Gaius watched the army arrayed far ahead of him. He feared Sempronius’ eagerness to end the war might be a price too high to pay if things kept going the way they were, a sentiment shared by many officers.
As Gaius marched in the rear of the Roman formation, which moved slowly down the embankment of the Trebia River, his mind still drifted back to Julia. He knew it was wrong to continue to think about her, so he struggled to keep focused with each step he took.
A lingering fantasy played in Gaius’ mind that he could win enough honors in the coming battle he could go back to Rome and demand Varro present Julia to him as a prize, much like his own father won his mother in the previous war with Carthage. However, that fantasy was an illusion, which angered him and made his already cold and restless nights all the more tiresome. It affected his duties as he was quick to anger, snapping at his men when their discipline lapsed for only a moment. He did not like the person that these feelings created. He did not know how to deal with them, but he soldiered on, nonetheless, hoping the pain would go away.
Gaius’ thoughts returned to the reality as his foot kicked over a small stone that rolled down into the cold water.
The pace was unbearably slow, made worse by the snow that blinded the army’s advance. Ahead, Gaius could see through the fog the main formation of Sempronius’ lines. They were only two men across, not ideal for a quick defensive formation if an attack should come from the trees. There was no other choice as the riverbank and the sloping hills, surrounded by thick forest, had forced the legion to travel in a long line.
Gaius glanced over his shoulder, seeing Valerius, who rode on horseback a few paces behind. His old mentor did not look happy. Gaius had never seen him more on the edge as he silently cursed Sempronius’ impatience, despite his warnings that legions should not advance in this manner.
Earlier in the morning the consul summoned all his senior officers to his tent. The legions had been attacked daily since it had camped some miles from their current position days before as Hannibal’s dark-skinned horsemen continued to harass the army’s extensive supply lines, and each time Sempronius sent out his cavalry to confront the Numidians, they broke and retreated. This frustrated the consul to no end. Now, Sempronius was driven by madness as he was determined to find Hannibal and crush his ragged army once and for all, even if it put his whole army at risk.
Gaius knew the moment that he laid eyes on Sempronius this morning that the mad was deathly sick, and clearly not thinking straight. He was running a high fever; however, that fact did not stop him from planning his next move despite the urging of Valerius and a number of other legates.
Sempronius wanted, needed to confront Hannibal, not for the sake of defeating the man, but to return him to his former standing before the eyes of the Roman people and the Senate. He was not the most popular figure in politics, commonly known to all those living in Rome. He spent half his time in Sicily, or in Greece, attending to private affairs in regard to his vast land-holdings and businesses. This made him an easy target for his opponents in the Senate, namely senators such as Varro, who challenged Sempronius on his priorities and conventions to the Roman people. He had only been made co-consul out of desperation after Scipio’s death because of his previous experience dealing with Carthage and the Gauls north of the Po River. Other than that, the Senate would have been content to let him rot somewhere else if there had been a more able man — one that was that actually cared about confronting Hannibal. This battle, despite his early victory was still not one that most senior commander’s saw important for their notice — not enough fame or glory to be had, but, enough for Sempronius.
Several paces ahead of Gaius, he heard one of the legion prefect’s call-back, demanding that the rear guard, which comprise of the first cohort of the Sixth Legion and two cohorts of auxiliary troops to maintain the pace, as it seemed to be falling back from the main body.
“Bloody fool should get his ass back here and see if he can keep this pace up,” grumbled Valerius, which even Gaius, heard from where he was standing.
Gaius looked out towards the looming trees as visibility was becoming especially difficult as the snowfall picked up, coming down in violent sheets. It was nearly impossible to see anything beyond the faint outline of the forest, but then, for only a moment he caught sight of something standing out among the trees, staring right toward him: a white wolf.
Everything was eerily quiet, as if the world, the army, and his surroundings faded away until only he and the wolf, which stared at Gaius with unblinking eyes, remained.
Gaius felt himself reaching up to his chest, before placing his right hand over the spot where he wore the broken half of the clay medallion that Antony had given him ten years ago.
The wolf and the medallion, all seemed familiar, as if he had seen this same animal before.
“Lupus?” Gaius whispered softly, and subsequently all at once the noise of twenty thousand men marching rushed back as he blinked, and afterwards, the wolf was gone.
Gaius looked over his shoulder to see if anyone else had witnessed what he had, but those behind kept marching forward, like he, unaware of what was in the trees.
Gaius looked back to the trees, which were nearly impossible to see by now. The wolf was gone, as if it was never there. It was then that a horrible thought accrued to him, one that sent shivers of panic up his spine.
Gaius sudden broke from his formation to the dismay of those around him, and rushed back towards Valerius, who halted his horse, seemly ready to bark at Gaius for breaking rank, but Gaius never allowed Valerius a word as he spoke frantically.
“Valerius, we have to stop the army, now!”
“What are you babbling about, boy?” Valerius asked, confused and angry at the same time. In front of him, the first cohort of the Sixth stopped, which forced the long column of auxiliaries to end their march. Quickly, murmurs queried from man-to-man, all the way down the ranks.
“We have to stop the army, now, or we are all dead, Valerius. You have to believe me,” Gaius pleaded; his own words filled with terror, which quickly caused panic among the other men who were close enough to overhear him.
“An ambush?” Valerius pondered as his eyes began to scan the trees, seeing nothing but snow falling, and the ever consuming white haze that was obstructing his visibility.
“I don’t know. I wish I did, but I feel — “Gaius did not know what to say, or how to say what he’d seen. “I just know if we keep going, something terrible is going to happen to us. We have to warn Sempronius to turn us back, or to form ranks. Something before he marches us to our graves.”
“Damn it, boy,” Valerius lowered himself, speaking firmly. “Don’t you think I know this is foolhardy? However, there is nothing that can be done. We have to keep pressing forward until we reach the far side of the embankment, to open ground. If we stop now, or pull back, we are doomed regardless.”
“Then we have to form ranks, now, and make a stand. We may still have a chance.” Gaius reached out and placed his hand on Valerius’ shoe, squeezing it; his eyes opened wide with fear. “Please, Valerius, you have to trust me.”
The legate seemed ready to kick Gaius aside, perhaps even order one of his officers to take him into custody, but then, suddenly, after staring into Gaius’ eyes for a long while, his own expression changed.
“By the gods, “Valerius cursed under his breath. “Lepidus!” he then called out. A moment later one of his junior officers ran forward and saluted, awaiting his orders. “Hurry to Sempronius, at once, and inform him that I’m holding the march. There might be a risk of attack from the trees, and that, I’d advise him to do the same. Now go!”