The screams of the dying beast carried over the battlefield, adding to those of the thousands of men wounded and dying, which littered the ground with limbs, entrails and flesh, saturated in pools of crimson blood and glinting metal of iron and armor.
Hannibal’s attention was not focused on the dying Romans, which his men eagerly dispatched from this world with joyful purpose. Instead, his gaze fell upon one of his elephants, which had been speared numerous times in the belly, which now lay on its side, riving in agony as it stomach was sliced open, pilling entrails across the snow-covered field.
The smell was horrific, but the creature’s dying cries were worse as with each shallow breath, the trunk sprayed misty blood from its nostrils, which showered down on the warriors who tried to put the creature out of its misery. However, its thrashing made it difficult for the dark-skinned hunters to finish the beast off.
Hannibal sighed with a worried heart as that elephant was the last he brought with him across the Alp, a dozen already having died during the long and cold journey, the remainder killed by Roman spears. He had once hoped they would have made a greater difference in his campaign, perhaps lasting another two or three battles.
He watched with unblinking eyes as a Numidian hunter carefully crept towards the elephant’s head, with a spear raised, ready to strike.
With one powerful thrust, the deed was done as the spear tip burst through the animal’s eye socket, rupturing through its iris, and tearing all the way into the elephant’s brain. A fraction of a second later the animal stopped moving.
One of the lead hunters ordered his men to begin harvesting the elephant’s meat, which could still be used, and another group to remove the long tusks, which could be sold.
Other cries of agony also carried over the battlefield, but they weren’t ended with as much care or concern as Hannibal watched his Celtic allies, perhaps too eagerly, walk among the wounded Romans, torturing them by hacking off limps, appendages, or gentile while the men attached to them were still breathing. The already dead were plundered of any wealth they might have carried: iron, coins or trinkets were prized among the barbarians.
Hannibal detested the methods of his allies. His enemies, even if they were the despised Romans, deserved better treatment — a quick end with a spear through the heart than the sadistic pleasure the northern tribes took in murdering their continental neighbors. However, Hannibal wouldn’t dare say a thing. While he would never allow his Carthaginian warriors to act as the Gauls, he needed the barbarians more than he cared to admit. They only joined his crusade at the promise of treasure, glory and blood. Without them, this war would end before he ever came within view of Rome’s city walls.
Regardless, Hannibal expected more from Rome. The battle that followed his crossing of the Alps was not what he expected or had heard of from his father’s stories, of the bravery, cunning and skillful art of warfare and famous Roman discipline that won them many battle in the past, including the war with his mother country, Carthage many decades earlier.
His opponent, Hannibal knew was more capable than this. Co-Consul of Rome, Scipio the Elder was already renowned for past glories against Carthage, pirates and rebellions across the Republic. Even so, and with great disappointment, a stray arrow, fired from afar struck the consul in the early minutes of the battle. With Scipio out of action, the Romans soon lost heart as their officers, outnumbered were subsequently overwhelmed. What followed would be utter slaughter.
Scipio’s body hadn’t been found, and Hannibal doubted it would be. Early reports told him that the general was taken by his son, who shared the same name, off the battlefield and was now heading back to Rome. The body of a consul of Rome could have gone a long way to bolster Hannibal’s ranks, no less the moral of his tired and hungry men. Regardless, he knew this victory would do for the meantime. He was now footed in Italy, and soon Rome would know that they had underestimated him.
More would come — legions upon legions would be sent against the invaders. Hannibal knew he would soon be outnumbered, and more than likely many of his barbarian allies would run and return to their homes, once their thirst for blood had been satisfied and their backs loaded with as much Roman gold they could carry. However, Hannibal did not fear what was to come. He did not set out on this campaign without considerable planning. This war was not one of shortsighted ambition. It would be long and grueling, and he would have to sacrifice everything if he was to achieve his ultimate goals in the end.
Hannibal’s attention was turned as Braca, a trusted friend who commanded the Numidian cavalry rode towards him. He was a dependable friend, one now that Hannibal had to turn to as he had sent his brother Mago back to New Carthage to ensure that his supplies from Spain to Italy could not be cut.
“My General,” Braca spoke as he pulled his horse alongside Hannibal. “My riders have been combing the Roman dead, but we have yet to find the body of Scipio among the fallen. I believe the Romans are taking him back to their city. At best, they might have several hours on us.”
“And what about the consular’s staff?”
Braca shook his head as he answered, “Taken from the field. Even so, we did find the pay chests. We could give pursuit for the staff if you wish.”
Hannibal thought about the matter a moment longer, scratching the rough stubble on his chin as he took a drink from his water skin. He wanted the staff as much as he would have liked Scipio’s body. They meant nothing in terms of value, but the Romans and his allies, both were powerful symbols that he could use to rally more to his cause. However, with a heavy sigh, Hannibal knew what he must do.
“Do not worry yourself longer. We have to consolidate our position here until the rest of our troops, and supplies come down from the mountain.”
“And what of these…creatures?” Braca asked sarcastically as he glanced over his shoulder, directing his words toward the Gauls who looted and murdered the Roman dead and wounded; the wounded cries continued to carry over the battlefield as they were gutted alive.
“I do not trust them. How do we know they won’t head back north, now that they have their victory over a Roman consul, and enough wealth to keep them drunk through the next two winters?”
Hannibal took a deep breath. He pondered the same question for hours now. He knew the Gallic tribes weren’t dependable. They only joined him for glory and wealth, both of which he’d already brought them. Unfortunately, he needed them. While he loathed them more than the Romans, if they stood against him, it would be impossible for him to secure enough supplies from Spain to continue his campaign in Italy.
“I suspect they will remain loyal, for the meantime. There are a number of settlements south of us, and more than a few of the chieftains have expressed interest in sacking them,” Hannibal answered.
“And you agree with this? We will need Italian settlements to stand with us against Rome,” Braca’s words were like ice as his mistrust boiled through each word he uttered.
“I do not have much of a choice, not at this moment,” Hannibal shot back. He wasn’t angry by Braca’s words, but at the realization of hard truths. His war was against Rome, not the Italian people, yet it was they who would suffer the most. It sickened Hannibal. Most of the northern settlements that would fall prey to his horde were once, a century ago part of greater Gaul, until the Republic came and conquered them, unifying all of Italy under Rome’s banner. Nevertheless, those barbarians with him did not see distant kin, but only weakness, a prey easily crushed and sacked for their unquenchable thirst for blood.
“No, we must continue as planned,” Hannibal reiterated as he collected his wayward thoughts. “Ready your men. Once they’ve finished toying with the Romans, I will give the word to march to our next objective.”
“As you command, my General,” Barca nodded before he turned his horse and began to trot off.
“Barca!” Hannibal called out. The officer stopped and turned his head, “Steady your heart and mind, and remember why we are here. It will only get worse from this point forward.”
With a heavy heart, Barca nodded his understanding and rode off.
“Victory or defeat, I am set upon my course, “Hannibal uttered to himself as he turned his attention back to the battlefield. “Send me your legions, Rome…Send them all.”