Hannibal: Enemy of Rome

From then on, time moved in a blur, a continuum that Bostar could only remember afterwards in a series of fractured images. The frisson of excitement that shivered through the waiting soldiers when they heard their orders. Mago’s head silhouetted as he peered over the riverbank, and his beckoning arm. Reaching the top, and being awestruck by the colossal struggle going on over to their left. Who was winning? Was Hanno still alive? Mago shaking his arm and telling him to keep focused. Telling the men to unsling their shields from their backs and ready their weapons. Assembling their phalanxes in open order. Watching the thousand Numidians split, placing half their number on each side of the infantry. Mago’s raised sword pointing at the enemy and his cry, ‘For Hannibal and for Carthage!’

And the run. Bostar would never forget the run.

They did not sprint. It was more than half a mile to the battlefield. Exhausting themselves would give away all the advantage they had been granted. Instead they moved at a fast trot, leaving plumes of exhaled breath in their wake. The cold air was filled with the low, repetitive thuds of horses’ hooves and men’s boots and sandals on the hard ground. No one spoke. No one wanted to. Everyone’s eyes were locked on what was unfolding before them. Amid the confusion, one thing was clear. There was no sign of the enemy’s cavalry, which meant that the Iberian and Gaulish horsemen must have driven them off. On the Roman flanks, the allied infantry were struggling against the Carthaginian elephants, skirmishers and Numidian horsemen. In itself, these were major achievements, and Bostar wanted to cheer. But he did not utter a word. The battle’s outcome still hung in the balance. As they drew closer, he saw that the fighting in the centre was incredibly fierce. The legionaries there had actually moved in front of their wings, which meant that they had pushed the Gauls who formed the central part of Hannibal’s line backwards.

They had come not an instant too soon, thought Bostar.

Mago came to the realisation at the same time. ‘Charge!’ he screamed. ‘Charge!’

With a wordless roar, Bostar, Sapho and his soldiers obeyed, increasing their speed to a dangerous, breakneck pace. Any man who tripped now risked breaking an ankle or a leg. But no one cared. All they wanted to do was to start shedding their opponents’ blood. To bury their weapons in Roman flesh.

The last moments of their run were surreal. Exhilarating. Thanks to the deafening sounds of battle, there was no need to worry about how much noise they made. The triarii in the enemy’s third rank – their targets – were not looking behind them. Unsurprisingly, the veterans were engrossed by the bitter struggle going on to their front, and were preparing to join in. They had no idea that two thousand Carthaginian soldiers were about to strike their rear at a full charge. Bostar would always remember the first faces that turned, casually, for whatever reason, to look around. The sheer disbelief and terror that twisted those faces to find a group of the enemy fewer than thirty paces away. The hoarse screams as the small number of triarii who were aware tried to warn their comrades of their deadly peril. And the satisfaction as they smashed into the Roman ranks, drawing their weapons down on the backs of men who did not even know they were about to die.

For the first time in his life, Bostar was overcome by battle rage. In the red mist surrounding him, it was easy to lose count of the number of men he killed. It was like stabbing fish in a rock pool off the coast of Carthage. Thrust forward. Run the blade in as deep as possible. Withdraw. Select another target. When eventually his blunted spear stuck in a triarius’ backbone, Bostar simply discarded it and pulled out his sword. He was vaguely aware that his arm was bloody to the elbow, but he didn’t care. I’m coming, little brother. Stay alive, Father.

Eventually, the veteran legionaries managed to turn and face their attackers. The fight became harder, but the advantage was still with Mago’s men, who could now see that the enemy’s flanks had broken. Bostar exulted. The combined wave of Carthaginian troops and cavalry on the allied infantry’s undefended side had proved too much. Prevented from wheeling to face the threat, they had been mercilessly hacked to pieces.