Valerius struck before the slave could do anything to defend himself.
As the man’s head split, the spear rattled terribly in his hand, which nearly caused him to lose it; he held on and continued forward, never stopping as more and more slaves ran out in front of him.
Those he did not kill outright his horse slammed into. With its weight and momentum, dozens of slaves were trampled by the wall of horsemen who followed Valerius.
Blood spattered across his face as his blade cut across another man’s throat. This time, he did lose his spear as the blade, which had quickly become dull and useless stuck as it hit bone.
Quickly, he drew from behind him one of three smaller throwing spears. It didn’t take long before he found another rebel slave as he threw the spear at a woman who had charged at him; a small dagger in hand. His aim was true as the shaft tore between the woman’s breasts.
No sooner than he had thrown the first spear did a second man run up beside him, trying, or more so hoping that he could trip the horse and force Valerius down to the ground.
Valerius thrust, the spear just barely managed to clip the man across his face, tearing deeply into his left cheek. It wasn’t a killing strike, but he went down regardless.
Valerius had his last weapon in hand. Now deeper within the camp the gladiators were starting to rally. The early, easy victories were harder fought as he caught sight of a number of his men go down; either their horses tripped, or they were hit by a well aimed arrow or spear throw. Still, not all the gladiators were willing to fight as large groups were running, most weaponless as they ran in the opposite direction of the Roman horsemen.
He caught sight of one large group of fleeing slaves; a mixture of men and women who raced towards the northern walls, and for a moment, he thought about given chase. He could easily catch them and drop three, maybe even five of them before he had to veer off. However, the group stopped dead in their tracks as a larger party of tattered, beaten and tortured freed Romans ambushed them.
Valerius' smile widened as he watched his countrymen, after having seen their comrades mutilated and tortured for hours, carried out their vengeance on their jailors. Those few with weapons hacked at the wall of panicked bodies while the others dog-piled the rest, beating them down, man and woman alike with their bare hands or whatever they could find on the ground. A few Romans died during the process, but their numbers were too great to be stopped. And across the camp, the scene was repeating as the gladiators soon found they had nowhere to run.
Valerius caught sight of his next target, a lone man who looked more like a child who couldn’t have been older than fifteen. More than likely he was a runaway slave who had joined this army. At the moment, Valerius did not care about the boy’s age or the frightful terror that was in his eyes, as he glanced back, while still running as fast as his young legs could carry him.
Valerius yelled something. He didn’t really know what he had said in the heat of the moment as he took aim while in a slow gallop. It just came naturally. He wasn’t typically a person, at least in his age to taunt his enemies before he killed them. However, in his carelessness, caught up in his youth as he bore down on the running boy, he failed to catch sight of the real threat.
Just as he was about to unleash his spear, Valerius’ grip on his weapon was suddenly knocked free as he felt a very sharp and extremely painful sting hit him right in his arm pit.
The old veteran yelled in agony as he knew from experience that an arrow had struck him just above his armor.
In near full gallop he wasn’t able to hold on the reins of his horse as he fell off his animal and tumbled into the blood-soaked ground where the arrow that stuck out of his armpit snapped from the impact, where the head was pushed deeper into his body.
The pain seemed to be numbed as his face was caked with mud, but as he rolled over onto his back, the moment he tried to move his arm, all he could do was scream out again.
Before the gladiator could hit him again with a second well aimed shot, the man was impaled three times by Roman spears, as a group of riders saw Valerius go down and instantly redirected their attacks to defend their leader.
Two men leaped down from their horses and covered Valerius with their shields without hesitation to the danger they were putting themselves in. Right away, a number of arrows and spears hit their shields. Clearly, they weren’t the only ones that saw Valerius go down. If his men hadn’t acted as quickly as they had he would be dead already.
Soon the two were joined by a dozen more. They created a wall that was impenetrable.
Two men appeared behind Valerius. Worry in their eyes they pulled him out from under the Romans who shielded him. He seemed a bit dazed as he stared up at his officers who continuously called for him. Only then did he realize that they were trying to get him to respond, to gauge how hurt he was. With the arrow shaft broken none could see where he had been hit, and the large cake of mud that covered him obstructed any signs of blood.
One of the officers signaled for a horse and rider to carry Valerius out of the battle. He suddenly felt very embarrassed at his vulnerability. His people weren’t supposed to see him like this and every second they spent trying to safeguard him, they put themselves in more danger as the battle continued around them. More so, however, he felt ashamed. He lost his mind in the heat of the battle. He trained his Wolves for years not to give into their natural desires during combat and remain level headed, but for the first time in many decades, he had returned to his youth — those foolish years of his brash arrogance that had wounded and eventually killed his best friend Julius, Gaius’ father, when he was too stubborn and believed he was immortal. However, he was not young anymore and his slower reaction and diminished senses had finally caught up to him.
He slumped over the horse’s back, barely aware that he was up off of the ground. Another Roman had the horse’s reins tied to his own. A few moments later the sounds of fighting became distant. And a minute more Valerius was unconscious.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Gaius walked among the dead and dying. The bodies, men, women and even children, choked the ground. Those that weren’t dead but badly mane, were put to the sword. A dozen men went about that ghoulish work, a few taking more joy in it than he would have liked to see out of his people. Some managed to escape the battle, fleeing into the surrounding hills. He wanted to give chase, but he didn’t have the men to spare, or the time His principal concern, as he looked down at the dead, was finding Calfax. He hoped that the old gladiator had been among those to fall. So far he'd been unlucky.
He knew Calfax was not among the hundred or so prisoners who had surrendered, and he prayed to the gods that he hadn’t escaped. However, with each passing hour, he feared that might have been the case. Regardless, the deed was done. Calfax’s army was broken; a minor victor among so many defeats.
The sun had rising some time ago; the warm morning air did not bring comfort. Despite this victory, time was against Gaius and his men. Hannibal’s army was still out there, superior in every way, and while he still had a fifteen hundred men at his command, they were badly outnumbered and hampered with the protection of the survivors of Cannae, and now those Romans they had saved hours ago. They had to set off quickly before their battle was discovered by Hannibal’s scouts. Rome, the city was still in danger. With that fact still lingering in his mind, Gaius had no time to order a proper burial for the Romans killed here this day, not even his own men who died during the raid. So, he ordered, without Valerius’ consent that the bodies of the dead Romans be piled and burned. What rights they could afford he had given. As for the slaves, they would remain where they fell; food for the circling birds that waited eagerly for this army to move on.