bodies lay outside and within. These men looked as if they had been beaten to death with bare hands, as their faces and skulls had been caved in, reducing their flesh to a bloody pulp; and once again, these men like those Gaius already found, lie naked, the clothes on their backs and weapons in hand taken from their lifeless bodies.
Inside the small, structures were several tables and racks, each of which would have been filled with armor and weapons. Now, however, the room was bare of even the smallest of scraps, save for one object, which had been left behind, resting on the center table, facing the door, as if it meant to greet anyone who walked inside.
Gaius moved closer to the helmet, half expecting there to be a head still inside it, or at least, for someone to leap out from the shadows and attack. Even so, like everywhere else, there were no signs of life.
Gaius knelt down and stared long and hard at the helmet. He knew it was an old fashioned Greek style, Spartan to be exact. It was cast of bronze, which had been polished to a perfect shine — its deep dark holes where eyes would have been, staring unblinking. A bright red featured crest rose from the top of the helmet, ending in a long tail that was carefully spread across the length of the table.
For a moment, Gaius did not act indifferent to the helmet. But then, it hit him in a flash of memory. The uncommon headpiece of the fearsome Spartan warriors was worn by one man in the arena — a man he had only seen once in his life. And with that memory, the fear, the bloodlust and rage of him flooding through Gaius’ mind, resurfacing haunting feelings he wished would have remained buried within the depths of his conscience.
“Calfax…” Gaius uttered to himself, as if saying the man’s name would suddenly make him appear.
It was then that Gaius realized the helmet was left behind on purpose, and placed on this spot for a reason. It was a sign — a warning to all Romans whom Calfax was liberated — having broken his bonds that had held him for gods knew how long. And now, he was out there, unrestrained to spread his hatred to any that was unfortunate to cross him. And with the old Spartan champion, he had with him a band of gladiators.
In that moment, the war took on a whole new meaning for Gaius. Hannibal had not just invaded Roman providence and jeopardized the Republic; he inadvertently released a monster upon the Roman people.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lake Trasimene
Valerius thrust his sword, plunging it deep into the stomach of a Carthaginian soldier who charged him, screaming in his native language like a mad man, consumed with rages. He growled as he clawed at Valerius’ face even as the sword tore into his guts, spilling them out onto the blood-soaked grass. He struggled for a moment as the man’s nails dug under Valerius’ eyes, almost blinding him. The warrior was cursing him that much the veteran could understand, but it did not matter as he pulled upward on his gladius until the blade tore under the man’s rib cage, piercing his heart.
The grip of the dead man loosened as Valerius pushed him to the ground. Quickly, yet again he was forced to defend himself as another man rushed forward.
Even as Valerius drove the tip of his sword through the man’s face, the cries of battle filled his ears, which were logged with sprayed blood that drizzled from head, soaking him in the vial gore. Dozens of his men were dying by the minute, faster than they could kill the enemy. Once again, the Romans were the prey, fallen headlong into another ambush set by Hannibal — the very thought sent chills coursing through the legate’s body.
It was hard to see beyond a few paces, as a thick fog hovered over the shores of Lake Trasimene. It was cold too as the long winter seemed not to want to give way to the warmth of spring. This only served to make the battle harder as the bitter nip of the morning air seeped into Valerius’ old bones, stiffening his reactions and ability to think.
Valerius’ sword again struck home, boring into the top of a man’s skull, but as more enemy warriors fell to him, more continued to come. It was only with decades of honed skills earned in countless battles that the veteran could hold out as long as he had.
Valerius grabbed hold on the man he had just killed, and pushed him at a Gallic barbarian that swung a two handled axe.
Valerius ceased the advantage quickly as the dead warrior collided with the Gaul. His sword was still stuck in the Carthaginian’s skull, so he was forced to pull his dagger out from his belt.
Dashing forward, Valerius forced the blade into the Gaul’s right eye, twisting the blade so that he may open the wound deeper.
The man screamed in agony as his eyeball ruptured, thick gore and blood spraying out from the socket as Valerius withdrew the dagger.
Before the Gaul could recover, Valerius thrust the dagger into his opponent’s throat, before yanking it with all his strength to the right, tearing the iron across the man’s neck, severing his jugular.
Blood sprayed out across the battlefield showering Valerius in the crimson mist before he quickly retrieved his sword from the other’s man’s skull.
“Romans!” Valerius roared as high as his powerful lungs could bear, “Form ranks around me, on the double!” he ordered, hoping that the dozen standing could hear him. While they were still engaged in their own struggles, his orders were carried out as quickly as they could be heard.
Valerius was enraged, as once again, due to the ignorance of another general, this time Gaius Flaminius. The army fell into another trap set by Hannibal.
After the Battle of Trebia River, Valerius had taken the survivors and joined the four new legions that Flaminius had formed, and marched north to avenger those slain in the previous two engagements. However, just like before, under Sempronius’ command, Flaminius was fooled into chasing after Hannibal, who used the terrain and bad weather to his advantage. With fewer men, Hannibal could move faster, and Flaminius, under greater pressure from the Senate to defeat the rogue, rushed headlong into another situation he couldn’t handle.
The attack plan had been brilliant Valerius hated to admit as even he did not see the strategy beforehand until it was too late.
Hannibal lured Flaminius to the banks of Lake Trasimene. With the water to their backs, surrounded from all sides by hills, Hannibal’s army waited in the woods, using the fog that rolled across the lake during the early- morning hours to blind the Romans to his movements.
Flaminius had faith he had Hannibal trapped, believing the general had set camp in clear sight upon a nearby hill. However, Hannibal had set torches around the camp, giving the impression that he was where he wasn’t.
The attack came early, at the break of first light. While the Romans still looked towards Hannibal’s supposed camp, a safe distance away, he struck on three fronts. So fast and devastating was the strike that the Romans weren’t able to get into proper formation to meet the ambush.
This was not the battle the legions were trained to fight. They were a well-oiled machine of mechanized warfare. As a whole, they were nearly unbeatable, and Hannibal was smart enough to know that. Using the savage fighting skills of his own men, and those of his barbarian allies, man-to-man, save for the most experienced and capable, such as Valerius, the Roman soldiers weren’t the equal to their opponents, not in this compactly.
Valerius wanted to order the retreat two hours ago, but even at the moment the voice of Flaminius could be heard as his battle horns continued to blow, blinding giving ill-fated orders to his broken legions. Even so, few Romans fought under his guidance now, as they battled for their lives and not to seek some measure of victory. However, the only means of escape was, either to push through Hannibal’s lines, or attempt to cross the lake. Those men most capable of swimming had stripped themselves of their kit and armor, but nearly iced over, few men could make it to the other shore alive, as the banks of the lake were already timing with Roman dead.
