Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

‘Maybe so,’ agreed Calatinus, another of the men who shared their tent. Sturdily built, he was a year older than Quintus, but of similar outlook. ‘It was a damn big one, though. I bet you’re all glad to be sitting here now, eh?’ He nodded as his companions shook their heads in agreement. ‘Look at our casualties! Most of our cavalry and hundreds of velites killed. Six hundred legionaries taken prisoner, and Publius gravely injured. Hardly a good start, was it?’

‘Too true,’ said Cincius, their last tent mate, a huge, ruddy-faced man with a shock of red hair. ‘We’ve also retreated since. What must Hannibal think of us?’

‘Why in Hades did we even pull back?’ Licinius demanded. ‘After the bridge had been destroyed, the Carthaginians had no way of crossing the Ticinus to get at us.’

Calatinus made sure no one else was in earshot. ‘I reckon the consul panicked. It’s not surprising, really, with him being out of action and all.’

‘How would you know what Publius thinks?’ Quintus challenged irritably. ‘He’s far from a fool.’

‘As if you’d know what the consul’s like, new boy,’ Cincius snapped.

Quintus scowled, but had the wisdom not to reply. Cincius looked ready for a fight, and he was twice Quintus’ size.

‘Why didn’t Publius take his chance when Hannibal offered battle before our camp?’ Cincius went on. ‘What an opportunity to miss, eh?’

There was a gloomy mutter of agreement.

‘I say it’s downright cowardly,’ said Cincius, warming to his theme.

Quintus’ anger flared. ‘It’s best to fight on the ground of one’s choosing, at a time of one’s choosing,’ he declared, remembering what his father had said. ‘You all know that! At the moment, we can do neither, and with Publius injured, that position is unlikely to change in the near future. It made far more sense to remain in a position of security, here in the camp. Consider what might happen otherwise.’

Cincius glared at Quintus, but, seeing the others subside into a grumpy silence, chose to say no more for the moment.

Quintus felt no happier. While Publius’ courage was in little doubt, that of Flaccus was a different matter. It had taken a sea change in his view of his prospective brother-in-law as a hero even to countenance such a thought, but the reality of what had happened at the Ticinus could not be denied. Flaccus had ridden out with the cavalry on the ill-fated reconnaissance mission at his own request. Still ecstatic about being allowed to accompany the patrol, Quintus had been there too. He and his father had seen Flaccus as the clash began, but not after that. He hadn’t reappeared until afterwards, when the battered remnants of the patrol retreated over the River Ticinus and reached the Roman camp. Apparently, he’d been swept out of harm’s way by the tide of battle. Seeing that the Carthaginians had the upper hand, Flaccus had ridden for help. Naturally, the senior tribunes had declined to lead their legions, an infantry force, across a temporary bridge to face an enemy entirely made up of cavalry. What else could he have done? Flaccus had earnestly asked.

Of course there was no way of questioning Flaccus’ account. Events were moving apace. They would just have to accept it. While Fabricius had not said as much to Quintus, he was clearly troubled by the possibility that Flaccus was a coward. Quintus felt the same way. Although he’d been terrified during the fight, at least he had stood his ground and fought the enemy. Aurelia must not marry a man, however well connected, who did not stick by his comrades in battle. Quintus poked a stick into the fire and tried not to think about it. He was annoyed to realise that the others had resumed their doleful conversation.

‘My groom was drinking with some of the legionaries who guard Publius’ tent,’ said Licinius. ‘They said that a huge Carthaginian fleet has attacked Lilybaeum in Sicily.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Cincius.

Licinius nodded mournfully. ‘There’s no question of Sempronius Longus coming to our relief now.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ demanded Quintus.

‘The soldiers swore on their mothers’ graves it was true.’

Quintus gave him a dubious look. ‘Why haven’t we heard it from anyone else, then?’

‘It’s supposed to be top secret,’ muttered Licinius.

‘Well, I heard that the entire Boii tribe is marching north to join Hannibal,’ interjected Cincius. ‘If that’s right, we’ll be caught in a pincer attack between them and the guggas.’

Quintus remembered what his father had told him. A monstrous calf, which was somehow turned inside out to expose all of its internal organs, had been cut out of a cow that could not give birth on a farm nearby. The damn thing had been alive too. An officer whom Fabricius knew had seen it while on patrol. Stop it, thought Quintus, setting his jaw. ‘Let’s not get overexcited,’ he advised. ‘These stories are all too far-fetched.’