Battle at the River Trebia, winter 218 BC -section

[ParthianBow]

A few members have expressed an interest in my book about the Second Punic War which will feature Cannae. I'm writing that at the moment. Fields of Blood will come out in the UK in June 2013. I'm about to write the battle at Lake Trasimene, and I wondered if anyone would be interested in reading a little section from the first great victory, at the Trebia.

(The main character mentioned here are Bostar, Sapho and Hanno, three Carthaginian brothers, and Mago, who was Hannibal's brother. The scene is related as Mago's surprise ambush on the Romans is about to take place...)

Bostar had barely been able to contain himself since the sentry’s report that the enemy were crossing the river. He and Sapho had clambered up the bank to lie beside Mago, who was trembling with excitement. With every nerve stretched taut, they’d watched as the Roman cavalry and velites were gradually followed by the allied infantry and the regular legionaries. Only then did it sink in.

‘The Roman commander has no interest in nibbling at the bait,’ muttered Mago excitedly. ‘He’s swallowed it in one great bite. That’s his whole f**king army!’

They exchanged nervous grins.

‘The fighting will start soon,’ said Sapho eagerly.

‘It’s not time to move yet,’ interjected Bostar at once.

‘That’s right. We have to wait until the perfect moment to fall upon the Romans’ rear,’ warned Mago. ‘Moving too early could cost us the battle.’

Knowing that Mago was correct, the brothers reluctantly stayed put. The wait which followed was the longest of Bostar’s life. Mago’s incessant twitching and the savagery with which Sapho bit his nails told him that they felt the same way. It could only have been three to four hours, but at the time it seemed like an eternity. Naturally, the news that the Romans were on the move had spread through their 2,000 soldiers like wildfire. Soon it became difficult to keep them silent. It was understandable, thought Bostar. There was only so long that one could take pleasure in being out of harm’s way rather than facing mortal danger – especially when one’s comrades were about to fight for their lives.

Even when the clash of arms became audible, Mago did not move. Bostar forced himself to remain calm. The rival forces of skirmishers would meet first, and then pull back. Sure enough, the screams and cries soon abated. They were replaced by the unmistakable sound of thousands of feet tramping the ground in unison.

‘The Roman infantry are advancing,’ said Mago in an undertone. ‘Melqart, watch over our men.’

A knot of tension formed in Bostar’s belly. Facing so many of the enemy would be terrifying.

Beside him, Sapho shifted uneasily. ‘The gods protect Father and Hanno,’ he whispered.

Their enmity momentarily forgotten, Bostar muttered the same prayer.

The crashing sound which reached their ears a moment later was so deafening that it resembled thunder. Yet there were no threatening storm clouds above, no flashes of lightning to sear their eyeballs. It was something altogether more lethal. More terrifying. Bostar trembled to hear it. He had witnessed terrible things since the war started: the immense block of stone which had nearly killed Hannibal, the scenes at the fall of Saguntum, avalanches sweeping away scores of screaming men in the Alps. But he had never heard the sound of tens of thousands of soldiers striking each other for the first time. It promised death in any number of terrible ways, and Hanno and his father were caught up in it. Somehow Bostar kept still, trying his best to block out the screams which were becoming discernible amid the crescendo of sound. His tactic didn’t work for long. He looked at Mago, who gave him a tiny encouraging nod.

‘Is it time yet, sir?’ Bostar asked.

Mago’s eyes glittered eagerly. ‘Soon. Prepare your men to move out. Tell the same to the officer commanding the Numidians. At my signal, bring them up.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Bostar and Sapho grinned at each other as they hadn’t done in an age, and hurried to obey.

From then on, time moved in a blur, a continuum that Bostar could only remember afterwards in a series of fractured images. The frisson of excitement which went through the waiting soldiers when they heard their orders. Mago’s head silhouetted as he peered over the riverbank, and his beckoning arm. Reaching the top, and being awestruck by the colossal struggle which was going on over to their left. Who was winning? Was Hanno still alive? Mago shaking his arm and telling him to keep focused. Telling their men to unsling their shields from their backs and ready their weapons. Assembling their phalanxes in open order. Watching the 1,000 Numidians split, placing half their number on each side of the infantry. Mago’s raised sword pointing at the enemy and his cry, ‘For Hannibal and for Carthage!’

And then the run. Bostar would never forget the run.

They did not sprint. It was more than half a mile to the battlefield. Exhausting themselves would give away all the advantage they had been granted. Instead they moved at a fast trot, leaving plumes of exhaled breath in their wake. The cold air was filled with the low, repetitive thuds of horses’ hooves and men’s boots and sandals on the hard ground. No one spoke. No one wanted to. Everyone’s eyes were locked on what was unfolding before them. Amid the confusion, one thing was clear. There was no sign of the enemy’s cavalry, which meant that they must have been driven off by the Iberian and Gaulish horsemen. On the Roman flanks, the allied infantry were struggling against the Carthaginian elephants, skirmishers and Numidian horsemen. In itself, these were major achievements, and Bostar wanted to cheer. But he did not utter a word. The battle’s outcome still hung in the balance. As they drew closer, he saw that the fighting in the centre was incredibly fierce. The legionaries there had actually moved in front of their wings, which meant that they had pushed the Gauls who formed the central part of Hannibal’s line backwards.

They had come not an instant too soon, thought Bostar.

Mago came to the realisation at the same time. ‘Charge!’ he screamed. ‘Charge!’

With an inanimate roar, Bostar, Sapho and his soldiers obeyed, increasing their speed to a dangerous, breakneck pace. Any man who tripped now risked breaking an ankle or a leg. But no one cared. All they wanted to do was to start shedding their opponents’ blood. To bury their weapons in Roman flesh.

The last moments of their run were absolutely surreal. Exhilarating. Thanks to the deafening sounds of battle, there was no need to worry about how much noise they made. The triarii in the enemy’s third rank - their targets - were not looking behind them. Unsurprisingly, the veterans were engrossed by the bitter struggle going on to their front, and were preparing to join in. They had no idea that 2,000 Carthaginian soldiers were about to strike their rear at a full charge. Bostar would always remember the first faces which turned, casually, for whatever reason, to look around. The sheer disbelief and terror which twisted those faces to find a group of the enemy less than thirty paces away. The hoarse screams as the few triarii who were aware tried to warn their comrades of their deadly peril. And the satisfaction as they smashed in to the Roman ranks, drawing their weapons down on the backs of men who did not even know they were about to die.

For the first time in his life, Bostar was overcome by battle rage. In the red mist which surrounded him, it was easy to lose count of the number of men he killed. It was like stabbing fish in a rock pool off the coast of Carthage. Thrust forward. Run the blade in as deep as possible. Withdraw. Select another target. When eventually his blunted spear stuck in a triarius’ backbone, Bostar simply discarded it and pulled out his sword. He was vaguely aware that his arm was bloody to the elbow, but he didn’t care. I’m coming, little brother, he thought. Stay alive, Father.

Eventually, the veteran legionaries managed to turn and face their attackers. The fight became harder, but the advantage was still with Mago’s men, who could now see that the enemy’s flanks had broken. Bostar exulted. The combined wave of Carthaginian troops and cavalry on the allied infantry’s undefended side had proved too much.
Prevented from wheeling to face the threat, they had been mercilessly hacked to pieces.

Now, dropping their weapons, the survivors turned and ran for the Trebia. Bostar threw back his head and let free an animal howl of triumph. To the rear, he glimpsed thousands of their cavalrymen waiting for just such an eventuality. The allied troops would not go far. Suddenly, a veteran with a notched sword blade drove at him and Bostar was reminded that their own task was not over. Although the triarii were suffering heavy casualties, the rest of the legionaries were still moving forward in to, and through, the lines of Gauls. Like a battering ram, they could only be resisted for so long. Bostar’s elation died away as he realised that some of the Libyan phalanxes had also given way. They quickly crumbled before the legionaries’ relentless assault. Catching Sapho’s attention, Bostar pointed. His brother’s face twisted in rage. With renewed energy, they both threw themselves at the triarii.

‘Hanno! Father!’ Bostar shouted. ‘We’re coming!’

Too late, his heart screamed back.

[Quintius Clavus]

I know that this is just a snippet. I have noticed that fiction authors tend to focus on Hannibal's side of the events of the 2nd Punic War and often portray the Romans as cruel and even vicious. Mind you, they were ferocious in warfare and certainly by modern standards, cruel may be the appropriate term, but they got their point across in their own view.
I looked at your website and noted that the first book has Roman principal characters. I have not read the first one, so cannot personally comment on how Hannibal-centric it is or how much of the Roman side of things is shown.

For a suggested correction when the young men are charging forward toward the end of your piece: "With an inanimate roar", use instead "With an inarticulate roar" as a suggestion. Inanimate means unmoving, inarticulate means words cannot be distinguished.

I recently read a novel from the local library, written from the Carthaginian view and including that of a common soldier of the Libyan infantry-It takes him from Saguntum to Zama and one sees the fighting as a single soldier would see it as his own part of it and not the grand tactical view.

I grew up with fiction also written from the view of the Carthaginians. I don't recall a single one written from the Roman side or view of the war.

[Gaius Julius Caesar]

Nice teaser Ben!
I'm looking forward to picking up from the first book next year!

[Quintius Clavus]

And I agree with Bryan - Nice teaser. So many books and so little money. RAT has been real "dangerous" to my budget from the very beginning.