Valerius’ sword again struck home, boring into the top of a man’s skull, but as more enemy warriors fell to him, more continued to come. It was only with decades of honed skills earned in countless battles that the veteran could hold out as long as he had.
Valerius grabbed hold on the man he had just killed, and pushed him at a Gallic barbarian that swung a two handled axe.
Valerius ceased the advantage quickly as the dead warrior collided with the Gaul. His sword was still stuck in the Carthaginian’s skull, so he was forced to pull his dagger out from his belt.
Dashing forward, Valerius forced the blade into the Gaul’s right eye, twisting the blade so that he may open the wound deeper.
The man screamed in agony as his eyeball ruptured, thick gore and blood spraying out from the socket as Valerius withdrew the dagger.
Before the Gaul could recover, Valerius thrust the dagger into his opponent’s throat, before yanking it with all his strength to the right, tearing the iron across the man’s neck, severing his jugular.
Blood sprayed out across the battlefield showering Valerius in the crimson mist before he quickly retrieved his sword from the other’s man’s skull.
“Romans!” Valerius roared as high as his powerful lungs could bear, “Form ranks around me, on the double!” he ordered, hoping that the dozen standing could hear him. While they were still engaged in their own struggles, his orders were carried out as quickly as they could be heard.
Valerius was enraged, as once again, due to the ignorance of another general, this time Gaius Flaminius. The army fell into another trap set by Hannibal.
After the Battle of Trebia River, Valerius had taken the survivors and joined the four new legions that Flaminius had formed, and marched north to avenger those slain in the previous two engagements. However, just like before, under Sempronius’ command, Flaminius was fooled into chasing after Hannibal, who used the terrain and bad weather to his advantage. With fewer men, Hannibal could move faster, and Flaminius, under greater pressure from the Senate to defeat the rogue, rushed headlong into another situation he couldn’t handle.
The attack plan had been brilliant Valerius hated to admit as even he did not see the strategy beforehand until it was too late.
Hannibal lured Flaminius to the banks of Lake Trasimene. With the water to their backs, surrounded from all sides by hills, Hannibal’s army waited in the woods, using the fog that rolled across the lake during the early-morning hours to blind the Romans to his movements.
Flaminius had faith he had Hannibal trapped, believing the general had set camp in clear sight upon a nearby hill. However, Hannibal had set torches around the camp, giving the impression that he was where he wasn’t.
The attack came early, at the break of first light. While the Romans still looked towards Hannibal’s supposed camp, a safe distance away, he struck on three fronts. So fast and devastating was the strike that the Romans weren’t able to get into proper formation to meet the ambush.
This was not the battle the legions were trained to fight. They were a well-oiled machine of mechanized warfare. As a whole, they were nearly unbeatable, and Hannibal was smart enough to know that. Using the savage fighting skills of his own men, and those of his barbarian allies, man-to-man, save for the most experienced and capable, such as Valerius, the Roman soldiers weren’t the equal to their opponents, not in this compactly.
Valerius wanted to order the retreat two hours ago, but even at the moment the voice of Flaminius could be heard as his battle horns continued to blow, blinding giving ill-fated orders to his broken legions. Even so, few Romans fought under his guidance now, as they battled for their lives and not to seek some measure of victory. However, the only means of escape was, either to push through Hannibal’s lines, or attempt to cross the lake. Those men most capable of swimming had stripped themselves of their kit and armor, but nearly iced over, few men could make it to the other shore alive, as the banks of the lake were already timing with Roman dead.
Sometime later, as Valerius had gathered several hundred men to him, a blood smeared lad came rushing up to him, pushing his way between his tightly packed comrades and cried out, “Legate Valerius! I seek Legate Valerius!”
“I am here, boy!” Valerius called back, unable to see who called his name quite yet until the man pushed his way between two soldiers.
“Sir, Flaminius is dead, as well as his command staff and much of his legion. I was giving orders by Prefect Varo to seek you out, and to receive orders, if you were still alive that is,” the young soldier puffed between long and deep breaths.
“What is the status of his men, or any, for that matter?” Valerius demanded to know, forced to raise his voice as more barbarians poured against the shield wall his men had managed to form.
“We are near collapse. Two other legions and the auxiliary are already overwhelmed, beyond salvation. Do we stand and fight to the end, sir?” the boy asked, almost expecting that Valerius would demand such a foolish course — better to die brave than to return to Rome in shame.
“Don’t be so damn foolish. Order whoever is still in command of the legion to join with the Sixth, if they can manage. We are going to make a break, and just maybe take a few more of these bastards with us as we do. Perhaps we can use this damn fog to our advantage as well, before it lifts with the higher sun.” Valerius knew that not everyone was going to be saved. He was going to have to order that a full cohort would have to be left behind to hold the line. Their fates would be certain, but it had to be done for the rest of his legion, and what was left of Flaminius’ to break through the Carthaginian formations and make for safety.
“Wouldn’t it be best that we try for the lake, sir?” The boy asked.
“Boy, how well can you swim?”
“Not very well, sir.”
“Then don’t be a bloody fool. Now, be gone with my orders, and be quick about it.”
“Sir!” the legionnaire saluted, and then turned, pushing his way back through his comrades and out of sight once more.
“May the gods be with you, Gaius, for they aren’t with us now,” Valerius uttered under his breath as he watched a large formation of Numidian horsemen come charging toward his formation. He doubted suddenly that he would ever see Gaius again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Gaius pushed his way through the gathering crowd that stood outside the west gate of Rome, which had been sealed shout, guarded by a century of city cohorts that forbade entrance. For the thousands of refugees who'd fled into the city seeking refuge, this had caused panic.
The chorus of voices cried out, demanding that they be allowed within the city. This same scene was repeated at each of the city gates, some more violent as the people had been standing outside, undefended and exposed to the elements for days, at least what Gaius had heard since his arrival an hour prior.
Gaius didn't expect to see this many people. He and his men had just returned, crossing over the Tiber River a day ago. Now, after Rome had promised its citizens protection, the city was closed. He had noticed the white smoke that billowed from within the walls when he first arrived as if dozens, if not hundreds, of buildings had been set ablaze. Why, he hoped to find out soon.
As he and his century forced their way towards the gate, the mob swarmed. His men had to form a defensive line around Gaius, holding their shields up and basing away any that dared to challenge them, blocking thousands of fingers that were reaching for Gaius once they realized he was an officer, and could, perhaps, get them access to the city, or worse, held for ransom.