Narration: Cannae (#3)
Hannibal's masterpiece. The end.
The sun's rays bathe the valleys south of the Aufidus River. The cavalry of both armies have clashed in a brutal battle that has seen the Carthaginians emerge victorious. But the main theater, the one fought by the infantry, is still undecided; many hours of battle remain, and it is here that the Romans hold the upper hand. This is the third and final part of the account of the Battle of Cannae.
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Retaguardia del ejército romano.
The consul Aemilius Paullus had been forced to dismount. He was too weak and dizzy to continue directing the fight from atop a horse. In the heat of the battle, while trying to maintain some semblance of order among the infantry troops at the rear, a stone thrown from a sling had struck him in the head, right at the base of his neck. The rim of his helmet managed to break the impact somewhat, but Paullus still felt a heavy pain in his head and his vision blurred as the stone struck him. He had nearly fallen to the ground, in front of his legionaries, in front of the Carthaginian cavalry that charged again and again against the infantry lines. The Numidian horsemen who had fought against the allied cavalry under Varro were now joining the Gauls and Iberians. The Roman army was completely surrounded. The only way out was to cut a path through with thrusts and slashes, but his legionaries were finding it increasingly difficult to maneuver. Those in the front lines only managed to move their arms enough to raise their shields or attack, as their comrades freed up space by falling dead every second under the constant onslaught of the enemy cavalry, who hurled their mounts at them in an attempt to crush them while simultaneously piercing with javelins and slashing with swords. The pressure building in the center of the army was becoming unbearable.
Surrounded by his lictors, who had dismounted with him, Aemilius Paullus fought his way to the front line, where a heap of corpses and dying bodies made it difficult to maintain the ground. The Carthaginians were slowly slaughtering them. The position of the sun and the growing weakness of the light indicated that much of the day had already passed.
His lictors immediately entered the fray, raising their shields to block the attack of a rider who charged towards them, only to double over at the last moment as he brought his sword down upon them, blowing the plume of feathers from one of their helmets.
Aemilius Paullus advanced. Someone grabbed him by the breastplate. One of his tribunes, he recognized in the midst of the chaos.
"Sir, you must not continue fighting!" the tribune shouted to make himself heard. "It's too dangerous. Don't let this day be more disastrous with the death of a consul!"
Aemilius Paullus, somewhat dazed from the effort of holding his position alongside his men on the front lines, looked at him. He had already made up his mind. If tens of thousands of men were going to die that day defending the Republic, the duty of a consul of Rome was to die alongside them. Besides, he knew that deep down he was doomed by the blow to the head. Even if he had been a coward, he was too tired and dizzy to escape alive. He would have made all his lictors easy targets.
“Listen, tribune!” Paullus said, gathering his strength. “I order you to leave here alive and head for Rome! You must warn the senate of this catastrophe! Rome must be prepared and fortified! Hannibal must not be confronted in the open ground!”
The tribune nodded, his face anguish etched on his face, then disappeared into the movement of legionaries and enemies around him. Suddenly, Paullus had a horse on his left. Its rider threw his spear, piercing the shield of one of his lictors, while another slashed at the horse's belly.
"For Rome!" shouted Aemilius Paullus. "The consul is fighting alongside you!"
He advanced, stepping on the body of a dying Gallic horseman. Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw more enemy horsemen advancing into the Roman lines. What remained of the front line had turned into small remnants of legionaries who were beginning to become increasingly isolated from the main body of the army, a shapeless and inoperative mass, devoid of any semblance of order, waiting for the enemy to fall upon them.
Aemilius Paullus tried to set an example for his men. Death had to be faced with dignity, like Romans. He stood firm as two horsemen rushed at him and his lictors. He raised his shield, crouched on it, and prepared to receive the charge. The impact knocked him to the side, while the horses passed over two of his lictors to follow a path of death. Aemilius Paullus lost his shield and sword. A nearby Carthaginian horseman saw him and brought his mount forward, taking two strides to fall beside him. Aemilius Paulus crawled over the bodies and blood until he managed to grab a sword. He tried to get up and turn, and when he did, the horse passed to his left and the rider brought down a javelin that sank into his groin.
Aemilius Paullus collapsed. He heard screams around him. He thought he saw figures, shadows fighting around him, then someone was upon him. A horrible Gaul, he thought, seeing those long mustaches approaching him. Then the real pain came. The stabs sought the edges of his armor, his neck, his face, tearing at his flesh.
The consul of Rome tried to protect himself for a moment with his arms, but immediately the pain took over what little energy remained and his body became a silent witness to his destruction, until the intensity of that pain became his everything, and then he ceased to be.
Center of the Carthaginian infantry.
Mago's Gauls were no longer retreating. They advanced, pressing with their shields, methodically piercing and slashing, while the ranks of Romans fell before them, one by one. Unlike their Gauls, the Romans had nowhere to retreat, nowhere to go, nowhere to escape from all that iron that sought to destroy them. Behind them were their comrades, in turn crushed by their fellow soldiers, and at the edge of any point in the Roman army, Carthaginian soldiers were doing the same thing as their Gauls: pressing, systematically eliminating. The Romans had fallen into the complex trap of his brother, with whom he had fought shoulder to shoulder during the most complex moment of the battle. Now, Hannibal was busy dealing with the attack of Roman troops on the Carthaginian camp, a last, desperate attempt by the enemy to turn things around. At that point, Mago was certain that not even the intervention of the Roman gods could change the course of events. The lands south of the Aufidus were already covered with the bodies of the sons of Rome.
"For Qart-Hadasth! For Hannibal!" he roared, and it was at his brother's name that the Gauls were seized by a kind of frenzy as they cheered the general.
"Hannibal!" bellowed the Gauls while the Romans screamed in terror and pain.
"Hannibal!" Mago joined them, plunging his spear into the base of a Roman's neck, whose cry was drowned out by Hannibal's name.
Evening of August 2, 216 BC.
Gaius Terentius Varro rode, demanding maximum effort from his mount with every stride. All he could think about at that moment was riding, riding, and getting away from the Aufidus and those damned Numidian cavalrymen who had been pursuing them south for hours. At that point, when hundreds of the cavalry who had begun the retreat alongside him had died under the constant hail of javelins the Numidians were subjecting them to, the consul no longer dared look back. He could only concentrate on galloping and trying to control the fear that gripped him. He didn't want to die, he couldn't die after the disaster that had occurred near Cannae. The Republic needed its consuls. The campaign had just begun, and Hannibal had many plans in mind. Perhaps in those hours he was already plotting his march on Rome!
Rome, he thought as he rode, his eyes fixed ahead, toward the south, where the region of Lucania lay. The closest city they would have there was Venusia, allied to Rome. Venusia, he suddenly decided, feeling more eager to live. They would head for Venusia. If they reached the city, they would be safe. Even if thousands of Numidians pursued them, they would be powerless against the city walls. They would be safe there, at least for a while, just long enough to prepare for their departure for Rome. It was essential to deliver the news to the people and the senate as quickly as possible. It was his duty as Roman consul.
Varro and his riders continued galloping for hours. As they climbed a hill and left a small forest behind, they saw in the darkness, far away, small points of light that seemed to follow a perimeter. The city of Venusia. The consul didn't let his mounts rest until they crossed the city gates. They had to keep galloping and get away from Cannae, from that curse of death and destruction that Hannibal had become. Varro feared for the survival of the Republic. There was no way to defeat the Carthaginian general in open field. Cannae was the culmination of a series of experiments that proved just that.
The consul had to arrive to Rome and deliver the news of the disaster. The people had to be prepared for the times to come, dark as the night that embraced everything, imposing a strange and sinister calm between Varro and the nearly one hundred and seventy cavalry with whom he had managed to escape. The rest, more than sixty thounsand men, were leaving their lives in the valleys of Cannae. Only night, the same night that Varro and his cavalry saw, stopped the slaughter.
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