answered, sounding uncharacteristically moody as he turned with the helmet in hand, and walked back to his commanding officer.
“The gods decide such things, my friend. However, I do believe you will get the chance to see home again after this battle is done.” Gaius’ words were encouraging, but he too seemed to have a slight hint of doubt in his voice.
“And what of you, do you think the gods favor you such that you will see our homeland?”
Gaius hesitated to answer at first as he considered Maurus’ words. He did not want to seem uncertain, as the two of them had survived so much that the prospect of dying now would have been aggravating.
“I believed the god of war will have plenty of blood this day. That much is certain. However, if he wants mine, he shall have to fight for it.” Gaius managed a wide smile as he slammed his palms down onto Maurus’ shoulders.
“Look to the heavens and praise the gods, my nervous friend. We still breathe and shall continue for a long time to come. I’m sure that both of us will live through this day. We will go home. We will marry beautiful women who will tend to our every need. We shall drink long into the night recalling tales of our victories, while our children grow together, bored stiff of those stories. Of this, my friend, I am certain as I’m confident the dawn will bring a new day. However, when that day comes and death’s hand reaches down for us, far from now we will leave this world with honor and pride, and shall rejoin our fallen brothers as heroes of the Republic.”
“A wonderful paragon that would be,” Maurus smiled widened.
“Indeed it is — one worth living for.”
Maurus walked over to Gaius, holding out a helmet that was capped off with a bright-red feather crest, which signified his rank. He carefully placed it onto his head and laced the straps in place, preparing himself for what lay beyond the folds of his tent.
“Enjoy this day, Maurus for there will never be another like it in our lives. Today the sons of the Republic walk on the soil of our bitter enemy. We will avenge the losses we have sustained in this war. Carthage will finally know our pain, tenfold.” Gaius’ voice was firm as Maurus smiled, placing hands at the entry to the tent. The warmth of the morning sun entered, illuminating the interior. Already the organized chaos of the barracks filled Gaius’ ears.
“Then, Legate, sir, let us not waste a moment. We would not want to disappoint our enemies by being late for the battle, now would we?”
Gaius rode into the main camp, which lie several miles to the east of his legion’s barracks. His destination was a series of large interconnecting tents that served as the headquarters for the army’s commander. Waiting outside were a dozen legionaries, who stood guard despite the intense heat, poised in their full armor and kit. One of those soldiers, a centurion with a scarred face, walked over to Gaius and grabbed the reins of his horse as he stopped a few yards from the tent.
“Sir, the legates are assembled and are awaiting you,” the centurion quickly spoke as Gaius leaped down.
“And what of Scipio, has he arrived?” Gaius quickly asked, fearing he may be delaying the assembly.
“No, sir. He is still surveying the men, but is expected back at any time now.”
“Thank you, Centurion.”
The inside of the tent was spacious and lit well, with oil lamp's burning. It was also surprisingly cooler than outside, which was a welcome relief as the African heat did not agree with him.
Everywhere Gaius noted the splendors of a proper Roman home that a nobleman couldn’t seem to leave home without. He found it amusing that many of the prefects, tribunes and legates he had served under would not begin a campaign until their creature comforts were attended to. Although he hadn’t dared say it beyond a few whispered jokes around the campfire, he figured he was just too used to sleeping under the stars and living out of a pack to care much about these luxuries. A sharp sword, good armor, bread in his stomach and a sky to look up at was all he desired.
His destination was back toward the rear, where a second section had been built into the main living quarters. This area was the war room where the officers were gathered, waiting for their commander to arrive.
As Gaius parted several layers of silk veils that separated the living quarters from the war room, he saw a dozen officers standing around a long, rectangular wooden table that had a leather-hide map stretched out across it, detailing the entire region where this army was camped.
“Legate Gaius, it is good to see you’ve joined us. I’m pleased to see you managed to get out of bed on this momentous day,” one of the Roman officers joked as he greeted Gaius with a warm smile, a full cup of wine in his left hand.
“It is good to see you as well, Avitus. And I’m simply amazed to see that you aren’t drunk, yet. How will you be able to command your men with such a clear mind?” Gaius replied with his own grin as he took the man’s hand and shook it.
Avitus was one of the old commanders, a burly man who had survived every battle of the war. He commanded two legions — frontline troops that had fought across Italy since the war began. He had never been popular under the old-guard — too different, well connected to his men, having risen through the ranks, currently going on some thirty-eight years of service to the Republic. Men such as he had become favorites of the new leaders of Rome — they were very nearly the only seasoned commanders left after the disastrous battle of Cannae, at present five-year past.
“Oh, give me another hour, my boy, and I shall not disappoint you,” Avitus bellowed with his characteristic laugh.
“Perhaps you should have stayed in bed and allowed real officers to conduct this battle,” another general by the name of Cassius spoke up, not even trying to hide his contempt for Gaius.
Cassius was an officer from the old-guard: wealthy, proud, and descended from a long line of equestrians who had not agreed with the transitions that had been made to the army in recent years. He believed that only noblemen had the right to hold command, and Cassius was not alone in his stance to maintain the old ways, even if their resistance nearly destroyed their country.
“Yes, well, I had to rise and make sure you, and your men don’t turn and flee from the battlefield yet again,” Gaius replied, which brought a sneer from Cassius, while several other officers, including the foreign Numidia commanders, chuckled.
Gaius ignored Cassius and those like him. Neither he nor his
“I grow tired of these strategy sessions Scipio continues to insist on,” Flavius was one of the younger officers, complained as he stood over the table.
“You know how Scipio likes to remind everyone that he is in command,' Claudius Nero spoke. He was a few years older than Gaius, but was fairly new to the campaign. He avoided much of the war at his Greek estate, overseeing his family’s wealthy shipping business until no longer able to refuse the call to arms or, more likely, the chance for immortal glory.
Gaius didn’t bother to listen to the bickering between the old and new guards’ obvious dislike for one another, which continued without pause. He was standing on the far side of the table, surveying the map that was laid out before him, focusing on the particulars of the army’s formation and the terrain.
There was nothing inventive about the battle plan. It was surprisingly simple, one that did not rely on numbers, terrain or hidden surprises.
This was done less for their army, but to hamper its opponent, which often had defeated superior forces with trickery and deception. Out here, on the flat ground with nowhere to hide, the two armies faced one another, an advantage Gaius was certain would bring them victory.
Carefully positioned across the map were two sets of wooden figures. The blue characters represented those of the Romans, while the reds were the Carthaginians. The enemy lines were made-up of infantry, three formations deep and nearly half a mile long. Two cavalry units were placed on either side, with a unit of reserves in the rear, while Carthage’s elite soldiers, veterans of Italy, were also in the rear. This was the formation that the generals believed the enemy would assemble.
