Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

The hastati screamed as they closed in. Each man clutched a gladius in his right fist, and in the other he carried a heavy, elongated oval scutum with a metal boss. Like Hanno’s men’s shields, many Roman ones had designs painted on their hide covers. Bizarrely, Hanno found himself admiring the charging boars, leaping wolves and arrangements of circles and spirals. They contrasted strongly with the more ornate patterns favoured by the Libyans.

Nervous, the man beside him shoved his spear forward too soon, and Hanno’s attention snapped back to the present. ‘Hold!’ he ordered. ‘Your first thrust has to kill a man!’

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats.

‘Now!’ Hanno roared at the top of his voice. In the same moment, he thrust forward with his weapon, aiming it at the face of the nearest hastatus. On either side, hundreds of Libyans did the same. Hanno’s speed caught the legionary off guard, and his spear tip skidded over the top of the other’s scutum to take him through the left eye. Aqueous fluid spattered everywhere and an agonising scream ripped free of the hastatus’ throat. Hanno’s instinct was to shove his spear even deeper, making the blow mortal, but he stopped himself. The man would probably die of his injury. More importantly, he would not take any further part in the battle. With a powerful twist, Hanno pulled the blade free. Iron grated off bone as he did so and the bellowing hastatus collapsed.

Hanno barely had time to breathe before another legionary came trampling over his first opponent and deliberately barged straight into him. If it hadn’t been for the fact that his shield was locked with that of the man on either side, Hanno would have fallen over. As it was, he was knocked off balance and struggled to regain his footing. This was precisely what the hastatus had intended. Bending his right elbow, he stabbed his gladius over the top of Hanno’s shield. Frantically, Hanno twisted his head to one side, and the blade gouged a deep line across the cheekpiece of his bronze helmet before skimming through the hair on the side of his head. The hastatus snarled with anger and pulled back his weapon to deliver another blow. Hanno struggled to use his spear, but his opponent was too close to reach him easily. Panic bubbled in the back of his throat. The battle had hardly started, and already he was a dead man.

Then, out of the blue, a spear took the hastatus through the throat, making his eyes bulge in shock. He made a choking gasp as the blade slid out of his flesh, and dropped like a stone, sending gouts of blood all over Hanno’s shield and lower legs. ‘My thanks!’ Hanno shouted at the soldier behind him. He couldn’t turn around to express his gratitude, because another hastatus was already trying to kill him. This time, Hanno managed to fend off his attacker with his spear. Cursing loudly, they traded blows back and forth, but neither could gain an advantage over the other. Things were taken out of both their hands a moment later when a man a few steps to Hanno’s right, who had discarded his pilum-riddled shield, was killed. Two hastati forced their way into the space at once, shouting at their comrades to follow them. Hanno’s opponent knew that this was too good a chance to pass up. In the blink of an eye, he had shoved his way after his fellows. To Hanno’s relief, he was granted a brief respite.

Panting heavily, he glanced to either side. Claws of worry raked at his insides. The phalanxes were holding their own, but only just. To his left, the Gauls were struggling to contain the same intense assault. Worryingly, the hastati there had already been joined by the principes. The Gauls had even less prospect of holding back these legionaries, thought Hanno sourly. Most of the principes wore mail shirts, making them much harder to kill. Thus far, however, the tribesmen were not retreating. Despite their lack of armour, they persisted in fighting to the death. Already the ground beneath their feet was a churned-up morass of corpses, discarded weapons, mud and blood.

Desperately, Hanno cast his eyes to the Roman left flank. His heart lifted. Thanks to the Iberians and Gauls, it had been shorn of its cavalry protection. There was no sign of Hannibal’s heavy cavalry, however, which meant it was still pursuing the Roman horse. Hanno’s worry increased tenfold. If that battle hadn’t been won, they might as well all give up now. Then his attention was drawn by hundreds of figures who were swarming towards the enemy’s left flank. To his delight, he saw that they were hurling javelins and firing sling stones. It was the Carthaginian skirmishers!

A yelling hastatus jumped into the attack, preventing Hanno from any further thought. He fought back with renewed determination, using the greater length of his spear to stab at the Roman’s face. The fight wasn’t over by any means. There was hope yet.