Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

‘Yes, sir!’

Fabricius led the way up the path. He was surprised to find himself feeling more nervous than he had in years. He would never have expected to be the first Roman to set eyes on Hannibal’s army. Yet here he was.

Nearing the crest, they found evidence of a sentry post: a stone fireplace full of smoking ash, and bedding rolls, which still bore the imprint of those who’d been sitting on them. They dismounted and tethered their horses before clambering to the peak. Instinctively, Fabricius went down on his belly. The first thing that caught his attention as he peered over the edge was the mob of yelling Numidians driving their horses down the slope. Behind them were a dozen or more running figures: the sentries from the abandoned picket. Fabricius’ lips peeled up in a snarl of satisfaction, but as he took in the scene beyond, his mouth fell open in wonder.

In the middle distance glittered the wide band that was the River Rhodanus. Perhaps a hundred paces from the water’s edge, the enemy tent lines began. They stretched as far as the eye could see. Fabricius was used to legionary camps that could hold 5,000 men, or even 10,000. What lay before him was much less organised, but far larger. It was more than twice as large as a consular army, which was made up of approximately 20,000 men. ‘You weren’t exaggerating. This host is immense!’ he muttered to Clearchus. ‘Publius should have moved on your intelligence. We’d have caught the bastards napping.’

The Massiliote looked pleased.

Fabricius scanned the encampment, mentally noting everything he saw. Hannibal had superior numbers of horsemen compared to an equivalent Roman force, which worried him. Few things were more important than the quantity of horse at one’s disposal. There were the usual Carthaginian stalwarts: Libyan spearmen and skirmishers, Balearic slingers and Numidian and Iberian cavalry. Most plentiful of all were the infantry, the majority of which were scutarii and caetrati. And last but not least, there were the elephants: the battering rams that had so terrified Roman armies in the past. Perhaps twenty of the massive beasts were already on the near bank. ‘Gods,’ Fabricius whispered in amazement. ‘How in the name of Jupiter did they get them over the river?’

Clearchus touched his arm and pointed. ‘On those.’

Fabricius peered at the two massive wooden rafts being pulled back to the far side by rowing boats. There, he could see a dozen or more elephants waiting to be ferried across. Before them, an enormous jetty formed by a double line of square platforms projected some sixty paces out into the fast-flowing water. Dozens of ropes and cables secured the makeshift affair to trees upriver from the pier. He shook his head at the scale of the engineering that had gone into the pier’s construction. ‘I’ve heard that elephants are intelligent creatures. Surely they wouldn’t just walk on to a floating square of wood?’

Clearchus squinted into the bright light. ‘I can see a layer of earth all along the walkway. Maybe it’s meant to look like dry land?’

‘Clever bastards. So they lead their charges to the end of the jetty, and on to the rafts. Then they cut them free and row across the river.’ Rapt, Fabricius watched as, encouraged by its mahout, an elephant was slowly led down the walkway. Even from a distance, it was clear that the creature was not happy. Bugles of distress blared out again and again. It had only walked a third of the jetty’s length before it stopped dead in its tracks. In an effort to make the elephant continue, a group of men behind it began shouting and playing drums and cymbals. However, instead of continuing to the raft, which was now tethered to the end of the pier, the creature jumped into the water. There was a wail from its unfortunate mahout as he disappeared from sight, and Fabricius closed his eyes. What a way to die, he thought. When he looked up, the elephant was swimming strongly across the river. Fabricius was engrossed. He had never seen such an incredible sight before.

Suddenly, Clearchus tugged at his arm. ‘The Numidians have raised the alarm, sir.’

At the edge of the camp, Fabricius could see the tribesmen milling around. Many were pointing at the hill and beyond. Faint shouts of anger carried through the air, and he smiled mirthlessly. ‘Time to go. Publius will want to hear the news. Good, and bad.’