out for him to take.
“Read for yourself,” Nero spoke; his voice trembling.
Fabius took the note and read its words very carefully. There wasn’t a lot written on it, as it had been issued with haste, before being sent out.
The document was written by Valerius, Fabius observed, which read:
Fabius slumped, falling onto his seat as he dropped the document that Valerius had sent, onto the Senate floor.
“How could such a large force be defeated, and so quickly and utterly?” Fabius asked more to himself than to Nero, who stood before him, his head hung low.
“I…am gathering my family, and what belongings I can bring, and leaving the city within the next three hours. More of the senators and knights are joining me as well. I advise that you make preparations to do the same, Fabius,” Nero said with a heavy heart; his words filled with shame.
“What? What do you mean you are leaving the city? And who else?” Fabius asked shockingly.
“It does not matter who else, only that it is important that we leave, at once.”
“And abandoned Rome to the barbarians?”
“What else is there for us to do? What do you think Hannibal will do to us once he reaches the city? If we do not capitulate to him, he will pull down the city walls, and have all of our heads. He may do so just out of spit once we’ve surrendered to him.”
“Surrender!” Fabius bolted to his feet. “You read Valerius’ letter. He is coming even as we speak.”
“And who will arrive sooner do you think, Valerius and his fifteen hundred, or Hannibal and his forty thousand? What do you expect us to do, Fabius? Even if Valerius and his legion reach the city in time, it can’t be held with fifteen hundred men, and what city cohorts we have left.”
“I will not surrender or give this city to Hannibal, not without a fight.”
“A fight! We have been fighting, Fabius, and we have lost — we’ve been slaughtered time and time again.”
Nero reached over and placed his hands onto Fabius’ shoulder, speaking to him with a quieter voice.
“We’ve done all that we could. The city will fall, but we can still save the Republic if we exile ourselves to our furthest colonies; to Greece, with the rest of our legions. In time, we can force terms, and return, and retake the city. However, not if we all die, staying here, trying to defend…what — stone walls and temples?”
“And what of the people, Nero? What of those that you and I are charged with protecting? And what of the men who have already died? You want me to abandon their memories to save our skin? No!” Fabius pulled away from Nero and shoved his finger in the older senator’s face.
“If Hannibal or anyone else wants Rome, then they will have to take it from me by force! And as Jupiter as my witness, I will kill any man not native to these lands that try to set foot in these halls. Go, and get yourself and your family to safety if you must! I will not stop you. Nevertheless, I will not join you either. Even if this city should fall, then someone should be here to see that it was remembered.”
Fabius said nothing else as he walked away from Nero, already pulling off his senatorial robes as he exited the hall.
Outside, as Fabius departed, Nero could already hear the rising panic as news about the defeat at Cannae had reached the plebeians, as quickly as it had reached his ears.
He didn’t stay any longer as he rushed out of the Senate house, and towards his estate. He had packing to do. He just hoped he made it out of the city before the mob tore it down first.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Three hundred men out of nearly ninety thousand still alive, after having survived the worst military defeat in the Republic's history, Gaius could barely comprehend that fact, and would never have believed that such a disastrous blunder could have happened if he had not seen it with his own eyes.
Gaius spent two full days at Cannae sifting through the carnage of twisted and battered bodies of his countrymen. Of course, there were thousands of Carthaginian, Gallic and Numidians, Spanish and any number of other tribes that supported Hannibal, bodies on the battlefield as well. Hannibal paid a heavy price for his victory. Out of his forty thousand men, he brought to the field that day. He lost some nineteen thousand, or so early estimates have been determined. Rome’s losses were greater, however. While Gaius knew that tens of thousands probably survived, the battle, as most were either captured or scattered, what remained of Rome’s legions was broken as an effective fighting force from this point forward. It would take weeks, maybe months to regroup the scattered men; blown to the four corners of Italy like leafs in the wind. Even then, the survivors would have been battered, bruised and beaten. Most would no longer be fit for duty. He wondered, as he rode over the open country, the high full moon over his head, alongside a group of twelve other riders, what the state of Rome might be now.
After the battle at Lake Trasimene, the city had erupted. Hundreds were killed in rioting, thousands more wounded, and a quarter of the city burnt to the ground. What would the people do now, knowing that the most powerful army the Republic had ever gathered had been crushed? Who could they turn to? Certainly not the fractured Senate, which left over a hundred of its members on the battlefield, lifeless, their hands and fingers stacked like winter logs. Even the two consuls, gone, and presumed dead, or at the very least, captured. What was left of the government would probably be divided, ready to surrender in hope of saving themselves.
He wasn’t sure what to think or what to do. He dug through hundreds of bodies looking for Antony, or at the very least, Antony’s father, Varro. However, he found nothing. As far as he knew, he could have stepped on them a dozen times over, for the bodies looked the same after days left to rot under the hot summer sun; bloated, bruised, bloodied, and torn to pieces from weapons, animals, or by the fact that thousands of men had walked over the corpses.
There were witnesses to the battle; scholars, writers and civilians hoping to see something memorable. They had told that, in the first hours, everything seemed to be going Rome’s way. Hannibal’s front lines, mostly Gauls; a people that hated Romans as much as the Carthaginians, sustained heavy losses as the center formations broke under the superior numbers of the legions. When the center fell back, Rome thought it had victory. The officers blindly ordered their front ranks forward, chasing after the fleeing barbarians, unknowing that they were heading right into Hannibal’s trap.
No one thought it possible. The army was raised to force Hannibal out into the open; to engage a proper army on equal terms so that he could not use trickery or deception to win the day. However, Hannibal knew the Romans better than the Romans did. He knew that the two consuls and their lackeys of senators, and noblemen, would want to cease the advantage, and push the lines forward without thought to the whole battlefield. And when that happened, Hannibal only had to sit back and wait.
As the Roman front advanced, Hannibal’s left and right flanks swung around the whole formation like a mythical bird closing its wings around its prey. The army was so large, and tightly compact, that even when the calls went out to reform, it was too late, as the ranks could not move or adapt to the changing battlefield.
Hannibal’s cavalry closed the rest of his master plan. They broke the Roman horsemen, scattering them. With them gone, the rear was exposed and cutoff from any chance of retreat. The witnesses said after that it was just a matter of time; hours longer, as those still alive up until this point, were compacted shoulder-to-shoulder with barely an inch to move.
Gaius recognized it. It was a mirror image of the Battle of Marathon, hundreds of years before, when the Athenians defeated a larger Persian army. Hannibal clearly knew his history as well, and had made use of that
