Authors: Christopher Lee Buckner
“May all of you forgive me,” Varro said more to himself than to any man near to him, as he drew his dagger out from behind his back, and raised it quickly up to his throat.
“Sir - No!” Flavius tried to stop him, but even before he could reach out, Varro rammed the knife through his own neck.
He slumped off of his horse, falling to the ground, still alive, but not for much longer.
No one came to him as he fell. He just lied there, bleeding as he stared up at his men
who were all around him. Their fate was already decided. It would only be a few more minutes before they were all dead as well.
Then too, Varro’ eyes closed to the world; to the failure that he
created. Only history could judge him now.
Across the plains of Cannae, much of the fighting had stopped as Hannibal stood on top his horse, on one of the far hills surveyed the battlefield. Just a few pockets of survivors continued to challenge his men, who were now superior in numbers, and bloodlust. He had only the faintest smile. He did not enjoy seeing so many brave souls dead at his feet; more bodies then he had ever seen gathered into one place that, the birds circled overhead by the hundreds, would certainly eat to bursting, for weeks to come. However, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment and pride. He had won a victory that would forever be remembered in the chronicles of warfare, which by each new day was closer to not being written by a Roman’s hand.
“The Republic is broken!” Hasdrubal cried out with joy as he rode up and stood beside his
general.
“Are they?” Hannibal asked as he refused the offer of wine that his
officer attempted to pass over to him, as the two stood looking out over the battlefield.
“Do not be so doubtful,
general. You have won a great victory! How proud your father would be of you. Now, there is no force of man or nature that stands between us and the gates of Rome. And when we arrive, we will make the Senate eat our shit as they lick our asses. They will give you their kingdom, and the entire world shall know that Carthage is again the sole power in existence.”
Hannibal glanced over at his friend, not rebuking or agreeing with his statement. It was true. He knew that there was nothing left standing between he and Rome. What men had escaped would not be enough to mount an effective defense of the city. He could have the capital in a matter of days. However, still, as he turned his head back towards the battlefield, the sense of joy and excitement that his men showed was not evident on his face.
“There are still Romans out there who have escaped our trap. I want them found and dealt with,” Hannibal finally spoke; his words
ice-cold even in the growing summer heat.
“That will be done. I will put Calfax and his men on the task at once.
Even so, shouldn’t we ransom some of the survivors we find?”
“No. I want our Senate to see my resolve. Find me the Roman elite, living and dead. Tear their wealth from their bodies; their rings and anything that represents their authority and collect them. Do not melt them or pass them out. I want them all. I want them delivered to those old fools on the first ship out of Italy. Is that understood?”
“That will take some time. That is a lot of rings to collect from the battlefield.”
“I know. You best get started.”
“And what about the survivors who aren’t of the Roman elite?”
Hannibal stared at his
man for a long time before he finally answered.
“Use your imagination.”
Hasdrubal smile widened as he took a long swig from the wineskin before he kicked his horse, and raced down towards the battlefield. Already Hannibal’s mind turned towards the future, which for him, was strangely uncertain.
Rome was defeated and left open to him. What was stopping him from marching his army to its gates now?
Nothing...yet, he was hesitant, despite his victory this day, there were still many uncertainties. He knew this enemy – Rome, was a hydra. He had severed its head so many times all ready - its body was far from dead, that he knew, even as he watched the endmost vestiges of survivors slaughtered - no quarter given. Rome would, however, rise again. This fact vexed him without end, even upon his great victory.
It was
silent, far to tranquil. Gaius hated silence. He needed activity: the sounds of a city or the steady breeze of a warm summer’s day, as farmers worked their fields – the sounds of their pickaxes breaking through the earth, curing up rocks, dirt, with the songs of birds overhead. Here in the nearly abandoned city of Canusium, it was eerily still, as if everyone knew a terrible storm was brewing over the hills. Only a handful of the town’s people stayed behind. A few stubborn farmers and store owners, or those that simply had nowhere else to go. Tens of thousands already fled to Rome, or the southern most cities. However, in truth, there wasn’t anywhere people could go, north, south, east or west. The enemies of Rome were everywhere, or so it seemed.
Standing up on top of the high stone wall that surrounded the town, Gaius looked out towards the east, towards Cannae. He and his men
came to this place two days ago, on orders to make ready for any casualties who might come this way once the battle was won. He knew it was an excuse. There was no real reason to expect any Roman casualties to come this direction, not if the battle was indeed won, not when the main army’s camp had all the needs for those wounded. And if not the camp, then the city of Cannae would suffice.
Gaius wanted to be at Cannae more than anything. He had no real wish to be in a battle against Hannibal, not after surviving Trebia. Still, he wanted to be with the army. He wanted to be doing more than babysitting a small and unimportant settlement as this. It was
his right as a soldier of the Republic to face his enemies head on, and not be sent away on the Eve of Rome’s finest victory, or its greatest defeat.
A part of him hated
Antony for what he had done. Why he sent him away? It was unprofessional to put his feelings before his duty as an officer. The Wolves deserved to be at Cannae. They had fought, lost and suffered as much as any two legions since this war had begun. Still, however, something in Gaius’ old friend’s eyes told him a different story. It wasn’t as if Antony was afraid of battle. While he wasn’t nearly as seasoned or as trained as he, Antony was no coward, Gaius knew that. It seemed as if he had seen something, perhaps a vision of what was to come in his dreams; that something horrible was coming, and that he needed Gaius away from it; for Rome, for himself, for Julia.
He knew the reasoning, but failed to understand its meaning. Now going on two full days, there
was no word from the army. The battle should have started by now. However, there had been no dispatch or wounded coming in from Cannae from the time he arrived at Canusium. If there was a victory, subsequently Rome would have sent word. Even if the battle was a defeat, still word would have arrived about what actions the men stationed here should take.
Even the worst imaginable defeat couldn’t have been that suffered.
Gaius could not take it anymore as he had spent the better part of the day pacing back and forth along the high walls, looking out over the rolling brown hills that surrounded the town, waiting, hoping for any sign from Cannae to reach them. He was done waiting. If he had to ride out to Cannae on his own, he would. However, before he deserted the army to seek his answers, Gaius figured he had better ask permission first, and see what came of it.
As he walked down the crowded streets towards the building that Valerius had chosen
for his headquarters, the roads were mostly filled with bored and frustrated soldiers who had little to do, other than sit out in the hot sun and speculate among themselves why they were here, doing nothing.
They, like he, needed to know what was going on. Many were not happy about missing the battle, victory or defeat
they just wanted to be where the action was. Some watched Gaius as he walked by them, he could tell that they wanted to ask him for any updates, if he knew anything, but most hesitated, seeing that he was obviously rushing towards the headquarters.
Truthfully, for the whole fourteen minutes that it took him to cross the town he was trying to think of a million and one excuses that he could make up so that Valerius would authorize him to take men to the battlefield. When he finally reached the building and stepped inside, into what had been the home of one of Canusium’s wealthier citizens, he saw Valerius in the back room, in what had been the dining hall. A dozen aides were with him, all going back and forth taking care of the various orders that Valerius was issuing out. He had scouts in the field, shift rotations for men
behind the walls that needed taking care of, management of the food stocks, and over a thousand men who were bored with nothing to do but listen to each other’s fears and doubts about what was happening.
Valerius glanced up and saw Gaius standing in the doorway. To even his surprise, Gaius never got the chance to say anything - use one of his reasons for why he should take some men to Cannae. He had a good argument ready, but Valerius just looked back down at his maps and started speaking.
“I want you to take the first cavalry cohort to Cannae. Find out what the fuck is going out there, and report back to me once you have some answers. Is that understood?”
Gaius perked up, standing a bit taller as he was
a loss for words. He didn't expect his old mentor to issue such an order.
“Yes, sir.
At once.”
Gaius turned quickly and raced out of the manor and towards the army barracks that housed the men he would be taking with him to Cannae. It took him less than five minutes, and when he called forth the eighty men that he would be taking, they all eagerly leaped to their feet, grabbed their gear, and raced off with Gaius.
The distance between the city of Canusium and Cannae was covered by Gaius and his
men fairly quickly. They had left Canusium in the morning, and now with less than an hour before night fall, he could see the surrounding hills of Cannae before him. And immediately, he knew something was wrong as he could see thousands of birds circling overhead, further towards the plains set between the city of Cannae, which was where Hannibal had based his army, and the Roman camp.
He kicked his horse, demanded that it run faster as he needed to get to the far side of the hill and see f
or himself what he already knew a battle took place. But who won? The knot in his stomach gave him early indications that it wasn’t his side.
It was very
hot, and the smell of the dead and putrid flesh hit him hard as he rounded the bend, following a narrow paved road that was cut in between two daunting hills. And then, when the fields of Cannae came into view, Gaius’ mouth opened wide as, he and his men stopped abruptly in their tracks.
For miles, further than he could see with his naked eyes, laid the bodies of tens of thousands, all stretched out, and clumped together like stacks of logs, as if an entire forest had been cut down.
Banners, flags and standards of the various Roman cohorts, units and entire legions stuck out of the ground, between the fallen. Birds, thousands, more than Gaius had ever seen flew, landing between the dead, filling their bellies with putrid human flesh; even wild dogs had come down from the hills and walked among the Roman deceased as well. None fought one another, there were so many bodies that they could feast for months without worry of hunger.
Gaius and his men slowly trotted into the battlefield. Along the outer
edges, they could see the severed heads of their countrymen stuck on pikes, a clear warning set by the barbarians that were under Hannibal’s command.
A number of Gaius’ soldiers, mostly his newest recruits, could not stand the sight or the smell as they dropped from their horses, and puked their guts out. A few men leaped down from their animals and helped those few that couldn’t bear to look at the carnage any longer, as more than a few of them were openly crying now.
Gaius paid little attention as he continued forward, eventually leaping down from his horse as the animal could not go further through the thick carped of dead men.
He looked around him, barely sure of where he could go. There were so many bodies that he couldn’t avoid stepping on pieces of men, entrails and globs of blood that had pooled, soaking
into the earth before drying under the baking sun.
He hated the faces of the dead. Most,
nearly all had their eyes open, mouths wide as the look of share terror had filled their expressions, before they had died, slowly, painfully, clumped together with the men before them, beside them, and behind them. Many of the dead were naked. The Carthaginians and their allies would have picked the lifeless clean of anything useful: armor, weapons, coins, jewels, even body parts such as tattoos and heads to be displayed as trophies.