Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

In they rode, without so much as a glance up the gentle slopes where the Romans and Massiliotes lay hidden. Fabricius held his breath, counting the distance. Eighty, then fifty paces. The front ranks of Numidians entered the copse, and Fabricius’ mind flashed back to the war in Sicily. They did not look like much, but these were some of the finest cavalry in the world. Sublime horsemen, they were best at skirmishing, and frustrating the enemy with their stinging attacks. He knew from personal experience that the Numidians’ pursuit of a vanquished foe was even more deadly.

It was too soon to sound the charge. As many riders as possible had to come into the copse where the trees would ensnare them. With every passing moment, though, the risk of being discovered grew. Fabricius’ stomach clenched painfully, but he did not stir. By the time two-thirds of the horsemen had ridden in, he saw that his men were on the verge of breaking ranks. He could no longer take the pressure either. ‘Charge!’ he shouted, urging his horse down the slope. ‘For Rome!’ Bellowing with excitement, 250 cavalry followed. An instant later, Clearchus and his Massiliotes emerged from the other side of the track, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Fabricius revelled in the look of stunned disbelief on the Numidians’ faces. It was their job to ambush and fall on an unsuspecting enemy, not the other way around. Surprised, outnumbered and with the advantage of height against them, they instantly wheeled their mounts’ heads and tried to flee. Within the space of a dozen heartbeats, total confusion reigned. Although some of those at the rear were already riding away, the vast majority were trapped by the trees. Horses reared in panic; men shouted contradictory orders at each other. Only an occasional rider prepared to fight. All the rest wanted to do was escape. Fabricius bared his teeth exultantly. They had ridden within thirty paces of the enemy without suffering a single casualty, and things were about to get even better. For all their horsemanship and skirmishing skill, the tribesmen were poor at close combat. ‘Ready spears,’ Fabricius yelled. ‘Kill as many as you can!’

With an inarticulate roar, his men obeyed.

***

Casting fearful looks over their shoulders, the surviving Numidians fled for their lives. Eyeing the bodies littering the ground, Fabricius estimated that more than a hundred of their number had been slain or injured in the initial ambush. The Roman and Massiliote casualties were perhaps half that number. Given the circumstances, this was more than satisfactory. Catching sight of Clearchus, Fabricius beckoned him urgently. ‘We’ve got to follow them,’ he said. ‘Stick tight to their tails, or there’ll be no chance to assess Hannibal’s forces.’

Clearchus nodded. ‘The wounded, sir?’

‘They can fend for themselves. We’ll pick them up on the way back.’

‘Very good, sir.’ The Massiliote turned to relay the order.

‘Clearchus?’

‘Sir?’

‘I want no further engagement with the enemy. A running battle could easily lead to disaster, especially if we encounter more Carthaginian forces. Our mission is more important now than killing a few more Numidians. Understood?’

Clearchus’ teeth flashed in the sunshine. ‘Of course, sir. Publius is waiting for us.’

Soon all the able-bodied men had formed up and were ready to ride. Without a backward glance, Fabricius and Clearchus led them after the Numidians. This time, there was no advance party. They rode at top speed, four abreast, knowing that the chance of an attack from the panicked enemy riders was slim to none. It wasn’t long before they glimpsed the last of the tribesmen, who screamed in dismay. At once Fabricius ordered his men to slow down. He was relieved when his command was obeyed without question. Poor discipline was too often the reason for battles being lost.

They followed the Numidians along the winding track for perhaps five miles. The flat terrain and the well-beaten track made the pursuit easy. Fabricius had no idea how far the Rhodanus was, but Clearchus reached him as they neared a low, stone-topped hill that stood alone, dominating the surrounding wooded area.

‘The river is on the other side of that, sir.’

Immediately, Fabricius held up his hand. ‘Halt!’ As his order was obeyed, he fixed the Massiliote with his stare. ‘Let’s go up. Just you and me.’

Clearchus looked startled. ‘Are you sure, sir? There could be enemy pickets at its crest.’

‘They’ll be running after the Numidians!’ Fabricius replied confidently. ‘And when we come leathering back down here, I want everyone ready to ride, not bunched up on a narrow path.’

Clearchus blinked; then a mischievous smile twitched across his lips. ‘I suppose two men against an entire host are as good as a few hundred.’

With a fierce grin, Fabricius slapped his thigh. ‘That’s the attitude.’ He turned to the nearest of his decurions. ‘Rest the men. We’re going to take a look at what’s on the other side of the hill. I want you ready to leave at a moment’s notice.’