largely ignored the cavalry fight on the flanks and concentrated on the infantry attacks, which he nominally commanded, although at Paullus’ insistence, Servilius had become his de facto deputy. Paullus tried to see everything at once, and to understand exactly what Hannibal had in mind. Many scoffed at such a thoroughly un-Roman viewpoint, but Paullus ignored them.
The cavalry engaged first. On Rome’s right flank the roughly equal numbers of cavalry slammed into each other at the full gallop. Men and horses tumbled under the feet of those behind, spears gutted riders and lifted them from the saddle, and lines of battle disintegrated in a chaotic mass. Squeezed between the river on one side and the massed infantry on the other, some of the cavalry of both sides dismounted and fought on foot.
Across the battlefield on the Roman left flank, despite a two-to-one numerical disadvantage, the Romans fought the vaunted Numidians to a standstill. The restricted conditions of the terrain prevented the faster, more agile Numidians from exploiting their advantages.
When fifty feet separated the two armies in the center, both sides threw spears into the packed ranks of their enemy, after which the two opposing masses of infantry slammed into each other like rutting bucks. A great metallic clash echoed over the field as sword met sword and the first cries of dying men signaled the beginning of an orgy of death. The Romans were better trained and equipped than the Spanish, Gallic, and Celtic soldiers in Hannibal’s center, even the hastati in the first line of Roman maniples. With their inferior numbers Hannibal’s lines were also thin.
The shape of the Carthaginian formation wasn’t immediately visible to any of the Roman commanders. As more and more Roman maniples engaged the enemy they pressed inward toward the center, becoming tighter and closer together. Room for maneuver lessened. But the sheer weight of the Roman attack drove the Carthaginian center backward in a step-by-step, hard fighting retreat. The further they advanced, however, the Romans became hampered by the need for stepping over corpses and writhing men at their feet, a hindrance the Carthaginian center did not have.
Regardless, it was not long before Servilius thought the battle won. As the advance seemed on the verge of breaking the enemy lines he ordered the reserves into the fight.
“How many general?” said one of his officers.
“All of them.”
But before the man could turn his mount and ride back to the reserve legions one hundred yards to their rear, Paullus called out to him.
“Hold a moment.” Leaning forward he pitched his voice low, so only Servilius could hear him. “Leave the two legions I have hidden in the grass.”
Servilius’ squint was obvious even under his helmet. “That is not our best move, Lucius. Their center is cracking, we should commit our full weight now to destroy them. Once that breaks the battle is won. That is what Varro would have done…it is what Rome demands!”
Paullus looked away, thinking. ‘That is what Varro would have done…’ That was it! That was Hannibal’s trap.
“No, send four legions in now, and hurry.” Before Servilius could protest further he turned to another young officer. “Ride now to Scipio, bid him to bring his triarii hence at double speed. Hurry!”
“What are you doing, Paullus?” Servilius demanded. “You are leaving our camp under-guarded!”
But Paullus paid no attention. Instead he stared toward the battle raging five hundred yards to his front.
“I am not Varro, Hannibal,” he said to no one in particular. “I see your trap, but will you see mine?”
* * *
At the Center of the Fighting
11:56 a.m.
August 2
Like strings of red pearls, long ropes of blood crisscrossed Hannibal’s arms and armor. Dirt, gore, and blood made a sticky paste in his sandals. A glancing blow dented the brim of his Thracian helmet, while a second strike cut the left side of his face and caved in the leaf-shaped cheek protector.
He fought dismounted among his troops, as always. Mago had disappeared somewhere to Hannibal’s right to stiffen that wavering flank. As overall commander, he stepped back several times and mounted Zinnridi to see over the battle lines. That’s when he saw the Roman reserves marching into the fray.
Finally! Hannibal thought. The climax is at hand!
He could hear the ongoing cavalry battle, but dust and raging combat prevented him from making out any details. The Carthaginian gener
al drank from the waterskin hanging from his saddle.
Melqart, he thought, speaking to the Protector of Carthage and patron diety of the Barcid family, grant me victory this day. Then he rode behind the battle lines shouting encouragement. Seeing his men waver again under the impact of the Roman reserves, he dismounted and rejoined the fight.
* * *
Behind the Roman Center
12:09 p.m.
August 2
Servilius had no intention of missing out on the glory of fighting in Rome’s crushing victory over the despised Carthaginians. It was from such deeds that consulships were forged. Along with his staff, he personally led the reserves into battle. But instead of joining him, as Servilius urged, Paullus retreated with a few retainers to where the last two legions lay hidden.
By now the Carthaginian center had been pushed far back, while their flanks remained in place. The effect was that the further the Romans pushed into the center, the closer they came to being outflanked. Paullus saw Hannibal’s plan in every detail now. His army was fighting on three sides, and unless they could break the Carthaginian center once and for all they might be surrounded. The junior officers surrounding him saw it too, and urged commitment of the last reserves. Paullus did not respond.
Within minutes of the four reserve legions pushing into the center, his right flank began to crumble as the Allied cavalry fled the field, closely followed by the remnants of the Roman cavalry.
“Be ready!” he cried, an order that was passed to the men lying in the grass. They did not stand yet but could be in battle formations within seconds. Instead of following the panic-stricken Roman cavalry, however, the Carthaginian heavy cavalry turned behind the Roman lines and rode all the way to the other side of the field, where the Numidians still fought the Roman cavalry on the left flank. Such a move could only have been planned prior to the battle.
Trouble in the Wind Page 3