Gaius rubbed his hands into the water as he had continued to do so for the past twenty minutes, watching the dead drift by. His hands and much of the rest of him was clean from the blood that had been spilled during the battle. He survived, and had taken lives, for the first time. His mind, however, was not trapped on what he had done, but what he had heard, seen and experienced: screaming, terror, the sound of flesh and blood, and the horror in a man’s eye when he felt death’s grip — the easy act of pushing iron through a man’s body. But, the most troubling thought that haunting him now was, why had he been spared? If it had not been for the image of the white wolf, and the warning, he concluded from it, he would have shared the same fate as those legions under Sempronius’ command.
Why had no one else seen it? Why couldn’t it have shown itself to Sempronius? The damn fool. Why me?
The snow crackling under someone’s foot indicated to Gaius that someone was walking up behind him. A moment later, the voice of Valerius told him who it was.
“We’ll be moving soon,” Valerius said. There was no real reason why he needed to come down to the river personally, not when any number of runners could have done the job, but Valerius’ voice echoed a deep question, one which he wasn’t sure how to ask, how did you save us?
Gaius did not give Valerius a reply, or showed that he was listening, even though there was no way he could not hear him. His attention was still fixed on the bodies that drifted down the river, most of them Roma, but barbarian Gauls as well.
Valerius sighed as he stepped closer.
“Whether you want to see it or not, you saved a lot of lives today, Gaius.”
Gaius tilted his head up, looking over his shoulder toward Valerius and replied, “I did not save enough.”
Gaius threw a rock into the river, breaking a chuck of ice from the edge as he stood back to his feet.
“Why didn’t that fool listen to me, you, or any of his officers? We shouldn’t have been on the banks along the river? We shouldn’t have been marching in the storm? Sempronius is a bloody fool,” Gaius remarked bitterly.
“Sempronius was a fool — he is dead.”
Gaius just glanced at Valerius.
“We found his body, or what was left of it, along with the other ranking officers, each missing their heads,” Valerius reported.
“Too bad Sempronius only had one life to give,” Gaius utter with a viper’s tongue. “And how many of our brothers did he take with him?” he then asked.
“By my estimate, at least fifteen to twenty thousand.”
“What will we do now?” Gaius pondered; a question more for himself than in regard to Rome.
Valerius stood beside him, watching the sadden sight of his comrades drift by.
“I am proud of you, Gaius. You fought well, but more importantly you listened to your gut, regardless of the consequences. Those are merits for a true leader, one who seeks the well-being of his men, and not attaining glory; a rare virtue, I’m saddened to say.”
Gaius just looked over at his mentor’s tired eyes. He did not know what to tell him, about what he had seen, and why it compelled him to demand the army to halt. Even he did not understand it, and he doubted he ever would.
“Was it enough?” Gaius asked, his question pertaining to many things.
“We shall see. However, Rome is not out of this fight, just yet. I assure you that much. In the meantime, I have a new task I need of you and your century.”
“What do you request of me, sir?” Gaius asked as he was starting to regain himself.
“Come, we have planning to do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Eleven days after the Battle of Trebia
The migration of five thousand people marched over the countryside as they tried as best they could avoid any of the main roads or settlements throughout the region. This collection of bodies wasn’t an army, nor was it heading north to confront the invaders. These people were innocent civilians: men, women and children driven from their homes, and forced to flee for their lives.
It was Gaius’ responsibility to protect them.
He watched them carefully as they walked, rode or be carried in carts across the cold, snow-covered earth that offered little in the way of fresh game or dry wood to build fires at night. Their destination was Rome, Capua, or any other heavily populated city in the Republic that could shelter them until the threat of Hannibal, and his horde passed.
The people were a ragged collection. Most were on the verge of starvation; half probably wouldn’t make it to their destination before they froze to death as the nights had gotten colder. However, they had no hope. Hannibal’s tribes ransacked the northern country, pillaging, murdering, and raping. This was done even though envoys from Hannibal had promised sanctuary to any Italian settlements that stood with him against Rome, or offered his army shelter and food. Nevertheless, even those too afraid to stand against him, were terrorized by the barbarians, who cared little for Hannibal’s promises. They were here to claim what they wanted, earned in blood.
Gaius and his century of a hundred men had spent the better part of the past two weeks, since Trebia protecting those he could as they moved away from the conflict zones. When able, he chased down rogue elements of Hannibal’s army and put them to the sword when opportunity presented itself. However, his primary orders were to avoid contact with the enemy, and to remain off the main roads leading to Rome.
Two days ago, Gaius got word from a rider sent by Valerius that he, along with the survivors from Trebia had linked up with a new army sent by Rome, which included the rest of the Sixth Legion. They, forty thousand strong, under the command of Gaius Flaminius, moved to find Hannibal. Gaius wanted to reach Rome, rest and regroup before his century rejoined their commander.
Storm clouds filled the sky, moving in fast from the north and sweeping down across the country like a blanket of death. As rain began to pour, it brought renewed misery to the refugees. While still midday, already the sun struggled to cast its light down on the land.
As lightning streaked across the sky, Gaius noticed three riders racing towards him, Maurus leading them. He had sent him out two days ago to scout ahead, and wasn’t expecting him back for another day, not unless he found trouble that called for Gaius’ attention.
“Gaius,” Maurus cried out as he stopped his horse before Gaius’ own. “Smoke beyond the horizon, big, but not large enough to be caused naturally, I fear.”
“There are no settlements or villages in this region,” Gaius pondered.
“None that I’m aware of, but I fear we may both be mistaking.”
Gaius knew he should ignore the warning, or at the very least, redirect the refugees. His men were not fitted for another confrontation, nor could they risk drawing a large raiding party towards the civilians. There would be nothing his lone century could do to prevent their slaughter. He knew, however, that he wasn’t ready to allow another massacre to happen, not if he could prevent it.
With a heavy heart, weighed down by the burden of command, he said, “I want twelve of our best riders and swordsmen. Bring them to me, and then you’ll lead us to the fires.”
“Is it wise?” Maurus asked, not for fear of battle, but to be the voice of reason in case Gaius was acting foolish.
“Another two days and the civilians will reach Rome. If the barbarians have come this far south from the frontier, we at least have to know, or risk attack on our rear,” Gaius confirmed his reasoning, which brought a welcome smile from Maurus, who quickly rode off to carry out his orders.