Narration: Cannae (#2)
Hannibal's masterpiece.
The consul Varro has given the order. The largest army Rome has ever raised is preparing to face the Carthaginian army commanded by Hannibal. The fields south of the Aufidus River are about to be watered with the blood of those fighting for Italy. This is the second part of the narration of the Battle of Cannae.
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Right wing of the Roman army. Along the banks of the Aufidus.
The consul Aemilius Paullus maneuvered in the center of the Roman cavalry wing, which had just emerged from the Aufidus to face the Carthaginian cavalry charge, advancing at full speed along the riverbank. Cursed be that butcher's son of Varro, his colleague in the consulate, whose ineptitude and debauchery had put them all in this situation. The people of Rome had made a grave mistake in giving the consulship to a man as vulgar and inept as Varro.
There was no time to speak. Many of the riders hadn't even finished crossing the river, and the enemy would be upon them in a matter of seconds. The first javelins were already soaring through the air.
The consul transferred one of the javelins he was holding to his right hand and pointed it at the enemy.
"Gentlemen, for Rome and the survival of the Republic, for the freedom of Italy!" he shouted as he galloped off, followed by more than two thousand cavalrymen, the youth of the Roman aristocracy.
The first enemy javelins were lost in the gaps and the speed of the riders, but soon some mounts began to be hit, going mad or collapsing from the pain, which created chaos within the formation. Before the cavalry units could advance much further, the Carthaginian cavalry left behind the lines of the light infantry fighting between the two armies and fell upon them with brutal speed.
"Qart-Hadasth!" the consul heard as he entered the dense combat between the riders on their mounts, who were increasingly crowded together.
The consul ducked to avoid a slashing sword and slashed backward, catching the breastplate of an enemy cavalryman. When he looked back, the cavalryman was already too far away, engaging in combat with another Roman. He was then forced to maneuver to the left to stick close to the mount of one of his lictors, and together they began slashing left and right at every enemy within range, severing fingers, hands, and arms while blood seemed to spray into the air.
“Jupiter Optimus Maximus!” shouted Aemilius Paullus as he brought his sword down on the side of a horseman’s neck, slicing it open with a huge gash that sprayed blood onto the consul’s face and bronze breastplate.
As the consul unfastened his sword, the lictor to his left was struck by a javelin in the thigh and fell from his mount. The gap left was immediately filled by an Iberian horseman wearing a tunic, a bronze helmet, carrying a small round shield, and a sword, which he used to reach him. The consul blocked the first blow with his sword and counterattacked with a short sweep that caught the Iberian on the wrist, who dropped his weapon and winced in pain. He then slashed again, aiming for the horse's neck, and spurred his own horse forward to get away, but immediately collided with another Iberian horseman, who fell to the ground and was crushed by a Roman cavalryman.
"Are you all right, sir? Where are your lictors?" the soldier asked, shifting his profile to receive the charge of another rider.
The consul tried to reply, but the fighting immediately drove them away, and he realized that of his twelve lictors, he could barely identify the helmets and insignia of some, isolated amid the individual fights that were taking place in all directions.
Aemilius Paullus took a moment to look around. The fighting was taking them farther away from the battlefield now that the heavy infantry was beginning to advance.
"Lictors to me!" the consul shouted, blocking another blow with his shield and attempting to stab his attacker, only to be struck dead by the mount of one of the lictors who rushed to his aid.
The consul maneuvered his mount to avoid turning his back on the enemy. Occasionally, they approached, but together with the lictor, they repelled them all with brutal slashes of their swords. A third lictor joined them but soon fell when his mount was hit, knocking him to the ground, where he was crushed by the enemy riders.
They were losing ground, being pushed further and further away from the battlefield to avoid being massacred, Aemilius Paullus realized at a moment when sweat, his own blood and that which had been splashed on him by the enemy, began to pool in an annoying way around his eyes.
His lictors and tribunes had formed a protective ring around him as they fell back, blocking the constant attacks. The remaining Roman cavalry fought with courage, but were increasingly isolated from their comrades. More and more Iberian and Gallic cavalry surrounded them, trying to overwhelm their men and break their formations. Only when a group of Roman cavalry broke away from the battle to escape to the river and began to be pursued by the Gauls did the pressure in the area ease.
The consul realized they were fighting at the vanguard of the Roman army, and that very few horsemen were holding out. The Iberians and Gauls, commanded by the Carthaginians, were turning the situation into a massacre.
"We've lost this flank," Aemilius Paullus admitted to his officers, "but there are still many hours of battle left. Sound the retreat. We must position ourselves to defend our infantry's rear."
Center of the Carthaginian formation.
The Gauls, commanded by Mago, fought bravely, putting up fierce resistance to the Romans, whose colossal, compact formation continued to advance. Soon they would have to begin to give ground. The depth of the Roman army, which outnumbered them, made the force with which they pushed en masse unstoppable. Just as his brother had predicted, the first Roman units to clash had been the most exposed to the Gauls' curve, which in turn prevented the legions from charging in a single, straight, compact line. Instead, their maniples had to maneuver and move forward to catch up with the enemy, who were retreating due to the curvature of the formation.
But the Romans were more numerous, far more numerous, and that factor was making itself felt. The legionaries pushed behind their shields, propelled by the thousands of their comrades further back, generating more pressure. The Gauls tried to resist and strike with their swords whenever they could, but the essential thing—what Mago demanded of them as he paced between their lines, attacking to support the formation's weak points when necessary—was that they retreat with discipline, making the curve of the phalanx slowly move from outside to inside with the devastating Roman thrust. The point was to retreat and for the Romans to continue pushing and gaining ground, but the Gallic and Iberian troops, who formed the center of the Carthaginian army, must not flee under any circumstances. Their retreat in complete discipline was essential to his brother's plan. That was why Hannibal had decided to personally command the Iberians who bordered Mago's Gauls. That day they could leave nothing to the whims of fortune.
"Retreat in order, Gauls!" shouted Mago, standing in the center of the formation with his back held high to be seen. "Order, courage! It is we who are bringing the Romans here, not they who are pushing us! Hold fast for Adad, who watches over the brave!"
Cavalry wing of the left flank of the Roman army.
Varro fought skillfully from his mount, delivering sword blows to every enemy within range. His lictors were at his side, though some had been cut off by the violence of the clash with the Numidians or had been killed. These Numidians fought well. Their mounts were not large, they wore no armor, and their shields were too small. But they were fast, agile, and carried many javelins. Varro only managed to hit them with his sword because they had recognized him and were trying to kill him. His men, on the other hand, had a harder time. They had to pursue the Numidians, who were accustomed to fighting on the run, firing their javelins backward, making the enemy believe they were about to catch them. They avoided close combat as much as possible, but in the thick of the fray, where space was increasingly reduced and the dust obscured vision, it was becoming difficult to maneuver and escape. The fighting was bloody, the allied cavalry was suffering, but Varro saw that it was possible to prevail over the Numidians. The sacrifice would be very high, but if they succeeded, they would have a great chance of defeating Carthage once and for all. He, Varro, the son of a humble butcher, could become the man who won over Hannibal and Carthage. Glory was within his grasp.
"Fight, peoples of Italy, fight for freedom!" he roared, turning his mount to avoid the charge of a Numidian that crashed into one of his lictors.
Both the Numidian and the Roman fell to the ground, losing their weapons upon impact, and began to struggle. Varro brought his mount forward, and when the Numidian turned to face the new threat, he cleaved his face with a brutal cut.
Varro raised the bloody sword and felt the warmth of the liquid sliding down the blade and hilt.
“Rome!” he roared.
"Sir, riders are approaching!" said one of his lictors, appearing from the left.
Varro stared at him for a moment, absorbed in the savagery of the battle, and thought he was a Numidian. Then he recognized the lictor and looked in the direction he was pointing, to the east. A new cloud of dust was rising, but there were so many horsemen fighting around him that he couldn't see anything else.
A trace of fear ran through his column. That cloud of dust only meant that on the right wing, Aemilius Paullus had either won or been defeated. For the sake of the Republic, he hoped it was Aemilius Paullus and the Roman cavalry.
Determined to continue fighting, Varro spurred his horse and advanced against a Numidian who had just evaded two riders and then fired his javelins at them, hitting the side of his beast. The Numidian had to grab onto his horse's neck to avoid falling, and while trying to escape, he threw another javelin backward, which was blocked by one of his lictors with his shield. The Numidian managed to get a few meters away, but his mount was hit by a spear and stumbled, causing him to fall to the ground, where he was crushed by another rider who turned his mount over him.
Varro was looking for a new target when he realized that everyone around him was stopping fighting.
The earth began to shake with the new charge of thousands of horsemen galloping forward. Varro's horse began to move restlessly, his lictors looking east, waiting for something to happen.
Then a thunderous roar drowned out the noise of the battle. Before Varro understood what was happening, riders began galloping past, at a speed they could only have achieved after several meters of travel, sweeping away everything in their path. Many crashed into the wall of shields and horses that the lictors tried to form around the consul, while Varro, panicking, tried to regain control of his mount.
"Qart-Hadasth!" he heard as one of his lictors fell to the ground, wounded.
They were being surrounded, Varro realized. The riders who were speeding past were targeting the allied cavalry. When he got close enough to repel one of those riders by slashing at the rump of his mount, he had no doubt it was a Gaul.
Desperate, Varro tried to hold his position, cutting away the surrounding Gallic and African horsemen. The trumpeter remained with them, within the lictors' position, but there was no sign of the tribune Quintus Aurelius. Everywhere he looked, Varro saw more and more enemy horsemen. They were being annihilated.
"Retreat!" shouted the consul. "Retreat!"
Rearguard of the Roman army.
Aemilius Paullus had had some time to rest and heal the wounds in the rearguard of the army, which continued its unstoppable push, forcing the enemy lines to lose ground. For the moment, it seemed that the legions' overwhelming numerical superiority was going to prevail over the Carthaginian army. But if they were going to achieve this, it would have to be swift. From the cloud of dust rising to the east, the consul could discern the movements of the Carthaginian cavalry that had just routed them. They had moved away from the battlefield, surrounding the Roman rearguard, to fall upon the allied cavalry commanded by Varro.
Aemillius Paullis felt the frustration growing inside him. They were going to annihilate the allied cavalry, just as they did with the Roman cavalry, there was no doubt about it. Now the Romans could only hope for a quick victory for their infantry.
The consul put his helmet back on and checked the cloth he had used to bandage his left thigh, a wound courtesy of a skilled Iberian horseman.
"Roman cavalry, ready!" he shouted to the little more than three hundred horsemen he had left.
Aemilius Paullus's idea was to break through the condensed, deep mass of the Roman army to reach the front line and help break the Carthaginian phalanx, which continued to retreat in perfect synchronicity, now transformed into a curve that absorbed the legionaries' thrust. It was then that he realized that on the flanks of the extended and fragile Carthaginian army, a half-curve on the verge of splitting in two, heavy infantry troops that had remained hidden until then behind the Gauls and Iberians, began to maneuver.
Aemilius Paullus turned his mount and trotted to the left flank to see better what was happening. At first, he felt a mixture of relief and confusion at the sight of these soldiers emerging from behind the flanks of the Carthaginian army as it continued to retreat. They carried shields, chain mail, and Roman helmets, but they were not Roman, he then realized with growing terror. They were Hannibal's African veterans, who, after his victory at Trasimene, had stripped the bodies of the Roman dead to equip themselves for the coming campaigns.
"What are they doing, sir?" asked one of his tribunes riding beside him, struggling to control the fear in his voice.
"I don't know," said Aemilius Paullus as he watched the African troops maneuver. They were advancing, leaving the Gallic and Iberian infantry behind, and were now positioning themselves alongside them, transforming the Carthaginian army into a sort of long U-shape that contained the colossal Roman army from the front and both flanks.
It was incredible. No one had seen those African troops since the beginning of the battle, and now they had appeared out of nowhere to launch themselves at the flanks of the deep Roman army, which had been surrounded, except for its rearguard. And Aemilius Paullus, from his mount, could see the cloud of dust advancing at full speed towards them. He thought of giving the order to retreat, but he preferred to line up his cavalry along the rearguard, which he also had formed up in the direction of the new threat. And for a moment, while the Roman army was attacked from the front by the Gauls and Iberians, and from the flanks by the African heavy infantry, he had to wait, watching as the Gallic and Iberian cavalry commanded by the Carthaginians, the same one that had defeated them at the beginning of the battle, launched a direct and deadly charge towards them.
Aemilius Paullus allowed himself a moment to look up at the sky, wherever the gods were, and smile. They could have warned them through bad omens, but even so, it would have been in vain; his colleague would have ignored all the signs. But what was happening next to the Aufidus was more than a poor choice of terrain. They had set a trap for them, one that not even Paulus thought was possible until he saw that cavalry charging straight to them, toward the rear of the Roman army. The Carthaginian's trap was complete. There was no escape.
Gallic and Iberian cavalry, east of the battlefield.
"Qart-Hadasth!" shouted Hasdrubal once more as he galloped forward, sword raised, into the rear of the Roman army, which seemed to be swallowed up by the Carthaginian one.
Even from that distance, he could see the terror in the eyes of the Roman legionaries who had turned to present their oval shields. Their centurions, their helmets adorned with crests and plumes, paced back and forth, shouting, urging their men to hold their ground. Standard bearers and trumpeters followed the tribunes, trying to impose order on the chaos. There were even cavalrymen among the infantry ranks.
"Qart-Hadasth!" roared one of the Carthaginian officers galloping to Hasdrubal's left, and the cry echoed through the formation.
In the final meters, the Roman cavalry advanced on the infantry lines, emerging from various points. They managed to gain some momentum, then the impact occurred. Another impact. The Roman horsemen plunged into the ranks of Carthaginians, Gauls, and Iberians, ramming, cutting, and piercing flesh. For a moment, Hasdrubal closed his eyes and entrusted himself to Baal Hamon and Tanit, the protective deities of Carthage. Then he opened them, and as he let his mount maneuver, trusting in it, his body and mind returned to the war.
He continued galloping through the cloud of dust raised by both sides. Not a single enemy rider struck him, and suddenly, without warning, his horse reared up as it collided with the Roman shield wall, which had become almost invisible with all the dust. His mount's forelegs struck one of the shields, knocking its owner to the ground. Reacting quickly, Hasdrubal slashed his sword to the right, striking the fingers holding a weapon, then slashed to the left, striking a Roman in the helmet. He reined in to back away and avoid the javelins that tried to pierce him. His mount would have been hit had it not been for other riders who, at that moment, crashed into the infantry lines, causing them to collapse.
"Qart-Hadasth!" someone shouted from the chaos of dust, beasts, humans, bronze, and iron, and Hasdrubal knew he wasn't alone.
"Qart-Hadasth!" he roared.
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