“Ten years, brother, ten long years and there it is,” Mago said to his brother Hannibal as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder on horseback.
It was cold, more so than Hannibal had thought possible. Before him stood the peak of the Alps, which loomed like a monolithic wall that blocked him from his destiny. On the other side lied his bitter enemy, who for ten years since his sacking of Saguntum has stood beyond his reach, beckoning him with their arrogance and contempt for the rest of the world, to be vanquished. However, his Senate at home had nearly hampered Hannibal’s plans to carry out his father’s dream of seeing Rome kneeling before Carthage. They, when Rome had sent its emissaries to Carthage, a decade ago, broke under their threats. Since then, at a constant state of war with Rome, they had not turned Hannibal over to the Republic as demanded, but neither did the home-country support his efforts to start a war with Rome. As such, Hannibal had to build on his individual successes — form alliances on his own from captured or mined gold from Spain, and forge new friendships through victory over the Gallic barbarians that stood in his way. Now, all that stood before him was the mountains — a natural barrier that had kept the Italian peninsula protected for generations from invading armies by land.
Further in the rear both Hannibal and Mago’s attention was diverted by the noise from his war-elephants, which, despite their fearsome sizes and bravery were not adept for the cold climate of Europe. The creatures seemed to be in constant agony, four having already died as the army climbed higher — and yet, they hadn’t even begun the march into the actual Alps as of yet.
“How many do you think will make it?” Mago asked.
“Not enough,” Hannibal answered.
“I was referring to the men, not the beasts.”
Hannibal starred at his brother for a long moment before he answered. Already, he had begun this journey from Spain in the spring with fifty-five thousand men, and due to barbarian attacks and disease, he had lost eight thousand. Even so, he knew there would be many more to come. The bitter, relentless cold, the brutal environment, and those Gallic tribes that call the Alps their home would make sure that tens of thousands of Hannibal’s men would not live through the crossing.
“It does not matter, brother. Those that die are weak. I want only the strongest men for this campaign,” Hannibal answered sharply.
“And if I am among the dead, brother?” Mago asked seriously.
Hannibal leered at Mago for a moment. He knew that Mago knew best not to try to draw sympathy from Hannibal. He loved his brother as much as he should, but he loved his dream of a conquered Rome with more passion than any thousand siblings.
“Do not test me, brother. We will need the strongest to challenge Rome’s legions — not weak men who can’t survive cold. That pertains to my family as well, Mago. Now, signal for the march to begin. I will wait no longer — rain or snow,” Hannibal remarked as he kicked his horse, which galloped down the long formation of Carthaginian allied soldiers who had joined Hannibal’s endeavor.
“As you command, brother.”
* * *
Muscle and flesh collided with a loud thump as dust and sand was kicked up, mixing with the sweat that poured off of the two men who battled one another in a grueling match for dominance. Grunting, they fought for the best position to gain the advantage over the other. These two had fought like mountain goats as their sizeable arms and equally great bodies locked tightly before each man broke, staring intensely at each other as they breathed heavily. And then with a powerful yell, the two collided once again with so much force that it that they found it difficult to maintain their footing in the white sand.
Neither man showed the slightest hint of weakness. Back and forth, they fought — breaking and colliding and countering the other’s moves and locks, until finally, one gave in to the other’s overwhelming strength.
One competitor was a giant of a man. He had short black hair that was cut close to his skull. His muscles, nearly as large as melons, were covered in sweat, which rolled in between the rippling folds of his arms, back and shoulders. His legs seemed as if they had been forged in fire, crafted from the finest iron, impossible to break.
The second man was shorter by a good eight inches. With short close-cropped blonde hair, this man’s body was no less defined then the larger of the two. The height, however, was something the shorter man was having difficulties overcoming. He continually struggled to position his body in the stance that would allow him to overpower the larger man.
His youthful face was covered in sweat and showed the agony he was in as he began to lose any advantage he might have had when the two first locked together.
With an angry grunt of frustration, his grip slipped, just slightly. That, unfortunately, was all the large man needed as he grabbed hold of his opponent’s wrist; twisting it until he broke the smaller man’s hold entirely.
In one painful pull, the taller man lifted his opponent up and over his head before slamming him squarely onto his back.
Sand kicked up into the musty air as the defeated man lay still on his back, eyes closed his entire body racked with pain. This had been the fourth time this afternoon he was put down so hard.
Opening his eyes, the sun glaring down, the defeated man lifted himself back to his feet as the victorious opponent laughed at his sorry and tired state. He wasn’t alone as half a dozen men too joined the jubilation.
“Gods be damned!" Yelled the defeated man as he wiped sand off of his bare-chested body.
“You don’t give yourself enough time to find the right moment to strike. You act too fast, Maurus,” Gaius stated with a grin as he tried not to join his comrades in their amusement of his friend’s continuous defeat.
“It isn’t fair; Agrippa is the size of a horse,” Maurus complained, which was nearly true.
“Since when does size matter?” Gaius replied.
“Oh, this coming from someone who is six-foot two. I, on the other hand, am only good for chasing rats under the kitchen table,” Maurus joked at his own expense as he again took to the center of the sand-cover arena, squaring off against Agrippa once more.
“You are pretty good at chasing rats, Maurus,” Agrippa said with a humorous grin.
Once again, the two young soldiers faced one another.
Gaius stood off to the side — his arms crossed as he watched the two with careful eyes.
This day, like most, Gaius was overseeing the practice of his century. Two dozen other legionnaires, most of whom the same age as he, pitted against one another as they wrestled inside the large rectangular pit.
Each man fought in the nude, as they trained for three hours without rest. Already, as the day was just beginning, they still had another hour to go before they moved to another exercise.
Gaius did not join them this day as, he, a senior officer and already most skilled among the group, watched and passed along his advice in order to help improve the soldiers' skills, many of them new, having joined the Sixth Legion less than a year ago.
Most of his attention was, however, kept on Maurus and Agrippa.
Gaius raised his fist into the air and held it there for a few moments, before he quickly dropped it towards the mat.
Once he had given the indication for Maurus and Agrippa to begin, he stood back and careful studied Maurus, who rushed in and tried to overpower the larger man.
With a thunderous clap of naked flesh, the two Romans collided. Each man’s hand and arms violently fought as they reached for the best position to gain the early advantage. The sweat coming off their skin made their grip that much more difficult.
Maurus was considerable faster, and a damn good fighter. He normally took the first step in the battle, outpacing the slower and more cumbersome Agrippa. The problem was Maurus tried too hard. Instead of using his strengths and natural gifts to bring the larger man down, he fought tooth and nail to muscle Agrippa onto his back.
While Maurus could defeat most men easily, he could not understand the concept of fighting a larger opponent. In his mind, he had already lost before the bout had begun.
For over three minutes, the two fought. As before, Maurus would make the wrong move as he continued to attempt to overpower Agrippa.
Taking advantage of his size and strength, Agrippa allowed Maurus to make a fatal mistake, and then counter the error, always resulting in him flipping the young Roman onto his back, ending the bout.
With another loud thump, Maurus was thrown down, losing yet again where he was breathing heavily and refusing to get up.
“Are you dead?” Gaius asked as he stood over his downed friend.
“Yes, now leave me be and let the vultures have my flesh and bones,” Maurus replied as he stared up at the slow-moving clouds.
“Good. Now get up and start again.” Gaius grabbed Maurus’ wrist, lifting him back to his feet.
“I hate this sport. I do not wish to do it any longer. I am paid to carry a sword and shield, not fight bare ass in the sand,” Maurus complained.
“You will be thankful you know how to fight when you’ve lost your sword, and fighting a Greek hoplite in battle, hand-to-hand,” Gaius commented with a smile.
Maurus grinned as he wiped away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.
“Like a boy-loving Greek could ever disarm me.”
“You might be surprised; the Greeks did invent this sport, and were once masters of the world.”
“They don’t have much to show for it now, do they?” Maurus slowly stepped back into the pit and lowering himself down into a three-quarter stance.
“I am Greek decent,” Agrippa commented.
“I thought you from this neck of the woods, old boy?” Maurus mused.
Gaius smiled.
“Nearly everyone in the south of Italy is Greek descent. If only you showed as much care to history as you do your body hair, you may be a bloody legate by now. Now, let’s try to show some improvement before dinner, shall we?” Gaius joked as he dropped his fist for the two to begin.
Once more, the two young Romans collided, but this time Gaius’ attention was turned elsewhere as a messenger rode into the compound and galloped towards Valerius’ office.
This rider had been the third one this week and while the contents of what they carried was private, everyone in the camp, including Gaius, had some idea what the fuss was about.
There were rumors spreading across the countryside that trouble was coming from the north. A Carthaginian general was moving fifty thousand men down through the Alps, and would enter Italy in a few weeks.
Gaius was now twenty-three, and he felt he was prepared to defend Rome if the word came from the Senate that the Republic was going to war. He had studied harder than most in the legion and thought himself eager as any veteran in the Sixth Legion.
He still recalled the promise, he'd made to his father the day he left home with Valerius: he vowed to make the man proud and do his very best to be a proper soldier like his father was, and to this day, from the moment he walked through the camp gates, he had done everything that had been asked of him.
While he legally couldn’t join the legion until he was sixteen, he spent those first three years in Valerius’ shadow, learning and watching the old legate’s every move. When his training began Gaius found he had a natural talent in many forms of warfare. He easily bested men twice his age in numerous forms of soldiering: wrestling, swordsmanship, horsemanship, boxing, and most important, tactics, strategy and command. Because of these skills, he was made an optio when he was seventeen — greatly due to his ability to read and write. Two years later he was made a junior centurion and giving the command of his own century. Currently, Valerius had him assigned to the first cohort of the legion, where his promotion continued to climb. The old man seemly wanted Gaius to stay near him as he came of age, grooming him to perhaps one-day take command of the legion itself.
He knew that Valerius had great faith in him, and would one day entrust him to lead the Wolves. That was an honor that both excited and scared Gaius greatly, most of all because he could not imagine living to see a day that Valerius did not command this legion.
Gaius’ thoughts return to his duties as he heard another loud thump, as a body hit the mat.
Taking a deep breath, without having to turn his head to see who lay on his back, he called out, “Again. And do try to win a match while we’re still young, Maurus.”
Later, that evening Gaius walked into Valerius’ office and stood quietly at attention near the doorway as he waited to be called forward.
He watched his old mentor pack several maps into a stack of satchels, assisted by two young aides who rushed around quickly from shelve to shelve.
Ten years ago when he first met Valerius, he seemed as frightening as a titan. Gone now was the burly, haze-eyed brute that donned a thick grey beard. Replaced, Valerius had in him the fire of a teenager.
He was clean-shaven, although there were still some streaks of grey running through his short hair, and a few extra lines under his eyes. He moved and acted with a renewed sense of purpose, which gave Gaius hints about why he had been summoned.
The legate’s eyes were locked on one map. From Gaius’ vantage, it seemed to be a detailed map of northern Italy. The two aides, no more than fourteen, rummaged through the shelves that were filled with other documents. They were busy sorting, collecting and categorizing them into small travel bags that would be moved with Valerius’ command. Gaius smiled as the boys glanced over at him. It wasn’t too long ago when he was in their shoes, doing errands for Valerius or the other officers of the legion. The work was tedious and thankless, but they were learning important lessons, even if they hadn’t realized it yet.
One of the aides, a young dark-haired boy fumbled as he was carrying an arm full of documents, most of which seemed to be dealing with the payroll for the legion.
The papers rained down onto the floor, turning Valerius’ attention away from his work.
“Dammit, boy! Pick those up and be more mindful of what you are doing, or by the gods, I’ll send you back to the whore of a mother of yours,” Valerius yelled.
“Yes, legate, sir. I apologize,” the boy repeated several times over as he franticly dropped to his knees and quickly collected the papers.
“Centurion,” Valerius said without even raising his head to look at Gaius. “I want the first cohort ready to march in the morning. Have them in full kit and enough rations for two weeks.”
“It will be done, sir,” Gaius responded obediently.
He did not move or say anything more even though it was clear those were all the orders Valerius wanted to issue at the moment.
Valerius lifted his gaze; his eyes showing signs that the old Roman didn't sleep for a full day now.
“Is there something else on your mind, Centurion Gaius?”
“Yes sir, if I may ask. What is our destination?” Gaius quickly replied without hesitation. Even though he and Valerius showed each other the proper formality that was expected of any legionnaire, they still had an easy relationship with one another that Gaius knew he could ask anything of the legate and probably get an answer.
“You may ask, but that does not mean you will get an answer.” Valerius leered at Gaius with cold eyes, a stare that would have made other officers nervous, but Gaius held his ground with an unmoved expression. He was as eager, if not more so than anyone else to know what was going on. War, was, after all what these men had trained for their entire lives.
Valerius snorted.
“The Senate is having a special session in four days. My presence has been requested in Rome, and the legion placed on standby,” he finally answered.
“Then it is true. We are going to war with Carthage?” Gaius asked, his question shared by the whole legion, who waited eagerly to hear if the rumors spreading were true or not.
“It is not for me to decide such things, lad. However, if I were a betting man, I would say we are. It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Valerius answered with an unwavering reply. While he would never say it, Gaius could see in the legate’s actions that he was excited as well. He’d been stagnated for too long — away from a real fight for years, with only hunting pirates and putting down tiny Greek rebellions to occupy his decades since the last war with Carthage.
Gaius tried to hold back his smile, managing only a faint grin.
“Then if I may inquiry further, sir. Why only one cohort? Won’t the rest of the Sixth be needed if up north if Hannibal is crossing the Alps?”
Valerius stared at Gaius, knowing full well he had not mentioned the particulars of the message or what is transpiring in the Alps as they spoke. However, as he fought to hold back his smile, he knew that Gaius was smarter than he had ever been, and had deduced that knowledge from careful observation.
“The Senate is fearful of a possible Carthaginian naval invasion of either Sicily or southern Italy. If that is to happen, then the Sixth needs to be on call and ready to respond, the moment the first whore-sons set foot on our territory.”
“Even if the fight is in the north?” Gaius asked, sounding disappointed.
“Other legions will be levied. We have our orders, centurion. Now, if there isn’t anything else that is pondering your young mind, carry out my orders and have the first cohort ready to move by sunrise. You are dismissed.”
“Yes, sir,” Gaius saluted before he turned and quickly left Valerius’ office, keeping his smile from being too obvious, only with difficulty.
As he walked outside, Gaius saw Maurus was already waiting for him before he quickly ran over, a big cheerful grin on his face.
“Well?” Maurus eager asked.
“Well what?”
“You know what I mean. Are we going to war or not?”
“My word, Maurus, I think you should see the medicos. You look terrible,” Gaius observed as the deep bruises on his friend’s face had been swollen to large purple welts. He hated to think what the rest of his body looked like by now, but the young soldier shrugged it off, too excited by the news that Gaius was withholding.
“Forget that. Just answer my original question: are we going to war?”
Gaius chuckled, “Yes, or so it would seem. The first cohort is heading for Rome tomorrow, and the rest of the legion is on standby, until further orders are giving. So, it would appear the rumors are true, for once, the enemy is coming to our home, and we’re going to stop them.”
Maurus couldn’t hold back his cheer as he beat his fists into the sky, hollering at the top of his lungs.
“Oh, such wonderful news. Finally, those Carthaginian bastards will fill the iron of the Wolves once again. And off too Rome, how grand, you’ll get to see home again, my dear friend.”
Gaius’ smile hardened sudden as Maurus’ words resonated deeply through his mind. It had not dawned on him, until now — home. He would be going home.
“I will not keep you, my friend. I will go tell the boys the news. I doubt, however, very many of us will be getting much sleep tonight.”
Maurus ran off, still joyful as he quickly spread the news across the whole camp. For Gaius, however, the excitement of the moment had escaped him as he walked toward one of the larger structures in the camp, needing to be alone so he may be with his own thoughts a moment longer.
Grabbing a lantern, which hung on the wall near the entrance of the stables, Gaius walked down the narrow path that was centered between two rows of holding pins that housed the army’s horses. When he reached the one, he was moving toward, Gaius opened the gate where his horse, a black-coated stallion, which he named Apollo, raised his head with interest as Gaius stepped inside, hanging the light on the wall.
The horse lifted his ears and nodded his head as Gaius ran his hand along Apollo’s neck.
“Hello, my friend, guess what?” Gaius spoke softly.
Apollo, whom Gaius had named in honor of his father, recalling the story that Valerius had told him ten years ago near the camp fire, about his father’s bravery, of course did not respond as he nudged his master, indicating that he wanted Gaius to continue rubbing his neck.
“We are going to Rome,” Gaius finished, his voice still low. In the distance, he could hear the beginnings of celebration as word had spread quickly about the prospects of going to war.
Most of the legion was young — legionaries from sixteen to twenty-two, with a few hundred older veterans, yet few who saw action during the last war. So, with excitement, the Sixth was eager to prove itself in doing what it had been trained for, glorious war. Gaius’ mind was, however, trapped in the past. It hadn’t dawned on him that he would be going home, back to Rome until Maurus had said as such. Now, his thoughts plagued him with memories of Antony and Julia, who had never been far from his mind.
“I wonder what they are like now. Antony was only a year younger than me — how he must have grown. And his sister, Julia — I’ve told you about her, haven’t I?” Gaius mussed.
Again, Apollo failed to reply.
“She must be sixteen. I wonder what has become of her, how beautiful she must be now, nearly a woman — a Roman lady.”
Gaius felt silly, not because he was speaking with his horse, but at the memories of the girl, he only remembered as a frightened child that had cried in his arms when he left home.
“I wonder if she even remembers me. So much time has gone by. I’m not so different, am I?” Apollo lifted his head, staring at Gaius with his big brown eyes. “I am being silly, aren’t I? We were children, and she was much younger than I. Our time together was brief, less than a year. How can I expect either of them to recall a distant friend they hardly knew?”
Gaius knew that he could not expect their memories of him to be as cherished as his. They had lives of their own; years to make new friends, to fall in and out of love. He couldn’t help but feel selfish and arrogant to think that he meant as much to them as they did to him.
“I should not worry about such things, should I? We might be going to war soon. I’ve trained, and I’ve excelled at becoming a soldier. I have a duty to my men and to my country, and yet, I can’t stop thinking of them — of her.”
Gaius put his head down on his horse’s neck, rubbing its fur with his hand as he asked his last question.
“Tell me, Apollo, am I a fool for being in love with a dream?”
Gaius waited, but Apollo just made a faint noise that was either disagreement, or a statement that he was indeed a fool. Which it was, he could merely guess.
“Thanks, you are a lot of help, you know that,” Gaius smiled as he went back to brushing his horse. Outside, the camp was making preparations for war. What would come next filled Gaius’ young mind with all sorts of possibilities. At the very least, he would get the chance to see Rome again. He wondered how much the city had grown since his last visit.
In three days time, he would know.