What a rubbish end to the season! Chelsea have the title, we got hammered at the Emirates, and Tottenham weren't in any position to enjoy any favour we might (though probably wouldn't have) given them, 'cos they lost at bloody Burnley!!
Anyway, here's a piece that takes dramatic licence to new lows.
Enjoy,
Bubi
Peace
Publius and I surveyed the battlefield before us. His face was set in a grim mask as we looked at the thousands upon thousands of dead, no few of them Romans. I had never seen so many dead bodies in one place before. The milites priores (the ones who were still alive at least) were taking head counts from their maniples. From my own command of just shy of three thousand, the decuriones and tribunes had reported fifty-four dead from the equites along with a hundred or so further wounded all told, while there were another eighty-one deaths from among the ranks of the Italian alae. Masinissa’s Numidians, all six-thousand of them, were similarly bloodied, or not as the case probably was. Suffice to say, among the cavalry arm, our losses were nigh on negligible. The same could hardly be said of anyone else, though.
The afternoon turned to evening, and Publius and the Hetairoi finally retired. Indeed, I am not sure who uttered or considered it first, but I realised that day how true it was: second to a field of battle lost, the saddest sight was that of a field of battle won. Among us, I knew my heart was heavy, for all that the war was over and won by Rome and her soldiers, and even the loud and brash Silanus was subdued, the only sound that we heard: the dulled ‘clack’ that our horses made as they walked along the dry ground of eastern Lybia. Moments after we arrived at our camp, I saw the funeral pyres grow, the smoke filling the sky, blotting out the light of the emerging stars.
Late into the evening, we were still up, discussing our next course of action. Publius now had free reign in virtually all Carthaginianterritory, but I felt that he had had enough of the pillaging, for it would serve no purpose any longer. The logical move that we finally agreed on (in reality, we all tacitly agreed it from the moment we entered the marquee) was to transfer the army to the gates of Carthage and wait for the inevitable Punic surrender.
“We’ll move out in two days’ time,” Publius announced to the assembled officers.
“Two? Why two? Why not now?” Lentulus asked.
“We need time for the news of Hannibal’s defeat to take hold among the Carthaginian citizenry, and I do not wish to the men to forget this day, this battle... for the rest of their lives.”
I was a little taken aback by this, and judging from the reaction of the others, they were too, even Drusus.
“This is not about my victory, brothers. It is about the cost of war, to Rome as well as to Carthage. I have lost a cousin and many a good friend over the course of these hostilities, as have you all. Carthage will realise this as well, and at least for us, the war is over. They will need to fight for many years to come, just to survive, if I read the Senate’s intentions correctly. For all the enmity between our city and theirs, we must not make enemies of them in perpetuity, it would destroy us as sure as it would destroy them, even if theirs is not hand that deals the fatal blow. We have had our fill of war for almost twenty. Let us have peace, now, to prepare ourselves for the next war we will fight. Enemies of Rome are many enough to be easy to find, and quickly will they stir themselves to strike us. Our victory will attract the eyes of the powerful and influential beyond our shores, and those enemies will regard our new empire with hunger. Let us be sure that we offer Carthage no further reason to be one of them.
“Excuse me.”
We watched in silence as he retired.
Just before the dawn, we discovered the extent of death: twenty-four hundred and seventy Roman dead, with a further four and a half thousand wounded to one degree or another, which still left us with an army that exceeded thirty-six thousand combat worthy men. The Carthaginian losses were so great that any number would carry no significance at this stage.
Two days later, true to his word, we took the camp down and made our march to Carthage with twenty-three thousand troops. Masinissa returned to Kirtha to ensure that his new kingdom was still there, some subtle hints from Drusus, Publius and I to the extent that he might need to deal with Syphax’s disillusioned supporters had him quickly on his way back to his holdings. The remaining two legions took the wounded and prisoners back to Utica.
As we marched with the main column, all around us settlements of all sizes that we passed were filled (rather ironically) with a feeling of total emptiness. Unnatural silence haunted me as we marched through some towns which were completely devoid of people, and those people that we did see fled at the sight of us, though the men had strict orders not to break away to raid. On the morning of the fifth day of our journey, we sighted the Punic capical and made camp. The troops spent the evening foraging the surrounding area, even though we were already well provisioned from looting Hannibal’s camp after Zama, and it came as little surprise that there was nothing of note collected. What little Carthage had was already within her walls.
The following morning, I woke early, and took a turma of cavalry out to see if anything was going on around the city. No sooner had we left after the second hour, than we saw a small group of riders making their way towards us, slowly. They were led by Hannibal, and they were unarmed but for some ceremonial looking daggers.
“Stay here, Servius, I’ll be able to deal with this,” I muttered to the decurion, and he held back, closely watching us with his command.
Kicking my horse to a canter, I rode towards the approaching Carthaginians, raising my hand in parley. Paces short of each other, both sides stopped. I kept my silence while Hannibal regarded for a few moments.
“Would you grant me an audience with Scipio, Laelius?” he asked.
“He grants his own audiences,” I replied, “It is not for me to say aye or nay to matters of his undertakings.”
“I do not believe that you, who have been with my adversary for the duration of this war in comradeship and brotherhood in arms both, would have nothing to say in protest against my convening with him. Are you so low down in his company that you cannot speak for him?”
I looked at him for a moment seeing his stoic face but hearing his smirk, and then I laughed.
“You have no need to bait me, Lord Barca,” I smiled, “Well do I know my place in Scipio’s company, I am not so low in his company as he is high in mine. We are a strange pairing of men, but where I need not speak for him, he need not speak for me.”
“Presently, for whom do you speak?” it appeared as though he was enjoying this as much as I was.
“Myself, of course, need you ask?”
“Then what say you of my desire to speak with him?”
“What have I to say at all?” I could regard it as little more than one man’s wish to speak to another man, and what objection could I provide to justify your delay?”
“And yet you delay.”
“And yours was the question with which the delay resulted.”
“Though said question would have been adequately satisfied by a single word of acceptance or denial.”
“But of such a question from a man of your stature, any response would require more than such a single word from a man of my stature, even if I am your enemy.”
“However, men such as us are defined and recalled for what we do. What we say will fall by the wayside and be forgotten before this year is done.”
“Quite true, and how much does that sadden and anger you?”
To that he had no response, and I nodded to him, smiling sadly, because what he said was true, and I believed it. Nudging my horse forward, I closed the gap between us and turned so we were facing the same direction.
“You are as talented in word-craft as you are in war-craft,” I said, and I could see that my proximity was starting to trouble his escort, “You must wonder.”
“What must I wonder?” he asked as we rode towards the Roman camp together.
“Should Scipio have been born of Carthage or you of Rome, you as master and Scipio as prodigy, how the world would tremble beneath the sound of first your name and then his.”
“Do you seek to flatter me? You mention my name first, as though your comrade would surpass me.”
“Well he has, hasn’t he?”
“How?”
“He stands victor, while you... the vanquished. But no, I merely give deference to your greater experience, and of course your age.”
“Why? How many years has he?”
“He will be thirty-four this month.”
Hannibal was genuinely taken aback by this.
“He took Carthago Nova when he was five-and-twenty,” he whispered to himself.
“Twenty-four, but that is beside the point. Be that as it may, you were but twenty-seven when you took supreme command of your forces in Iberia, and took Saguntum. And you had the audacity to invade the Italian homeland from the north. How many victories did you win for your home against mine?”
“Countless... Ticinus, Trebbia, Trasimene, Cannae, Ager Falernus, Geronium, long ago did I lose count of the victories I scored against Roman legions. Dozens, perhaps.”
“And yet, Scipio has scored but six. Seven if you include my victory, but who am I to compare myself to you and him? Like all of his solders, though, I can name each of his victories: Carthago Nova; Baecula; Ilipa; Utica; Bagrades; and Zama. You have by far the more victories and the more magnificent of them: why, then, did you lose? Or rather: how?”
He looked at me, appraising me once again.
“I know not what to make of you, Laelius,” his voice was terse, “You earnestly put me on a throne of gold, offer me a dais and crown, only for me to discover them made of lead covered with a pretty dust.”
“What have I said that is not true?”
I received no reply for a few moments as he considered my question.
“You are my enemy, and you must wish to see me dead, so why do you exalt me, even above Scipio?”
“Ah, now you have said something that puts me in a difficult position. Why should I wish to see you dead? From this conversing between you and me, I have little, if any, reason to see you dead. For while you and I may be enemies, what is to stop me from admiring you or respecting you. You are clearly worthy and deserving of it, even from so grudging a foes as me. Surely you must realise how reverently your name is spoken in Rome.”
“With great fear, I’d hope.”
“Yes, quite so, but reverently nonetheless. And yes, I do exalt you greatly, for you deserve that as well, but above Scipio? I’m afraid that I do not. Compared as commanders of men on a field of battle, you are definitely more prolific, and I’m sure history will record you as the father of tactics, comparable to the likes of Pyrrhus and Alexander. But in a full theatre of war... that is a different matter altogether. Regardless, with your victories against us, never again will Rome view an enemy in such a condescending manner.”
“I did not think that was ever viewed with any condescension.”
“Of course, you could not see to Sicily. Before Ticinus, plans were already in motion to invade Africa. Everyone thought that you would never set foot in Gaul, let alone Italy. But as with all lessons, they must be harsh to be learnt well. And you provided us with several of them.”
“It seems as though my best student was among them,” he was bitter, and I could hardly blame him.
“And have you not wondered how the world would be if he really was your student? In Rome, the messages tell me that he bears the title of ‘the Roman Hannibal’ among the populace. How would he fare as Scipio amongst the Carthaginians?”
“Like all things, that would depend.”
“On what? Money, power, influence, politics and popularity, I would imagine. But come, dear enemy, the war is all but over, and I will not hold you ransom over what you may or may not say. I like to believe I am above such pettiness.”
“All you have mentioned would contribute greatly to whether Scipio and I would be colleagues or rivals, but I believe that were he and I to be generals of a nation, there would be civil, we would each be too ambitious for the the other’s existence to be permissible.”
“And who would this subsequent war?”
“Sixteen years of war have left me cynical of political systems, Laelius, so there is no necessity in baiting me. This would be my answer: no one would win, for by your own admission, I am as brilliant a general as the world has ever seen, and your Scipio is good enough to be more without my shadow than within. Ultimately, there would be no victor, only the vanquished: the nation that we claim to serve.”
Now it was my turn to be taken aback by the candour of his reply, and I bit back a response (rather a diplomatic answer, indeed).
“When one giant walks the land, the ground trembles beneath his very step,” I gave him a wry smile, “When two giants walk the land, there is no ground upon which to step.”
“Obviously, you are better at word-craft than me.”
“It matters not, Hannibal Barca, for the world will surely forget of what we spoke this day.”
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