Many of the men collapsed once they reached safe ground, while others threw themselves into the arms of waiting soldiers, balling like children. More, however, joined in the celebration that was quickly beginning to take hold of the camp, while, already representatives from the Senate were making their way to the Fields of Mars to get statements and firsthand accounts about Hannibal and his forces.
Gaius did what he could, but no matter how many orders he gave, he couldn’t help the feeling that what he was doing wasn’t enough. He had the food, medical supplies and all the needs the men could ever want, but the task seemed overwhelming. Valerius, to his surprise, had refused any services, as he directed care to his sickest men. The ordered madness would continue for hours on.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Gaius was smiling, something he couldn’t remember doing for the past year as he watched his men celebrate long into the night. The whole camp was alive — spirits lifted for the first time since the war had started. Their brothers had returned home — not all of them, but enough to show the new recruits that they could survive.
Turning back from looking out the flap of his tent, Gaius grinned at Valerius as he moaned, once he dipped his head into a large clay pot filled with hot water. It had been three hours since the old veteran returned to Rome with his survivors, and this was the first time that he took any time for himself. His initial concerns had been to his men, which Gaius and his officers rushed to attend to. The sickest and gravely wounded were rushed to the city, while the rest that were fit remained at the fort. Those that could find the strength remained with the recruits outside, enjoying their return with rounds of drink and bellies full of food.
Gaius watched as Valerius pulled his tattered and blood-covered tunic off, dropping it to the floor where the rest of his clothes had been piled, all of it beyond use. He could see in the flickering candlelight dozens of new scars, large and small lined his arms, neck and torso, while nasty welts and blisters had formed where bones had been fractured, leaving behind rough and dried skin that was hard as leather.
“You should have one of the doctors take a look at you,” Gaius spoke as he took a seat at his desk.
“Blah, I’ve been through far worse, Prefect.” Valerius grinned with a funny smile as he turned back towards his ward.
Gaius smiled. “Consul Paullus saw fit to promote me, until your return, of course.”
“And I’m certain you are ecstatic over the prospect of taking orders from me once more,” Valerius chuckled as he sat down on a stool that was placed near Gaius’ cot, which he had already offered for him to use.
“The Wolves are, and always will be, yours. I’m just their keeper until your return,” Gaius replied honestly.
“You’ve done fine without me, Gaius. I’m proud of you. Although, I must say that I’m saddened to see too many new faces among our ranks.”
Gaius lowered his head, recalling those he’d grown up with — had trained with and called friends who were no longer with him. It seemed the whole world had changed in a blink of the eye that he hardly had time to reflect on what had already been lost before a new crisis began.
“Far too few have returned, after Trebia and," Gaius paused before continuing. “Valerius, what happened at Trasimene?”
Valerius did not reply, not at first, not before Gaius added to his question.
“You are the only senior officer to have returned. We’ve had trickles of men, here and there, but none as large a force as you’ve brought back. What happened — what went wrong?”
Valerius grumbled, not out of frustration by Gaius’ question, or fear of recalling what had happened, but more from anger.
“It was that damn fool, Flaminius. Precisely what happened at Trebia, Flaminius refused to listen to us, even though we feared Hannibal might be setting another trap. However, he just kept marching us towards that damn lake.”
Valerius rubbed his index finger between his temples before he started again. Gaius did not try to press him, even though he desperately wanted to know the details.
“Flaminius marched the whole army along the banks of Trasimene, hoping to cut Hannibal from retreating back into the woods, as he had done before. It seemed, for a time that the bastard had camped his forces around Tuoro, so we weren’t worried about being out-flanked since it would take too much time for Hannibal to march his army out to confront us, if he was indeed planning something. So, Flaminius set camp at the base of the lake, where we waited for morning.”
Valerius took a moment as his tired mind struggled to recall the events of that day.
“When morning came, a heavy fog drifted in over the lake and encircled us. We saw fires still burning on top of Tuoro, so we thought there was no cause for alarm. At the very least, Hannibal might have used the fog to make a run for it. Nevertheless, that wily bastard had set the perfect trap, which we walked right into.”
Valerius stood to his feet, throwing his arms out to his sides as he spoke with vigor, animating in detail what followed.
“By the time we realized that the fires we saw still burning were a ruse, Hannibal and his whole horde hit us from three sides. With our backs to the lake, we had nowhere to turn. Our formations were in tatters, and when the legion was on the verge of collapse, I saw hundreds of damn fools trying to swim across Trasimene, freezing, or drowning from the weight of their kit.”
“We had reports that Flaminius died during the battle,” Gaius pointed out one of the briefings he had read upon his return to Rome.
“I did not see it with my own eyes, but hope the bastard died shitting his pants. He led a lot of good men to their doom, just like that moron Sempronius had.”
“What did you do next?”
Valerius ran his fingers through his matted hair, before he rubbed his eyes, trying hard to stave off his exhaustion, before yawning.
“I gathered what men I could, and we pushed through Hannibal’s lines. I started with five cohorts, but lost most during the attempt — more still on the march back to Rome.”
“I should have been there,” Gaius spoke more to himself than to Valerius.
“You had your orders and you carried them out as I had instructed. Don’t dwell on matters that were beyond your control.”
Valerius lied down on Gaius’ bed. He tried to stay awake, but sleep quickly overtook him before he could utter another word.
Gaius looked at Valerius, who began to snore minutes after closing his eyes. He stood from his seat and careful walked to the old legate and pulled the wolf-skin blanket higher across Valerius’ shoulders, before stepping back.
Valerius looked ancient with his un-kept beard, now thick with grey. However, he didn’t feel so young himself anymore.
All Gaius knew was he would have to train his men hard if they hoped to survive Hannibal. He decided then, with drink still in their bellies and little hours of rest, that at first light he would rouse his men and drill them until the sun went down.
If the consuls believed strength through numbers was going to be enough, the Wolves would use knowledge gained through blood on the battlefield to their advantage. What may come, only the fates knew for certain.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The days had grown long and warmer as the summer sun rose higher into the sky, brining a welcome sense of calm and renewed hope as the distance between the year’s previous events grew further apart. And while fighting continued across the breath of the Republic, Rome was, at least safe, for the moment, as Hannibal’s army had been kept at bay.