ground. The move began sharply enough, with some of the grace of a mounted entertainer. Some of it, but not all. The horse skittered, backed, and then reared as the consul sought purchase. It spun in a tight circle and yanked the reins from the rider's hands. This flurry of motion ended in stillness: the horse standing a few paces away, calm and instantly undisturbed, the consul on his backside in the mud, gazing at his stained garments as if completely mystified by this outcome. It was an ill omen if ever there was one, but Flaminius swatted at the hands that offered him aid.
“Just a mishap!” he snapped. “Has no one ever fallen from a horse before me?”
Then, as if he had not already enough prods to rage, a report came that one of the standard-bearers could not pull his burden up from the ground. Before the gaze of astonished onlookers who were reluctant to touch the pole themselves, the young man strained and groaned and tired himself with the effort. True enough that the ground was damp, yielding stuff, but its grip on the shaft seemed unnatural to all onlookers, as if the earth itself wished to delay them in action.
Flaminius, however, tilted his gaze skyward and asked the heavens if ever a consul had led an army less inclined to action. He ordered the standard dug out of the ground and called for the march to begin. Omens be damned; the consul was determined to make contact with the enemy and bring him to a full test. And so he would, three days later, beside a lake called Trasimene.
A year ago, Aradna would not have imagined that she and her donkey would still be following the Carthaginians, but come the spring she had to set aside her plans of escape. Though she still had her treasure tied and snug between her breasts, it did not seem like enough. And also she had come together with the remnant band of camp followers over the long winter. They had aided each other by pooling their food and foraging in bands, although scavenging items of value was still a solitary, secretive pursuit. They were several groups—some composed entirely of Gallic women attending their husbands—of which hers was the smallest, fifteen in total. Even this modest number provided some measure of security above traveling alone. It was a mixed company of men and women, young and old. She managed to fend off the attentions of the men and live with them peaceably. And, better yet, she had come up with a proposal that had bettered their lot and won credit for it.
Like any army's livestock, the Carthaginians' had to be transported alive and afoot. There had once been a horde of slaves and servants and ambitious boys to attend to this, but their numbers had dwindled. Many of those still living were recruited as soldiers, now that every willing man—and some not willing—was needed. Why not let the followers aid in herding the beasts? Aradna passed this proposal to Hannibal's secretary through the large Celtiberian who thought himself their leader. The Carthaginian, Bostar she believed his name was, had agreed, and so the ragged followers became sheep and goat and cow herders. They got no pay for their labor except the poor portions of the slaughtered animals, but that was no small thing. And, of course, it placed them in a prime position to scavenge should a great battle soon reward them.
The evening that the army marched through the defile and down into the valley of the lake, Aradna believed that the time had come. No one thought to consult with or give directions to the followers, but they judged the signs for themselves and reacted to them. She and the others herded the few surviving goats and steers onto a high, grassy knoll. From it they had a vantage point that encompassed the entire valley below. The lower elevations were just slipping into shadow, but the air above seemed to suspend particles of the sun's amber vibrancy. The shore of the lake curved in a wide, irregular arch that slipped out of and then back into view. Beside it stretched a relatively flat expanse. This soon tilted and rose to a gradual, undulating slope dotted with trees and low vegetation. A little higher, the incline increased, leading up the rocky mountain ridge that hemmed in that side of the valley completely. The only easy access to the lakeside came from the narrow defile through which they had passed and from another similar gap at the far end. An army entering the field would have to march thinly through the pass, spread over a distance, with little room to move on either side until well down onto the flats.
The main contingent of Hannibal's infantry took up a position in the center of the far end of the plain, as if they were preparing to meet the Romans in a traditional combat on the morn. But the plain itself was not wide enough for the two armies to march toward each other in battle formation. Aradna recognized that the troop movements before her were made with guile. Units of cavalry took up positions near the mouth of the defile, on fairly open ground, but hidden behind the hills and ridges that marked that area. Slingers and light infantrymen were deployed in small groups along the whole length of the plain. They moved up toward the hills and slipped between the folds of earth there. Within a short time they had all but disappeared.
Aradna waited through the night, plagued by a nervous energy. She stared up at the stars, low-hung and gentle, near enough to touch if she had had the desire to disturb them. She wondered whether it was true that the lights floating up there were the souls of the departed. An old woman had told her so once, but she knew not whether this came from any particular doctrine. Her father might be up there. She tried to pick him out, but there were so many and they were so similar. If the old woman had spoken truly, then each night would see new stars born. The night would soon glow brighter than the day.
She did not intentionally drift to sleep, but upon waking she realized she had slept hard and she knew she had been awakened by something. She was damp with the night cool and felt the chill touch of a moist vapor slipping over her. The sky above was white with high cloud. The stars had retreated to wherever they passed the daylight hours. She took this in while still in the hold of a dreamy half-consciousness, but then she heard again the sound that had stirred her, a throbbing conducted through the earth beneath her. It took her a moment to place it —the rhythmic stamp of feet over the ground. She jumped up and, calling to the others, ran to the viewing point. The sight before her both surprised and exasperated her.
What had been a wide sweep of lakeside and a perfect view of the plains the day before was now hidden beneath a blanket of low fog. In the higher reaches, only stray bands of white vapor clung to a few hollows, but the rest of the valley was completely shrouded. She could, however, see the opening in the mountains through which the Roman army marched. They must have broken camp before the dawn to reach this point so early. They kept to a tight formation, moving in ordered lines, so disciplined that even their steps fell in unison. Looking toward the other end of the plain Aradna could just make out the movements of the main body of Hannibal's infantry. It was hard to know whether the Romans would have been able to see them. But whether they did or not, they marched on at full pace. She watched the whole column until the straggling ends of the army slipped down into the mist.
Aradna could only guess at what followed from things she heard. She imagined the Carthaginian army silent and hiding, listening to the same tramp of Roman feet that had woken her. They waited, waited, waited. And then a scream broke the hush, from a single voice, two tones that hung in the air for a long moment. Next came a Gallic horn blast. Then the roar of thousands of voices merging in a similar purpose. She imagined the Carthaginians breaking from cover and sweeping down upon all sections of the Roman line. Though barely able to see, they must have run forward by whatever route they had chosen the previous evening. To the Romans their enemy would first have been a wall of sound, suddenly surging from a blank place that had moments before been silence. The Romans would not have had time to draw their weapons. Certainly not time to form ranks and receive instructions. When the Carthaginian forces materialized, they must have seemed like demons stepping out of the unknown, slashing and stabbing, sending missiles slicing through moist air.
“What god works here today?”
The voice that asked this question surprised Aradna. For a moment she had forgotten her companions, but then she recognized the voice as that of an older woman she had first met in the winter, one rarely impressed by anything. It was not a question meant to be answered, and no one tried. They kept their ears open to the valley below. Despite the yell of voices and clash of weapons and bellow of horns, the symphony of the combat was strangely muted. Aradna knew war as well as any soldier and therefore knew that the work of men slaughtering each other was punctuated as much by silence as by noise. Flesh makes no cry when it is pierced. Limbs lopped off and dropped to the ground barely make a thud. Men slipping in blood and tangled in entrails are unlikely to project any reasoned, measured complaint. A slung iron pellet squelches into flesh, a sound no louder than that of a pebble dropped into still water.
Because Aradna knew this, she listened with all of her being tuned to her ears. She listened for some indication that the Romans had managed to regroup, but there was nothing in the confusion to indicate this. According to her ears, the Romans were being carved to pieces. She could envision it no other way, even though her knowledge of the world whispered that this was not possible. Rome's soldiers were not supposed to die so easily. Hannibal had massacred them once already. But a second time in as many encounters?
She could not have guessed how much time passed like this. At some point, the very earth shook. The
