Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Quintus and his two comrades were among the first to emerge from the trees’ protection. They reined in at once, cursing. Their chase was over.

A quarter of a mile away, stretching from left to right as far as the eye could see, stood the figures of thousands of waiting men. Carthaginian troops. ‘Halt!’ bellowed Fabricius. ‘It’s a protective screen. No point committing suicide.’ Cheated of the chance for further revenge on the Numidians, his men shouted insults after the retreating enemy riders.

Fabricius found Quintus a moment later. He smiled to see his son unharmed. ‘Quite a morning so far, eh?’

Quintus grinned. ‘Yes, Father. We’ve got them on the run, eh?’

‘Hmmm.’ Fabricius was studying the brown-yellow clouds above. He frowned. ‘There’s more snow coming, and we’re going to have a long wait before the real fight begins. The legions and the socii will take hours to get in position. By that time, the men will be half dead with cold.’

Quintus glanced around. ‘Some of them don’t even have cloaks on.’

‘They were too keen to engage with the enemy,’ replied Fabricius grimly. ‘What’s the betting that they didn’t feed and water their horses?’

Quintus flushed. He hadn’t remembered that most basic of duties either. ‘What should we do?’

‘Do you see those trees?’

Quintus eyed the dense stand of beech a short distance to their left. ‘Yes.’

‘Let’s take shelter there. Longus might not like it, but he’s not here. We’ll still be able to respond fast if there’s any threat to the legionaries. Not that that’s likely. Hannibal threw out this protective screen deliberately. He wants a proper battle today,’ Fabricius declared. ‘Until the fighting starts, or orders come to the contrary, we should try to keep warm.’

Quintus nodded gratefully. There was more to war than simply defeating an enemy in combat, he realised. Initiative was also important.

And so, while the rest of the cavalry and the velites milled about uncertainly, watching the legionaries wading across the Trebia, Fabricius led his riders under cover.

By the time two hours had passed, Hanno was shivering constantly. His soldiers were in the same condition. It was absolute torture standing on an open plain in such bitter weather. Although the snow showers had died away, they had been succeeded by sleet, and the wind had recovered its viciousness. It whistled and whipped at Carthaginian and Roman alike with an unrelenting fury. The only opportunity Hanno’s men had been given to warm up was when the instruction had come to withdraw towards their camp.

‘Look at the whoresons!’ cried Malchus, who had come over from his phalanx. ‘Will they never stop coming?’

Hanno eyed the ground opposite their position, which was being filled with a plodding inevitability. ‘It must be the entire Roman army.’

‘I’d say so,’ answered his father bleakly. Abruptly, he laughed. ‘However cold you think your men are, those fuckers are in a far worse state. In all likelihood, they’ve had no food, and now they’re all drenched to the skin too.’

Hanno shuddered. He could only imagine how cold the wind would feel on wet clothing and heavy mail, both of which carried heat away from the body anyway. Demoralising. Energy-sapping.

‘Meanwhile,’ his father went on, ‘we’re ready and waiting for them.’

Hanno glanced to either side. As soon as the Numidians had retreated safely, he and his men had pulled back to Hannibal’s battle formation, which consisted of a single line of infantry in close order. The slingers and Numidian skirmishers were arrayed some three hundred paces in front of the main battle line. Their general had not placed his strongest infantry – the Libyans and Iberians – in the centre. Instead, that space was filled by about eight thousand Gauls. ‘Surely we should be standing there?’ he asked crossly. ‘Instead, it’s our newest recruits.’

Malchus gave him a calculating look. ‘Think about it. Listen to them.’

Hanno cocked his head. The war cries and the carnyx blasts emanating from the Gauls’ ranks were deafening. ‘They’re delighted with the honour that Hannibal has granted them. It will increase their loyalty.’

‘That’s right. To them, pride is everything,’ answered Malchus. ‘What could be better than being given the centre of the line? But there’s another reason. The heaviest fighting, and the worst casualties will be there too. Hannibal is saving us and the Iberians from that fate.’

Hanno gave his father a shocked glance. ‘Would he do such a thing?’

‘Of course,’ replied Malchus casually. ‘The Gauls can easily be replaced. Our men, and the scutarii and caetrati, cannot. That’s why we’re on the wings.’