Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

Angry roars rose from the joke’s victims, and the air filled with insults. A smile twitched across Fabricius’ lips. He glanced at Quintus and registered his surprise. ‘Many of them are going to die soon,’ he explained. ‘This takes their minds off it.’

The mention of heavy casualties made Quintus feel nauseous. Would he survive to see the next dawn? Would his father, Calatinus or Cincius? Quintus looked around at the familiar faces, the men he had come to know over the previous weeks. He didn’t like all of them, but they were still his comrades. Who would end the day lying bloodied and motionless in the cold mud? Who would be maimed, or blinded? Quintus felt the first fingers of panic clutch at his belly.

His father took his arm. ‘Take a deep breath,’ he said quietly.

Quintus shot him a worried glance. ‘Why?’

‘Do as I say.’

He obeyed, relieved that Calatinus and Cincius were deep in conversation with each other.

‘Hold it,’ Fabricius ordered. ‘Listen to your heart.’

It wasn’t hard to do that, thought Quintus. It was hammering off his ribs like that of a wild bird.

His father waited for a few moments. ‘Now let the air out through your lips. Nice and slowly. When you’ve finished, do the same again.’

Quintus’ eyes flickered around nervously, but nobody appeared to be watching. He did as he was told. By the third or fourth breath, the effect on his pulse was noticeable. It had slowed down, and he wasn’t feeling as scared.

‘Everyone is frightened before battle,’ said his father. ‘Even me. It’s a terrifying thing to charge at another group of men whose job it is to kill you. The trick is to think of your comrades on your left and right. They are the only ones who matter from now on.’

‘I understand,’ Quintus muttered.

‘You will be fine. I know it.’ Fabricius clapped him on the shoulder.

Steadier now, Quintus nodded. ‘Thank you, Father.’

With his army in place, Longus had the trumpeters sound the advance. Stamping their numb feet on the semi-frozen ground, the infantry obeyed. Loud prayers to the gods rose from the ranks, and the standard-bearers lifted their arms so that everyone could see the talismanic gilded animal that sat atop the wooden poles they bore. Each legion had five standards, depicting respectively an eagle, Minotaur, horse, wolf and boar. They were objects of great reverence, and Quintus wished that his unit possessed them too. Even the allied infantry bore similar standards. For reasons unclear to him, the cavalry didn’t.

Victory will be ours regardless, he thought. Urging his horse on with his knees, he rode towards the enemy.

It was imperative that their enemies marched beyond Mago’s hidden position. Consequently, the entire Carthaginian army had to stay put as the Romans approached. It was a nerve-racking time, with little to do other than pray or make last, quick checks of equipment. Imitating his father, Hanno had given his men a short address. They were here, he’d told them, to show Rome that it could not trifle with Carthage. To right the wrongs it had done to all of their peoples. The spearmen had liked Hanno’s words, but they cheered loudest when he reminded them that they were here to follow Hannibal’s lead and, most importantly, to avenge their heroic comrades who had fallen since their departure from Saguntum more than six months before.

Their racket was as nothing compared to that of the Gauls, however. The combination of drumming weapons, war chants and wind instruments made an incredible din. Hanno had never heard anything like it. Musicians stood before the assembled warriors, playing curved ceramic horns and carnyxes at full volume. The tribesmen’s frenzied response was to clatter their swords and spears rhythmically off their shields, all the while chanting in unison. Some individuals were so affected that they broke ranks, stripped naked and stood whirling their swords over their heads, screaming like men possessed.

‘They say that at Telamon, the ground shook with their noise,’ his father shouted.

But they still lost, thought Hanno grimly.

The tension mounted steadily as the Roman battle line drew closer. It was immensely long, stretching off on both sides until it was lost to sight. The Carthaginian formation was considerably narrower, which threatened immediate flanking. Hanno’s worries about this were forgotten as Hannibal ordered his skirmishers forward.