Текст книги "Swords of Rome"

Автор книги: Christopher Buckner

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Eleven days after the Battle of Trebia

The migration of five thousand people marched over the countryside as they tried as best they could avoid any of the main roads or settlements throughout the region. This collection of bodies wasn’t an army, nor was it heading north to confront the invaders. These people were innocent civilians: men, women and children driven from their homes, and forced to flee for their lives.

It was Gaius’ responsibility to protect them.

He watched them carefully as they walked, rode or be carried in carts across the cold, snow-covered earth that offered little in the way of fresh game or dry wood to build fires at night. Their destination was Rome, Capua, or any other heavily populated city in the Republic that could shelter them until the threat of Hannibal, and his horde passed.

The people were a ragged collection. Most were on the verge of starvation; half probably wouldn’t make it to their destination before they froze to death as the nights had gotten colder. However, they had no hope. Hannibal’s tribes ransacked the northern country, pillaging, murdering, and raping. This was done even though envoys from Hannibal had promised sanctuary to any Italian settlements that stood with him against Rome, or offered his army shelter and food. Nevertheless, even those too afraid to stand against him, were terrorized by the barbarians, who cared little for Hannibal’s promises. They were here to claim what they wanted, earned in blood.

Gaius and his century of a hundred men had spent the better part of the past two weeks, since Trebia protecting those he could as they moved away from the conflict zones. When able, he chased down rogue elements of Hannibal’s army and put them to the sword when opportunity presented itself. However, his primary orders were to avoid contact with the enemy, and to remain off the main roads leading to Rome.

Two days ago, Gaius got word from a rider sent by Valerius that he, along with the survivors from Trebia had linked up with a new army sent by Rome, which included the rest of the Sixth Legion. They, forty thousand strong, under the command of Gaius Flaminius, moved to find Hannibal. Gaius wanted to reach Rome, rest and regroup before his century rejoined their commander.

Storm clouds filled the sky, moving in fast from the north and sweeping down across the country like a blanket of death. As rain began to pour, it brought renewed misery to the refugees. While still midday, already the sun struggled to cast its light down on the land.

As lightning streaked across the sky, Gaius noticed three riders racing towards him, Maurus leading them. He had sent him out two days ago to scout ahead, and wasn’t expecting him back for another day, not unless he found trouble that called for Gaius’ attention.

“Gaius,” Maurus cried out as he stopped his horse before Gaius’ own. “Smoke beyond the horizon, big, but not large enough to be caused naturally, I fear.”

“There are no settlements or villages in this region,” Gaius pondered.

“None that I’m aware of, but I fear we may both be mistaking.”

Gaius knew he should ignore the warning, or at the very least, redirect the refugees. His men were not fitted for another confrontation, nor could they risk drawing a large raiding party towards the civilians. There would be nothing his lone century could do to prevent their slaughter. He knew, however, that he wasn’t ready to allow another massacre to happen, not if he could prevent it.

With a heavy heart, weighed down by the burden of command, he said, “I want twelve of our best riders and swordsmen. Bring them to me, and then you’ll lead us to the fires.”

“Is it wise?” Maurus asked, not for fear of battle, but to be the voice of reason in case Gaius was acting foolish.

“Another two days and the civilians will reach Rome. If the barbarians have come this far south from the frontier, we at least have to know, or risk attack on our rear,” Gaius confirmed his reasoning, which brought a welcome smile from Maurus, who quickly rode off to carry out his orders.

What little sunlight managed to break through the heavy clouds had vanished as it descended under the western horizon two hours ago. The darkness provided Gaius and his men sufficiently cover to reach the outer walls of a large estate, unseen, which was big amply that it most likely belonged to a wealthy citizen, perhaps even a senator; the high walls that encircled the property, however, didn’t allow Gaius to see beyond the walls to what was inside.

The fire that had consumed the estate had been nearly burnt out, which had survived hours, despite the heavy rain, since the smoke was first seen by Roman scouts. Still, embers burned in spots where the flames were the hottest.

Gaius slowly worked his way along the outer walls towards the front gate. A few bodies lay outside and on top the walls. None of them were dead Carthaginian or Gauls, Gaius noted, but slaves and hired guards, each of whom had tried to defend their master’s home. So far, beyond the few dead, he did not notice much else – nothing that would have indicated there was some sort of siege, or suggested the estate had been breached from the outside.

The heavy iron gates were swung open, which didn’t look as if they had been battered down, but left as if someone had had pulled them open from the inside. This conundrum peeked Gaius’ attention as, he, and his men worked their way to what he hoped would be answers.

Gaius led the first part, six men, including him. Maurus commanded the second group, which hurried over to the opposite side of the entrance and took positions alongside the wall.

None of his men wore armor or carried shields. The Romans carried only their swords and daggers, and had made sure to muddy their faces before striking toward the estate, where they left their horses on the other side of a low hill, with one man guarding.

Gaius took a deep breath as he peeked round the corner, fixing his eyes beyond the open gateway. He saw a few more bodies hacked to death; one lying in the middle of the entrance about twenty paces from him, another two slumped up against the walls, their bodies covered with blood as their heads were brutally mutilated lie a few inches from their owners.

With the few fires that still burned, Gaius saw nothing else – no one alive that was. He decided it was time for him and his men to advance.

Taken a deep breath, Gaius hesitated for a moment. He did not like this and wasn’t altogether sure he was prepared to face whatever might be beyond these walls. He wondered for just a moment if he was ever going to get used to death.

Putting caution behind him, Gaius darted around the bend and ran down the gateway, his men quickly falling behind.

An overturned blackened cart was his destination. Gaius threw his back up against it, half expecting to hear a sentry call out once he was spotted, soon followed by a volley of arrows or spears. However, there was no sound beyond the slight dripping of water, and sizzling as it cooled the smoldering embers of the burnt-out buildings.

The rest of the Romans hurried across the courtyard and also took cover; their swords held at the ready as their eyes and ears scanned the surroundings for any sign of movement. Like Gaius, they too saw nothing, or had been seen.

Gaius looked for Maurus, finding him knelt down behind a stack of wet logs. He hastily gave him a silent hand signal, ordering him and the rest of the Romans to move quickly and spread out, and begin their search for signs of life, or the attackers.

Maurus nodded his reply as he passed along Gaius’ instructions to those men around him. A moment later, everyone moved from their cover, hurrying as fast, and as carefully as they could. While they hadn’t been seen yet, that did not mean there wasn’t still a presence in the compound.

Gaius chose to begin his search of a long building that looked as if it had served as a storehouse. It was one of the few still erected.

He moved by himself, wanting his men to cover as much ground as quickly as possible.

There was a short flight of stairs leading into the storehouse, which were partly burnt, but still sturdy enough to support his weight. The two doors were left wide open, a long dark abyss greeting him as he ventured into the structure.

A streak of lightning momentarily illuminated the dark interior, causing Gaius to jump at his own shadow. The light, however, did illustrate that the building had indeed been a warehouse. Where normally stacks of crates, jugs, sacks of grain and other assortments should have been the storehouse was mostly empty. There were signs that what had been inside was taken, and with haste as trails of spilled grain and flower covered the wooden floors.

Gaius saw nothing or no one that would raise his alarm, but as he continued deeper into the building, he noticed a far room, most likely an office where the quartermaster would have kept a tally on the goods kept inside the building, before being sold.

Inside the office, there was still a fire burning, not enraged that it threatened the whole structure, but still sufficient that it provided adequate light for Gaius to notice the room, unlike the storehouse, wasn’t empty.

There was no way for Gaius to be stealthy as he approached, which unnerved him even more as his feet scratched against the spilled contents that would have stacked the building’s walls, or the increasing creaking the floorboards made with each careful step. However, as he drew nearer, he noticed what appeared to be legs sticking out in front of the doorway. Upon seeing them Gaius called, “I’m a Roman officer, do not be alarmed. If you have a weapon, lower it now!” He spoke the last part of his sentence with more authority, or as much as his shacking nerves could allow. Still, there was no movement or reply.

Gaius was about to call again, but he decided against it as he came closer to the open door. Only then as he came within sight of the pair of legs did he notice how small the feet were, like that of a child.

“Do not be afraid, I’m a Roman – “Gaius froze as he gasped.

In the flickering light from the flames, he saw two girls, lying next to one another, their clothes torn to shred, eyes wide open, and limbs covered with their own blood. Their throats had been cut, and their legs were spread broad, telling Gaius all he needed to know. Whoever had sacked this estate showed no mercy, not even for the very young.

Gaius fixed his eyes on the girls, one of whom had half of her body burnt to a crisp.

His back dropped against the side of the doorway as the sword in his hand felt too heavy to carry any longer.

He couldn’t help but tear at the sight as he studied it, unable to turn away, but wanting too badly. It was only when he heard his name called out by Maurus did he pull away from the sight.

“What is it?” he asked, not allowing Maurus to cross the threshold.

“We found no signs of attackers, only tracks leading outside. I don’t’ suspect the assault happened from out there, but from within.”

“What else?” Gaius asked. He could feel that Maurus was holding something back.

“We…” he struggled to say. “You should see for yourself.”

Gaius tried not to look back inside the small room, forcing himself to pull his gaze from the carnage and replied, “Lead the way.” What greeted him next was worse.

Moments later, Gaius stood in the center courtyard, surround by his men who each looked down at the collection of thirty bodies, most of whom were slaves, and others that weren’t, including children. Everyone was executed, head's cut off, limbs hacked, or throats slit. The women were all naked, having clearly been rapped before they too were murdered and left face-down in the mud.

The bodies that held Gaius attention now were different. Each was knelt down on their knees, hands tied behind their backs. There was one woman, middle aged, four children, and one man, his age impossible to determine as he had been set on fire.

“I would wager that he is the owner of this estate,” Maurus reported as he had pieced together what information her could figure. “And I think they would be his children and wife, more than likely.”

“Looks like he was forced to watch them slaughtered before they set him on fire,” Gaius concluded.

“Why do you say that?” Maurus asked.

Gaius just glanced back at him, “Why else take the time to set this up if they were simply to kill him first.”

“Then who could have done this?” Maurus pondered.

Gaius pulled his dagger out from his belt and knelt down behind the burnt man. He carefully cut his bond; thankfully, the man’s body remained knelling. Gaius then proceeded to cut a ring that was attached to one of his fingers.

When the bone snapped, Gaius wiggled the ring free. It was solid gold and engraved.

“Strange, you would think the ring would have melted when this poor fool was set ablaze,” Maurus commented.

“That is because it was placed on his hand after he was killed, and the fires died away,” Gaius had realized.

“Why would they do that? The things got to be worth some money, and everything else of value is gone, as far as we can tell.”

“Because, they wanted us to know who he was,” Gaius pointed out as he stood back to his feet, examine the ring more carefully – seeing that it was inscribed.

“Decima Felix Titus,” Gaius read.

“Titus,” Maurus’ eyes widen. “He was a gladiator promoter. He ran one of the finest schools in all of Rome. I’ve seen a few of his games. Last years’ Games of Jupiter, wow! What a show,” Maurus commented as the name was quite familiar to him.

Gaius pocked the ring as he turned to face Maurus.

“I want all the bodies to be burnt and giving proper burial rights, slaves included.”

“Do we really have the time for that?” Maurus asked, as he clearly wasn’t looking forward to the grim work.

“Do as I have ordered,” Gaius replied as he turned, looking around the compound a moment longer before he decided on his course.

“Alright lads, you heard the Centurion, on with it,” Maurus spoke to men, once he realized that Gaius was continuing his own investigation.

Gaius pulled a wooden beam out from the doorway that led down into what he assumed was the holding pen for the men who had committed the murder of Titus and his family. He was in the rear of the compound, near an area that was surrounded by a large iron fence and several smaller buildings, each of which was still standing, undamaged by the fires. A few more bodies lied before Gaius’ path, each of them guards he assumed, their weapons and armor stripped from their corpse.

Gaius walked down a set of stairs, heading into what looked to be a kitchen and holding pins for animals and men. The stench below was horrible, nearly causing him to wish he hadn’t decided to venture further. Blood was splattered on the ground; more men must have died during the escape, but their bodies not left behind for whatever reason.

Food that had been cooking had boiled over in a large copper pot, some kind of terrible porridge, brown with unidentifiable cuts of beef and other mixings.

Soon he found what he was expecting, several dozen cells, each with their heavy wooden doors pulled open. Again, there were more signs of blood as some of the men: slaves of another sort died trying to escape. Inside were stray and dirty stained beds, with a bucket for shit and piss in the corner. The walls were layered with scratching, piled on top of one another for decades, written by the various men kept imprisoned within the walls.

Later, Gaius left the cells and the kitchen area and ventured through the training yard. There were a few dozen timber post and human-sized mannequins placed within the muddied sand covered courtyard. Each wood figure was horribly scared with repeated sword strikes, training designed to hone a man’s skill with the sword, something Gaius was all too familiar with.

Another building stood across the yard – its doors had been ripped clear off the hinges. A couple more bodies lay outside and within. These men looked as if they had been beaten to death with bare hands, as their faces and skulls had been caved in, reducing their flesh to a bloody pulp; and once again, these men like those Gaius already found, lie naked, the clothes on their backs and weapons in hand taken from their lifeless bodies.

Inside the small, structures were several tables and racks, each of which would have been filled with armor and weapons. Now, however, the room was bare of even the smallest of scraps, save for one object, which had been left behind, resting on the center table, facing the door, as if it meant to greet anyone who walked inside.

Gaius moved closer to the helmet, half expecting there to be a head still inside it, or at least, for someone to leap out from the shadows and attack. Even so, like everywhere else, there were no signs of life.

Gaius knelt down and stared long and hard at the helmet. He knew it was an old fashioned Greek style, Spartan to be exact. It was cast of bronze, which had been polished to a perfect shine – its deep dark holes where eyes would have been, staring unblinking. A bright red featured crest rose from the top of the helmet, ending in a long tail that was carefully spread across the length of the table.

For a moment, Gaius did not act indifferent to the helmet. But then, it hit him in a flash of memory. The uncommon headpiece of the fearsome Spartan warriors was worn by one man in the arena – a man he had only seen once in his life. And with that memory, the fear, the bloodlust and rage of him flooding through Gaius’ mind, resurfacing haunting feelings he wished would have remained buried within the depths of his conscience.

“Calfax…” Gaius uttered to himself, as if saying the man’s name would suddenly make him appear.

It was then that Gaius realized the helmet was left behind on purpose, and placed on this spot for a reason. It was a sign – a warning to all Romans whom Calfax was liberated – having broken his bonds that had held him for gods knew how long. And now, he was out there, unrestrained to spread his hatred to any that was unfortunate to cross him. And with the old Spartan champion, he had with him a band of gladiators.

In that moment, the war took on a whole new meaning for Gaius. Hannibal had not just invaded Roman providence and jeopardized the Republic; he inadvertently released a monster upon the Roman people.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Lake Trasimene

Valerius thrust his sword, plunging it deep into the stomach of a Carthaginian soldier who charged him, screaming in his native language like a mad man, consumed with rages. He growled as he clawed at Valerius’ face even as the sword tore into his guts, spilling them out onto the blood-soaked grass. He struggled for a moment as the man’s nails dug under Valerius’ eyes, almost blinding him. The warrior was cursing him that much the veteran could understand, but it did not matter as he pulled upward on his gladius until the blade tore under the man’s rib cage, piercing his heart.

The grip of the dead man loosened as Valerius pushed him to the ground. Quickly, yet again he was forced to defend himself as another man rushed forward.

Even as Valerius drove the tip of his sword through the man’s face, the cries of battle filled his ears, which were logged with sprayed blood that drizzled from head, soaking him in the vial gore. Dozens of his men were dying by the minute, faster than they could kill the enemy. Once again, the Romans were the prey, fallen headlong into another ambush set by Hannibal – the very thought sent chills coursing through the legate’s body.

How could this have happened again?

It was hard to see beyond a few paces, as a thick fog hovered over the shores of Lake Trasimene. It was cold too as the long winter seemed not to want to give way to the warmth of spring. This only served to make the battle harder as the bitter nip of the morning air seeped into Valerius’ old bones, stiffening his reactions and ability to think.

Valerius’ sword again struck home, boring into the top of a man’s skull, but as more enemy warriors fell to him, more continued to come. It was only with decades of honed skills earned in countless battles that the veteran could hold out as long as he had.

Valerius grabbed hold on the man he had just killed, and pushed him at a Gallic barbarian that swung a two handled axe.

Valerius ceased the advantage quickly as the dead warrior collided with the Gaul. His sword was still stuck in the Carthaginian’s skull, so he was forced to pull his dagger out from his belt.

Dashing forward, Valerius forced the blade into the Gaul’s right eye, twisting the blade so that he may open the wound deeper.

The man screamed in agony as his eyeball ruptured, thick gore and blood spraying out from the socket as Valerius withdrew the dagger.

Before the Gaul could recover, Valerius thrust the dagger into his opponent’s throat, before yanking it with all his strength to the right, tearing the iron across the man’s neck, severing his jugular.

Blood sprayed out across the battlefield showering Valerius in the crimson mist before he quickly retrieved his sword from the other’s man’s skull.

“Romans!” Valerius roared as high as his powerful lungs could bear, “Form ranks around me, on the double!” he ordered, hoping that the dozen standing could hear him. While they were still engaged in their own struggles, his orders were carried out as quickly as they could be heard.

Valerius was enraged, as once again, due to the ignorance of another general, this time Gaius Flaminius. The army fell into another trap set by Hannibal.

After the Battle of Trebia River, Valerius had taken the survivors and joined the four new legions that Flaminius had formed, and marched north to avenger those slain in the previous two engagements. However, just like before, under Sempronius’ command, Flaminius was fooled into chasing after Hannibal, who used the terrain and bad weather to his advantage. With fewer men, Hannibal could move faster, and Flaminius, under greater pressure from the Senate to defeat the rogue, rushed headlong into another situation he couldn’t handle.

The attack plan had been brilliant Valerius hated to admit as even he did not see the strategy beforehand until it was too late.

Hannibal lured Flaminius to the banks of Lake Trasimene. With the water to their backs, surrounded from all sides by hills, Hannibal’s army waited in the woods, using the fog that rolled across the lake during the early-morning hours to blind the Romans to his movements.

Flaminius had faith he had Hannibal trapped, believing the general had set camp in clear sight upon a nearby hill. However, Hannibal had set torches around the camp, giving the impression that he was where he wasn’t.

The attack came early, at the break of first light. While the Romans still looked towards Hannibal’s supposed camp, a safe distance away, he struck on three fronts. So fast and devastating was the strike that the Romans weren’t able to get into proper formation to meet the ambush.

This was not the battle the legions were trained to fight. They were a well-oiled machine of mechanized warfare. As a whole, they were nearly unbeatable, and Hannibal was smart enough to know that. Using the savage fighting skills of his own men, and those of his barbarian allies, man-to-man, save for the most experienced and capable, such as Valerius, the Roman soldiers weren’t the equal to their opponents, not in this compactly.

Valerius wanted to order the retreat two hours ago, but even at the moment the voice of Flaminius could be heard as his battle horns continued to blow, blinding giving ill-fated orders to his broken legions. Even so, few Romans fought under his guidance now, as they battled for their lives and not to seek some measure of victory. However, the only means of escape was, either to push through Hannibal’s lines, or attempt to cross the lake. Those men most capable of swimming had stripped themselves of their kit and armor, but nearly iced over, few men could make it to the other shore alive, as the banks of the lake were already timing with Roman dead.

Sometime later, as Valerius had gathered several hundred men to him, a blood smeared lad came rushing up to him, pushing his way between his tightly packed comrades and cried out, “Legate Valerius! I seek Legate Valerius!”

“I am here, boy!” Valerius called back, unable to see who called his name quite yet until the man pushed his way between two soldiers.

“Sir, Flaminius is dead, as well as his command staff and much of his legion. I was giving orders by Prefect Varo to seek you out, and to receive orders, if you were still alive that is,” the young soldier puffed between long and deep breaths.

“What is the status of his men, or any, for that matter?” Valerius demanded to know, forced to raise his voice as more barbarians poured against the shield wall his men had managed to form.

“We are near collapse. Two other legions and the auxiliary are already overwhelmed, beyond salvation. Do we stand and fight to the end, sir?” the boy asked, almost expecting that Valerius would demand such a foolish course – better to die brave than to return to Rome in shame.

“Don’t be so damn foolish. Order whoever is still in command of the legion to join with the Sixth, if they can manage. We are going to make a break, and just maybe take a few more of these bastards with us as we do. Perhaps we can use this damn fog to our advantage as well, before it lifts with the higher sun.” Valerius knew that not everyone was going to be saved. He was going to have to order that a full cohort would have to be left behind to hold the line. Their fates would be certain, but it had to be done for the rest of his legion, and what was left of Flaminius’ to break through the Carthaginian formations and make for safety.

“Wouldn’t it be best that we try for the lake, sir?” The boy asked.

“Boy, how well can you swim?”

“Not very well, sir.”

“Then don’t be a bloody fool. Now, be gone with my orders, and be quick about it.”

“Sir!” the legionnaire saluted, and then turned, pushing his way back through his comrades and out of sight once more.

“May the gods be with you, Gaius, for they aren’t with us now,” Valerius uttered under his breath as he watched a large formation of Numidian horsemen come charging toward his formation. He doubted suddenly that he would ever see Gaius again.