Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

The Balearic slingers and Numidian javelin men bounded off, eager to start the battle proper. A vicious and prolonged missile encounter followed, from which the Carthaginians emerged clear victors. Unlike the wet, tired velites, who had been fighting for hours and had already thrown the majority of their javelins, Hannibal’s men were fresh and keen. Stones and spears whistled and hummed through the air in their hundreds, scything down the velites like rows of wheat. Unable to respond in similar fashion, the Roman light troops were soon put to flight, retreating through the gaps in their front line. Hannibal immediately recalled his skirmishers, whose lack of armour made them vulnerable to the approaching hastati. As they trotted back through the spaces between the various Carthaginian units, they received a rousing cheer.

‘A good start,’ Hanno yelled to his men. ‘First blood to us!’

A moment later, the Romans charged.

‘Shields up!’ Hanno yelled. From the corner of his eye, he was dimly aware of their Iberian and Gaulish cavalry, as well as the elephants, charging at the enemy’s horsemen. He had literally an instant to pray that they succeeded.

Then the Roman pila, or javelins, began to arrive. Each hastatus carried two of the weapons, which gave their front line fearsome firepower. The missiles were thrown in such dense showers that the air between the two armies darkened as they flew. ‘Protect yourselves!’ Hanno screamed, but it was only those in the front rank who could do as he said. The phalanx’s formation packed men together so tightly that it prevented the rest from raising their large shields. As the javelins came hammering down, they gritted their teeth and hoped not to be hit.

Topped by a pyramidal point, the pila were fully capable of punching through a shield and piercing its bearer’s flesh. And they did exactly that: killing, wounding, cutting tissue apart with ease. Hanno’s ears rang with the choking cries of soldiers who could no longer talk thanks to the iron transfixing their throats. Screams rang out from those who had been struck elsewhere. Wails of fear rose from the unhurt as they saw their comrades slain before their eyes. Hanno risked a look to the front and cursed. While their first volley flew, the hastati had continued to advance. They were now less than forty paces away, and preparing to release again. He couldn’t help admiring the legionaries’ discipline. They actually slowed down or even stopped to throw their pila. As he already knew, it was well worth the effort to make an accurate shot. Lesser foes would have already broken and run beneath the rain of iron-tipped terror. Hanno was grateful that he was commanding veterans. While his men had suffered terribly, their lines remained steady. His father’s phalanx looked rock solid too.

To his left, the Gauls were also suffering heavy casualties. Hanno could see some of them wavering, a worrying sign so early. But their chieftains were made of sterner stuff, shouting and exhorting their followers to stand fast. To Hanno’s relief, the tactic worked. As the second shower of javelins was launched, the Gauls swiftly lifted their shields. While their response reduced the number of wounded and killed, it stripped many of the warriors of their main protection. Few things were more useless than a shield with a bent pilum protruding from it. Weirdly, this looked more to the Gauls’ liking. Shouting fiercely, they prepared to meet the hastati head on.

Many of the men at the front of Hanno’s phalanx were also now without shields. He cursed savagely. The gaps would provide the legionaries with opportunities too good to pass up, but there was nothing Hanno could do to remedy the problem. ‘Close order!’ he shouted. As the command was repeated all along the line, he felt the shields of the men on either side slide against his to form a solid barrier. ‘Front two ranks, raise spears!’ Scores of wooden shafts clattered off each other as those in the second row shoved their weapons over the shoulders of the soldiers in front. Hanno gritted his teeth. ‘This is it!’ he roared. ‘Hold fast!’

He could pick out individuals now: there a stocky figure with a pockmarked face; beside him a young man wearing a pectoral breastplate who couldn’t have been more than eighteen. His own age. He looked a bit like Gaius, Martialis’ son. Unsettled, Hanno blinked. Naturally, he was mistaken: Gaius was a noble, and would serve in the cavalry. Who cares? he thought harshly. They are all the enemy. Kill them. ‘Steady,’ he roared. ‘Wait for my command!’