“The only other reason Hannibal would come this way would be to taunt us and lure us into a trap. He won’t want to fight two armies. His troop movements will be designed to catch one of us napping. Keep that in mind at all times. Both armies will march at battle ready and run scouts ahead and behind and on both flanks. We’ll only march during the day and take all precautions.” Marcellus scanned the officers, meeting each set of eyes.
“We will move and camp as two separate armies, but we will work in conjunction, remain in constant contact, and fight as one—never alone.”
Marcellus asked me to unroll the map that charted Hannibal’s movements during the last two campaigns.
“We have tracked Hannibal now for two years,” he said after I had stepped out of the way. “Each year has been the same. He is short on recruits and depends heavily on the arrival of his brother. He cannot lose men to extend a stalemate on the battlefield. He will move fast and only at night. He knows we will scout him, and he will do all he can to prevent it. He will try to lure us into a mistake. Pin one of us into a small valley or a situation greatly to his advantage.
“This is what it looks like.” Marcellus used his finger to track along the path described on the map. “Twisting and turning, one way then another. All trickery. Until, see here,” he pointed, “when he beelines for some objective.
“What we want to do,” Marcellus looked right at Crispinus, “is use one army to pressure him into combat, and the other to prevent him from flanking the other army and racing north.”
All of the men nodded.
“As long as we remain in close communication, it won’t matter which army blocks him or confronts him. He’s easy to lose and at times can appear out of nowhere, meaning whichever army is in the best position to confront him will have that duty.”
“If we can only offer battle when both armies are together,” said Lentulus, “doesn’t that make for some difficult maneuvering or stalling? Possibly the loss of an opportunity?”
“Just keeping track of Hannibal is difficult. That’s why we’re dedicated to improving these maps. Several of us here today have followed this man enough in the past two campaigns to have seen just about every trick he has. What ground appeals to him. What combination of features in the land fits the ambushes he designs. How he uses rivers to his advantage. All of which we must be aware of to succeed.
“We will see him within the week—at least our scouts will. Be prepared. He will lead us on a wild goose chase. It’s a game to him. We cannot be frustrated by the game. We must play it just as he does, and this time we will lure him into making a mistake.”
“You sound confident, Consul,” said Lucius Aulius. “Haven’t we seen Hannibal in similar circumstances before, facing an army twice the size of his? What makes this any different?”
“My experience,” stated Marcellus. “No one has had as many confrontations with Hannibal as I have. And I’ve seen him steadily weakening. He is absolutely dependent on Hasdrubal coming to Italy. As I said, that should give us two months or more. And in that time, we will defeat him.”
“Or at least keep him in the south,” added Crispinus.
“Let’s have no at least,” snapped Marcellus. “Let’s keep it simple and destroy his army.” He swept his hand across the map, scattering all the Carthaginian markers onto the floor.
CHAPTER 84
Marcus and I hadn’t spoken since our discussion of his marriage. After the briefing, I tried to catch him as the officers filed out of the tent. He moved up alongside Lentulus as the group headed down the camp’s main corridor. I didn’t want to interrupt two officers, so I let him go and went back to my tent.
Three young soldiers had been added to our unit to replace those who had been killed in Asculum. After the heartbreak of losing the twins the previous summer, I hadn’t even asked the new recruits their names. The least experienced were invariably the first to be killed in combat. By the end of the summer, one in three of the men with us would likely be dead.
Pulcher stood outside our tent when I walked up. Decius and one of the new recruits were on their knees building a fire for the evening meal. The sub-centurion knew where I had been. Since my first days in camp he had held it against me that I had regular access to headquarters and was included in the officers’ meetings. “So what can our Greek general tell us about this summer’s campaign?”
The meetings were not secret, but I did my best not to talk about them for fear that I might sound like I was bragging. If asked, I tried to play it down. “More of the same, sir,” I replied.
“Except that we’ve got four legions instead of two. That must change something?”
Decius lifted his head to hear what I would say.
“It might allow us to pin Hannibal into a position and force him to fight, but mostly Marcellus expects Hannibal to stay on the move, much as he did last year.”
“While we waste another summer marching around in circles? What could be better?” muttered Decius.
Pulcher shook his head. “This is a strange war. We spent the first eight years running from Hannibal, now he’s running from us. Why should we even have a war when we can’t get the armies to agree on fighting?”
“I believe there’s reason to it,” I said.
Decius glared at me. “And what might that be, Greek? What wisdom do you have that we don’t?”
“War has changed, Decius. I think that’s what we’re seeing. Hannibal came to Italy with an entirely different approach to combat. It’s not just facing off on an open field and marching at each other.”
“Like men would do,” said Pulcher.
“Hannibal has integrated ambushes, night marches, and misdirection into his strategy. After falling for his tricks several times early in the war, we’ve learned not to react so quickly and to prepare for Hannibal’s sleight of hand. The ground, the wind, the position of the sun, the mental make-up of each general, all of these are factors now and make for a more subtle form of warfare.”
Decius spat on the ground. “That’s what I think of it. It’s war for cowards.”
I shrugged. “It may appear that way to one trained in the traditional manner of warfare, but our generals, particularly Marcellus, have grown to understand that our only hope against Hannibal is to learn his methods and adapt to his games.”
“I for one don’t like it,” said Pulcher.
“What’s that?” Statorius interrupted his evening stroll to stop at our tent. “This Greek kissing the ass of our general?” He reached out with his vine-stick and jabbed me in the ribs.
“Or getting poked in the ass by our tribune,” added Decius.
Everyone laughed at this but me. “I’d be careful what you say, Decius.”
“Why’s that?” Decius stood up. “You going to tell your lover?”
He was deliberately egging me on while Troglius wasn’t around. I wanted to hit him, but Decius was a hardened soldier. I didn’t have a chance. Fights broke out in camp all the time when things got slow. I didn’t want to be the evening’s entertainment. I turned away from the group.
Statorius put his hand on my shoulder. “Did you hear that, Greek? This man just insulted our tribune. I think you ought to stand up for your cohort.” He grinned at me then turned to the others. “Decius, watch your mouth or I’ll set this boy on you.” Statorius laughed. The others joined in.
“See me shaking?” Decius held his hands out and wiggled them in the air. “See me shaking.”
I snapped. I reached back and put everything into my right fist, aiming for Decius’ chin. He blocked it with his forearm, then grinned. “No Troglius tonight.”
Suddenly I was lying flat on my back, the right side of my face throbbing. The others were standing over me. I blinked my eyes and tried to push myself off the ground. I wavered as I gathered my feet. Statorius grabbed my arm and pulled me up.
“You all right?” the centurion asked.
I felt my jaw for loose teeth, then nodded vaguely.
>
“I give you credit, Greek. At least you had the guts to throw a punch.”
“This asshole insulted our tribune, sir. I had no choice.”
Statorius laughed out loud. “That’s exactly right, Greek. Maybe you aren’t so bad after all.” He turned to the others. “Now quit screwing around and cook yourself some food. We’ve got a lot of marching to do tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 85
The early summer proceeded just as Marcellus had predicted. Hannibal wound through the rolling hills and forests of Apulia, marching at night, playing hide and seek, hoping to lure one of our armies into a position of disadvantage. Skirmishes between foraging parties and squadrons of scouts happened on a regular basis, but three weeks passed without our getting close enough to Hannibal to offer battle.
Using two armies had positives and negatives. Marcellus demanded that the two armies travel with enough distance between them that they couldn’t both be caught in the same trap, and yet not so far apart, that if one did get caught or forced into battle, the other couldn’t get there in time to affect the outcome.
The necessity of staying in contact did tend to slow us down. This hurt our chances of catching Hannibal, whose army always seemed to cover more ground than anyone would have expected. We lost track of his location on a regular basis. If he had wanted to go north, I doubt we could have stopped him.
The Roman soldiers hated this kind of gaming. The tribunes spoke to their men constantly about patience and the necessity of the tactics we were using. Hannibal knew what he was doing, and his troops were used to it. But it frustrated us. We wanted battle. Hannibal was more selective. He only wanted victory.
Fortunately all of the officers understood this, though Nero and Purpurio often let their frustration show. Had they not been witness to Hannibal’s tricks the previous summer, I’m sure one of them would have forced the issue. Crispinus and his legates were getting that education one day at a time.
We marched every day during these first three weeks. We made camp in the afternoon and broke it down the next morning. Every evening Marcellus met with his officers. Every third day, the officers from both armies gathered.
Throughout this time, I kept watch for the entourages of slave dealers, prostitutes, entertainers, and itinerant poor that followed the armies, seeking to live off the leftovers of the war. These loosely connected groups of people usually straggled along many days behind the armies, only catching up when an army remained in camp for several days or there was a battle.
I got word from our scouts that a small band of these buyers and scavengers was following us, but at a distance of several miles back. On one occasion, when Hannibal’s path looped back on itself in an effort to confuse us, we happened to camp within sight of this group of nomads. That night, after the evening meal, I went out behind our camp to the horse corral as I often did, then slipped off through the forest to their camp. The scene wasn’t pretty. The dealers, whether buying slaves or bounty, had large tents, camped together, and traveled with hired guards to protect their wealth. The prostitutes and scavengers spread out into the woods around the dealers in individual clusters of four or five makeshift dwellings. These people were destitute, hungry, and desperate. Approaching them by myself was dangerous. I would never have thought to try if there weren’t some chance I could learn something more about my mother.
I called out as I neared a campfire with four lean-to structures around it. Several men stood up around the fire. One shouted back, telling me to come no closer at the risk of my life. I told them I meant no harm and that I would leave, but wondered if there was a woman by the name of Arathia who traveled with them or the others. “Never heard of her,” came back at me with a barrage of curses and thrown stones. I hurried back to camp entirely unnerved, wondering how I would ever gain the confidence of these frightened clusters of people who lived so close to the edge.
Toward the end of the first month, at a time when we hadn’t heard from our scouts in three days, Marcellus opened up the guidelines for the two armies. He allowed a greater distance between us when moving, thus casting a larger net, and increasing our chances of coming into contact with Hannibal’s army.
Late in the day, soon after this change, Crispinus, ranging almost ten miles from us, came upon the Carthaginian’s camp tucked away in the forest at the edge of a wide open valley not far from Canusium. Crispinus immediately set camp in sight of the enemy and sent a messenger to inform Marcellus.
Crispinus’ messenger reached Marcellus after we had set camp. Marcellus decided against marching that night, but had the men awakened before daylight the next morning. Our two legions were marching triple-time toward Canusium by the break of day.
Hannibal’s troops had paraded from their camp into battle formation soon after sunrise. Expecting Marcellus by noon, Crispinus decided to wait before answering the Carthaginian challenge.
As soon as Hannibal learned that Marcellus’ army was approaching, he ordered his army off the battlefield. When we entered the valley, both armies were in their camps. Marcellus met with Crispinus as we set up camp. The co-consuls agreed that the ground gave no clear advantage to Hannibal. They would offer battle the next morning.
That evening Marcellus called for a staff meeting. Afterward the word went out to prepare for combat the next day. For the first time in a month, the camp filled with excitement. Tired of Hannibal’s games and the weeks of forced marches, the soldiers itched for the action of battle. Many stayed up all night, too anxious for the morning to go to sleep.
I got caught up in the activity and sat by the campfire with Pulcher, Troglius, and Gnaeus, who were sharpening their swords to ease the wait. Although a man with a family, Gnaeus thirsted for combat nearly as much as Troglius. They had both won accolades from Statorius during the two and a half campaigns that I had known them. I imagined that Troglius had no fear whatsoever and would have thought the same of Gnaeus, but on this night, he opened a conversation that proved otherwise.
“Pulcher,” Gnaeus asked, “what do you think death is?”
The sub-centurion shook his head. “Why, are you planning on dying tomorrow?”
“It can happen to any of us. It never crosses my mind except on the eve of battle. What do you think it’s like?”
“I don’t think about it,” said Pulcher. “Perhaps Troglius knows. He’s killed so many men maybe they come back to him in his dreams to tell him.”
Troglius looked up at the mention of his name.
Gnaeus asked him. “What is death, Troglius?”
“Death is death,” said Troglius. “Blank, black, nothing.”
“What makes you say that?” followed Pulcher. “You sound quite sure of yourself.”
“If death were more than that we would know. How could it be otherwise?”
“No underworld? No Hades to welcome you to death? We have been told of those things,” said Gnaeus.
Troglius ran his finger along the blade of his sword to test its edge, then shrugged as though he had never heard such stories.
“What about you, Greek?” asked Pulcher. I had gained a measure of respect among my tentmates since standing up to Decius. “You’re the educated one. Is there an underworld? Or is Troglius right? Blank, black, nothing.”
“I don’t believe we can know,” I said. “The stories of the underworld and Hades are told to ease our fears, to give us an idea of what we might expect. Not knowing is more frightening than having something to fasten on—even if it’s a fabrication.”
“A fabrication? You mean man has no spirit?” asked Pulcher.
“I don’t think we can know that either.”
“Then what is it that fills us during battle?” asked Gnaeus.
“Emotion—fear, enthusiasm, anger. But that vanishes with us when we die.”
Pulcher didn’t like my reasoning. “What about the gods? Are they the same? Just made up?”
“Have you seen a god? Have you seen Jupiter?”
“I’ve seen hi
s lightning bolt,” said Gnaeus. “That’s enough for me.”
“And me,” added Pulcher.
“What about you, Troglius?” I asked. “Are there gods?”
Troglius didn’t hesitate. “Just one.”
His answer surprised me.
“And who’s that?” asked Pulcher.
Troglius pointed to his chest. Pulcher and Gnaeus laughed. I only smiled. “A single god, Troglius, embodied in each of us? Now there’s something to think about.”
Troglius returned to sharpening his gladius as though he had done all the thinking he needed.
CHAPTER 86
Our new augur was a man named Sextius Buteo. I had seen him coming and going from the auguraculum a few times during the first month of the campaign. I had learned later that when Marcellus informed the augur how things worked in his camp, Sextius had walked out on him. The two men had not spoken since.
I happened to see Sextius go to headquarters before daybreak that morning outside Canusium. Shortly afterward, Marcellus and Sextius, trailed by two priests carrying a calf, left the camp to perform the sacrifice. In all the prior campaigns, the pre-battle sacrifice had been in the auguraculum. As I would learn later, Sextius requested that it take place out front of the camp so that anyone could see. Apparently he felt that Marcellus’ heavy hand would be lightened if the ceremony was out in the open.
I watched from inside the camp. I couldn’t hear what was said, but the tension between the two men was obvious even from a distance. The outcome was unclear when they returned to the protection of the camp, but it must have gone well. Marcellus hung his purple cape at the camp gate shortly after Sextius disappeared into his tent.
Not long after sunrise our combined armies assembled in two lines, stretching nearly a mile and a half across the field between the two camps, twenty thousand men in each line, fifteen hundred cavalry on each wing. An impressive sight.
The Death of Marcellus Page 41
