Bending his knees, he drove forward, pushing the mortally wounded triarius backwards and into his current opponent. The startled legionary took a step backwards to avoid being knocked over and Hanno used the opportunity to shove at him again. At this point, the wounded triarius’ strength gave out and he collapsed to the ground. Hanno was ready; dropping his shield, he trampled over it and the triarius, straight at his comrade behind. Grabbing the rim of the shocked soldier’s scutum, Hanno stabbed him through his open mouth. An odd, choking noise. Spittle and pieces of broken tooth flew; a crimson tide flowed from the man’s lips. His eyes opened wide in momentary disbelief before the light left them forever. Hanno’s blade grated off bone as he tugged it free. Blood sprayed all over his arm: he barely noticed. A quick glance over his shoulder as the legionary collapsed. Mutt was right there; so too were the rest. His heart lifted. They had punched a hole in the Roman line, and their charge yet had momentum.
Eyes to the enemy again. Burning hope filled Hanno. There were only three Romans remaining before him, and they didn’t look too happy. He bared his teeth and roared his fiercest war cry. They flinched, so he added, ‘HANN-I-BAL! HANN-I-BAL!’ The cry was taken up at once by his men, and Hanno felt the whole Roman line waver a fraction. The men facing him did not move to the attack, giving him the chance to flip over an undamaged enemy scutum and pick it up. Thus armed, he renewed the fight. His next opponent, a princeps, looked visibly scared but that didn’t mean he was going to run. A brave man, thought Hanno. They went at one another like men possessed, Hanno eager to break through, and the legionary desperate to prevent him from doing so. Clatter, bash. Bash, clatter. Their shield bosses smacked together over and over, each of them trying to destabilise their opponent. One man would thrust; the other would dodge or block the blow. Then the reverse happened. Back and forth they swayed, neither giving ground, neither managing to wound or disable the other.
Hanno’s moment came when the man to the legionary’s right was killed. Hearing his companion’s death rattle, the Roman was unable to stop his eyes from swivelling to see what was happening. Hanno reached down with his sword and stabbed him in the foot. When the legionary staggered backwards, bawling with pain, he followed through with another savage thrust to the belly. There was no mail shirt to stop it this time — the princeps wore only a square pectoral plate — and his blade slid in below it, almost to the hilt.
That was enough for the last legionary, who had been standing just behind his companions. He retreated several steps. Hanno pulled his sword free, stepped over the princeps and into open space. His heart beat even faster. There were still Romans pouring in from either side, yet the road to the river lay wide open now. ‘Mutt!’
From right behind him, ‘Yes, sir?’
‘How are the men doing?’
‘Still moving, sir. A moment or two, and they’ll be through.’
‘FORWARD, LADS!’ Hanno yelled. ‘To the mules!’
An inarticulate roar. He sensed movement behind, took a glance and saw any Romans left in the way being swept aside. Keep moving; they had to keep moving, he thought. Praying that not too many of his men had been lost, Hanno took off at a steady trot. Pila scudded in, but they caused few casualties. A half-hearted charge was made on their left flank by the men emerging from the trees, but it was beaten back by the invigorated Libyans. Hanno grinned, a mad delight coursing through him. He had made it, unharmed. They had taken on veteran legionaries and beaten them!
His pleasure did not endure for long. Their main battle had yet to be won, and from the sounds that carried from the riverbank, the fighting between yet more Romans — the main enemy force, probably — and Sapho’s troops had already begun. He had to stay calm, but it was damn hard. To the rear, he could hear the frenzied shouts of the Roman officers, urging their men to pursue them. Hanno fought his fear. He thought of the grain, and of its importance to the army. He imagined Hannibal hearing of how they had failed. New determination filled him.
He needed every last bit of it as they left the trees. On the far side, he could see a few Libyans, the Numidians and perhaps ten wagons. Nearer, chaos reigned. Slowing, Hanno shouted a curse. The river was clogged with carts trying to get across. Some of the panicked drivers had urged their mules into the water outside the fordable area, forcing them to swim as they pulled their carts. At least one team was in serious difficulty. Men shouted, cracking their whips to no avail. Sprays of water rose up as the mules kicked and struggled against their traces. Frustration coursed through Hanno but he could do nothing about that situation. He wrenched his eyes away, evaluating the rest of the scene. The majority of the wagons were still on his side of the river, clustered in the shallows or on the bank nearby. Sapho’s soldiers were spread out in a thin, protective arc around the vehicles and their precious cargo. Between Hanno and his brother’s phalanx were several hundred Roman legionaries, more triarii and principes from the look of them. Yet more were spilling from the trees to either side. Hanno took solace from the fact that they were still some distance away. He turned, looking for Mutt, and was pleased to find him not two steps away. ‘Move fast and we can hit the lot who are engaging Sapho before the others reach them.’
Mutt produced a rare smile. ‘Sounds like a good idea, sir.’
That was all the encouragement Hanno needed. He eyed the nearest men, gave them an approving look, before raising a hand to his lips. ‘I’m pleased with you so far, lads,’ he cried.
They cheered him for that.
‘The fight’s not nearly over, though. The wagons are still in danger. We’ve got to smash through to our comrades. Think you can do that?’
Their answering shout was twice as loud as the previous one.
‘Quickly, then! Form up, twenty men wide, ten deep, fast as you can! Soldiers without shields and those with wounds are to move back several ranks.’ To Mutt: ‘I want you at the front, five men in from the right edge. I’ll be the same number in from the left side.’
Mutt nodded, the understanding clear in his eyes. They were to use themselves as focuses for the soldiers at the very front, none of whom would be any further than five men away from either. If the strategy worked, it would ensure that their line held.
If it didn’t, they were damned, thought Hanno. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he bawled, seeing the enemy reinforcements picking up speed. They had been spotted. ‘Move!’
They covered the distance to the river at full pelt. Shields high, swords ready, screaming blue murder at the Romans. Cheered by their success in smashing through the triarii, they forgot how much their armour and weapons weighed, allowed the temporary madness of the charge to take over. Hanno had to give the legionaries credit; they reacted fast, the rearmost soldiers wheeling about to face them with minimal fuss. There seemed to be no triarii present, for which he was grateful. As he’d just discovered, the thrusting spears used by those veterans were deadly at close quarters against men armed with swords.