Текст книги "Swords of Rome"

Автор книги: Christopher Buckner

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The Senate was empty, save for one man who sat alone on one of the stone benches that ran around the two marble seats that represented the chairs of the consuls of Rome. It amazed Fabius Maximus how meaningless this place was; how utterly quiet it was. The bulk of the senators who would have typically spent the afternoon debating without end, were in the field. Only a few dozen remained behind, leaving much of the city’s affairs to him, as the elected People’s Tribune. He wished he was out there now, with the army, which he had received reports had discovered Hannibal at Cannae.

Now, he waited like the whole city for word of the victory that was certain to come. However, Fabius’ mind was lost; adrift upon a sea of doubt; left to govern a body that stood frozen with fear to the possibilities of just what ifthe two consuls and their unstoppable legions weren’t enough to crush Hannibal?

That question plagued Fabius from day one. He didn’t want his fears and frustrations to get the better of him, so he didn’t act on his thoughts and call to question the Republic's chances of survival if indeed, Hannibal was victorious.

His mind still drifted to the past. How many different ways this conflict could have been avoided if he had the chance to lead; he did not seek any grand title, of course, a rarity among his own countrymen, not to mention his family. However, he wondered what choices he could have made differently but the past could not be changed. It was the future that mattered now.

Fabius turned his head as he heard a far door open, followed by the soft footsteps of another man, a fellow senator by the name of Marcus Brutus Nero, walk towards him.

Fabius stood to his feet and watched the elder statesman as he slowly approached him with uncertainty in his stride.

Fabius could see the parchment in his right hand, which was held down low by his side as Nero’s eyes wavered, as he neared the tribune.

“Word from Cannae?” Fabius asked eagerly as Nero stopped just before him and raised his hand, holding it out for him to take.

“Read for yourself,” Nero spoke; his voice trembling.

Fabius took the note and read its words very carefully. There wasn’t a lot written on it, as it had been issued with haste, before being sent out.

The document was written by Valerius, Fabius observed, which read:

Senators of Rome, I regret to inform you that the armies led by Consuls Lucius Aemilius Paullus and Macro Julius Varro has been destroyed, nearly to the man by the forces of Hannibal and his allies. I and fifteen hundred survivors who were sent from the battlefield before the campaign begun, are the only substantial forces left in Italy. My men have found several hundred survivors, and we are currently on our way back to Rome, in hope of beating Hannibal, whom I assume will be marching on the city to lay siege. I urge the Senate to make preparations for the defense of the city if I do not arrive in time with my army.

Claudius Augustus Valerius, Legate of the Sixth Legion.

Fabius slumped, falling onto his seat as he dropped the document that Valerius had sent, onto the Senate floor.

“How could such a large force be defeated, and so quickly and utterly?” Fabius asked more to himself than to Nero, who stood before him, his head hung low.

“I…am gathering my family, and what belongings I can bring, and leaving the city within the next three hours. More of the senators and knights are joining me as well. I advise that you make preparations to do the same, Fabius,” Nero said with a heavy heart; his words filled with shame.

“What? What do you mean you are leaving the city? And who else?” Fabius asked shockingly.

“It does not matter who else, only that it is important that we leave, at once.”

“And abandoned Rome to the barbarians?”

“What else is there for us to do? What do you think Hannibal will do to us once he reaches the city? If we do not capitulate to him, he will pull down the city walls, and have all of our heads. He may do so just out of spit once we’ve surrendered to him.”

“Surrender!” Fabius bolted to his feet. “You read Valerius’ letter. He is coming even as we speak.”

“And who will arrive sooner do you think, Valerius and his fifteen hundred, or Hannibal and his forty thousand? What do you expect us to do, Fabius? Even if Valerius and his legion reach the city in time, it can’t be held with fifteen hundred men, and what city cohorts we have left.”

“I will not surrender or give this city to Hannibal, not without a fight.”

“A fight! We have been fighting, Fabius, and we have lost – we’ve been slaughtered time and time again.”

Nero reached over and placed his hands onto Fabius’ shoulder, speaking to him with a quieter voice.

“We’ve done all that we could. The city will fall, but we can still save the Republic if we exile ourselves to our furthest colonies; to Greece, with the rest of our legions. In time, we can force terms, and return, and retake the city. However, not if we all die, staying here, trying to defend…what – stone walls and temples?”

“And what of the people, Nero? What of those that you and I are charged with protecting? And what of the men who have already died? You want me to abandon their memories to save our skin? No!” Fabius pulled away from Nero and shoved his finger in the older senator’s face.

“If Hannibal or anyone else wants Rome, then they will have to take it from me by force! And as Jupiter as my witness, I will kill any man not native to these lands that try to set foot in these halls. Go, and get yourself and your family to safety if you must! I will not stop you. Nevertheless, I will not join you either. Even if this city should fall, then someone should be here to see that it was remembered.”

Fabius said nothing else as he walked away from Nero, already pulling off his senatorial robes as he exited the hall.

Outside, as Fabius departed, Nero could already hear the rising panic as news about the defeat at Cannae had reached the plebeians, as quickly as it had reached his ears.

He didn’t stay any longer as he rushed out of the Senate house, and towards his estate. He had packing to do. He just hoped he made it out of the city before the mob tore it down first.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Three hundred men out of nearly ninety thousand still alive, after having survived the worst military defeat in the Republic's history, Gaius could barely comprehend that fact, and would never have believed that such a disastrous blunder could have happened if he had not seen it with his own eyes.

Gaius spent two full days at Cannae sifting through the carnage of twisted and battered bodies of his countrymen. Of course, there were thousands of Carthaginian, Gallic and Numidians, Spanish and any number of other tribes that supported Hannibal, bodies on the battlefield as well. Hannibal paid a heavy price for his victory. Out of his forty thousand men, he brought to the field that day. He lost some nineteen thousand, or so early estimates have been determined. Rome’s losses were greater, however. While Gaius knew that tens of thousands probably survived, the battle, as most were either captured or scattered, what remained of Rome’s legions was broken as an effective fighting force from this point forward. It would take weeks, maybe months to regroup the scattered men; blown to the four corners of Italy like leafs in the wind. Even then, the survivors would have been battered, bruised and beaten. Most would no longer be fit for duty. He wondered, as he rode over the open country, the high full moon over his head, alongside a group of twelve other riders, what the state of Rome might be now.

After the battle at Lake Trasimene, the city had erupted. Hundreds were killed in rioting, thousands more wounded, and a quarter of the city burnt to the ground. What would the people do now, knowing that the most powerful army the Republic had ever gathered had been crushed? Who could they turn to? Certainly not the fractured Senate, which left over a hundred of its members on the battlefield, lifeless, their hands and fingers stacked like winter logs. Even the two consuls, gone, and presumed dead, or at the very least, captured. What was left of the government would probably be divided, ready to surrender in hope of saving themselves.

He wasn’t sure what to think or what to do. He dug through hundreds of bodies looking for Antony, or at the very least, Antony’s father, Varro. However, he found nothing. As far as he knew, he could have stepped on them a dozen times over, for the bodies looked the same after days left to rot under the hot summer sun; bloated, bruised, bloodied, and torn to pieces from weapons, animals, or by the fact that thousands of men had walked over the corpses.

There were witnesses to the battle; scholars, writers and civilians hoping to see something memorable. They had told that, in the first hours, everything seemed to be going Rome’s way. Hannibal’s front lines, mostly Gauls; a people that hated Romans as much as the Carthaginians, sustained heavy losses as the center formations broke under the superior numbers of the legions. When the center fell back, Rome thought it had victory. The officers blindly ordered their front ranks forward, chasing after the fleeing barbarians, unknowing that they were heading right into Hannibal’s trap.

No one thought it possible. The army was raised to force Hannibal out into the open; to engage a proper army on equal terms so that he could not use trickery or deception to win the day. However, Hannibal knew the Romans better than the Romans did. He knew that the two consuls and their lackeys of senators, and noblemen, would want to cease the advantage, and push the lines forward without thought to the whole battlefield. And when that happened, Hannibal only had to sit back and wait.

As the Roman front advanced, Hannibal’s left and right flanks swung around the whole formation like a mythical bird closing its wings around its prey. The army was so large, and tightly compact, that even when the calls went out to reform, it was too late, as the ranks could not move or adapt to the changing battlefield.

Hannibal’s cavalry closed the rest of his master plan. They broke the Roman horsemen, scattering them. With them gone, the rear was exposed and cutoff from any chance of retreat. The witnesses said after that it was just a matter of time; hours longer, as those still alive up until this point, were compacted shoulder-to-shoulder with barely an inch to move.

Gaius recognized it. It was a mirror image of the Battle of Marathon, hundreds of years before, when the Athenians defeated a larger Persian army. Hannibal clearly knew his history as well, and had made use of that knowledge.

Gaius couldn’t imagine being in the battle. He wasn’t even sure if he could have survived it. Because of this, he was confused. Antony, as angry as Gaius had been with him for sending him away, had saved his life. Antony did not rob him of a brilliant victory, and most certainly, not a glorious death. It was a slaughter, and as far as he knew, Antony had paid the price for his father’s arrogance.

Hannibal’s army was still out there, somewhere. More than likely it was heading towards Rome, to lay siege to the city, and either force terms from the Senate, or sack it. Even though there were probably more survivors from Cannae, and certainly other legionaries scattered throughout the countryside, Valerius had ordered Gaius to pull out and return with what survivors he had found, those that could be moved, and weren’t beyond helping, and head back to Canusium to regroup with the only organized, and combat effective legion left in the country, the Sixth.

They broke camp and quickly began to march back to Rome, hopefully getting there before Hannibal’s army. After that, only the gods knew what might come next. Fifteen hundred men, a few thousand city guards, and whatever civilians might be armed was not enough to stop a prolonged siege for any given amount of time; no less stop an entire army from burning Rome to the ground. No matter, the facts, it was not going to stop these men from getting back. Gaius had made a promise that he would protect the city and Julia, who remained within its apparently safe walls. If Rome should fall, he would get her out of the city, out of Italy if he had too. Her safety was his sole priority.

The night was tranquil with only a slight easterly breeze that cut through the tall grass to disturb the stillness. Gaius rode, scouting ahead of the main column. They had to hurry back to Rome, but Valerius had chosen a longer path to avoid coming in contact with the bulk of Hannibal’s forces. As it were, they did not see or hear any signs of his forces, until now.

Gaius halted his horse and raised his hand, signaling for his men to stop. He felt for just a moment that he had heard something, a noise, a yell perhaps, carried over the wind.

His men looked around eagerly trying to see in the moonlight if they had been spotted, or if they could see any enemy presence, but the fields were empty of anything or anyone.

Gaius waited for a full five minutes until his ears again caught something, which he knew was a man’s scream, carried by the wind as it changed direction, cutting across his position. It was very faint and distant, coming from the west. Some of his men had also heard the same sound as they looked over at their commander and waited eagerly for his orders. Gaius just nodded to them as he dismounted from his horse and quietly, but quickly, started to make his way towards the noises, which grew louder as he neared.

The Romans stayed low as they reached a raised hill that was over a mile from where they left their horses. Only five men were with him, the rest staying back to watch the animals and cover their rear.

When they near the top of the hill they knelt onto their knees and crawled along the edge of the incline. And even before Gaius reached the top of the hill, he saw the glows of camp fires burning, and the continuing screams of men that were mixed with joyful laughter.

“Those are our boy,” Cato, one of Gaius’ men, a burly centurion said as he stared down at the camp.

Gaius focused his eyes, leering through the darkness and into the well-lit interior of the camp that lied at the bottom of the hill. Scattered throughout he could see Roman soldiers, some being tortured, all captives; tied back-to-back with other legionnaires, while others seemed to be forced to fight each other as if they were gladiators.

“Those can’t be the rogue gladiators, do you think?” Cato asked.

“I would bet a year’s pay that they are. We’ve finally found the bastards,” Gaius answered; his blood boiled at what he was seeing. Even from this far the screams and sights of his countrymen resonated heavily on his soul.

He caught sight of one group of gladiators as they stood around a long wooden table. They all seemed to be in a drunken stupor as they talked loudly, placing bets and jeering as one of their comrades dragged a Roman soldier towards the gathering rogues.

The Roman seemed young, perhaps no more than seventeen. Most of the soldiers who fought at Cannae were of such age, as that army had been put together hesitantly.

The two men who had dragged the Roman to the table, after secured him, backed away, joining their comrades. A third man approached the boy; the Roman was already peeing and shitting himself as he begged for mercy, but his amused captors would not have any of it.

Gaius then watched as the third gladiator raised a very large mallet, one that would normally have been used to slaughter pigs or cows.

The crowd grew more anxious as they waited.

As the young Roman was yelling, continuing to beg for his life, his cries echoed over the crowd that cheered as the large hammer was slammed down onto the back of his ankles.

Even from his distance Gaius could hear the sound of bones breaking. A number of his men also squirmed as two of his soldiers drew their swords and seemed ready to charge down the hill. Gaius quickly reached and grab Cato’s arm, stopping him from going any further. The old soldier reluctantly eased back, but not wanting to watch anymore as the young Roman’s second ankle was broken; and with each bone that was shattered, the surrounding gladiators cheered louder.

The torturer moved up the Roman’s thin body as he slammed his hammer down onto the boy’s legs, before next his hands, and then his arms, and finally down onto the lower back, crushing his spine; the boy had already stopped screaming as he lost consciousness seconds earlier. Afterwards, when the torturer had broken nearly every bone, he slammed the bloody blunt down onto his head, which split in a splatter of gore like a small melon.

The gladiators roared with excitement as the boy’s lifeless body was removed from the table and carried off, thrown on a pile of brutalized bodies. As this was done, the gladiators who had won their small bet, guessing how long the Roman would last before he passed out from the pain, collected their earnings from their comrades. Then, a moment later new wagers were placed as the same two gladiators returned with another Roman. This one was older and more defiant as he fought against his captors, spitting and swearing in their faces.

Elsewhere, in the center of the camp, around a series of fires were small stakes the height of a man. Strapped to them were more Roman soldiers. Some had already been burnt alive, while others were still in the process of being cooked, as their agonizing screams carried over the camp, mixing in with the rest of the prisoners own cries. A few others that weren’t dead yet were being cut to pieces, body part by body part, starting with their fingers, ears, nose, toes and genitals, which were then stuffed into the Roman’s mouths, muffling their agony.

The biggest sport the gladiators had put on was mock games. They had dug a small pit into the earth and had forced twelve Romans into the arena. Each man was nude and was given six daggers to fight with. The Romans were hesitant at first, refusing to reach for the daggers as they stared at their comrades, wondering what they could do. No doubt they had been offered their lives if they should fight, and be the last man standing. However, few of the men would kill their brothers as a number of them refused to take up the daggers, even if it meant their own deaths. Unfortunately, not all the soldiers stood united as some did rush over to the weapons in the dirt, and turned against their brothers.

“How many of our men do you think are down there?” Cato asked as his enraged eyes watched the madness below him.

“Hard to say, perhaps a couple hundred; certainly enough for them to keep this up for a few more hours,” Gaius answered.

“We are going to do something, right?” another soldier asked; he already had his gladius out, seemly ready to charge down the hill and take the camp all on his own if given the order.

Gaius turned away from the rogue camp and looked over at his men, who gazed at him eagerly.

“Cato, get back to the horses and ride to our lines. Find Valerius and get him here, as quickly as you can.”

Cato smiled as he nodded his understanding before he slowly crept back down the hill, then darted off into the darkness, running as fast as he could to where they left their horses.

Gaius turned his thoughts back to the slaves down below. He hoped that he wasn’t too late to save most of those men. He wished he could have found the camp hours earlier, but no matter, he was going to do something about what he was seeing even if he had to storm that compound on his own.

Forty minutes later, Cato returned with Valerius and another detachment of riders. Gaius had returned to where he had left his horse, having left two men behind to keep an eye on the gladiator camp.

“Any changes?” Valerius asked.

“None so far. The gladiators haven’t noticed our patrol or my men watching over their camp,” Gaius replied, still keeping his voice low even though they were a quarter-mile from the camp.

“What about numbers, theirs and our prisoners?” Valerius then asked as he was already working out a plan in his head.

“We have a more accurate count now. From what we can see, there are at least three hundred and thirty of our men down there give or take; probably more we can’t see. As for the gladiators, most likely no more than two hundred, maybe three, but most are drunk, and a few others already asleep from what we can see. I’ve noticed women as well, runaways most likely.”

“Defenses?”

“It is a basic camp, not much of an outer wall, no trenches, sparse lighting, and a dozen watchmen from what I can tell.”

“And no sign of any Carthaginians?”

“None – These gladiators act alone, apparently.”

Valerius raised his hand to his chin and settled his fingers over the rough stubbles as, he thought briefly to himself. He could see in Gaius’ eyes, and the eyes of those men around him that they were eager to get down there and do something to save their captive comrades, but he knew any action on his part would not only put his legion, what little he had left in danger, but it would slow their march back to Rome as well. He had to reach the city before Hannibal’s army did. Rome could not hold without his men behind its walls, nor was there any way they could hope to engage a larger force out in the open, which is what he may be forced to do if he came behind Hannibal’s lines, if the city was already besieged. Valerius sighed, knowing there was no way he was going to leave Romans to die to such a horrid fate as the ones that the gladiators were given them.

“We will have to do this quickly,” Valerius began. “I will take the first cavalry cohort along with two centuries of infantry and ride to the north of the camp, and attack in one hour. You, on the other hand, will have to take your men, a dozen, no more, and sneak down into the encampment, and eliminate the watchmen. We cannot allow those bastards to raise any alarms as we’re approaching. We only have a short time. The sun will be up in four hours, and I want the gladiators dead or scattered, the Roman prisoners secured and put with the rest of our column, and all of us back on the road to Rome by sunrise.”

Gaius smiled.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be done long before that.”

Valerius grinned as he turned and got back up on his horse, as did the rest of his men who had followed him.

“I’ll see you on the field then,” Valerius smiled as he turned and rode off.

“Come on, we’ve got gladiators to kill,” Gaius said as he ran back to the hill that overlooked the camp.